"When something calls itself a crocodile, it's really an alligator. I can unequivocally reject the rumors of Agent C being on this earth as nothing more than bedtime fairy-tales or boogeyman spiels. Any little reptilian creature posing as this despicable creature is merely a gator and will be promptly destroyed. This I can promise." The snake queen of the orange bayou leans into the microphone and flashes a toothless, slithering, smile toward a local news station camera. The cardboard box which it is sat upon shifts on the veneer of moss coating the ground such that it almost looks to manipulate the equipment, pushing it in the frame. Sun glitters through the hanging swamp trees and smiles upon the little box. The scent of a Florida YMCA changing room wafts off it like steam. Everything in the coven is good. The leaders gathered here, and those they have brainwashed throughout the orange world.
So they thought.
The problem is, when a snek says one thing, what really happens is the other thing. With a feeble crunch, the box is stomped into a cardboard puddle. A crocodile, crocodile, stands there proud as a loose screw. He whips on a pair of sunglasses and looks the sun right in her gleeful eyes.
"Ah, one of the alligators I was talking about."
The reptile takes a brown hat out of its invisible pockets, and places it on his head with a twist. "Oh. An agent alligator," she laughs. "Cute."
With a look of pure hatred she can't even see, on account of the sunglasses and all, and he says to her "Heyo Mo," with an effortless cool. She gasps, her lips mouthing the word 'agency, agency' over and over, but her mind frozen with fear has all of it so her body is unable to slither away. "You're like a snekcicle, Mo, stuck there such," says Agent C. "How about we heat things up a little... because we all know who the real arsonist of this world is."
With that, he takes off his hat and throws it like a boomerang. The felt rim flies straight at the snake's own invisible pocket, in which she carries her matches and cans of gasoline, and it strikes a singular match. Flames lick at her just as she licks at them, pathetically trying to use her saliva to douse herself. It is too strong, just as her urge to set fires was, and she disappears in an inferno more orange than the world surrounding them.
Some say you can still hear her voice in the vermillion night, but only when her fake cousin isn't around.
Please note this is a response to many many r00d attacks on my character, and that Mo started it.
