Short Story

[K2]

Hi, first off I would like to apologize if this is not the appropriate place for this post. If I am in the wrong place just direct me on where to go and I shall go, it's just that the web-comic section did not seem appropriate either. Any ways, I would like that I have written a short story. And I am proud of that (though, if others do not enjoy it that pride would be inappropriate). To give some back ground, I am in the navy and while on my last deployment I wrote and emailed a story to my fellow shipmates over the course of several months. I am now, slowly mind you, working on rewriting and editing said story and was hoping to get some feed back. If any of that sounded familiar to you then you probably read Erfworld Forum where I started posting this about a week ago. Still the same person, it's just more people over here. There is one little issue, my story was written for grown men stuck underwater in a long tube; so there is some profanity (Such as in the title) I will do my best to edit it out but I might miss some, so Mods please don't ban me. With all that being said I humbly present to you the first few pages of my story: The clerk was having trouble of accepting what he was seeing. Simply put, it just made no sense to him. “That’s…That’s a 1925 Action Comics Superman!” he sputtered, “what do you think you are doing?!”
“Why, I am burning it.” Replied the bespectacled man, and indeed he was. Holding it from the top left corner while passing it over the lighter in his other hand, letting the flames creep and climb up the pages. The clerk tried to lunge for the comic, but was stopped by the counter. “Why are you doing such a thing!” he cried, his voice strained with emotion.
“Well,” the man’s glasses flashed with the light of the flames which he held, “I want it, but it cost too much. And since I can’t have it” He shrugged before continuing, “you should try to keep your voice down. We are indoors after all.” He then rather carelessly tossed the flaming comic over his shoulder as though it no longer interested him. The Superman managed to land in a box filled with other comics which subsequently burst into flames; as though the whole kit and caboodle had been soaked in kerosene.
“What the f*** are you doing?” cried the clerk, “get out, get out of my store and go to H***!”
“Oh, I intend to” replied the bespectacled man, “but you should really be using your inside voice. It’s quite rude to yell while indoors.” With that, the man picked up his brief case and walked outside. Once on the curb he set his brief case back down and drew from his breast pocket a small notebook and a pen. He flipped through the notebook before finding the correct page, but once he did he remarked “ahhh” slightly and then went down the list with his pen check each of the entries on that page. The words Lust, Gluttony, Pride, Greed, Wrath, Envy, and Sloth each occupied its own line; and all but the last two had a single line crossing them out. With a flick of his pen, and a satisfied smirk, he crossed out Envy.
He stared at sloth. He stared at it for a full minute, completely oblivious to the flames rising from the building behind him, or the quickly approaching sirens ahead. He stared at the dried ink on the paper, still undecided on what his next course of action should be. At last he muttered to himself “Too much trouble.” And crossed out Sloth as well. He then meticulously went through and verified that every entry was lined out. Satisfied, he place both his notebook and his pen back into his pocket, picked up his brief case and stepped out into the street.
The fire truck hit him at 53 and a third miles per hour as it was slamming on its brakes. The driver had not seen him, in fact the driver still did not know that he had hit anyone, but the truck had arrived at the fire that they had been called to put out. The bespectacled man was kill instantly, leaving only the broken shell which had once been his body behind fowling up the undercarriage of the truck. Just as he had planned.

The grey, stagnant, murky water was seemingly without current. If a pebble had been thrown into its midst, the ripples would have been short lived stopped by the stillness of the air. A skiff, seeming alone on that empty endless pool glided across the water’s surface, as though weightless, despite its cargo. One passenger and coxswain, the passenger was; of course, the familiar bespectacled man, the coxswain was a steam punk skeleton wearing a robe and drivers goggles; the kind that you could imagine Steve McQueen wearing as he raced along the track. The bespectacled man shifted his brief case from one hand to the other and adjusted his glasses. It had been an uncomfortable trip.
“Is this it?” he asked, his voice flat.
“Aye” replied the coxswain, a faint light briefly flashing behind his goggles. When the light faded the goggles were too dark to see through. “Those up ahead are them, the gate to the city.” He coughed, as though clearing his throat and then continued in a raspy voice, “Through me you enter the city of woe, through me…”
“Is that Spanish?” cut in the bespectacled man.
“What?”
“That sign there, above the gate, is that Spanish? They should really post their signs in more than just one language. Especially since this area sees international traffic and all. How are all the people who don’t speak Spanish, like me, supposed to know what it says?”
“It’s Italian you daft fool! And if you bother to pay attention…”
“I’m just saying, that it this here is a really poor way to introduce your city to visitors. Having all of your signs in one language. How many people speak French now a days any ways?”
“Italian! Don’t you listen to anything?”
If the bespectacled man heard the coxswain, he gave no sign. Instead he hopped out of the skiff onto the nearby shore. Straightening his as he went, he walked towards the gate which opened as though expecting to him. One of the doors got stuck for a moment, then continued though it trailed behind its counterpart slightly. From the skiff behind him the coxswain crowed “Welcome to H***!” and cackled.

