DORA WINIFRED READ, known to us and to all merely as D.W., sits across from her chemistry teacher, MR. RATBURN. Smoking is strictly prohibited on school grounds. She knows this. She smokes a long, thin cigarette regardless, and the small classroom is growing hazy with grey fog. Mr. Ratburn fans the air beneath his long nose.

MR. RATBURN: You know, I really wish you wouldn’t smoke in here.

DW: You know, I really wish you wouldn’t cut my shipments with elephant tranquilizers, but here we are, Ratburn. Here we are.

MR. RATBURN: It was… it was a simple misunderstanding. I can assure you.

DW: Binky Barnes is dead, Ratburn. There was enough carfentanil in his system to put a six-ton African bush elephant to sleep. That’s on your head. Not mine.

MR. RATBURN: Well… surely the authorities won’t…

DW: Trace it back to Elwood City’s leading chemistry instructor? The only man in this small, small town with the scientific know-how and the laboratory access necessary to pull off a stunt like this? Please.

MR. RATBURN: I can always take you down with me, Read. Don’t you forget it. Mutually assured destruction.

DW: Oh, by all means. When the DEA comes knocking at your door, explain to them that you were only taking marching orders from a fifteen-year-old girl. See how well that goes over. Remember, Ratburn, I’ve been at this a couple years. Three billion in the bank and Interpol still doesn’t know who I am. Hell, Arthur doesn’t even know who I am, and I’ve been mining his CPU for processing power since the day he got that rinky-dink laptop. He always complains about how slow his internet is. Doesn’t suspect a thing. 

MR. RATBURN: Look, what do you want from me? 

DW: I want one good reason why I shouldn’t sic my Serbians on you and make it look like an accident.

MR. RATBURN: I… I have a family.

DW: Oh, please. You have a one-bedroom and a dog.

MR. RATBURN: You have a dog, too. Interesting thing about dogs - quite susceptible to rat poison.

DW: You wouldn’t dare.

MR. RATBURN: Perhaps I would.

DW: Lay a finger on Pal and you’re a dead man.

MR. RATBURN: I see. Now we’re negotiating.

DW: Oh, Mr. Ratburn.

DW stands, twisting her dwindling cigarette into Mr. Ratburn’s desk.

DW: This was never a negotiation.

A small, sinister circle of red light suddenly appears on Mr. Ratburn’s forehead. His eyes go wide. He doesn’t move. D.W. blows out a final gust of smoke. She extracts a cell phone from her pocket, presses a button, and lifts it to her ear.

DW: (in Serbian) Хало, Владимир? Да. Убиј га.




anonymous asked:

If Arthur were to end properly, with a final episode and everything, what would you like to see?

hm! good question! i’d like to see some callbacks to old episodes and old characters, just bringin em back one last time, though i don’t know how you’d pull that off haha. i’d like to see the kids graduate and move on to the next grade without mr ratburn coming with them because it’d feel more Final that way, you know? to show they’re all really moving on. the idea of a flash-forward to see what the characters are up to in ten or fifteen years or whatever is nice but i think i’d prefer to leave their futures up in the air so people can imagine what they want. 

ALSO SONGS i’d want the last episode to have lots of songs