[nov challenge] fic

All right. Last column challenge! Now all I have left is two line prompts, two lyric prompts, and three image prompts. I'm not saying I'll do all those. But they're what I have left. ^_^

This fic and my last one are rather lackluster, so I'll have to make my next one extra fun (and actually slashy) to make up for it. Smutty or angsty or something. Does anyone wanna give me a prompt that I can combine with the challenge prompt? I think it might help me out some..... Seriously. Please give me a prompt! ♥

Ganbatte to all the other writers out there!! At the end of the challenge I'll be making a post with a link to all the challenge fics. =^_^= Just four more days left, plus the two extra. Write, write, write!! *pumps fist*

Challenge Two: Mix & Match Columns #4

crossover
wine
bank
first person


"Crime Really Doesn't Pay"
by KnM

You wanna know who the most unlucky guy in the world is?

I'm that guy.

Don't believe me? All right, then. Let me tell you my story. It's not as though I've got anything else to do, sitting here in this miserable cell, waiting for my trial.

So it was on a Wednesday that I decided to rob the Metropolis Bank. I should have known it would be trouble, because Wednesday has always been unlucky for me. But I thought that it wouldn't matter, because it was a Monday that I actually did it. Or tried to do it.

So I guess Mondays are unlucky for me too.

I thought I had a perfect plan. The gun, the disguise, the get-away car. It could have worked. It should have worked. It would have worked, I swear to you.

If only there hadn't been so many freaking superheroes doing their banking in the Metropolis First Central Bank on that Monday afternoon.

You think I'm exaggerating? Let me tell you, I'm not.

Here's how it went down. I walked into the bank, already wearing my disguise. I thought it was pretty clever; I was dressed as the Daredevil. Flashy, bright, no one would be looking at my face, right? And if I was lucky, they might think I was the real thing before I pulled out my gun. Never mind that I'm almost a foot shorter and fifty pounds heavier than the Daredevil, mostly around my waist. You wouldn't notice that at a glance, okay?

It went to plan at first. There were only a handful of patrons, two clerks in the entire building, and the costume made for a clever distraction. Or so I thought.

The first sign of trouble was the fact that one of the patrons refused to get down when I brandished my gun and demanded that everyone hit the floor. Real slick guy in a fancy suit. At first he just laughed at me, maybe because of the bright red spandex, I don't know.

I repeated myself, this time with the muzzle of my gun nudging him under his stubborn chin, to try and prove my point.

He protested, siting his fine designer suit, and his reluctance to dirty it on the well-traveled floor of the bank lobby.

I made it a point of insisting, and eventually he saw the wisdom of complying. I was just as glad not to have to resort to violence, though I would've, if I'd needed to. Wipe that smug smirk off his face.

The next bit of trouble was the guy who was snapping photos all his way to the floor and kept on going until I kicked his camera across the room. He whined when it busted against the wall, but what the hell did he expect? I was robbing the bank; the last thing I needed was photographic evidence of my crime!

The last guy in the lobby was big, but he was a complete nerd with thick glasses and a blank, stupid expression. He hit the floor readily enough, and I was at least glad that I wasn't getting any trouble from him. He had a bag of groceries that spilled all over, but I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was busy arguing with the rich jerk and dealing with the wise-guy and his camera.

Let me tell you, that was a mistake.

After making sure that the patrons were sufficiently cowed, I approached the counter with my gun. The clerks were smart, and I only had to wave my weapon around a little before they were filling my bag. It about made me drool, seeing all that lovely cash, and within moments I held it in my hand. I was pretty sure that one of the clerks had pushed a silent alarm, but I had my disguise, a fast car, and I was about to zip out the door. I'd be long gone before the cops showed, and no one would be able to identify me.

It would have been perfect. It should have been perfect.

Then I turned around and found myself face-to-face with Spiderman.

You heard me right. Freaking Spiderman. Metropolis is not this guy's territory! What the hell he was doing there, in that bank, I'll never know. It's not as though I was planning on asking him. Just chalk it up to bad luck, I suppose.

