DoofQuest- a Disney Villains Victorious CK2-Style Quest

AProcrastinator said:

"Not to mention," Max continued, "Nick's does a, kinda sorta, slam poetry reading every Friday. Open mic!"

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Vanessa Doofenschmirtz was a Doofenschmirtz.

Shocking, right? Unbelievable. Astounding. Without precedence. Truly, a discovery which would shake the academic world for years and years to come.

Bear with us here.

Vanessa Doofenschmirtz was a Doofenschmirtz. Had been one her entire life. From crib made of oddly stable rare earth metals, to first car with a ferret-powered engine and about a bajillion airbags, Doofenschmirtz had been how she was born, how she was raised, and who she was – whether she liked it or not.

So Vanessa was used to weird things, like aliens and platypi agents and two very different Christmases, because that was just part and parcel of being Doofy, right? The strange, the unusual, the whimsical and wild, eh, old hat. Magic is real? Spooky, but nbd. Toonkind making a beeline for "Doofania" every passing day? Hey, welcome aboard; we could use the laughs. Robot that dad built calls him 'father' more often than she does? Well, not like it's exactly a competition. Dr. Heinz Doofenschmirtz, daddy dearest, finally got his bony fingers wrapped around the Tri-State area? Good for papa, but, uh, probably not as much as he thinks he does. Government agent works for them, now? Fine. Whatever. It's all good.

Weird stuff was normal. Normalcy was relative. Basically nothing in the entire world could be called 'odd' at this point in her life.

...but there being a line? To a bookstore's Open Mic Poetry Night?

Yeah, that was a little weird.

The unsettling nature of her new reality didn't end there. "Gotta say, Max: you're way more of an onion than I figured you for."

Max's mood remained cheery, upbeat, carefree, but – his blink. It was audible. "Run that one by me again?"

"She means you're multilayered, dude," Janna nudged him. She hadn't talked much today, but her 'not talking much' was equivalent to anyone else's 'normal conversationalist', so. "'S'a compliment."

Max thought this over. "Why not a cake?" he asked, eventually. "Cakes have layers."

"I will not hesitate to apply icing," Janna replied. "You know this. I know this. We all know this."

"Why would you frost an onion?" Max rested his elbow on Janna's head. "That's so weird."

"Not weird." Janna reacted to being an armrest in no visible way. "Ironic. Big diff."

"I always thought it was caramel for onions." Vanessa mused. Trick people into thinking they're candy apples, right?"

"This isn't Halloween," Max waved her off. "Just smells like it, is all. Gah, I swear, they bring out the pumpkin spice earlier and earlier each year…"

"And that right there is why you can't be cake, Maxie," Vanessa said. "Pumpkin spice is a holy tradition, and I will not be party to blasphemy in my presence."

"You know what?" Max said. "That is a sacrifice I am willing to make, in order to stand up for what is right."

"Line's movin'," Janna said, still making no moves to push Max's arm off.

"Oh, hey, it is," Max said, and the teenagers shuffled forwards together. Again, arm still on head.

"That is how lines work, huh?" Vanessa said. "But, yeah. Onion. Not cake. Still multilayered." Vanessa poked Max's shoulder. "Point is, I … hadn't much pegged you for iambic pentameter, my man."

"You're thinkin' Shakespeare," Janna turned to her, a little. "Slam poetry's more … eh, free-form, I guess? Like straight black vs. pumpkin spice."

"Yeah, it was a real surprise to hear you were gonna be reading something," Vanessa said, slightly louder, also putting her arm on Janna's had. "Not gonna lie – half the reason I'm here is to see if I didn't somehow repeatedly mishear you on that."

Max sighed, bellowing, blustery, rubbing the back of his head with his free hand. "I've, uh, written a few pieces," he said, staring straight ahead. "It's, uh. First time. Big thing. Whoof."

Vanessa nodded, a little. "Something your dad doesn't have anything to do with, huh?" She took a second look at the coffee shop they were slowly, inexorably hurtling towards. "Scary and liberating, and all by yourself? Like bungee-jumping."

Max chuckled. "Yeah, that's …" Another chuckle, smaller, an elongated cringe. "'Bout the gist of it, all things considered, yeah."

"You are freakishly good at reading people," Janna said, ignoring the way that her beanie was starting to slip over her eyes. "And that's me saying that. What's your secret?"

"Find a flow and go with it," Vanessa shrugged, ducking her head a little. "And, uh, I just remembered that we are currently 'flowing' in a very public place, in a line where anyone can overhear us, so, uh … sorry about bringing it up?"

