The King of Camp

Sweet mother of Venus, he was a hit-man, not a therapist. But after the anger of the Evil Emperor had expended itself after yet another fruitless attempt at conquest, somebody had to be there to pick up the pieces.

So that was Warp's job, every single time.

(And he would die before admitting it, but he considered it the One Valid Reason to leave in the middle of a date. Usually, it was a brainpod making The Call, the notification that His Royal Purpleness was crashing. At which point Warp would apologize to the lovely lady across the table, ask for a rain check, and rocket back to Planet Z.)

"Can't an Evil Emperor get some popcorn around here? Maybe a horror film or two? Is that too much to ask?"

Warp had long since concluded that Zurg's parents had spoiled him rotten—he was pretty sure the man had never really grown up.

There would be buckets of popcorn: buttered, caramel, and this weird oozy green stuff that made Warp shudder. Zurg loved the taste, though, so he cheerfully overrode all objections (are you sure that's even food? don't look like it to me, big guy.) from his Number One Agent.

And there would be zombie flicks. Which personally bored Warp, but Zurg loved 'em. (So much delightfully horrific gore! What art! What taste!)

"Big Z, they're all the same. And brains. You do realize you freak out exactly one third of your staff when you watch this stuff?"


Why the heck did he feel like the big brother in this relationship? He didn't even know how old Zurg was.

If therapy sessions extending to being dragged along on excursions into deepest, darkest Tradeworld, Warp tried his hardest to look like he didn't know Mr. Tall, Dark, and Campy. Emphasis on the "campy." Zurg wasn't an evil emperor—he was the flippin' King of Camp.

They usually came home with bags of literal junk—and guess who carried those bags?—and a high sugar content in their bloodstreams. Zurg had a sugar tolerance beyond anything Warp had ever seen before, even in Jo-Adians. The man could down an entire gallon of ice cream and not crash. Come to think of it, Warp kind of envied him that ability.

Then it was to bed for them both, and, when Warp woke up, Zurg would already be two hours into his next scheme.

Never-ending cycle.

Aw, what the hey? Zurg needed somebody to hold him together. Warp might not be a nice guy—had been hired because he wasn't—but he could do that much for the man who pulled him out of the gutter. Buzz was right about one thing: he did have a conscience.

Funny how it manifested itself, wasn't it?


Hi, all! Wow, have not done anything for the fandom or FFN in ages... I plead college and a lack of ideas for much of anything.

Anyhoo... the kids were watching TAB a couple of weeks ago, and this title popped into my head. Then, today, I was talking with Steel, telling her about the idea, about my headcanon for Zurg and Warp's relationship: That when the two of them aren't doing evil stuff, Warp is kind of holding Zurg together 'cos Zurg is Zurg and kind of needs somebody to hold him together. Just kind of a weird friendship, but still a friendship.

And I STILL shy away from really writing Zurg, cantcha tell?

Pretty please press that review button?