Fic: Valentine Sins, ensemble cast
GREED & SLOTH
John was nearly run over by Demetri, who looked to be fleeing a crime scene with a box of something or other stashed beneath his arm; and then he was accosted by Kristen for money, which he gave her, because it was his theory that in order for his Daily Show experience to continue smoothly he should show extreme agreeability. The disarming accent helped.
It was also a good guise, because no one was going to accuse a nice Brit of swiping coffee mugs. Which he’d been doing for the past several months now.
He spotted one left on a cabinet further down the hall. On the side it had a wreath emblem and torch design, with NYU Law on it. He smiled, knowing its owner immediately. Inside was just water. He picked it up as casually as possible, half-covered it in his black tie, then moved in the direction of the break room.
It wasn’t his fault he’d become a thief, really. Soon after Rob had left, John had discovered his own mug had gone missing. Later that day he got an email, saying it was being held ransom in California. It would not be released until he personally went out to retrieve it.
“Must you bribe me to come visit you?” John had asked over the phone.
Rob used what they’d termed his evil Darth Marine laugh and hung up.
When John flew out to see him, Rob greeted him with a hug that crushed his ribs like they were parakeet cages.
“My mug, Rob?” John said with his face crushed into Rob’s shoulder.
“Oh sure, I’ll get it for you. Princess Di on it, right?”
A second later he conveniently forgot, and kept John so busy for the rest of the visit that John’s plane touched down in New York before he thought of it again.
“I guess I’ll see you next weekend?” Rob responded. And continued to respond since last week: “Oh, look, Saturday’s Valentine’s Day. You flying out?”
It was cruel and devious, John thought. And now Rob had made him so as well. They were both peas in a pod. They were both mug stealers.
Entering the break room, John nearly killed himself. Accidentally. Something on the ground had tripped him, and he stumbled towards the counter. In moments, his wavering equilibrium allowed him to revisit why he’d never fulfilled his dream of athletic prowess.
He caught himself, but the mug shattered on the ground.
“Bullocks,” he said.
“Not good!” said someone else.
“Aasif?” John looked towards the voice, which was coming from beneath the break room table. John had realized rather quickly that Aasif’s shrill exclamations were a result of his perpetual Stephen Colbert imitation.
Currently his legs were also sticking out from under the table: the tripping culprits.
John scratched his head. “What are you doing under there?”
“It’s for my segment tonight!”
“Your segment is endangering the lives of your coworkers?”
“No! Did you just break your mug?!”
“No. Yes. Kind of.” John poked the white shards with his shoe. “What’s your segment?”
“It’s about Americans waiting for the invisible hand of the economy to fix or fuck itself!”
“So obviously you’re under the break room table.”
“This is my bunker! This is where Americans are going to be waiting for Adam Smith’s ideas to show their balls!”
“Are you…writing…in your bunker?”
“No! I don’t think I really have to! I’ll just yell stuff about bunkers and bomb drills and Y2K!”
“From under the break room table.”
“Sorry about your mug!”
“It’s not… It’s fine. Is there a broom somewhere?”
“Uh… I think I see it!”
“Could you grab it?”
“I’m kind of busy lying here!”
A shriek warbling out in the hall interrupted
WRATH AND PRIDE