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"Who is the fairest of them all? Yes, it's you! Coochy coo coo! Coochy coooo!"
One day JARVIS turns away from listening to Tony Stark give himself compliments in the mirror, to look over a report that's just come in. In a field of sunflowers somewhere in the flat and drab part of Eastern Europe, Evil is having a party. At least, that is what it appears like at first, but upon closer inspection it seems like Evil, although present, is asleep, and it's associates are having a party. Associates that, while not exactly card carrying Good Guys, at least in one case, are nonetheless not villains. Sadly, a lack of a problem means the AI has to return all its attention to it's master.
"Who's the prettiest princess? Yes, you are! Awww! Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!"
Meanwhile, over in Russia, the spiky yellow top of the canopy of a sunflower forest shakes and jiggles with the movement of the beings wandering around between its hairy stems.
"Have you had enough of these flowers yet? They're never ending, and all the same." Asks a young and placid male voice. It must be placid, when it has to deal with madmen on daily, hourly, minute by minute bases.
"Shut up, boy. I'm conducting research."
Not a line anyone ever wants to hear out of Azazel's hellish mouth. He can't even speak normally about it, but must rasp and hiss sinisterly at all times.
"On what? I see only flowers. And bugs." comments a third male voice, deep and grumpy.
"…Boy, your little friend is speaking again. Please make him stop. And please explain to me why he has that atrocious accent even whilst speaking Russian?"
"I'm not little!"
"He's Bulgarian."
"You say that like it means the same thing as being retarded, Yura." says the third voice, petulantly.
The first two voices giggle.
Three shadowy streams wind their way through the field, sending birds into the balmy summer air and the bright blue sky. A bright blue sky with only a few stray clouds on the horizon to mar it.
Once the trio reach a designated, unknowable spot, Azazel begins his quote unquote 'research' which sure does look a lot like preparations to summon a portal to hell, or the Brimstone Dimension, or whatever he wants to call it today. Meanwhile, his son and his 'little' friend stand by and watch in silence, whilst drinking vodka. It begins to storm, lightning slaying dozens of sunflowers all at once, their creaking as they crash to the ground, combined with the hiss of electricity and pounding of rain setting up a bit of a jaunty tune. This goes on for half an hour. Eventually Viktor speaks.
"Should we not stop him?" he slurs, eyes already crossing.
His friend snorts, not at all visibly tipsy. "Vitya, counter question. Should we not put on some music? All this tweeting is making me twitchy."
"…What tweeting?"
Being wizards, they can simply summon music, which they do, and soon Kalinka: the Dance Remix exists as the background track to Azazel's world domination attempt number nine hundred and ninety nine.
'Калинка, калинка, калинка моя! В саду ягода малинка, малинка моя!'
Azazel has to endure singing about snowball berries until he's finished reciting a long string of Latin gobbledygook. "Hey! Turn that racket off!" He shouts, dueling with the storm to be heard.
But the boys are already dancing, Russian style, very athletic and high flying, so he has to trot over, only he can't see where the music is coming from.
Yuri, taking a break from spinning rapidly in circles while hopping in place, comes to a flashy stop before his mutant parent, a gnarly looking black drink in hand. "Black vodka?"
Pissed off by the boy's inability to take anything seriously, Azazel snatches the beverage from his hand and downs it in one shot, thrusting the glass back at him before turning back to his nefarious ritual. Only to pass out and land face first in the mud. The boys continue to dance their hearts out.