One and Two Walk Into a Bar

((It's funny, because One likes dick.))

A woman sat alone at a table, drinking beer. She leaned back in her chair, combat boots resting on the table. Times like this irked here; it was too quiet, just sitting around and relaxing. But her body wasn't made of steel, and resting was necessary--survival was key in this world, after all.

Brushing a strand of auburn hair out of her face, she sighed and glanced around the bar. The patrons chatted idly, none the wiser to her identity--such fools they all were. In a few minutes, she'd rob them blind. It'd serve them right.

In a few minutes, she would have robbed them blind, if not for a slight interruption by a man who could be classified as mentally retarded.

By slight interruption, I mean he kicked in the doors and came prancing in with his thigh high boots, his ridiculously long trail of clothing and his ridiculous crown. Striking a less than fabulous pose, he gestured at a man sitting at the bar.

"YOU THERE!" He proclaimed in the most obnoxious voice possible. "You...must be Number One!"

The man just sort of stared at him. Then again, what would you do in this situation?

Upon receiving no answer, the obnoxious, slightly retarded man placed his hands on his hips and laughed.

"So you are! In that case, you must prepare to die!" He exclaimed, reaching underneath his long trail of clothing to produce two daggers, the handles of which were shaped like brass knuckles.

And that's how poor Bob from accounting died for the 3,829,347th time. This time he was cut clear in half instead of being shot in the face, though. It was sort of an improvement.

"WELL THEN." He said in his obnoxious tone, crossing his arms. "I guess this means I'm Number One, now!"

He laughed, and it sounded kind just as lame as you might expect from someone with hair like his.

The real number sat in silence, watching the man with a blank expression. For once in her life, she was completely speechless, dumbfounded even. How could there exist a human being so stupid?

The bar waited in silence as the TV said nothing. Finally came the news, "The 48th Most Wanted Individual has been slain by the 49th. There is a new 48th Most Wanted." Then, more silence.

Still, he was laughing.

"I am just TOO awesome for my fucking good!" He chortled, seeming highly amused. "Well, guess my work here is done..."

One watched him with narrowed eyes; sighing, she stood up.

"...Put your fucking hands up, you numbnuts."

The stupid man was busy yawning as she spoke, so he missed all of it.

"Did you say something?" He asked, rubbing his eyes and looking thoroughly tired.

Of course, by then, she was standing behind him with a blade to his neck.

"I said, putting your fucking hands up," he repeated quietly into his ear. "That goes for all of you!" she said more loudly, shaking the gun she held in her right hand at the bar's patrons.

Slowly, they all put their hands up.

The man seem less than impressed, however.

"Do you know who I am, cunt?!" He said, his arms still crossed. "I am King Bifrost Temporize Fjalar Downscalator Schadenfreude Gjalp Carcinogenic the THIRD!!"

And then he waited, because normally after people heard his name they shook in TERROR because everyone knew who he was!

JK normally they just laughed, and then Bifrost pouted and cut them half.

Her reaction was different from the norm; rather than laughing, she just kneed him in the balls from behind. This man was obviously insane, in a way so pathetic it wasn't even funny.

"I'm being serious. Put your fucking hands in the air before I count to three, or I will cut you and kill that lady over there." She nodded toward a woman in a pink dress cowering in the corner.

Bifrost looked over at the lady, after he had put his hands on his poor manparts to make sure they were undamaged.

"Well go ahead, she looks like a cunt and she's not even pretty." He remarked, his voice somewhat pained due to the kneeing.

Nodding, One shot the woman in the forehead and made a neat incision on the man's face.

"Do you believe I'm not shitting you, now?" she asked in a bored tone of voice.

"Ow! That's my face, bitch!" He whined childishly. "I cut myself enough with these fuckers enough, I don't need your help!"

He held up his knucleduster knives. "See how sharp these things are?! They're like, really fucking sharp!"

She kneed him again, in the kidneys this time.

"DROP THEM AND PUT YOUR FUCKING MITTS IN THE AIR, OR I CUT OFF YOUR DICK."

He doubled over in pain and, not surprisingly, almost sliced open his own stomach as he tried to touch it to ease the pain. While still holding his favorite knives.

"W-wait!" He panted, whimpering. "Not my dick. I like my dick. A fucking lot."

"THEN DROP THEM AND PUT UP YOUR HANDS!!" she screamed, kicking him again. "Do you think this is a fucking joke?! I don't joke, you brainless piece of shit!"

Whimpering, he relinquished his brass knuckles, dropping them onto the floor.

"Y-you won't take them, right? They're my babies." He said pathetically.

Ignoring him, she quickly sheathed her sword and pointed the gun at his neck. One then invasively frisked him with her free hand, reaching into pockets and even groping his crotch to make sure he wasn't hiding anything there. She pocketed the wallet she found, smiling.

"Take off your shoes, too--I wanna make sure there's nothing left fucking anywhere."

Bifrost smiled at her suddenly.

"No." He said defiantly. "Not unless you frisk me again~ You're such a tease."

He winked. Which didn't exactly work, considering the fact he was wearing an eyepatch.

She raised an eyebrow, giving him an odd look.

"...Excuse me? Just take off your fucking shoes before I hurt you."

He giggled.

"No~ I have to keep my hands up, remember~? So I guess...you have to do it~" He grinned at her expectantly. "You vile temptress, you."

One grunted irritably.

"Fair enough--sit the fuck down," she said, gesturing toward a nearby chair.

Bifrost did as he was told without a second thought.

His boots didn't have a zipper, either. He laced and unlaced them everyday. All the up to his thighs.

Groaning, One set to work on unlacing the first boot; it took her a few minutes to undo the knot, which was oddly convoluted. For an idiot, he knew how to lace boots.

He smiled at her.

"You having fun, sweetheart?" He purred. "This is going to be the beginning of our nights together for the rest of our lives. After I marry you and make a woman out of you, that is."

She glared, digging her nails into his thigh.

"Excuse me? That's a pretty fucking big presumption, asshole."