Harsh, unsympathetic florescent light poured around him, almost blinding him to the blue and white checkered floor. As his vision cleared the bespectacled man stepped up into the queue. He looked ahead of him and could see the queue stretching out before him, weaving back and forth between guide ropes, like the queue for a ride at an amusement park. At the far end, at the very edge of his sight he could barely make out a line of desks stretching to the left and right seemingly without end. Curiously, it appeared as though only the desk in the center was open.
“Is this the line to get in?” asked a voice behind him. The bespectacled man turned and, for a moment, took in the sight of the line stretching out behind him, seemingly forever. After absorbing this he turned and gave his attention to the source of the query, a tall blonde man. The blonde men looked at him blankly and asked again “Is this the line to get it?”
“Of course it is, what else would it be? The line for the lavatory?” This reply came not from the bespectacled man, but rather from a short redheaded women with a shrill voice who was behind the blonde man. Content that these two strangers had found conversation partners for themselves the bespectacled man turned back around and began to think about the task before him.
“Eh, buddy, I asked you a question.” The blonde man intruded, tapping him on the shoulder. “Come on, don’t be that guy. Answer me.” The blonde man insisted.
The line moved forward a step.
“Well,” went the bespectacled mans reply, “I am that Guy, seeing how it is my name. Furthermore, seeing how I was busy thinking I did not even hear your question, and finally—“
“See, I told you he could talk.” The blonde man said to the redheaded women, then he turned back to Guy and continued; “I was just asking: ‘what are you in here for?’”
I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand what you mean by that. Furthermore, as I was trying to—“
The blonde man opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the shrill redhead; “He means, how did you end up here, in this place, this part of the afterlife? For example, I always made a point of complaining whenever I went out to a restaurant or a store or something, sometimes I even made stuff up just to see if I could get people fired. Other times, I would call tech support, or business help lines and ask silly and inane questions for hours. Oh, it was ever so much fun.” Her voice was high pitched, like a chipmunk, and gave rise to an odd desire to punch babies.
“That’s right,” the blonde man spoke in a hurried manner, as though he had been interrupted and was fearful that he may very well be so again, “I use to park cars so that I always took up more than one spot, I liked to run red light, or just stop randomly while driving to see how much traffic I could create. The last time, I pulled out in front of an ambulance and just put my car in park so he would have to go around me. Then I woke up here. So, come on and tell us how you ended p here.”
“Yeah, tell us guy. We want to know.” This from the shrill women.
The line moved forward another step.
“Well,” began Guy, “to be frank, I did everything I could to get here. You see-“
“Who’s Frank?” the blonde man.
“I thought your name was Guy.” The shrill read head.
“Yeah.” The blonde man again, “also, “everything” isn’t very specific. Explain what you mean.”
“Yes, yes, give us a tale. Elaborate.” The shrill redhead.
The line took a step.
“I’d rather not.” Guy tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, he was pretty sure that he was not entirely successful. He turned back around.
“Aw, come on. Don’t be like that. What else is there to do while waiting here in this queue?” cam the blonde man.
Without turning, and not bother to hide his annoyance, Guy replied; “Well, I was thinking about how to fine tune my resume, if you must know.”
“Oh, I see now. You’re a joker, think you’re funny and all hot ****. Come one, let’s be friends. Let’s chat some, what’s wrong with a little chat?”
Step
“Just some small talk to ease the boredom. I mean, what else are you going to do? It’s not like tis line is going any places.”
Step
“There is no reason to be all rude and huffy, we’ll leave you alone after this. Promise.”
Step
“Here we are trying to be civil and all and you just standing there ignoring us.”
At this point Guy hefted his brief case and opened it.
Step
“What’s so bad about a little chat, hmmm? You’re not hiding anything are? It’s not like we are asking for your life story or anything. “
The sound of papers rustling and steel clanging could be heard as Guy shifted through his brief case. He smiled slightly as he found what he was looking for.
Step
“I just don’t understand what the—Oy! Is that a seax?”
Stab
Yank
Step
The line was quite. At least, it was; until the woman looked at the blonde man and said: “He stabbed you. Really, just stabbed you in the chest. Maybe he really does want to be left alone.”
“I think that you might be right about that.” Replied the blonde man, gingerly fingering the gaping wound in his chest.
Guy wiped the blood from the seax and returned it to his brief case. From his breast pocket he withdrew his notebook and pen, and quickly flipped to a page filed with tally marks. Finding a blank he raise his pen to place a new mark, but hesitated.
“It’s a good thing you’re already dead, otherwise that would have killed you” prattled the shrill redheaded women.
Step
“You’re telling me. Suppose I’m rather lucky, though it does hurt something fierce.” Replied the blonde man. Guy sighed and flipped to a new page in his notebook and place his tally mark. He would have to think of something to put in the header.
Step
Step

