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Freelance Police Headquarters, Tuesday

There were creepy little snowmen all over the office, which posed all SORTS of unanswered questions.

Where had they come from? What were they doing there? Why weren't they melting? Why did those teensy little scarves make them look so darn CUTE???

Really, though, their presence in Freelance Police Headquarters could mean only one thing:

"TARGET PRACTICE!!!"

The big plate-glass window still had their logo on it, followed by the line

Our Rates Are Better!

And there was still another sign in the window, one that read

NOW HIRING
Employees Must Furnish Own Gun

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And help them shoot snowmen.

Freelance police? What the heck did that mean? Murdock just had to stop in and ask.

"Hey, dudes, what's..." A rabbit and a dog? Blink. "Freelance police?"

He hadn't been expecting to find ... well, animals.

"Dudes?" Max asked, as he put a few bullets through a snowman by Murdock's feet. "DUDES? We are not DUDES, my friend, we are highly qualified freelance police!"

"Yah, I can see that," he said as he watched the poor, defenseless snowman gain a few holes.

"So what exactly do you do as freelance police? Besides shoot winter decor?"

"We investigate crimes," Sam said, picking off a few lined-up snowmen with clean head shots. They were asking for it. "Maim evil-doers, subdue unruly mobs, embezzle money from the U.S. Treasury. Have you got a case for us? We've been here a month and haven't arrested anyone yet."

Not that they had the authority to arrest anyone, but this rarely stopped them.

"We LIKE cases," Max agreed. "Especially ones that involve shooting winter decor."

"Erm...no. I ain't got no cases for ya. So y'all like, fight bad guys? Like dudes that pick on helpless folk?"

He just needed to check.

Max cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. "Yes, my friend," he announced, in his talking-down-to-the-masses voice, "like ALL dudes that pick on helpless folk, like all people who fight crime with completely inappropriate force, like all people everywhere who use senseless violence not as a last resort, but as a first, second, and ONLY resort -- like all of everyone who's just a little bit psychotic inside..."

Max thumped a fist against his heart and wiped a tear from his eye.

"Like all of them, we do it for you, for the little guy. ...For a fee. Thank you, and good night."

Hrm. He wasn't quite sure about the bits of senseless violence and inappropriate force... oh wait. Then again...

He grinned. "I like that. Me and some friends of mine do something pretty similiar. Sometimes we even manage to get paid."

"You're freelance police, too?" Sam asked, looking impressed. "Can we see your badge? I bought mine in a store."

Stores would sell anyone a badge.

"No, I ain't quite police. But I am freelance. Hrm...let me see what I got here."

Murdock started digging around in his coat pockets. "Oh hey! I still got this!"

A nice, shiny plastic star that said Sherrif. "I'm not Sherrif anymore," he added. "I did do a brief stint as a Sherrif once though."

Yes, really.

"Oooh! Oooh! Deputize me! DEPUTIZE ME!!!"

Max gleefully launched himself at Murdock's lapels, trying to throttle him eagerly.

Murdock laughed. "Okay, okay. By the power invested in me by the planet Gozer, I herby Deputize you in the name of The Wee Folk. You are now to be known as Deputy ... er. What is your name, anyway?

"That's Max," Sam said. "President Max, until he gets impeached. I'm Sam, and that over there is Vice-President Spatula. Buckethead here thought the aquatic demographic was important for his re-election."

Not that Sam was still upset about his demotion. Much.

"I let you be Vice President for months," Max protested. "Deputy Max. I like the sound of that. ...Does that mean I have a license to kill?" He aimed his gun around the room dangerously.

"President Deputy Max," Murdock smirked. "I should bring Socky by sometime to meet Spatula and Buckethead."

"But, I don't think that comes with any kind of licensing, Max. Sorry, bud."

He thought for a minute. "So ... you guys lookin' to hire people? How many you got so far?"

"You could ask the legislature to pass one, if they weren't currently trying to impeach you," Sam said to Max. "Maybe issue an executive order? The courts can't strike all of them down."

He nodded to the newcomer. "Two, so far. If you don't count any of the battle robots. We left most of those back in New York. Are you looking for work? If so, do you have a gun, any prior felonies, life-threatening allergies, and do you object to being paid funds embezzled from hard-working taxpayers?"

"Oh, Sam, you poor naive fool," Max chided. "There ARE no 'hard-working' taxpayers."

"Well, I might be. Usually I teach, but maybe it's time for a bit of a change."

He considered it for a moment. "I do have a gun, two, in fact. No felonies, though I have been committed to a psych ward, no allergies and since I get money from the VA, you could say I kinda already get paid by the taxpayers."

"Actually committed," Max asked, "or did you just spend a night there so you could mess with the patients' heads? That's always fun."

He looked at Murdock with a new sense of respect. "I'm psychotic, schizophrenic, disassociative, and misanthropic, with delusions of grandeur. What are you?"

"Oh no, I was put away. Been there for over ten years."

"Well, I got the disassociative, delusions of gradeur, personfication and hallucinations."

"I've gotten better," he added.

"That's okay," Sam reassured him. "We'll hire you anyway. When would you like to start?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. I still got one last class to run this week, and next week's ~~my mun is afk~~ Christmas, so sometime after then?"

"You know where to find us," Sam said cheerfully. "We're not planning on going anywhere. Unless the angry mob of elected officials catches up to us. In which case, we'll leave a note."

He grinned and laughed. "I know that one. Well, sorta. 'Cept in my case it tends to be orderlies instead of elected officials. I have to give 'em the slip every once in a while, ya know. Otherwise, I'd never get out!"

"So, I'll just swing by sometime after the holiday and we can work out a schedule then?"

Please? Oh, please, please please please?

The phone. The phone is riiiiiiiinging

Max's ears perked up. The PHONE!!!

"I GOT IT!!! I GOT IT!!!"

His toenails scrabbled for purchase against the smooth wood floor as he tried to run for the phone.

THE PHONE!!!

"Oh, no, you don't!" Sam insisted, diving for Max's ankle and yanking back on it, hard.

Max grabbed at the throw rug -- the Presidential Seal that they'd cut out of the rug of the Oval Office floor -- and both it and him were flung back against the closet. The muffled thumps inside meant Leonard was probably hungry again.

"It's MINE! I got it!!!"

Max threw a few knives (don't ask where he pulled them from) at Sam, then flung himself forward.

Sam dodged the knives and flung himself at the table, sending the answering machine and phone both flying.

The phone landed upside-down, with the receiver off the hook a few inches away.

Score! Sam scooped it up with one hand while aiming a kick at Max's midsection with his leg.

"Freelance police," he said, hoping he didn't sound too out of breath. And that whoever it was hadn't hung up yet.

All the breath went out of Max with a "whumph!", and he clung weakly to Sam's foot, dangling in the air.

Alas, Hell would (yes, canonically) freeze over before he would ever get to answer the phone.

"Hello? Is this Pizza Planet?"

"That depends," Sam said, still riding the victory high of a successful phone tackle. "How much are you willing to pay for a pizza, and how edible would it need to be?"

"I've got five bucks. What would that get me?"

"Some dried-out string cheese on a used paper plate," Sam said. "And you'd have to pick it up yourself."

"I also have a packet of Juicy Fruit. Would that get me a crust?"

Sam eyed the donut box. The one that was growing its own civilization. There were a few bits that looked remarkably donut-like, if somewhat moldy.

"Sure!" he said. "We're feeling generous. Remember to bring your coupon."

They're probably hiding a cow.

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Freelance Police Headquarters, Tuesday

Talk to Sam and Max

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Phone

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OOC