doofenstrudel | Recent Entries

This is a roleplaying journal for the character Heinz Doofenshmirtz from the animated series Phineas and Ferb, currently being played in

mayfield_rpg. It's maintained by

lampdevil. If you've got any thoughts or criticisms as to how I'm playing this character, lay it on me! Anonymous commenting is on, comments will be screened, so go ahead and be all honest and stuff. (I'm still a little new at this. :D)

If you need to contact me, pop me an AIM message (geenacorbell) or an e-mail or MSN message (ptmducky@hotmail.com). I'm also on Plurk as

lampdevil!

Want to know what Doofenshmirtz thinks of the people he's met? You've come to the right place!

( CR Listing )

See Doofenshmirtz's app here!

Residence: 1762 Beaver Street

Regains:

- Labcoat
- Mad science
- His guitar
- The DanceInator

[457 Stone Street, from November 29th onwards, locked to housemates]
( When I'm sick of takin' abuse / I just make up some lame excuse )

[Action A - 457 Stone Street, December 12th, evening]

[Two dronings had come and gone, and Doof still couldn't bring himself to care. Besides, I Love Lucy was on. He did enjoy watching that. It had yet to go into reruns. But the broadcast cut out, to be replaced with the town's announcement.]

W-what?

[The feed was cut. And with it, the power. And so Doof sat in the darkness, his little couch potato haven roughly jerked away from him.]

But... but I...

[Wrapping a blanket around himself, he shuffled to the front window, pulled one of the blinds aside, and peered out it. The streets were dark. There were no lights in the windows. They were cut off and just proximity to the glass could tell him that it was damned cold out there.]

They're... they're going to freeze us to death. [Disbelief.] They're going to freeze us to death!!! [Anger.] NOT IF DOCTOR HEINZ DOOFENSHMIRTZ HAS ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT!!!

[Phone - December 13th]

Ha! Do they really think that a bit of cold will hold us all back? Do they think that we will simply roll over and take their punishment?! HA! They are sadly mistaken!

I, Doctor Heinz Doofenshmirtz, have developed the HOUSE-WARM-INATOR! And no, it is not for pleasantly greeting your neighbors, although your neighbors will appreciate that your house is toasty when they do decide to stop by... [Cough] NEVER THE LESS, I have found a SOLUTION to this enforced cold snap, and do you know what? Do you know what?

I am giving them out. FOR FREE provided that appropriate materials are handed over so I can construct you one, but honestly they're not that hard to scrounge... SO YES. If you are not able to heat your home? If you are tired of your teeth chattering? Come to 457 Stone Street and I will set you up.

And I do hope that you will remember this, someday down the line. Oh yes.

[Action B - 457 Stone Street, Later]

[If you've decided to take Doof up on his offer, or if you've simply passed by the house, you'll notice that the windows are dimly lit even when the power should be out. Care to knock on the door?]

[Action A - Remains of 457 Stone Street]

[From the moment that Heinz awoke on his bed of rough rubble, he had been edging closer and closer to full-blown panic. It had just been a little apprehensive shiver, when he first roused himself. It became a faint shaking to his hands as he picked through the ruins, trying to find any familiar objects or his workshop.

If he didn't find any evidence of his other housemates (his daughters, his daughters), he would boil over completely and lose it, and then where would he be? And what parts of his anatomy would be rebelling completely? There might be arm flailing, and even screaming.]

[Action B - In The Rubble]

Drat and blast it...! [It is hard, digging through rubble. Hard on the old hips, hard on the back. It stopped being hard on the hands after he found material to wrap around them, and a length of bent metal suited to digging and prying.

He could build something. He could build something, and protect himself, and then find out what was happening. Or at least last this out until it ended. He had already salvaged some canned food, and bits and pieces of stuff that may prove useful. He can be clever, even if he's not feeling nearly as sharp as he ought to.

Care to find him? Interrupt him? Ask him questions?]

[Action A, 457 Stone Street, Morning]

[Moments after the mailman arrived, Doofenshmirtz was bolting out the front door and rummaging through the mailbox, certain that THIS TIME, something would have been given back to him. He had done the same thing yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and come up empty-handed except for bills and junk, but today... today, there was a package. A package addressed to him.]

Yes!

[The rest of the day's mail was left to flutter to the ground. Screw it. Let the wind take it. The only important thing had arrived today, and he wasted no time ripping open the brown paper wrapping and sliding it out of the flap on the side. It was flat, and framed. It was his Diploma in Evil.]

Eh? This is it?

[But something struck him, as he held that diploma at arm's length and stared at it. There was an itching behind his eyes, a tingling, the sensation of something bubbling up and boiling over. His eyes widened and his eyebrows nearly shot clear off his face as his mad science came flooding back.]

