Original -- Devious
Title: Devious
Rating: PG
Word Count: 452
Warnings: brief language, my horrible sense of humor
Prompt: drinks at pulped_fictions
Summary: In which Maion enjoys both alcohol and the English language.
Author's Note: My search history is now convinced that I’m an alcoholic. In other news, this is set in some vaguely post-novel future, wherein Edward Blevins (werewolf/janitor) is still loitering around Vincent’s place, and Maion (low-ranking seraph) visits at intervals to sustain the Vampire Bromance. If you are intrigued by anyone in particular, see their respective tags above. ^____^
DEVIOUS
Vincent was going to kill all of his employees-not to drain their blood and feed on their vitality, but for the welfare of the company, because their collective incompetence was staggering.
Yes, everyone was just going to have to die. There was no way around it. Vincent created a new email and addressed it to the Employee:All listserv.
Dear subordinates,
It has come, rather glaringly, to my attention that all of you are pathetic, underqualified hacks who somehow bamboozled your respective hiring managers. (Actually, never mind; Human Resources is likewise entirely composed of pathetic hacks, so don’t even pat yourself on the back for that trick.) In any case, I would like all of you first to quit this company and then to take a leap from the Golden Gate so that we won’t have to pay any kind of compensation to your families. Honestly, I’m not sure how they put up with you either, so it will probably come as a relief to them when the authorities dredge your sodden corpse from the Bay.
Love,
Vincent Duval
CEO
As he reached for the “Send” button, the door to his office swung open and slammed against the wall.
“Vincent!” Maion cried. “Vincent, Edward made me-” He thrust out the palm on which he’d balanced a mostly-empty glass. Shortly, his hand started glowing, and light refracted wildly through the bright orange liquid at the bottom. “He made me a cocktail!”
Vincent blinked.
Maion started giggling hysterically. “Cocktail. It always makes me think of rooster plumage. English is such a silly language.”
For all that it lacked in the celestial prophecy and thundering holy decree departments, English apparently made up the difference with amusing compound words.
“Edward should know better than to give you alcohol,” Vincent said. It was a bit of a statement of the obvious, but everything else he could think of sounded woefully inadequate, including Fuck my afterlife.
“He didn’t want to,” Maion said, “but I gave him the puppy eyes.”
“Devious,” Vincent said.
Maion puffed up and preened a little. “I can be devious when I want to.” He paused. “…in the service of the Greater Good.”
“Of course,” Vincent said. His morbid curiosity-or would that would be post-morbid curiosity?-got the better of him at last. “What kind of cocktail did he make for you?”
“A Zombie!” Maion somehow grew even more delighted and sipped at the remainder of his drink. Vincent wondered how he hadn’t noticed the bright green curly straw until now. “It’s great, because it reminds me of all the nice times we had decapitating undead legions…”
Vincent closed the email. Evidently there was still a sliver of hope for the world.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 452
Warnings: brief language, my horrible sense of humor
Prompt: drinks at pulped_fictions
Summary: In which Maion enjoys both alcohol and the English language.
Author's Note: My search history is now convinced that I’m an alcoholic. In other news, this is set in some vaguely post-novel future, wherein Edward Blevins (werewolf/janitor) is still loitering around Vincent’s place, and Maion (low-ranking seraph) visits at intervals to sustain the Vampire Bromance. If you are intrigued by anyone in particular, see their respective tags above. ^____^
DEVIOUS
Vincent was going to kill all of his employees-not to drain their blood and feed on their vitality, but for the welfare of the company, because their collective incompetence was staggering.
Yes, everyone was just going to have to die. There was no way around it. Vincent created a new email and addressed it to the Employee:All listserv.
Dear subordinates,
It has come, rather glaringly, to my attention that all of you are pathetic, underqualified hacks who somehow bamboozled your respective hiring managers. (Actually, never mind; Human Resources is likewise entirely composed of pathetic hacks, so don’t even pat yourself on the back for that trick.) In any case, I would like all of you first to quit this company and then to take a leap from the Golden Gate so that we won’t have to pay any kind of compensation to your families. Honestly, I’m not sure how they put up with you either, so it will probably come as a relief to them when the authorities dredge your sodden corpse from the Bay.
Love,
Vincent Duval
CEO
As he reached for the “Send” button, the door to his office swung open and slammed against the wall.
“Vincent!” Maion cried. “Vincent, Edward made me-” He thrust out the palm on which he’d balanced a mostly-empty glass. Shortly, his hand started glowing, and light refracted wildly through the bright orange liquid at the bottom. “He made me a cocktail!”
Vincent blinked.
Maion started giggling hysterically. “Cocktail. It always makes me think of rooster plumage. English is such a silly language.”
For all that it lacked in the celestial prophecy and thundering holy decree departments, English apparently made up the difference with amusing compound words.
“Edward should know better than to give you alcohol,” Vincent said. It was a bit of a statement of the obvious, but everything else he could think of sounded woefully inadequate, including Fuck my afterlife.
“He didn’t want to,” Maion said, “but I gave him the puppy eyes.”
“Devious,” Vincent said.
Maion puffed up and preened a little. “I can be devious when I want to.” He paused. “…in the service of the Greater Good.”
“Of course,” Vincent said. His morbid curiosity-or would that would be post-morbid curiosity?-got the better of him at last. “What kind of cocktail did he make for you?”
“A Zombie!” Maion somehow grew even more delighted and sipped at the remainder of his drink. Vincent wondered how he hadn’t noticed the bright green curly straw until now. “It’s great, because it reminds me of all the nice times we had decapitating undead legions…”
Vincent closed the email. Evidently there was still a sliver of hope for the world.