The Wrong Genre

The Smell of Defeat

"Your brilliant plan failed spectacularly."

Those were the first words that Maestro heard upon regaining his consciousness. He didn't have the presence of mind to respond with words, so instead he groaned lightly while rolling into his side to nurse his throbbing ribs. It's not like Romulus was looking for a real answer anyway, he'd just let Maestro wallow in his own ire until he was able to stand.

"You've been injured?" He held back a louder groan at that voice— He'd forgotten that the blond hero was wandering around and doubted that insufferable goodie-two-shoes would leave well enough alone. "Is it your ribs?"

A hand was placed lightly on Maestro's side, as if to feel the severity of the injury. Maestro, who had been planning on laying down for at least ten more minutes, or at least until just before Interdit came to, jolted to a sitting position immediately declaring, "I am fine!"

He then almost doubled over immediately from the pain of jarring his ribs, but still managed a glare at his now-sniggering head minion.

"I don't think—" Stravarius replied, again reaching forward to steady the other man, but Maestro stubbornly decided to stand on his own and somehow managed to not hunch over in pain. He sent a stout, determined look at the hero. Stravarius paused a moment, looking concerned, before seeming to decide something. His usual brilliant smile lit his face. "Well that's great, I'm glad you're fine!" He clapped a hand on Maestro's shoulder, and for half a second Maestro almost thought the pain disappeared— but of course it throbbed horribly a second later as Stravarius walked to the still-fallen Interdit, and he took the opportunity of not being watched to double over for a few seconds and let out a silent groan.

Romulus looked even more amused.

"Where is Zakum?" Maestro demanded through gritted teeth, determined to direct the sniggering minion's attention to actual business.

"He and Vertigo are in there scraping stabby from the walls," he scowled. Maestro figured that was a lie and Kyle was fine, because otherwise Romulus would have been much happier.

"Perfect," he muttered, but as he was about to ask a follow-up question a sudden commotion arose from near Stravarius.

"What exactly happened?"

Ah, Interdit had awoken. And he had done it in his usual, bombastic manner.

"The first plan never works, don't you know anything?" Maestro sneered, doing his utmost to cover the pain from his throbbing ribs and his own confusion as well. It was of course true that the first plan never worked, and Maestro had subsequently been planning to fail this assault, but usually it wasn't nearly this bad. Perhaps he was wrong about this being a comedy after all? But no, he still had that ever-present feeling of near hysteria that comedies brought on.

The three from the other room had entered, and Maestro was once again taken aback by their state. Between them all they had bruised ribs (because no way were Maestro's ribs weak enough to fracture, okay?) two head wounds, scrapes and scratches all over, and Flashmob herself was covered entirely with first and second degree burns. Zakum was actually surprisingly healthy-looking, but he did have scrapes and a few minor burns on him as well. The only two completely unscathed were of course Romulus and Stravarius, who hadn't been permitted to join the operation this time, in hopes that in the next, when they actually had a decent chance at winning, they would have some aces in the hole.

"If you didn't come up with a plan that could work, then why did we try it Maestro?" Interdit sneered right back, then turning to look at the others and continuing, "I've been saying from the beginning that he's untrustworthy, he's only trying to get us killed."