Tales to Astonish!

As the room came back into focus, settling down from the multicolored kaleidoscopic rainbow effects of the Chronobot, I struggled to get my wits about me. You know how rainbows affect wits, and kaleidoscopes even more so, right?

I was on the floor, this much was obvious, given the intricate ceiling tiles above me, although – truth be told – they would have made for a very fashionable wall.

Well, if you ignored the light fixture protruding at 90 degrees, you know, had this even been a wall. I’ve seen a lot in my many years of adventuring, be it the many faces of pure evil, agonizing tortures barely escaped, or the rare pair of boobies or three (don’t ask – Siamese twins with chesty things in odd numbers) – but a light fixture protruding at 90 degrees from a wall would have been simply too much.

Or perhaps just a particularly thin and decorative sconce. Tasteful, even, given the decor.

Hard to say, really.

So, there I was on the floor, which was obvious, as I believe I have already pointed out.

I scrambled to my feet just in time to see several Nazis bound through the half-open, half-temporally-vaporized doorway, guns drawn and teeth fanged to a vampiric perfection. It was anyone’s guess if they had time-bending abilities, but better to overestimate than get stuck with a run of the mill vampire Nazi, or whatever cliche you care to make from that.

I snatched the Reuben from the floor where it lay after leaving its imprint upon my forehead, and began dissecting its contents. I loaded up each slice of bread with the fixings and flung the two halves at the Nazis, informing them with a wink, a half nod, and even a bit of a smile that they were in trouble.

The two lead Nazis caught the inbound bread and looked at it, then to me.

“That’s right, Bloody Krauts,” I said, particularly proud of the blending of vampirism with an ethnic insult, “you’ve got a handful of garlic paste!”

They shrieked and played hot potato, tossing the breaded weapons amongst themselves, dashing about in a circled panic, knowing their end was near. In the mayhem, I bolted for the nearest window, which – alas – was not the broken one, requiring me to shatter yet another fine piece of Finnish glass work, arms tangled in the draperies. I slid down to an awning and bounced into the street.

As I crossed the road, I turned to look up at the window.

In it stood a Nazi vampire. He shouted, “Curse you, American, this is mayo!” And he was soon joined by another who held aloft the other piece of bread, crying “…and this is Thousand Island Dressing! Even though they don’t call it that in Europe!”

Oh, yes, they knew they had been had by the best have haver around. And if I haver, yeah I know I’m gonna be. I’m gonna be the man who’s havering to you. But I would walk 500 miles.

Or travel the years.

All to find my Mr. Lady and solve the mystery of the Retropolitan once and for all.

Until the next installment, anyway.