{Part One}
Cyril Skidd slipped through the door, late as always on a Monday morning, hoping that nobody had reconnoitered his desk and noted his absence. He slunk along the corridor, walking on the sides of his feet, wishing himself invisible. He heard the clatter and thwack of the typing pool, audible even from behind closed doors, as the ladies set-to with the morning's work. He'd nearly made it to his own bland door, distinguishable by the supermarket-purchased gold lettering - Cyril P Skidd, Esq. PI. - when he hear the creak of Mister Blather's door at the other end of the corridor. Skidd pressed himself against the wall, trying to blend into the pot plant. He visualised himself turning into an information pamphlet and fluttering to the ground, only to be picked up by Blind Isidore, the office lackey, cleaner, and the unofficial lickspittle of Messrs Blather, Knobble and Pound - Attorneys at Law, Licensed Investigators & Bailiffs By Appointment. He had, of course, no such luck.
"Ah Skidd," boomed Mr Blather, "nice of you to join us. Would you care for a sweetmeat?" The flabby Blather sidled up to Skidd, proffering up a box of iced, glazed, powdered, creamed, and coated delicacies.
"Thank you sir, but no, " Skidd managed, through chattering teeth. His bladder was suddenly full. His legs were not his own. He insides churned.
"Each to his own, Skidd, as you know I always say!" returned Blather, pausing only to cram several of the unidentifiable confections between his moist and sugary lips. "Each to his own." - but this time it was less clear. Blather had already begun his ponderous mastication, gobbets of cake dropped to the floor. Skidd watched them bounce over the waxed floor. The sound of the typing pool had become ominous. Each ting! of a carriage return was the hammer of a demonic elf nailing his body to the floor. Each clack of the keys was a hobnailed boot pacing his cell floor.
"Follow me, Skidd," Blather mumbled, still chewing, still raining cake from the corners of his mouth, "follow me, man!"
{To Be Continued...}
Cyril Skidd slipped through the door, late as always on a Monday morning, hoping that nobody had reconnoitered his desk and noted his absence. He slunk along the corridor, walking on the sides of his feet, wishing himself invisible. He heard the clatter and thwack of the typing pool, audible even from behind closed doors, as the ladies set-to with the morning's work. He'd nearly made it to his own bland door, distinguishable by the supermarket-purchased gold lettering - Cyril P Skidd, Esq. PI. - when he hear the creak of Mister Blather's door at the other end of the corridor. Skidd pressed himself against the wall, trying to blend into the pot plant. He visualised himself turning into an information pamphlet and fluttering to the ground, only to be picked up by Blind Isidore, the office lackey, cleaner, and the unofficial lickspittle of Messrs Blather, Knobble and Pound - Attorneys at Law, Licensed Investigators & Bailiffs By Appointment. He had, of course, no such luck.
"Ah Skidd," boomed Mr Blather, "nice of you to join us. Would you care for a sweetmeat?" The flabby Blather sidled up to Skidd, proffering up a box of iced, glazed, powdered, creamed, and coated delicacies.
"Thank you sir, but no, " Skidd managed, through chattering teeth. His bladder was suddenly full. His legs were not his own. He insides churned.
"Each to his own, Skidd, as you know I always say!" returned Blather, pausing only to cram several of the unidentifiable confections between his moist and sugary lips. "Each to his own." - but this time it was less clear. Blather had already begun his ponderous mastication, gobbets of cake dropped to the floor. Skidd watched them bounce over the waxed floor. The sound of the typing pool had become ominous. Each ting! of a carriage return was the hammer of a demonic elf nailing his body to the floor. Each clack of the keys was a hobnailed boot pacing his cell floor.
"Follow me, Skidd," Blather mumbled, still chewing, still raining cake from the corners of his mouth, "follow me, man!"
{To Be Continued...}
viking:
Enjoying it so far. 