Brigit's Flame -- "Devil's in the Details"
Prompt: "Devil's in the Details"
Word Count: 360
Warnings: language, bizarreness XD
Author's Note: Ahahahahaaa...! Oh, God, it's late. XD
"DEVIL'S IN THE DETAILS"
Having real, honest-to-God-and-Satan shoulder angels would be fun, right?
…right?
Yeah, funny story…
“What are you doing here?” Angela wailed, tugging insistently at my earlobe. “This place will destroy you!”
Angela was a bit of a drama queen. Probably came with the territory. Or the costume.
Circe blew smoke from a tiny cigarette into my ear.
“What-the-fuck-ever,” she countered. “One fast-food hamburger isn’t going to kill you. It’s just because Angela’s anorexic.”
“I am nothing of the sort!” Angela shrieked.
I attempted to tune them out in favor of admiring the menu, but it was a lost cause.
“Besides,” Circe drawled, “it’ll stimulate the economy. Thing’s in a shit-hole right now. It’d practically be a public service.”
“Aren’t you supposed to try to get me to do evil?” I muttered, very quietly, out of the corner of my mouth.
“Capitalism is evil,” Circe remarked.
…she had a point.
“That’s not true!” Angela protested. “It’s a meritocracy that… crushes… the… oh, never mind that-think of the poor, underpaid dears in the kitchen! They have families to feed, hopefully not with the awful fare found in this place!”
“Go for the triple-bypass-I mean, triple-bacon,” Circe suggested.
“No!” Angela protested. “What’s the easiest thing for them to make?”
“Hell if I know,” Circe replied. “The soda’s self-serve.”
“Oh,” Angela fretted, hands fluttering about her face now, “but that’s got so much sugar, and diet soda causes cancer.”
“It does?” Circe demanded, sounding as though she’d just won the lottery.
“Well, I heard-”
“Get diet soda!”
Swatting them didn’t work; I’d tried. The corporeal thing only went one way-they could touch me, but my hands went straight through them.
Murphy’s Law much?
I stepped up to the counter and ordered a soft-serve ice cream.
“Do you know what’s in that?” Angela cried.
“No, what?” Circe prompted interestedly.
I took my ice cream cone to a table in the back, balanced it carefully on the plastic table, and took out my mp3 player.
Then I pushed the earbuds in very, very securely and picked up my prize.
At least it wasn’t as bad as when I tried to take multiple-choice tests.
Word Count: 360
Warnings: language, bizarreness XD
Author's Note: Ahahahahaaa...! Oh, God, it's late. XD
"DEVIL'S IN THE DETAILS"
Having real, honest-to-God-and-Satan shoulder angels would be fun, right?
…right?
Yeah, funny story…
“What are you doing here?” Angela wailed, tugging insistently at my earlobe. “This place will destroy you!”
Angela was a bit of a drama queen. Probably came with the territory. Or the costume.
Circe blew smoke from a tiny cigarette into my ear.
“What-the-fuck-ever,” she countered. “One fast-food hamburger isn’t going to kill you. It’s just because Angela’s anorexic.”
“I am nothing of the sort!” Angela shrieked.
I attempted to tune them out in favor of admiring the menu, but it was a lost cause.
“Besides,” Circe drawled, “it’ll stimulate the economy. Thing’s in a shit-hole right now. It’d practically be a public service.”
“Aren’t you supposed to try to get me to do evil?” I muttered, very quietly, out of the corner of my mouth.
“Capitalism is evil,” Circe remarked.
…she had a point.
“That’s not true!” Angela protested. “It’s a meritocracy that… crushes… the… oh, never mind that-think of the poor, underpaid dears in the kitchen! They have families to feed, hopefully not with the awful fare found in this place!”
“Go for the triple-bypass-I mean, triple-bacon,” Circe suggested.
“No!” Angela protested. “What’s the easiest thing for them to make?”
“Hell if I know,” Circe replied. “The soda’s self-serve.”
“Oh,” Angela fretted, hands fluttering about her face now, “but that’s got so much sugar, and diet soda causes cancer.”
“It does?” Circe demanded, sounding as though she’d just won the lottery.
“Well, I heard-”
“Get diet soda!”
Swatting them didn’t work; I’d tried. The corporeal thing only went one way-they could touch me, but my hands went straight through them.
Murphy’s Law much?
I stepped up to the counter and ordered a soft-serve ice cream.
“Do you know what’s in that?” Angela cried.
“No, what?” Circe prompted interestedly.
I took my ice cream cone to a table in the back, balanced it carefully on the plastic table, and took out my mp3 player.
Then I pushed the earbuds in very, very securely and picked up my prize.
At least it wasn’t as bad as when I tried to take multiple-choice tests.