...oh.

Oh!

Oh yes!

[Suddenly, things were much clearer. Suddenly, he knew exactly what he was going to spend his day doing. Cackling like mad, he skitter-skipped back inside. First, he had to hang that diploma. Then he had to grab the waxed paper and the coat hangers and the oranges from the fruit basket on the kitchen table....]

[Action B, 457 Stone Street, Garage, Mid-morning to noon]

[There is definitely something up behind the partially-opened garage door at this house. There's a definite scent of burning something in the air, vented from inside. Occasionally, there are flashes of bright light. And all the while, anyone who passes by closely enough can hear Heinz's excited muttering to himself as he works.]

Yes, yes, how could I have not seen it before?! With this, I will show them! I will SHOW THEM ALL!!! AHAHAHAHAHAH!!!

[Action C, Around Mayfield, Afternoon and evening onwards]

[So. Showing them all, eh? Doof is running around town with a device that is one part kludged together bazooka, one part vaccuum cleaner piping, and ten parts "wait, what". Painted on the "barrel" in neat blue lettering is "Bald-Inator". Any questions about just what a Bald-Inator does are easily answered. Doof is taking aim and firing at drones here and there along his way, hitting them with a greenish-blue tinged beam of improbable energy that proceeds to make all of the hair on their head fall out.]

Ha! THAT was for cutting in line at the bank two weeks ago!

[Zap!]

And THAT was for saying that my cakes were too dry!

[He's probably going to get droned for this. He is aware of this fact. He does not care, because he is on a science bender and there is no stopping one of those.]

((OOC: Warning, if you come up to Doof and talk to him, there's a high chance you'll get Bald-Inated. It'll be even higher if you're someone he doesn't like. There's a reverse switch on the device, and I intended it to only be temporary anyway, but yes! HAIR LOSS PROBABLE.))

[Phone - Morning]

Haah... there! Finally! Do you have any idea how hard it is to get to the telephone when you've spent your entire morning shrinking and are now about the size of an action figure?!

...

Well, alright, I'm willing to guess that quite a few of you out there understand what I am going through. It is that kind of week.

[Doofenshmirtz sighs.]

Other than an informal poll on how many of us are having height issues... er, I make no promises on how functional the bakery will be today, if the rest of the employees are feeling a bit small, too. You have been warned. And I will point out that you can live for a day without cake. Suck it up.

[Action A - Around Town, mid-day]

[Necessity is the mother of invention, and being this short has necessitated that Doofenshmirtz swipe Barton's tinker toys and assemble them, along with a few other household objects, into something of a protective mech-walker. His intent was to give himself some height, some visibility, and a little protection from the dangers of Mayfield.

It makes him about a foot and a half tall rather than itty bitty. It's something.]

You! You, clear through! Out of the way!

[Also? He managed to rig up a teeny little voice amplifier. It's hard to make a lot of noise when you're that short.]

[Action B - Around Town, late day]

[Oh dear. Doof has suffered a breakdown. One of the tinker-toy joints has come unjointed, and he is struggling valiantly to get it back into place.]

Blast it! And drat it! And damn it, too! Get... get in... ARRRGH!

[Although he occasionally stops to look around and make sure a pigeon or cat won't try to eat him. He was dreadfully, dreadfully itty-bitty. It would be just his luck.]

[A - Action - Hospital, mid-morning]

[Heinz Doofenshmirtz had never been impressed by zombie movies. Having experienced one for himself, he was even less impressed. Taking zombie samples had been gross. Running them over had been gross. Becoming one had been really, really gross. Good thing it was all over.

Except for... well.

Doof had come to the hospital, and was making his way quickly through the halls. How nice for Mayfield to have reconstructed the whole thing while everyone was recovering. How nice for there to be halls, again. Now, if he was lucky, his labcoat would still be on site, where he left it for safekeeping. And if he was really lucky, he'd still have that little vial of awfulness that he had stolen from Doctor Weird-Hat's stash. It was all folded up and tucked away in the second-floor supply closet, behind the cleaning products and above the extra mop heads. Or it should be. He hoped.

He had the feeling, somehow, that he would not be so lucky as to completely avoid notice as he passed through the halls. That, he had resigned himself to.]

[B - Phone, locked to Red Mage, Nadeko Sengoku, Applejack, GLaDOS, etc, anyone I've forgotten]

Well. We've had some time to recover from... that. If you're still up to helping me with my renovations, I think it's time that we get to work on them! Who knows when this town may set something else on us?

I understand that you may have school, or work, or homecoming, or whatever it may be... so! We start this coming Saturday morning! Come to 457 Stone Street bright and early! There will be pancakes!

