Tea and Scones...

 The villain wondered about villainy, as he sat down for tea and scones.

    The concept of villainy was straightforward. Wanting revenge, the payout, the power. Always at it with a master plan. Always the stone heart, the uncompromising rigidity, the unyielding course that heroes consistently tried to break. There was certainly an exhausting quality to it, somewhere just above stockbroking and just below motherhood—though some might suggest its all part and parcel (depending on the mother).

    But there comes a time, the villain thought, when anyone wants to sit down for tea and scones. 

    Could one just stop a course of villainy? Settle in? Be one of the masses of normal people? What was one to do with one's brain in such a circumstance? Research? Bah. Perhaps he could try and organize cats, it, like villainy, being a fruitless endeavor. Villainy was fruitless, because in the end, you couldn't take it with you. No matter how many pyramids you built.

    He supposed quitting was really a matter of whether or not he had killed anyone. Had he? He didn't think so. Not that he had been particularly stringent about it. He probably should have been. But at the time he hadn't been thinking about scones. 

    No, he was nearly certain he hadn't killed anyone.

    He sat down to his tea and scones.

    No one seemed to care very much that he did.

    No one ever does, much.

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