NOT EXACTLY THE OSCAR AWARDS....

By [Lankin]


The room was packed, with up to six guests at each of the round tables. You could cut the tension with a knife, and yet they seemed to enjoy themselves as they drank champagne and other liquids. Along one wall was erected a wide podium topped with a large glitter-encrusted banner. Black and red silken curtains formed a backdrop, and the whole structure was dark. The rest of the room was dimly lit, with candelabra at some of the tables. The room buzzed with conversations and discussions, though a few of the voices also gurgled, clanked and clicked.

All the chatter died immediately as a spotlight was directed at the rostrum, where a man stood. He was a tall and impressive man, and his whole outfit positively screamed “Vizier”, from the black turban to the golden staff topped by a snake's head. He even had a thin and curly goatee. His name was Jafar. “Ahem. I would like to welcome you all to this spectacular evening.” he drawled, as if slightly bored by the whole arrangement.

“As you all know, we are gathered here to witness the sixth annual “Most Blatantly Evil Character” award. As last years winner, it will be my priviledge to host this glamorous show.” Applause followed, alongside with some rather disturbing sounds. Some in the audience were wearing metal gloves, or had only tentacles for limbs, so the clapping took on some rather unusual qualities.


“And now,” the speaker announced, “let me introduce the nominees!” He waved his hand to his left, and a new spotlight illuminated a second man standing on the podium. He was wearing white robes, which looked very worn, and had long white hair. His fingernails were long and pointed, and they gripped a long iron staff with pointed metal blades attached at the top. As the audience cheered he merely scowled . “All the way from Middle-Earth, here is Saruman the White, leader of the order of Wizards.”

The next nominee was tall and dressed in black finery with silver embroidery. The long, pale-blonde hair was tied in a loose ponytail. He looked down on the audience with disdain, resting his hands on a black cane topped by a silver snake's head. For some strange reason the technicians had lighted only a thin horizontal slit across his eyes, leaving the rest of him in shadow. “And here we have Lucius Malfoy, aristocrat wizard and loyal Death Eater. Now for our next guest:” The next beam of light showed them a man in a plain black suit and black sunglasses. He had a coiled bit of string in his ear, and was as expressionless as a log.

“We are proud to present Agent Smith, a computer-program that tries to keep humanity enslaved. Getting him here was difficult beyond belief, I can tell you.” A small boy was shown standing next in line, seemingly fifteen years old. His hair was grey and pointy, and he wore a yellow and black sleeveless top for the glamorous evening. He was holding out his left hand as if offering someone to take it. He was also standing in a billowing pool of roiling shadows for some reason unknown. “And here we have young Rikku, who sacrificed his whole island and all its inhabitants to the Heartless. He also gave himself completely to the Darkness out of envy. His future career as a villain looks promising.”

The last man on the podium was clad strangely, in a many-layered outfit of silk wrappings that nonetheless left parts of his upper body bare. His turquoise hair was formed into three absurdly long and bent tentacles, and an intricate set of dark markings adorned his forehead. In his hands was a white piece of cardboard with large letters saying:
“Marry me Yuna, I command it!”

“And last but not least is Meyster Seymour Guado from Spira. He is a dead summoner who wishes to become Sin so he can destroy the world. I must also tell you that Grima Wormtongue was also elected, but since he mysteriously fell down from a huge tower...”

Here the host glared at Saruman, who looked innocently at the ceiling while he whistled a little tune.  “....he is unable to participate. And now, before we get to know the contestants a bit better: Entertainment! Our first number is Severus Snape, currently a teacher at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry, who will be singing “Killing him softly.” The podium grew dark once more, so that the only lit person was the one standing in the middle of the huge room. Here the floor was cleared of tables, and a tall and darkly clad man stood there, clutching a microphone. He had a huge beaky nose and a curtain of greasy black hair. As the hidden band started up, he began to sing:


I heard he sang a foul song,
I heard he had no style,
and so I went to kill him
and watch him slowly die.
And there he was this young twit,
victim in my eyes.

Causing his pain with my fingers,
ending his life with my words,
killing him softly with my spell,
killing him softly,
with my spell,
ending his whole life
with my words,
killing him softly,
with my spell.

