Ninjas of Love

Dapper Dominatrix's Dungeon of Doom

Charlie Copson stirred upon the mauve-carpeted floor of Glynda Goodwitch's office, his limbs scratched, contused and a fiery, Imperial red from the uneven, lumbering drag (and I ain't talking about Eureka O'Hara, as lumbering as she is) he had experienced to the office at the mercy of Billy's gorilla-esque, reckless hands. Billy stood behind his special delivery, hunched over him involuntarily due to his now-natural bad posture, which appeared almost kyphotic to Emily- who was very interested in medicine, especially joint and orthopaedic problems.

Speaking of the she-devil, she stood aligned with Charlie, to his left as Billy was looking- almost as if she was his bodyguard; the surly Shirley Crabtree to his flamboyant Jimmy Savile. She dared not move her eyes' piercing, sapphire-blue gaze from Glynda's arrow-straight body that appeared somehow at rest despite having posture akin to that of someone being pulled upward with a great force by Master Hand, but occasionally her irises would dart across to skim over her friend's body, as red as a post-1917 Moscow, before rebounding back to their blank stare toward Professor Goodwitch.

Kerian appeared- not uncharacteristically, it has to be said- to have a level of aloofness not befitting the occasion, as he stood slumped next to Charlie's carcass- which was twitching more and more by the second- making Emily's unprofessional and sloppy-looking leaning on her cane whilst her back pushed her head and neck upright with its scoliotic contortions appear downright army-like, whilst Kerian's eyes lacked the composed stoicism of his crippled teammate's and kept dancing around the assistant headmistress' homely, expertly interior designed office-cum-private lounge like the contents of a pinball machine on acid.

Glynda Goodwitch snapped her braided-leather riding crop through the air before letting it land with a resonant, jumpscare-esque snap against the soft, tan skin of her non-dominant left hand. The loud whoosh and abrupt, loud end to the swing had awoken Charlie from his Cardin-induced coma. Groggily, he picked himself up, at first to all fours like some sort of godforsaken furry, and then back onto his feet, where he had been previously, before- as Emily had taken to calling him- Cunt Of The Century, Cardin, had knocked him out cold. His eyes darted around his unfamiliar new surrounding before he turned to Emily. "Where are we?" Charlie whispered, with all the decorum of a man being dragged along the sea floor by his own scrotum, courtesy of a hungry and somewhat perverse shark.

"Take a seat," the blonde woman ordered the team authoritatively. Without a single word or gesture toward the lady with the terrifying angry expression written across her face, the foursome sat down in four of the row of unsanded wooden chairs that sat in front of her solid oak desk.

Glynda herself, however, had elected not to sit down, and hid instead simply kicked her comfortable-looking leather chair on caster wheels aside, so that she was now stood over her desk menacingly, like the raised front end of a cobra just before it sinks its venom-coated fangs into a piece of helpless prey, petrified with fear. She peered over the top of her thin-rimmed spectacles at the hapless team of trainee hunters and one huntress contemptuously. "What," she began to say in a strange voice that was more akin to a soft, quiet scream than anything else, "were you outsiders, you unauthorised personnel, doing in my school? You were a threat to the safety of my pupils and my staff and, most importantly, me. Explain yourselves!"

Charlie stuttered as he opened his mouth and tried to answer her question. "Well... w.. we..."