He took my gun out with his webbing, and tried to snag my loot. I held onto that, though, and shouldered my way past the guy. He's a superhero, right, but I don't think he was expecting me to shove him, because I actually made it through. I might even have gotten away too, if I hadn't tripped over the groceries that were strewn over the floor.

Slipped on a banana. Literally. How wrong is that, I ask you?

I'd lost my gun, so I grabbed the closest thing to hand. It was a bottle of wine; easy to hold, with some nice heft to it. I figured maybe I could club my way free or something....

Then I managed to lurch to my feet, and there was Batman.

You heard me. Batman. In Metropolis! I stay the hell out of Gotham just to avoid this guy! I mean, what the frick was he doing in Metropolis?! That's Superman's city.

Batman's tough, but a wine bottle to the head can stagger even a scary superhero dressed all in black body armor. The glass actually shattered, which says something both about how hard I hit him and how thick his bat helmet is.

I started running, leaving my loot on the floor, intent only on escape.

After a couple of seconds of flailing legs and elbows, I realized that I wasn't going anywhere. There was a hand at my collar, holding me in place.

I knew even before I looked that it wasn't Spiderman.

Nope. It was Superman.

You heard me right. Superman. Not really surprising in Metropolis, I suppose. But I still blame my bad luck.

Not one, not two, but three superheroes, all intent on foiling my bank robbery. I don't think I'm unjustified in feeling a little picked on. I hadn't even killed anyone, and here I was, being set upon by Spiderman, Batman, and Superman!

If that doesn't make me the most unlucky guy in the world, I don't know what would. Seriously.

Then it seemed as though my luck had changed. All three of them started arguing. It would have made me laugh if I hadn't been dangling from Superman's big paw, to hear them quarreling like gradeschoolers. As far as I was concerned the other two were definitely trespassing on Superman's territory, but since Superman had a hold on me, I was feeling a little less than sympathetic toward him.

They were all distracted, and my Daredevil costume snapped up the back. Just a little squirming and I was out of the top and ready to run out the door, modesty bedamned. Sure, it was unlikely that I'd be able to get away with three heroes after me, one of which could fly, but I had to try, right? Couldn't just let them haul me in.

So three guys in silly superhero costumes were standing around screaming at each other. I was wearing half a costume and had absolutely no powers. Still, I think I might have been able to escape. I had a few moments of surprise, since they were just so shocked that I was suddenly running.

That's when I slipped on the wine.

Ironic, huh? Or just plain stupid, I don't know.

Then the cops came busting in.

Bad luck, I tell you.

So, I lost my gun, lost my loot, and got hauled out of the bank with no shirt, my chest soaked with spilled wine and spotted with coffee grounds, which were also on the floor from the scattered groceries.

Ganged up on by three superheroes, and I had even been dressed as one of their own!

Naturally, none of them stuck around while my rights were read. Bastards.

Turned out that of the three customers on the bank that I robbed, one was a newspaper reporter, one was a newspaper photographer, and the last was freaking Bruce Wayne, the billionaire playboy.

Yup. I've got the luck, me.

Bad luck, that is.

What? You still don't think that I'm the most unlucky guy in the world? Thwarted in my bank robbery by Spiderman, Batman, and Superman, written up in the Daily Planet and the Daily Bugle, mug shots and all, and that smarmy rich-boy pressing charges? Not to mention the public humiliation of being marched out of the bank without a shirt, looking as though I'd rolled in a dumpster?

Fine. If that's not enough to convince you of my bad luck, you might consider my cellmate at the moment.

When they brought me in here they took away my Daredevil outfit and put me in the usual convict orange. But the guy sitting on the bunk underneath mine is all decked out in a blue bodysuit, complete with a mask and two segmented antennae bobbing atop his head. They tried to put him in one of the orange outfits, but he was too big to fit in any of them. He's a complete freak.

And if he doesn't stop singing that little song about the frog and the cheese, I swear I'm going to bang our heads together until one of us becomes unconscious.

I'm telling you now. I am the most unlucky guy in the world.

And I defy anyone to tell me otherwise.