"No, no, it's -" Max paused, shuffling forwards further. Still, Janna remained firmly lodged under both of their arms. "It's not like I'm keeping it a secret that I've been walking in dear old dad's footsteps for as long as I can remember."

"And nobody's got feet big enough to fill those shoes," Janna said. Probably by accident.

"You're not wrong," Max deadpanned.

"My dad's are too small for me," Vanessa shrugged. "Metaphorically speaking, at least. While we're bringing up parental issues, and all."

Without words, in total agreement, Max and Vanessa both looked down to Janna.

Janna, with the beanie firmly over her eyes, couldn't see either of them.

Still, somehow, she knew: "My dad once bought me the wrong kind of ice cream. Now that was traumatic."

It wasn't Janna's usual style of joke, but that just made it funnier, somehow. All three of them were sent into quiet, giggling hysterics for two or three shuffles forwards.

"Ahhhh," Max finally sighed, snickering a couple last times. "Y'know, not to be super sappy about all this, but after that whole trip to the Who-the-Heck-Cares Mountains, it's … it's actually pretty nice?"

"All of us getting out to do stuff together?" At Max's nod, Vanessa continued. "Yeah, I'll toast to that. Pumpkin spice and bitter black, hand in unloveable hand."

"I'm down for it," Max agreed. "As long as we can both agree not to get mochas, like some kind of deranged psychopaths."

Both Vanessa and Max shivered, dramatic effect.

"Eh, try 'em iced sometime," Janna said, smirking, inspecting her nails. Again, beanie over her eyes, but still. "Coffee's best served sweet, and coffee's best served cold. Y'know. Like revenge."

"Sorry, Janna Banana," Vanessa said, very proud of herself for the impromptu nickname, "But I've had the distinct misfortune to witness to a good chunk of my dad's petty revenge schemes over the years. Experience tells me it's, uh, awfully hard to sound spooky and/or appropriately petty when you can't even see where it is you're going."

"You're probably gonna feel some bad omens over the next couple days." Janna shot back. "That's completely normal. Everything working exactly as intended."

"Speaking of bad omens," Max segued, "Where's the golden goose gone off to? You didn't happen to forget a certain fowl-headed friend of ours back in the luggage compartment, did you, Janna Banana?"

"That's just my nickname now, huh?"

"Absolutely," Max said, fast, eager. "No chance of escaping it."

"One million percent," Vanessa agreed, a little giddy.

"...you know what, I can roll with that," Janna smirked. "As for Felldrake, eh … not a big fan of amateur poetry. He, uh …"

Janna snorted at her own upcoming joke.

"He ducked out."

Ba-dum, tsh.

Janna turned, smiling, and raised her beanie off of one eye. "Oh, thanks, dude!"

"No, thank you!" the man in line behind them said, cradling his drum set. "I've been itching for a chance to bust out these bad boys all day!"

Again, mused Vanessa, Sometimes life in Danville is too weird even for me.


As it turned out, the book store's seating was nowhere near maximum capacity.

The line was, specifically, for the coffee.

"Why did the Doof name your robo-sister Princess Coffee Java, anyway?" Janna asked Vanessa, apropos of nothing. "Like, don't get me wrong, I'm all about this upcoming shonen arc where all the malevolent AI overlords in the miniboss squad are theme-named after foodstuffs, but I am wondering how your dad, of all people, got on board with the idea."

"Honestly?" Vanessa's face did something complicated. "I have no clue. Like, daddy's always been terrified of what he calls the 'Vending Machine Uprising.'"

Janna coughed, in a delighted way, somehow. "Wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, actually," Vanessa shrugged. "Maybe naming CJ after a beverage was … I dunno. Some kind of way to get a handle on the mug, I guess." She pondered. "Not … exactly in-character for him, though."

"I dunno if I can do this," Max broke in.

"No sweat, dude, I can order for ya," Janna pat him on the shoulder, utterly sincere. "One large cuppa, black as midnight. Not hard to rememb –"

"You're not talking about ordering the coffee, are you?" Vanessa asked.

"Oh," Janna blinked.

"Maybe we should just leave," Max said, all at once. "Just – forget the whole thing, right? I mean, let's face it, I need to confront my caffeine dependence sooner or later!"

"Not while we're around, you don't," Vanessa said, stepping up next to him, arm around his shoulders. After a second, her confidence wavered. "Er. The leaving thing, not the, uh. The too much caffeine thing. You probably should look into that one."