We are all going to need a good breakfast.

[He is cheerful, and gleeful, and probably full of other things, too. Also, he's confident that they all remember what he means when he talks about "renovations".]

[No one in Mayfield had warned him about this. Oh sure, there was that phone call, but it didn't really make any sense! It was probably just something misdirected, and it had fallen out of Doofenshmirtz's head immediately.

But one moment he was coming home from work and the next he was disoriented and sitting up in an unfamiliar bed while wearing a tux that was a little too tight at the waist.]

What in the heck is this?!

...is that salmon? I think that's salmon.

[It was after a long day of work. He was hungry for something that wasn't a pastry. Red sheets and suspicious bed shapes (and bed partners) were ignored so he could confirm just what smelled so good, over there.

He was already unbuttoning the tuxedo jacket.]

This is probably a trap. But oooh! Little green peas!

[Action A, 457 Stone Street, Morning]

[It's another marginally beautiful Mayfield morning, and Doofenshmirtz has volunteered to head out front and get the mail. Still half-asleep, he steps over the brown-papered package on the front step, staggers to the mailbox, extracts the bills, and steps back over the package without even noticing it. Click, and the door shuts behind him.

A few moments later he's back out on the step, staring down at the thing he had previously ignored.]

Ehn, what's this?

[Peering down at it, he's surprised to see that it's addressed to him. A suspicious look is cast left, then right, then upwards, then he quickly snatches up the package and retreats inside.]

I've heard about this! They've given me something back! I wonder what it is?

[He shakes the box this way and that, judging the weight of the contents. Still no idea. Ah well! He rips the paper off, lifts the lid off of the box inside, to find that he's been given back his labcoat.]

..it's a start. A pretty good start.

[Action B, Bakery]

[Another day, another dollar. Heinz is at work... well, he's at work. Physically present at work, behind the counter and minding the bakery. But he's not doing much. No baking, no frosting, no kneading. He has a notebook in hand, and he's scribbling in it madly, occasionally muttering to himself.]

I'll need three dozen of those... hm, I'm going to need multiple trips. Taking measurements into account, we'll need this much lumber just for the supports.... ooh, and tarps. Tarps are important. Many tarps.

[And he's got his apron tied over his labcoat. Having gotten it back? It's going to take effort to make him remove it.]

[Action C, Around Town]

[His shift at work is done, and Doof is now out and about shopping. Still wearing his labcoat, of course. And grinning from ear to ear, occasionally consulting his notebook before plucking an item from the shelves and tossing it in his shopping cart. Hardware store, general store, record store, he's stopping by it. His list of needs is long. You might catch him between stores, too, arms loaded with bags.]

[Action A - Friday the 19th - 457 Stone Street, morning]

[Doofenshmirtz bolts out of bed with such force that the blankets are thrown to the side of the room. Gasping, flailing, he pats himself down to assure himself that he's fine. Head, shoulders, knees, toes, guts, all of them are actually in place... but he's not quite ready to be relieved yet.]

...I'm alive.

[Still in his pyjamas, staring blankly ahead and trying to process the previous day's trauma, he makes his way down into the kitchen. He's hungry. He's thirsty. Unfortunately, someone had apparently already brought the milk in, setting it on the kitchen counter. Convenient! In his semi-drowsy post-ressurection daze, he pours himself a big glass and downs it.]

I'm alive. Alive! ALIVE, I TELL YOU! Ahahahahah!

[Looks like the guy got the hormone free milk.]

[Action B - Same Day - 457 Stone Street, outside, day]

[The garage at 457 Stone Street is wide-open, and there's a horrible ruckus coming from inside it. Objects are being tossed out into the driveway with gusto, and then are retrieved minutes later by a dirty, raving Doofenshmirtz. Sometimes there is hammering. Sometimes the crackle of welding. Occasionally, there's the KER-ZAP of electricity.]

Come on! DO SOMETHING! Arc! Spin up! Work! WORK! WHY AREN'T YOU WORKING!??!

[He's hitting a crudely-constructed metal box with a wrench, over and over and over again.]

[Action C - Same Day - Phone]

I... I am hopeless. Hopeless!

[He sobs into the receiver]

It doesn't work! I've... I've lost my touch! I can construct frames, shells, yes, and wiring really is only wiring and switches are so simple but... but what good is a big red button that does nothing when you press it?!

[A pause, while he blows his nose noisily.]

They took it away from me! My genius! THEY ROBBED ME OF MY GENIUS!!! How am I going to build a Curdleinator and save us all from this horrible place without my genius?!?! THOSE BASTARDS! I WILL MAKE THEM PAY!!!