I do hope you enjoy.

[K2]

Alright, second part.


He had moved up maybe half way through the line and could now quite clearly make out the row of desk which were his immediate goal. They still looked as if they stretched to infinity in either direction, and only the one in the center was open. He could be certain of that now. The harsh, burning florescent lights reflected their glare off the checked floor, blinding anyone who looked down or up. For the umpteenth time Guy wished that he had brought along a watch, a cell phone or anything else that could tell time for that matter; but the instructions had been very specific about that, no time pieces at all.
There was more traffic here, which he could watch, in addition to the line he could see Demons float this way and that carrying stacks of paper and large cardboard boxes. Others held clipboards and seem to be monitoring their fellows or the line itself. Even more demons simply seemed to be congregating with others of their kind. One of these groups, which was significantly larger than the others, was just ahead of where Guy was standing and he could tell that they were having a rather animated conversation, pointing this way and that with large black flashlight.
Step
Guy could just about count the number of people still ahead of him. It would be an easy thing, once he was through the check in point, to accomplish his task. Just the thought of being done made him smile, though he quickly wished that he had not. One to the demons in the large group saw him smiling and turned to its fellows to say something. The large group broke and began to spread out among the human souls which made up the line.
“Alright every one, step out! Out of the line, now!” the various demons began to cry, “Let’s go, time to get to work. Lazy worms.” The demons floated into the line and began pulling people out; passing the souls to their fellow demons waiting behind them. At first Guy thought that this was some sort of infernal security measure, that the demons were targeting specific people or types of people, like an airport security check on crack; but there seemed to be no type of discrimination in whom the demons grabbed. No pattern even, they simply grabbed everyone. Indeed, one of the demons floated up to Guy and, taking him by the arm, exclaimed: “Let’s go bud.” With a voice that was both many and empty at the same time.
Guy found himself being dragged along for an indeterminable distance till he had to squint to see anyone else besides his demon. By the time they came to a halt the line was no more; even the row of desks, which had served as a fixed reference point since his arrival, were gone. “Here,” spoke the demon with its voice that was both heard and unheard, “clean dis spot.” It pointed to the tiles at their feet. Guy looked at his reflection on the floor and then back at the demon. He repeated this maneuver twice before asking; “Clean what exactly? I can see my reflection in the tiles.”
“Well, smart guy, I can’t” indeed the demon cast neither reflection nor shadow upon that floor, “but since you wana talk back you no longer afta clean da floor. Nah, you can clean under da floor.” With that the demon produced a large pry bar and smashed it into the seam between two tiles. Chunks and pieces of tile flew as the demon gave a great heave and ripped both tiles from their foundation. “Dere, dat is de dirt which you can clean. ‘Twas hiding under da tiles. Now get down dere and get to work, it’s not going to clean itself.”
Guy looked at the pile of rubble that had been the floor and sighed; there appeared to be a crevice in the dirt, looking into it he could see rusted re-bar protruding out at odd angles as well as dirt and mold. Setting down his brief case he carefully removed his jacket and climbed into the hole that the demon had been kind enough to make for him. From above the demon passed down various cleaning tools; a feather duster, a dust pan, a bottle of spray, a long metal tool similar to what a dentist use. It then crossed its arms and stared, with its eyes which never seemed to stop moving. It was quite unsettling in Guys opinion. Its gaze seemed to cut straight through Guy and it never missed an opportunity to critique him on his cleaning efforts, even so, the demon seemed to grow bored as it watched Guy worked. As if even watching was too much effort.
When the thing looked sufficiently bored, Guy ventured to ask it a question; “Pardon me—“
“Keep scrubbing.”
Guy diligently continued to scrub, “Pardon me, but you’re the first demon that I’ve ever meet; may I ask you a few questions?”
“Questions like what?”
“Well, for starters would you tell me your name?”
“Dat’s a dumb question.”
“How so?”
“No demon at my level gots a name. Does are reserved for da big guys in dier fancy office.”
“The big guys?”
“Dats what I said, de office workers. One prince, 7 dukes, 33 lords and…well I don’t actually know how many knights dere are, but dey are de last ones with names.”
“All ruled by one prince? Is there no king?”
“Dere is only one king, and he ain’t welcomed down here.”
“Ahhh….Sounds like a rather complicated system.”
“I agree…don’t you dare stop cleaning.”
“About that, I’m not really sure how you want me to proceed. Unless you happen to have a shovel up there that I can dig with.
“How ‘bouts you scrub dem pipes dere. Here, use dis toothbrush.”
“Pipes? I don’t see any...” As guy looked around metallic snakes burst through the walls of Guys little pit and slithered around before plunging their heads back into the ground. Their bodies stayed, in all of the twisted forms and shapes that they had taken. Guy looked from these pipes to demonic over watch and then back. I am, just for the sake of my sanity, assume that you did that.”
“Assume what you’d like, just start scrubbing. We got to clean dis dirt before deres too much of it, don’t want it to gain numeric superiority. Suckers are bad enough without numbers, with all dere sneaking and hiding. If we’s not vigilant it’s going to rebel and deen it be da dirt cleaning us, not de oder way around.”
“You do realize that, not only is dirt not intelligent, but that it is also not alive?”
“Yous not alive and yous are talking and scheming. Nor do you seem to be to intelligent eider. Anyways, dats enough. Climb out of dere.” Guy was only to happy to oblige the demon in his command and, once he was out, he assisted the demon in flipping over the two massive tiles back into place. With a ‘thud’ all evidence of the pit and all the work he had done was gone; but Guy did not mind, it was time to get back in line.
After he had donned and buttoned his jacket he started making his way back to where he remembered the line being. Finding it was not difficult, as it had been reformed in his absence. He could even see the spot that he had occupied before the cleanup, directly ahead of the blonde man and the shrill voiced red head. To think that he would be happy to see them. He was not far, a mere 20 yards away when he felt a claw upon his shoulder and heard a voice in his ear
“Where do you think you’re going, mate?”
“Umm...Back to the line, I was pulled out to help with cleanup.”
“What cleanup? I don’t recall any clean up” replied the floating demon.
“But, but I only just got back here!” Guy was aghast at what was happening.
“Nah, you are lying. I can tell. Which means that you are a line cutter, and in my opinion there are few things worse; such as not bringing enough gum for everybody, than line cutters. It’s back to the end with you!”
Guy stared, jaw slacked in horror; but, he obeyed and walked back to the end of the line.
Step
Step
Step


