Well, you asked for it: some more characterization of the Rowdyruff Boys. So, here's this little gem. It's been sitting in my head for over a year now, and I've been meaning to actually write it anyway. It's just a little 3-part short to offer some insight into the boys. This is pre-"30 Days", probably around "Bright Green Eyes…" era, but there ARE some changes in the fanon (i.e. No military anymore, ladies and gents. That is way too legit for our boys. ) It's not important, anyway… so, without further ado…

To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about it. I don't even know if it's right, in regards to characterization and whatnot. It also reads like a Tarantino script – lots of talking, lots of cussing, and general griminess. It was… somewhat intended. :D

Rated M, once again, because bad boys cuss, smoke pot, and go to strip clubs. Better believe it.

Without further ado…

Part 1

No one was really sure why the city of Townsville was built around an inactive volcano. Perhaps it was the fresh, fertile soil that inspired the citizens centuries ago to set up camp. Maybe it was just cool to live so close to a fascinating natural formation. Or maybe they just… did. That was entirely possible, considering the city's – er – peculiar style. Nonetheless, no matter what the citizens intentions were for claiming this hotspot as "Townsville," it was the perfect home the crazed, super-intelligent chimp Mojo Jojo. His volcano top conservatory, nestled above the useful power source of lava, held all his "brilliant" creations, from his numerous unused death rays, many disabled robots, and, in one very messy room, arguably his greatest invention, The Rowdyruff Boys.

Thirteen years ago, Mojo created these boys with the same purpose as all his other inventions: to destroy the Powerpuff Girls. But, just like the rest of his creations, they failed miserably and were obliterated by mere kisses from the Girls. Later, though, the boys were brought back by the notorious Him, with the same purpose as before, but with a new touch of evil. Then, as luck would have it, they failed again, they're twisted, little boy prides handed back to them in a pink envelope, sealed with a kiss, love Blossom, Bubbles, and Buttercup. Soon after, they became nothing more than washed-up hoodlums, as powerful as their counterparts, but about as dangerous as the juvenile delinquents the Gangrene Gang. Like all of Mojo's prized inventions, they took up space in a tiny room in the chimp's lair, sleeping amongst the dust and getting into occasional scraps with their archenemies.

Not that the boys actually cared anymore. Now, at the tender age of eighteen (biologically, not technically, considering they were born about age five), there was very little they cared about. Any fight nowadays with the Girls was just a formality, just something to keep things interesting in all of their lives. The idea of destruction and world domination was not really their thing – that was their "dad's" plan. They would prefer to enjoy their lives while they could, and any moment of evil was just something fun to do.

At the moment, the three boys sat about their room… if you could call it that. Mojo, secretly a better father than one would think, tried to make a humble abode for his "sons," but they made damn sure they made it their own before settling in. Food wrappers, magazines, cigarette butts, broken bottles, a whole lot of trashed objects littered the floor with graffiti and dirt smeared onto the walls and the cracked windows yellowing with dust. Christmas lights strung around the ceiling, red, green, and blue, the only source of light besides the shattered lamp on the floor. Butch and Boomer shared a wooden bunk bed, though Butch had smashed Boomer's bed during one particularly brutal scrap between them, so, now Boomer slept on a homemade hammock he carefully put up every night before he slept. Brick took over the only bed in the corner, a large pallet of silky maroon blankets and pillows on three mattresses on the floor. Butch did have a little nest on the top bunk, but he usually just fell asleep wherever the hell he passed out every night.

Butch blew out a thick puff of smoke, closing his stark green eyes, and collapsed on the tarnished suede heap they called a couch near the door. His short, black hair lay in tangled locks down to his eyebrows, and he wore a white muscle shirt his usual torn-up blue jeans. He made no effort to cover the dark bruises on his muscles, since they were more of a prized token than anything else he had. The tangy, bittersweet aroma clouded around his face, and he grinned. Nothing beat a long day of laziness like the taste of weed. To be fair, Butch was already buzzed on a blunt from earlier, but what the hell? What else was there to do when you're a Rowdyruff Boy besides do stupid shit and get your ass beat by the fucking Powerpuff Girls? Nothing, that's what. His brothers usually had other things to do, but Butch was perfectly content to sit around, blaze up, and have fun.

"Boomer!" Butch wheezed. "Hey! Fucknut!"

"What?" Boomer spat, glancing at him from across the room.

"Want some?" Butch asked, holding up his half-smoked joint.

"No, thanks," Boomer mumbled. His blonde hair had darkened somewhat, though he kept the shag that curtained past his nose. He was wearing his usual layers, a short-sleeve over a long-sleeve, even if it was warm in their room. Butch said something insulting to him, but he really wasn't paying attention. Instead he was sitting in a corner, several feet away from his brother, tinkering with some contraption. That's about all he did nowadays – tinker with stuff. After years of bullying from his brothers, he spent as much time as possible not speaking and avoiding any real confrontation with anyone. Why should he? He'd only get tormented and picked on again. That stuff really gets to a person, no matter how "evil" they were supposed to be. So Boomer spent a lot of time with his own thoughts, minding his own business, and… well… being bored out of his mind. Though thanks to a surprisingly kind gesture from Mojo a few days ago, Boomer was given a broken laser gun and some tools to toy around with. What was even more surprising was how fascinated he was by it, intrigued by all the tiny mechanical intricacies and organized chaos of the wires. He actually understood it all, too, and he was glad to finally understand something so seemingly inscrutable. He especially took pride in the fact that neither Brick nor Butch could understand it. That was pretty much all that mattered, anyway.

