“And with this Time-Ripping Cannon of Most Excellent Doom, I shall rule the…”
“Rrgghhh…”
That was all the breath Shego could afford to give to her growl before she was forced to duck and roll from a rather impressive kick aimed for her face. Or, at least, where her face used to be. Dodging the blur of olive and flipping awkwardly from the ground to a nearby pile of crates, she sought purchase from the rough wood and clung to the wobbly top. A grin cracked her face as she called out to her opponent.
“Nice kick.”
There was no reply as the redhead below her flung an object (a compact mirror, Shego thought) at one of the crates. The impact was enough to send the whole tower crashing, rendering Shego without solid footing. She scrambled desperately for the railing situated some ten feet from her and just barely managed to melt her hands sufficiently deep enough to procure a grip. Swinging for a bare second before slipping a muscled thigh onto the platform and hauling herself up, Shego once again found herself with a decent amount of space between herself and Kim Possible.
Said girl did not waste time, however, and used her grappling gun to even the distance out. Wordlessly they clashed together, nothing more than a rather fascinating blur of black, olive, and neon. Anyone watching would have guessed that it was choreographed. However, it was far from that.
“Few… new… tricks… Shego?”
“Wouldn’t… disappoint you…”
A neat tumble or flip was injected here and there, adding an acrobatic feel to the sparring. Shego cackled upon feeling her fist connect well with what felt like Kim’s breastbone then coughed as Kim retaliated with a crushing roundhouse. Somewhere off in the distance, Shego heard Dr. Drakken scream in frustration. Another voice, younger and terrified, cried out to Kim.
”I got it, KP!”
A sandy-haired boy held up a strange purple and black gun from the distance, pumping it like a football trophy. Kim turned around in mid-dodge and called out,
“Run, Ron, run!”
To her horror, Ron ran in the complete opposite direction of where he was supposed to- instead of running away towards their mission vehicle, he ran determinedly to stand beneath the catwalk on which the two women were fighting.
“I’m here! I’m here!”
“RON!”
Kim got a running start at Shego and then surprised her by doing something unexpected: dropping to the ground, she slid baseball style straight between Shego’s legs and whisked off of the platform, somersaulting neatly to land within a few feet of Ron. He blinked, blushing as Kim pulled her pants up a bit and her shirt down.
“That was… creative…”
“Less talk. More run!”
Grabbing his hand and hauling him a considerably far distance before he started running on his own. Her breath quicken when she realized that Shego was following them and closing in, Kim struggled to settle her thoughts and create an escape plan.
Ok, we’ve got the super-dangerous-time-ripper-flinger-thinger that Wade told us to get. Can’t let them shoot it, can’t let it be shot period. We’ve got to get out of here as fast as we possibly can and make all haste for the nearest safe place. Now, where to exit…
She was about to judge the distance between her, Ron, and the nearest gaping hole when, suddenly, she felt Ron trip. The gun nearly took her out as it flew in the air, catapulting several feet before sliding across the ground. In an instant, Ron was scrambling away from the angered Shego, Kim was sprinting wildly towards the gun to snatch it, and Shego was two feet from pouncing Kim when-
Click!
The gun was triggered as it hit the pile of crates Shego had previously occupied and time seemed to stop as a plasmatic wave of energy rushed forward with a deafening roar. Kim gasped and shielded herself uselessly as Shego crashed into her and sent them both tumbling.
At least, they should have gone tumbling. As the wave engulfed them both, it suspended them in mid-fall. The last thing either of them remembered was Ron’s desperate cry.
“KP!”
“For heaven’s sake, do cover them up…”
“Good heavens, indeed! Look at that dreadful clothing…”
Shego woke up slowly, feeling the ugly throb of her regenerative powers pulsing through her veins. She groaned and opened her eyes. She screamed soon afterward.
“HOLY SHIT!”
A collective gasp ran through the crowd that was surrounding her and a still-unconscious Kim. Shego’s eyes darted from one girl to the next, panic reading clearly in the shifting green orbs. Her head clouded suddenly and she swooned, unable to handle the sight before her.
A tiny, gloved hand reached out and supported her gingerly.
“There, now, dear… Do sit down. Charlotte, bring a chair.”
A chair was brought before her from a corner of what Shego now recognized as a living room of some sort. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before, however. Thick, woven wallpaper of some sort decorate the walls and odd photographs in sepia tones were spaced here and there in intricate gold frames. Everything was lushly expensive yet very strict and rather boring. Shego swayed again, anger and maybe a little terror pounding through her head.
“Where… the hell… am I…”
One of the women stepped forward, a scandalized and angry look apparent on her thin, pale face.
“There’s no need for such language. You ought to be thankful to us. We found you in the stable, strewn everywhere amongst the straw.”
Murmurings of agreement echoed through the small group, aggravating Shego’s newfound headache. It was then that she recognized an odd, almost-but-not-quite British twinge in the women’s speech. Frowning, she tried to rationalize with them.
“Fine. Can you just tell me where I am?”
“Lancaster, New York, of course. Where else did you imagine you were?”
“I could’ve sworn I was in Florida, but whatever.”
“Florida?” One of the ladies stepped forward a bit. Her young and inquisitive face was confused, but it was obvious she was trying to be nice. “Is that nearby? Are you from there?”
Instead of answering her, Shego focused intently on what all of the women were wearing. She had just realized what was so off-putting about this whole thing: they were all in floor-length dresses and corsets, their waists unbearably small and almost unnatural-looking. Taking a deep breath, Shego turned to the one that seemed to be the ringleader.
“Pardon my asking,” she sneered to hide her discomfort. “But what year is it?”
Another shocked murmur. Apparently they were easily excited.
“1859, my dear. Whatever did you think it was?”
At that point, Shego passed out.
Well, end of the intro. Generally I write a bit more, but I wanted to put this out there.
Questions? Comments? Concerns?
Do what you need to do. Another experiment story.
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