Guy was almost at the front of the line, he could hear the demon at the desk giving instructions and stamping forms. He checked his right and his left, making sure that there were no other demons in sight. None. Despite himself, Guy smiled; it honestly looked as though he was going to make it this time, after three failures he could not help being almost happy.
Step.
He was next in line, finally he was done here and could begin the real journey. His smile grew as he thought about what was ahead, and he watched as the man at the counter picked up his paper work and walk past the counter to the security check point beyond. “Next!” cried the demon at the counter. Guy walked up, smiling; he was, after all, done with standing in line.
“Hi—“he started.
“Papers” The demon cut him off, it must have then noticed the confused look on Guys face for it continued; “I need, from you, 3 different forms of photo ID, a completed transit form, a temporary residence form, and intent to find permanent habitation form, 2 declaration forms (note that those each need two witnesses and you can’t use the same witness twice) a license to exist, a copy of your last medical screening, a copy of your last dental screening, a copy of your family tree, your death certificate, and a work permit form. Promptly.”
“I…I am afraid that I don’t have any of those.”
“Then I can’t help you. Next!”
“But...wait.”
“Sir, you are holding up the line.”
“I don’t even know where to find those forms!”
“Over there,” the demon indicated a table a dozen or so steps back from where Guy was standing. “You may pick up the forms from over there, like you were supposed to when you first arrived; make sure you fill them out completely. Have all of your required IDs ready as well.”
“How Am I or anyone else supposed to know about these forms! You keep them at the front of the line. You must be constantly turning people away for not having the appropriate paper work, and that, is terribly inefficient.”
“Not in my opinion, look behind you sir and you will see just how many people forgot to complete their forms.”
Guy looked and saw that every soul, from the beginning of the line stretching back to the end, was carrying a stack of paper work at least 2 feet tall. He was, simply put, flabbergasted at how he could have missed such an obvious visual clue. He, very quietly, let out a whimper, and tried to calculate whether or not he had enough ink in his pen to fill out that many forms. And once he was done, he would have to go back to the end of the line. It was almost too much to think about.
“If you don’t have anything else, then I must ask you to move; there are people who have their forms and are waiting to be received.”
“I…I…this is…absurd…you can’t…”
“I can, and do. End of line, sir”
It must have been the demons tone, just something about the way it said that last “sir” that set something off. Somewhere deep down inside Guy knew that he must take desperate, drastic action; he must do something that no sane honest or God fearing man would ever do. Thankfully, Guy was none of those. To do such a thing, even to a demon, was terrible to contemplate. The MAD of the service industry. Guy turned so that he was facing the demon, He looked it straight in the follows of where its eyes should have been and spoke the first word quietly but strongly; “No.” Then loudly and firmly he spoke those terrible words: “I have had enough; I want to speak to a Customer Service Representative.”
Silence so complete that it was palatable filled the air, behind him stacks of paper slipped and fell from the grips of in line souls. A look of fear, abject horror even, filled the demons near expressionless face. Every dead thing in that infinite space stopped and turned to watch. Even the cleaning demons were transfixed. All eyes and eye sockets stared, all were too afraid of the implications of what was happening.
To its credit, it was the demon at whom those terrible and potent words were directed that first regain its composure; “Yes…Yes of course. Right away sir. Um…We are a little shorthanded at the moment.” The demon shuffled through some papers on its desk, and then began to frantically type at its computer. “Wait, here…here we go. You,” the demon pointed to another of its ilk, “24602, could you escort Mr…Mr. Guy here to the home office? I've sent in the notification, they should have a CSR ready once you've arrived.”