I felt all flushed with hatred,
aggravated by the crowd,
he felt I'd ripped his head off
and made ready the shroud.
He preyed that I would finish,
but I just kept right on.

Causing his pain with my fingers,
ending his life with my words,
killing him softly with my spell,
killing him softly,
with my spell,
ending his whole life
with my words,
killing him softly,
with my spell.


As the music died away Snape stopped singing and stood there glowering at the crowd. They began to cheer, and a few had to wipe way a tear or two. As he stalked off the dance floor the host reappeared on the podium, but now he stood in front of Malfoy and he was holding a mike. “Now it is time for us to get to know the contestants for out coveted award. We begin with Mr. Malfoy. His hobbies include cruelty to underlings, murder, torture, racism and giving small girls enchanted school supplies. Now, Lucius, we all wonder: Why is only a slit of your face lighted?” Lucius looked like he was loath to speak to such lowly humans, but he sniffed and replied:

“It's because I'm too blatantly evil to be fully lighted. Even mudbloods should know that.”

“Ah, of course. Stupid question. Now, about your hair. Do you not feel that inky black would be more blatantly evil than blonde?”

“Absolutely not. Black hair is so passé. Platinum blonde is the new evil. It's going to be big. Beyond big. As do all the trends I start.”

“Ah, yes, about that. I notice that you too have a serpent-topped staff. I feel like quite the trend-setter here, so tell me: Don't you think it will lower your chances of winning if you simply copy last year's winner?” Malfoy looked shocked and repulsed.

“Insolent fool! I do not plagiate others! This is nothing like your crude walking stick. My cane is a cunning disguise for my wand, so I can surprise my opponents and curse them without giving them time to react.”


Moving to the next guest as he wiped spittle from his face, the host explained: “Now, here we have Saruman, also known as Curunir to his ancient colleagues. His favourite pastimes include cutting down trees, chatting with The Dark Lord Sauron over the Palantir and breeding new races of beasts.” Saruman vaguely waved his gnarled and clawed hands as a greeting to the audience.

“Now, Saruman, how did you manage to cross goblins and orcs?”

“Three factors: Candle-lit dinners, a romantic atmosphere and frilly pink lingerie. As we all know neither goblins nor orcs are all that attractive, and simply making them stay in the same room is exceedingly difficult. In some cases I even had to resort to cheerleading uniforms.”

“Ah. Quite. Let's quickly move on to the next participant!” he said as he hurried on to the next in line. This turned out to be the man with the funky hair.

“Next is Meyster Seymour. He enjoys religious fanaticism, sending commoners on to the afterlife and apparently he has tried to make young Yuna marry him against her will.” Seymour merely smiled wantonly across the crowd, holding the piece of cardboard up to the TV-camera.

“So, Seymour. You're dead?”
“Yep.”
“What's it like?”
“Boring.”
“So, how do you expect to win this contest? After all, you do not look all that evil at the moment.”
“But you are forgetting my wonky hairstyle, the ominous klingon-like bulges on my forehead and the fact that I'm a scantily clad male. Also, I was flirting shamelessly with the innocent girl when the hero was obviously in love with her. That's as blatantly evil as you can get, especially with my sleazy smile.”
“Indeed, you are quite the innovator. We'll just have to wait and see if it's enough. Now, before we go on to the rest of the characters we'll have our next performance: The Dark Lord Sauron will do a most amusing tap-dance, accompanied by his Nine Jolly Ringwraiths.”


A tall figure dressed in spiky black armour made its way to the dance floor. He was also wearing a top-hat and bow-tie, and he used his mace as a cane. It wasn't until he began to dance that the nine figures in pink robes joined in, forming a line behind him where they danced can-can in perfect synchrony. The melody was that of "New York, New York", but this time the unseen vocalist sang "Mordor, Mordor" while the Dark Lord Sauron clanked and clicked across the dancefloor. The festive tune eventually died away, and Sauron clanked off into the darkness once more, with the wraiths at his heels.