"I'm not a performer, like dad!" Max somehow managed to scream, within a whisper. "I'm not a poet, like John Keats! I'm not even a street magician; how am I supposed to pull this outta my hat?!"

"Alright," Vanessa calmly said. "Mixing our metaphors, here. What's up?"

Max sighed, whole body drooping. "Nothing. Nothing! Just …" A groan. "Just waiting for the other too-big shoe to drop on my head, that's all."

Vanessa considered this, then nodded. "Okay, yeah. Not the best track record for things going right, right?"

"Right," Max grumbled, but- shuffled forwards, nevertheless. "Right, right, right, right, right." He exhaled, more than sighed again. Big, and bold. "Lotta people, here."

"Pressure," Vanessa empathized. "I gotcha."

"It's just - " Max began, paused, and began again: "I've just gotten so used to life pulling a trick on me. Somewhere, somehow, some … I dunno, some metaphorical anvil or literal bolt of lightning's gonna fall on me. Outta the blue. Someone's gonna …" He scoffed. "Poison the coffee, or something. Or maybe I'll just end up wreaking."

"You think failure's built in, for you?" Vanessa asked – well. Whispered. This seemed a little more private than rolling your eyes about your embarrassing father.

"Toon, right?" Max whispered back. "Born for the role. And, and, besides, we – we all know I suck at talking about the whole -" Hrngh. "The whole 'feelings' thing. That's basically what this whole 'slam poetry' jam's about."

"Can't do it in pieces," Vanessa said. "Gotta go whole-hog, or nothing at all. Pretty scary stuff."

"Exactly!" Max still whispered, but a little louder. "I just … look," he changed tacks, all of a sudden, "Signups are almost closed, anyway. If we went now, we'd lose our place in line, and trust me, slam poetry without coffee is a real bad scene."

"It's okay," Vanessa wasn't sure what else to say. "Just breathe."

Max did. In, and out, and in, and out. "I dunno if I can do this," he repeated.

"What we need is a plan of attack."

Both members of the huddle turned, a little surprised, to see Janna, chin in hand, clearly plotting.

"Three of us. Three objectives." Janna slowly nodded, eyes darting around the room even as she outlined. "Pretty simple split-up job. Alright. Max, you're gonna need as much support as we can give, so Vanessa Fresca and I, we're front-and-center. That means we need to grab a table up there before we get crowded out, and that means we need someone who's not afraid to take up space and drive people off. That's yours truly."

Smiling wide, Janna threw out jazz hands, before seriousing back up and turning to Vanessa.

"Meanwhile, you? Friendly face? You're on coffee duty." she set her hands on Vanessa's shoulders, face serious and solemn. "Turn on the natural charm. Make 'em make it fast, make 'em make it strong, and make 'em like you while they do it. We want the best stuff Paper Nick's can muster up, and free refills if you can swing it. We wanna be able to toast our success, here."

"Uh," Vanessa blinked rapidly, trying to catch up to wherever the heck Janna was going. "Oh. Okay, then! Sure. I can do that."

Janna nodded, firmly, and turned back to Max. "Meanwhile, you? My dude? Pretty obvious to say, but you're on signup duty. Clock's gonna strike seven, so you gotta get over there fast, right? This whole dang operation hinges on getting you up on that stage!"

"But I can't!" Max almost shouted, spreading his arms almost wide enough to knock over the Nonfiction section. "Look, I'm – I'm grateful you're trying to be all gung-ho about this, but -"

"Bup-bup-bup," Janna said, putting her finger rather harshly over Max's lips. "Listen to me." She leaned in close. "You got this."

"I don't -"

"You keep saying this weird stuff about not expressing yourself well, but dude," Janna laughed. "We always know what you're thinking. Both me and Vanessa! You say grumpy, I say …" She shrugged. "Assertive. Passionate. Confident. Well aware of yourself and your own needs."

"You don't understand, Janna!" Max said, pulling away and rubbing his temples. "I need – I can't – I don't -"

"Dude," Janna set her hand on his shoulder. "Dude."

"What?!"

"To be honest, yeah, you do mess up a lot, sure," she said, almost off-hand. "You don't need a long list of reasons and examples telling you 'cause, well, you already know all that. But there's something else that you don't know."

Max sighed, resigned. "And what would that be?"

"Yourself." Gently, Janna cupped Max's cheeks, looking him in the eye. "I know you, Max. You're better than you think you are."

And, wonder of wonders – at this, Max barked out a laugh. Not quite a full and hearty belly laugh, no, but … genuine, for its small size. "When'd you get so sappy?"

