Work Text:
Dick surveys the chaotic scene of the Halloween party, a sea of costumed humans undulating to a pulsating beat he still struggles to comprehend. He’s a pirate, a swashbuckling buccaneer with a tricorn hat perched jauntily on his head and a plastic cutlass clutched in his gloved hand. The scratchy rental fabric of his breeches chafes, but he endures for Mary.
His gaze, ever seeking her familiar form, finally locks onto a splash of gingham and ruby slippers across the crowded room. It’s Mary, of course, a rather fetching Dorothy Gale, her dark hair braided sweetly, her basket swinging gently.
But wait.
A shadow falls over his heart, or rather, his third ventricle, the one that governs romantic distress. Standing entirely too close to his Dorothy is a towering figure, skeletal and menacing, a bony hand gesturing animatedly. It’s Dr. Howard, dressed as a skeleton, his hollow eye sockets seemingly boring into Mary’s innocent face. A primal, alien possessiveness surges through Dick. His jaw tightens, a strange growl rumbling in his chest.
“Yaaaarrrr look who thinks he’s scary, well I be not a feared of ye, ya bag of bones, now unhand me former wench!” Dick bellows, his voice straining to be heard above the din, the pirate persona fully ignited.
He stomps forward, each heavy bootfall a declaration of war. Mary’s head snaps up, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and… something else. Amusement? Dick ignores it, his focus locked on the skeletal interloper. Dr. Howard, oblivious to the seething alien fury, continues his animated conversation. Dick reaches them, planting himself squarely between the two. He glares up at Dr. Howard’s painted skull.
“Doctor Howard!” Dick spits, the name a venomous hiss. He then glances around, suddenly aware of the human eyes upon him, the curious stares. He clears his throat, a theatrical ahem escaping his lips. “...shiver me timbers…” he mutters, the forced pirate talk feeling utterly inadequate to express the depths of his indignation.
Dr. Howard, finally acknowledging Dick’s presence, tilts his bony head. “Where are your buccaneers?” he asks, his voice a dry rustle, the question genuinely curious rather than challenging.
Dick blinks, caught off guard. His carefully constructed pirate facade wavers. He looks down at his pirate costume, then back up at the skeleton.
“Under my buckin’ hat!?” he retorts, a flash of genuine human irritation, untainted by intergalactic decorum, finally breaking through.
Mary stifles a giggle, and Dick, for a fleeting moment, wonders if this whole ‘love’ thing is more trouble than it’s worth.