“Wow, can you believe those high-kicks. If you are interested in seeing more of Sauron and his wild escapades he will be performing at the annual “Dark Lord Convention” which is held next month.” A bout of intense whispering met this statement, and some of the guests instantly whipped out inky black cellphones to make reservations. The chance to witness a celebrity like Sauron again didn't come around very often. But an icy stare and soft cough from the host made them stop and turn off the phones once more.

“Now, let's meet the two remaining contestants, beginning with Mr. Smith.” The man in the sunglasses merely stood there, not moving a muscle. There was only a smattering of barely polite applause and other faint noises.
“His hobbies include murder, usurping the bodies of others and making copies of himself. The only way we could think of bringing him here tonight was to make a holographic projection. Now, Mr Smith....”

“It's agent Smith.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Agent Smith, as I was saying, how do you think your chances are of winning this evening?”
“Perfect. As a program I am flawless, whilst you are lowly humans. I will win due to my superior intellect and power.”
“Well, there's nothing wrong with your attitude then. Tell us, what are your long-term goals?”
“I plan to transform all computer programs, all humans and all machines into copies of myself.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“I was just asking why you would want to do that? What is the purpose?”
“I....that is....aaargh! Your lowly human intellect is too limited to understand such things!”
“Won't it become very boring if you're the only thing that exists in the world?”
“SHUT UP!”
“I mean, it's very evil and all, but I'm sure it gets old really fast. What are you going to do afterwards?”
“I'm not listening! I've got my fingers in my ears, la la la la!” he shouted, humming loudly to keep himself from having to listen to the questions.

“This leaves us with our final contestant, young Rikku.” The boy was still standing in that strange pose, with the black ooze roiling around his feet. “We have been informed that he enjoys playing with his friends, taking long walks on the beach with his love Kairi and friendly competitions, such as obstacle courses. Now, while this may not appear to be very malevolent, as we all know every teenager is a ravening demonic beast deep down. So, Rikku, why would you say you turned to the ways of evil?”

“Well, I wanted to explore the world, and opening myself up to darkness was the only way. And then my friend Sora left me for his other friends. He was all 'Oh, I'm better than you 'cause I've got the bloody keyblade.' So I joined the forces of evil.”

“So you're going for the very classic “Avenging a betrayal” initiation then. Well, can you tell us why you're standing in that strange pose?”
“It's because I'm trying to be mysterious, dramatic and alluring. Also, I'm hoping that the waitress over there will give me a drink.”
“You are the youngest participant by a wide margin. How do you think this will affect your chances?”
“I feel that, though I cannot deny that old age is quite creepy in itself, youth can be a great advantage. Nothing is more blatantly evil than the bully in the playground. This is even more true among adolescents. I'll be riding the wave of hormones, hoping it'll carry me across the finish-line. Also, my futuristic yet foreboding fashion sense will be a great boon.”
“We will just have to see. And now we will have a short intermission quickly followed by more entertainment. After that we will begin the competition proper. While we here in the plaza will continue our meals, please listen to these messages from our sponsors:”


MacDougal's: Making people pay for their own death since 1923


Spitmey Bears: Music made by striking plastic tubing and then editing it electronically. Over 10 million copies sold.


IRS: You pay, we slay


As the cameras began to film once more the sound of cutlery on plates subsided along with the level of chit-chat. Several notes on the tables indicated that large usms of money, souls and kittens would change hands depending on who won this award. Once again Jafar entered the limlight. Beside him on the podium stood about thirty short men dressed in filthy rags.

“Now, let's continue. The Henchmen's guild's choir will now perform 'We are the champions'”. But as the thirty short and ugly men on the podium readied themselves to sing a blinding flash of green light struck them, and half of the choristers fell down. They were quite dead. All the spectators whipped around in their seats to see who had emitted the beams, and saw a tall and skinny man standing in the doorframe, wand pointing at the choir. He had purple eyes, and his nose was merely a couple of slits. The black robes and black pointy hat along with the wand marked him clearly as a wizard.

