Archive for March, 2010
Flames Burn Red
Thursday, March 4th, 2010
“Red tape! Red goddamn tape!” And with that, ribbons of red silk burst from Gorman’s fingers and wrap me up tighter than a pair of earrings on Christmas Eve.
See, the thing about battling occult threats to Britain’s shores is that, despite the getting-to-fight-tentacle-monsters-with-a-flaming-sword bits, and the using-knuckle-dusters-that-punch-holes-into-alternate-dimensions bits, it’s still just a job. There are still timesheets, emails about missing staplers, annoying co-workers. Gorman was always an annoying co-worker. And there is the red goddamn tape.
Honestly, half the time something’s eaten most of Essex before I’m even able to get all the signatures I need to get my hands on the flaming sword in the first place.
Must have been worse for Gorman being in accounting. And apparently he really wanted to touch the flaming sword. Got himself fired over it. Submitted everything right but they rejected him anyway. Course they did. He was an accountant. Still, Gorman looked at the form with the big, “rejected” stamp and a gear slipped. Tried to grab the sword out of the safe. Didn’t get far. Course he didn’t. He was an accountant. And they fired him.
Apparently Gorman’s made use of the spare time. Who knows where he found the grimoire. The cape is a little more obviously Halloween gear, but it’s hard to poke fun when a chap breaks into the office and takes you out in under ten seconds.
The air fills with red ribbons. More people are bundled up. I lose sight of him in the blizzard of it. We lie there. I hear crackling in the distance, can smell something burning.
And then I see him. He’s holding the sword in both hands, hacking a path through the jungle of red tape he himself has created. Tape curls back as the flame licks through them. And he smiles like a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. The cape suddenly looks a little bit awesome.
Gorman gets to the door. Looks back at us, at the now limp strands of red tape, and the grin stretches wider. He buries the sword in the floor. And he walks away.
Eventually someone finds us, works us free. Someone, some civil servant, looks at me as I stand up and says, “Well, aren’t you going to go after him?” But, honestly, after that example, there’s no way I can be bothered to do the paperwork.
Zombee Apockalips Nawt Sew Bad, Akshully
Wednesday, March 3rd, 2010
In case you’re not familiar with LOLcats, this story is written in the style of sites like I Can Has Cheezburger? I have no particular excuse for writing in this style and hope you will pardon it.
Day 15: Caturday. Hoomins haz not gived fud for 4 dayz nao. I haz eattid
1) Livinrooom plant (owld nemisys)
2) All dogz fud (OMG, tastid yuckee)
3) Siggar frum hoomin’s offis. Spittid it up latur in shooz.
If hoominz not giv fud soon, mae hav to inturupt naps to forridge.
Day 17: Stil no fudz. Zombeez got dog, so I eatid it. Tastud like chikkun.
Day 19: Hoominz stawrting tu smel bad & am owt of katnip. Ekwiping self fur wok arownd nayberhood with hoominz gun ducktaypt to collur.
Day 20: Wentid for wak. A zombee tryed to eet me but I shootid it. Cud hav savd sum hoominz trapt by zombeez but wun uv them colled me ‘preshus,’ and alsoe, wuz my naptime.
Day 21: OMG OMG! Can has cheezburger!
Teh zombeez rund owt of hoominz to eet, sew they startid eeting eech uthur. Met sum kittehs hoo wuz bited by zombeez but are OK: zombeez infekt hoominz & dogz but nawt kittehs! LOL.
Last hoomin trapt in Mickdonulds. Nao beeing gardid by attak kittehs laik me from zombeez, so iz saif, butt cheezburger runz owt soon & will taik nap & let zombeez eet hoomin. Wantz to taik funee foto wen they eetz him & put kapshun: “U wont fryz wiv that?”
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