[A - Action - 457 Stone Street, backdated to Monday]

[So there was the day's milk delivery. And there was the helpful poster, attached to the house's mailbox, declaring that the milk was "mandatory". Which brings us to the Doof, blithely going about his morning in a milk-free fashion. He's scrambling eggs! And making toast!]

Ha! "Mandatory", my nose! I am far too evil to comply with anything "mandatory"!

[And there's cackling, and general being pleased with himself as he eats his breakfast... But oh, the toast is dry. The eggs are too salty. He's thirsty...]

...boy, I could really use a glass of milk.

[No helping it, then. He pours himself a nice big glass, gulps it down, grimaces slightly...]

...That... wasn't so bad.

[Aaaaand he doubles over with sudden stomach cramps.]

[B - Action - Bakery, again backdated to Monday]

[Stomach cramps are no deterrent to Heinz Doofenshmirtz going to work! So there he is. At work. Pale, and shivering, and glassy-eyed, and making a valiant effort at frosting a cake. The pink roses are three layers deep, now.]

I... think I now understand why the letter said to... to not drink the milk....

[Action 1 - Bakery, Morning]

[Finding out that his role within this throwback town was that of a baker hadn't gone over well, initially. A fit had been thrown. Fists had been shaken at the heavens. And he had seethed with rage on the entire way to work. Injustice! Injustice! The universe was constantly mocking him, and this was additional proof of it! Logic took the edge off of his temper, however, and he was only monologuing under his breath as he tied on his apron.]

If I'm going to Inator my way out of this nightmare, I'm going to need to understand it. Become a part of it.

[Tie, tie.]

...and I'm going to need funding.

Besides, how hard can it possibly be to make bread? They have machines that can do it, I know how to operate an oven, I've spent time slinging bratwurst so obviously food service isn't outside of my range of expertise... this should be EASY!

[He swept his arms outwards triumphantly! And struck a stack of metal bowls, sending them flying with a CLANG and a residual clatter-clatter-clatter.

He flinched, and nursed his hand.]

...and that is not a premonition of utter failure, no, no...

[Action 2 - Bakery, Mid-day]

[The scents wafting from the bakery today have only a hint of burntness to them. Fresh bread and sugar cookies are doing their best to overpower the remains of the morning's mistakes. Heinz is busy filling donut-like pastries with jam, looking very pleased with himself.

The display cases and racks are full of baked... somethingness, that's for sure. There are only a few items to be particularly concerned about. A few loaves have had corners or edges carefully cut away, to hide charred spots. There are several blueberry(?) pies out for sale, and a single lemon meringue with very lopsided meringue. A wide assortment of sugar cookies are available, too! Although those ones are shaped like skulls and these ones are decorated like frowny faces and the ones there still reveal burnt patches from beneath the heavy striped frosting....]

[Heinz Doofenshmirtz is hardly a morning person. He can be up in the morning, yes, but his brain takes a few more minutes to kick in and get to the same stage of alertness as the rest of him. It did not occur to him that he wasn't in his own bed. After swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sitting up, it didn't occur to him that those slippers that his feet felt weren't his. On autopilot, he slipped his feet into them, yawned, rubbed his eyes, felt about in his mouth for his grind-guard....]

...whrrphthpph? Ptui!

[No grind-guard. Had he forgotten to put it in last night? He rubbed his jaw, glanced to the side of the bed... then blinked. Wait. Wait. That wasn't his nightstand. And this wasn't his house. These weren't his pajamas, and that wasn't his bed, and that wasn't...

Was that a woman in the bed, over there? That was very much a strange woman in his not-bed! He sprang upwards with an awkward exclamation and stumbled away, now wide awake and fully engaged with the situation.]

...what was I doing last night?! ...I wasn't doing anything last night! I'd had a cup of hot chocolate after working on my Acne-inator, and then grabbed a book, definitely put in my grind-guard, went to bed, and... dwah!

[He had turned himself around and had started to pace. However, being unfamiliar with the room's layout, he stumbled clear into a low shelf, rattling the phone off its hook and bringing a framed photograph to his attention. Him and the lady in the bed. Standing together. Smiling pleasantly, dressed for their wedding.]

Oh boy. Oooh boy. This is strange. I don't remember this. I would think I would remember something like this... This doesn't look like Vegas and there aren't any Elvis impersonators involved, far as I can see. That's how these "wake up in a bed married to a strange woman" things work, right? Vegas? Umbrella drinks? Rhinestones?

[He tilts the picture this way and that, indeed determining a lack of Elvis-content, continuing to mutter to himself. With the phone off the hook, it's likely to be carrying his voice to the big giant Mayfield party line.]