“What are you doing!?” cried the host, while the rest of the choir fled in panic. Some of the audience had readied their own weaponry just in case, while some were eyeing the corpses longingly.
“I should have been nominated!” cried the black figure shrilly. “I, the greatest sorcerer in the world, deemed unworthy to win! Me, whose name people fear to speak!”
“But surely, you are not viable for the prize.” the host tried to explain. “To be nominated you cannot be introduced as a villain. You can't win the price because you are established as evil from the beginning. Besides, you haven't appeared in a movie yet.” The stranger practically vibrated with fury.
“Such petty rules are not made for me to follow. I am above the rules! Now give me the prize or I'll kill you.” It was at that moment that a heavy metal rod crashed into his skull at high velocity. The shards of the glass orb hit the floor along with the now unconscious wizard.

“Cheap knockoff.” mumbled Saruman. “Trying to grab my award. I don't think so.” This was met with mumbled approval and applause from the crowd, though some were clearly disappointed at losing the chance to participate in the violence. The host seemed quite impertubed about the disturbance, and merely had the surviving hencmen remove their dead comrades along with the body of He Who Must Not Be Named (due to copyright laws) before he continued with the show.

“Now, as the choir can't perform we'll simply move on to the next item on our agenda: The attendees will be asked how they would perform a task, and the jury will take into consideration how it is planned. We will begin with mr. Malfoy." As the first contestant climbed the stage with his nose in the air the crowd made supporting noises and cheered.

"How would you perform the following task:" drawled the vizier, "If one hundred midgets were climbing up the outside of your house, how would you manage to profit from the situation?”
“What?!?”
“And you have five minutes to explain, starting……now!” Malfoy just stood there, staring at the audience and the cameras in utter shock. Then his noble bearing returned, and the drawl supplanted the disbelief in his voice.

“Well, if one were to use the Imperius-charm on them, it would be quite easy to order them to perform the most astonishing and demeaning acts for the circus…” he began explaining, and he was well into his effort-for-profits calculation before Saruman suddenly strode over to the empty podium and seized the trophy. There were outraged cries from the audience, in addition to shrieks that went well into the ultrasonic spectrum, and some rather disturbing dripping noises under one of the tables.

“This is foolishness! It is obvious that I am the only one fit to win this prize. I’m played by Christopher Lee for the sake of all that is black! My fingernails are pointy! How can these ridiculous characters even be considered a threat to ME?!” The other contestants only spent five second being indignant before they retaliated. Rikku immediately manifested a black and vicious blade, while Lucius whipped out his wand. But Meyster Seymore beat them to it, for he strode over to Saruman and poked one of his hair-spikes in the eye of the wizard, and grabbed the trophy as Saruman dropped it in pain. At that moment Rikku attacked with the sword, at the same time that Malfoy shouted “Rictusempra” and joined in the fray. Agent Smith decided that this was an opportunity he shouldn’t miss, and jumped into the melee. Of course, he was only a hologram, so he merely passed through them, but at least he made the effort.

The whole thing went downhill from there.
“Ow, someone bit my ankle!”
“That was my silk boxers, you fiend!”
“Let go of that this instant, or you’ll end up as an amnesiac frog with eating disorders!”

The crowd cheered them on. After all, this was the best piece of entertainment so far, and the oozing drinks tasted all the better when one was seeing pretentious villains kicking each other on the shins, or receiving bat-boogie curses. But the cries turned a bit nasty when jets of paralyzing flames shot out at the audience, and one or two of the spectators evaporated as several spells hit the tables. Suddenly, a raw and vile laughter echoed across the dining hall, which caused the combatants to stop in their tracks. Except Agent Smith, who was still trying, and failing, to punch Seymore in the face because he was an inferior computer programmed character.

“You fools!” cried Jafar from the other end of the banquet. He stood in front of the vast double doors, clutching the trophy in his hand.
“You insipid morons! You should have known that I was the only one who was going to walk away with this. See you again next year, perhaps you’ll have learned something by then.” With that he threw a glass vial to the floor, which exploded in coloured smoke. By the time the coughing guests had wafted away the smoke, Jafar and the trophy were gone.

On the stage, the blatantly evil people were slowly releasing the various limbs they had seized in strangleholds, and repocketed wands and spell components. There was a lot of shuffling of feet and averted eyes. Mister Smith silently shut down his hologram projector. The silenced crowd slowly began to disperse, and the cameras were shut off, one by one. Already, people were looking forward to next years award.