"Poetry brings it out in me," Janna said, letting go, and standing back. "Now…" she breathed in, exhaled all at once. "I wanna see what it brings out in you."

For a few moments, Max just stood there.

"I can do this," he finally muttered.

"You're a superstar," Janna affirmed.

"I can do this," he said.

"I'm in your corner."

"I can do this!" he shouted.

"Atta boy."

"I CAN DO THIS!" Max screamed, and everyone in Paper Nick's turned to look at him. Heedless of that, though, he ran off: "Hey, mac! I wanna sign up for the poetry reading!"

Janna chuckled, watching him go. "And he calls me the weirdo."

Vanessa looked back and forth between Janna and Max's retreating form. Just, a few times. Maybe more. "Uhhhh…"

Janna jumped, and turned to Vanessa, eyes wide, face red. "Ah!" she aid, attempting to fall back into her usual laid-back style. "Right!"

"What was … that?" Vanessa asked, sort of chuckling.

"I gotta grab a table for us," Janna continued, as though Vanessa hadn't said anything. "Think you can resist grabbing Nervous Nedison something in pumpkin spice?"

"Probably the most difficult task I've ever faced," Vanessa chuckled some more. "Buuuut I think I can handle it."

"Right," Janna said, not leaving for the table. "Cool. You sure?"

"Pumpkin spice latte," Vanessa indicated herself, "Black," Max, at the signup booth, "Iced Caramel Mocha," and Janna.

Janna chewed on this for a moment. "Actually, make mine plain black too."

"Really?" Vanessa asked, shuffling once more forwards in line. Just one person ahead of them, now. "You sure?"

"Hotter than the depths of hell," Janna intoned, voice deep and gravelly, a parody of, perhaps, every detective movie that had never existed. "Blacker than a moonless night. That's coffee." She laughed. "How was that? Suit the ambiance?"

"Seven outta ten," Vanessa said, poking Janna in the forehead. "I should've known as soon as I saw the beanie and the flannel. Hipster at heart, huh?"

"The mocha is still the superior form of drink, but I can admit that plain's perfect for poetry. In like, an aesthetic sense."

And before she continued, Janna paused.

Looked over Max's way.

Stared for a bit, smile softening into something … spookily sincere on Janna's face.

"Besides," she said, "Feel like tonight's about trying new things."

And something about that was niggling the back of Vanessa's mind. But …

… she had a Janna to respond to. "Alright, alright," Vanessa raised her hands in surrender. "Pumpkin spice latte and two black as your heart. Anything else? Biscotti?"

"Nah, I'm good," Janna waved her off. "You take care of this. I'mma grab that table. Laters!"

Something in Vanessa expected, despite the nonsense inherent in the thought, for Janna to pull a board and some shades out of nowhere, turn her beanie backwards, and skate away. But no. She ran off.

Still. More weird afoot in Danville, tonight.

It was lucky that Vanessa was, in fact, relatively charming, when she wanted to be, and that she was half-well known as the eminently reasonable daughter of the kook who pretended to be the ruler of the Tri-State area. It meant that doing exactly as Janna commanded – proper coffee, and finagling some free refills – was something that took no effort at all.

Leaving her mind clear, throughout the entire transaction, to think on her friends.

Cause, yeah, like, she got it. From the outside, they were the weird ones. Kind of from the inside, too. Like the setup for a bad joke; two teenage girls and a toon walk into a bar…

… or a bookstore, as the case may be.

They weren't deep thoughts. Vanessa was never a fan of those, anyhow; depth wasn't something you got from yourself by mining. You peeled your psyche, one layer at a time, and the core of the matter will show up … eventually.

Your life is all the time you have in the world. But that was the opposite of a reason to rush.

Long and short of it is, Vanessa thought about the friendships she'd found, rather than the coffee she carried. Max made her feel steadier, like somehow, even in a hurricane of strange happenstance, things were going to turn out okay in the end. Janna made her feel bolder, like – like she might be able to affect the things around her, and be a part of everything everyone else seemed to be.

And for them, maybe she was…

… well. Maybe she'd ask them, someday.

Janna'd gotten a table, Vanessa could see. Exactly three chairs, front and center. Max was already sitting down, and both he and Janna lit up as Vanessa approached. And all jokes they'd be certain to make aside, it wasn't the coffee that they were so glad to see.

It was her. She knew that. She felt that.

Max sat on one side, and Janna on the other. A seat was saved in the middle.

Someone weird, wanting to be normal.

Someone normal, wanting to be weird.

And Vanessa, in between the two.

Poetic, or something.