I’m not going to apologise for lots of small panels this week, firstly because they’re mostly talking heads… and secondly because it’s Casanova. Just imagine page 2 of this story involves a big splash with lots of violence and a witty one-liner or two.
We’re in a speed-dating bar, moving round the tables with Casanova Quinn. Most of the panels are head and upper body shots of the women he’s speed-dating.
Date #1 is a Marilyn Monroe type, all low-cut bust and beauty spot pout, beaming as she introduces herself. A lock of perfectly blonde hair curls down her forehead. There is a badge pinned to her dress, handwritten with her name: Marrimee. She points to this as she introduces herself, giggling.
Marrimee: Hi, I’m Marrimee, but I guess you can see that already (giggle).
Marrimee: I’m 22, 38 – 21 – 36, 58…
CAP (Casanova): She’s lying about her age, her vital statistics, and her number of confirmed kills…
A bullet speeds towards Marrimee’s brain through the bullseye on her forehead created by the lock of blonde hair. In this panel it’s caught in the split-second before piercing her skull. Her eyes look up at it with confusion.
CAP (Casanova): This is going to be a long night.
Casanova brushes brain splatter from his otherwise impeccable dinner jacket and prepares to move on. He’s holding a smoking (and I mean SMOKING!) gun.
CAP (Casanova): Speed-dating – I’d rather finger-bang a Neo-Lovecraftian Love-Piranha. Again.
CAP (Casanova): I only agreed to take this assignment if they let me kill everyone but the target, who must be taken alive at all costs if the universe is to continue expanding exponentially after Thursday.
Casanova’s next date is another pretty lady, with dark green hair, seductive eyes and a body to die in prolonged agony for. The only slightly odd thing about her is her enormous Joker-esque too-much-lipstick-and-teeth smile. Her name tag reads: Jill Ingjoke. She’s sitting in front of a window that looks up into the night sky where one star blinks brighter than all the rest.
Jill: The main thing I’m looking for in a man is a GSOH…
The star is actually a death-satellite which now fires a concentrated laser beam down to earth, through the window behind Jill and straight through the back of her head, emerging between her eyes as a needle of light that continues on through the table she’s sitting at. Casanova steps away, holding a small button box with which he’s just activated the satellite death laser.
Casanova: Geo-Synchronous Orbital Homicide? Happy to oblige.
Casanova’s next date is a green alien woman with huge black eyes and a not unsexy snout. Hey, I just write these things. Her name tag reads: Greeda. She offers her hand to Cass and is somewhat surprised when he offers his gun in return.
Greeda: Hi, my name’s—
CAP (Casanova): If I learnt one thing back in 1997, long before I ever became a spy…
Close on Cass’s gun firing green alien death.
CAP (Casanova): Never trust a green alien not to shoot first.
Leaving the smoking corpse of the green alien woman behind him, Cass moves on to his next date… but stops in his tracks when he sees who it is.
CAP (Casanova): It’s the only way to survive in this game: be ready for anythi—
Casanova: No… way.
Looking over Cass’s shoulder we see his next date, a startling woman with an Elsa Lanchester beehive and a dress that would turn heads in a neckbrace test group. She’s smiling a wicked, I’m-going-to-kill-you-very-slowly smile. Her nametag reads: Your Presumed Dead (Because You Tried To Murder Me, Three Times, You Bastard) Ex-Wife, Sandra.
Sandra: Hello, darling…
CAP (Casanova): The worst of this is, I think I just identified my target…