"Brick!" Butch called, another puff of smoke billowing out of his nostrils. Brick was lying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling fingering his signature maroon baseball cap. His long red hair clung to his simple black shirt, spiraling all the way to his waist. He gave Butch the slightest acknowledgement, his fiery eyes flickering.

"You know you wanna taste…" Butch teased, waving the joint in the air.

"You will bring that shit to me," Brick said, his voice as crisp as ice. Butch rolled his bloodshot eyes, and crawled off the couch and drifted over to his brother. He handed the joint over, and Brick plucked it from his fingers. He looked at it, his nose wrinkling.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

"Weed, man, what else would it be?" Butch said, leaning against the bunk bed.

"It smells like shit," Brick grimaced. He took a hit anyway, holding in the smoke for a moment, and then slowly exhaling it. He gave it back to Butch, who promptly popped it in his mouth.

"I'm gonna join the mafia," Brick said suddenly, tossing his cap aside and lacing his fingers behind his head.

"Why would you wanna do that?" Butch asked. He floated over to his bunk and curled up amongst his bedding. He shielded his eyes from the sun.

"Sounds fun," Brick said with a shrug. "I get to dress all snazzy, pick up hot mobster babes, steal stuff. Pretty much what we do now, except, you know, better."

"That sounds shitty as hell," Butch grumbled. He crushed his joint on the bunk frame and tossed the butt on the floor. "That's way too nice. 'Cept I do like the babes part…"

"You would," Brick said. "It's 'cause you're not getting any."

"Shut up," Butch sneered.

"It's true," Brick's lips curled unpleasantly. "But I guess we can't all be me, can we?"

"Don't you have a girlfriend?" Boomer piped up. He glanced at his brothers, a look of apprehension plastered on his face. Brick looked up, narrowing his eyes.

"Who asked you?" he snapped. Boomer didn't look back, instead focusing on a little spring in the laser gun's handle. Brick sat up, his hair fluttering down his back. He reached over to the floor and picked up a fraying baseball out of a pile of trash. He then hurled it at Boomer, knocking him hard right on the head. The gun fell from his hands, and Butch burst into a fit of laughter.

"Son of a bitch!" Boomer cried. He rubbed his head furiously. He could feel a small egg already forming, but it felt a lot worse with Butch cackling up in his bunk.

"You only talk when I tell you to, bitch," Brick said with a nasty smirk.

"Fuck you," Boomer groaned. His hand dropped down and he massaged the back of his neck.

"Hey, if you act like a bitch, I'll treat you as such," Brick leered.

"I'm not a bitch!" Boomer yelled over his arm.

"Then don't act like one!" Brick yelled back. Butch was now gasping for air, and Boomer swiped up the gun from the floor and went back to work. His head throbbed, but it was better than listening to his brothers.

"Besides," Brick continued, lying back down. "I wouldn't call Princess a girlfriend as much as a piece."

"EWWWW!" Butch roared, rolling over in his bed and hanging off the edge upside down. "Princess is so gross. Ughhh, that voice! She makes me wanna rip my ears off!"

Brick laughed. "Slap a gag on her, she's just fine."

Butch made a noise, then snickered to himself. Then he reached over to a small hole in the wall next to him. He pulled out a small baggy and a tiny box of folding paper. He started rolling another joint, and Brick looked up at him with a frown.

"You know, you're gonna smoke up all your ambition before you reach twenty-one," he chided.

"What ambition?" Butch chuckled, carefully twisting the paper between his fingers. Brick rolled his eyes. He grabbed his hat and dropped it over his face. He sniffled.

"Anyways, the mafia," he said, his voice slightly muffled. "That would be so… righteous. Seriously. And I can make a lot of money just doing some 'favors.' I like money. I can actually buy things instead of stealing it all the time."

"But I like stealing," Butch said.

"Yeah, but I'm awfully sick of getting my ass whooped every time I want a Coke," Brick snapped. He yanked his cap off his face and sat up, folding his arms across his chest. "God, I hate those bitches. All they fucking do is get in my way. The monkey's right."

Butch grinned. "Gimme ten minutes with each of 'em, and they'll never get in the way again."

Brick immediately whomped his brother on the head, and Butch rolled into the air laughing.

"Now, that's gross," Brick said. "Don't you ever joke about that shit! Ever! We wouldn't touch the Puffs with a ten-foot-pole besides socking their faces in, so you will shut the fuck up!"

"Hey, a guy can dream, right?" Butch shrugged. His eyes sparkled, mystified. "They're like… the ultimate prize. Untouchable. Gettin' one of them is like… gettin' a goddess. You'd make history, man."

Brick's mouth hung, and one eyebrow twitched dangerously. He spoke slowly, "If you weren't so blown, I would kill you. You're talking out of your ass."

"Maaaaybe," Butch whirled around and landed softly on the floor. He placed the joint in his mouth and reached in his pocket for his lighter.

"That's it!" Brick leapt up into the air. He knocked the joint out of Butch's mouth and grabbed him by his hair. He lifted him up, ripping several chunks of hair out of his head. Butch yelped and clawed at Brick's hand. Brick turned to Boomer.

"You, too, bitch," he barked. He let go of Butch, shoving him towards the exit. "We're leaving."

"Where're we going?" Boomer glanced up at his brothers.

"To knock some sense into you losers," Brick said. "We're going to the club."