[K2]

Some people seem to be reading this, so I am going to go ahead and post the third part. That is to say, the next couple of pages. Hope you guys enjoy.
Guy could not really understand how a seemingly infinite featureless plain could possibly be so effective at hiding things, together with his guide they turned non-existent corners which vanished afterwards and traversed long narrow corridors which brought them nowhere. Guy caught glimpses of many things; a long tall window, a water cooler, an escalator. Eventually they ended up at a bank of elevators. How fast the elevator went Guy could not say, though it felt as though they had traveled far. They were on a platform, and there was a tram ready. “Direct path to the home office, this we won’t have to muck about through Dis.” Said the numerically addressed demon.
“Ah, I take it then that Dis is large?”
“Oh yes,” replied 24602, “near infinite. It has to be seeing that most everyone ends up here.”
“Do they now?”
“Oh yes, most certainly.”
They drifted off into silence as the tracks clicked by and the lights looking at though they formed a tartan until Guy spoke again: “They called you 24602 back there, right? Do all demons have numbers instead of names?”
“Oh no,” replied the hell spawn, “all of us lowly demons use numbers, all the proper ones near the top have real names. For that matter, I’m so low on the totem pole that I don’t even get to keep my number. Every dozen customers or so I got to switch to a different one, some of the demons above me get to keep their numbers. That bloke at the counter that you were talking to was number six. Hey, how about you? Do you have a number?”
“I am not a number! I am a free man.” Guy replied sharply, almost automatically.
“Now, now, no need to get testy. I was just asking. These tram rides get boring when you have nothing to talk about.”
The tram had been traveling at such a frightful speed that in the span of those few sparse words they had reached their destination and, with a squeal of brakes, came to a halt. As they exited the car guy could not but help to notice how heavy he felt here, as though the air itself had gained weight. They walked up several staircases, 24602 complaining with every step, and through numerous passageways before entering a large office full of shoulder high cubicles. 24602 approached one of the nearer ones and began to ask its occupant about the availability of a CSR.
“No Gov’ner,” replied the salary man at the desk, “but I’m sure that one of the temps could help him.” As the salary man clicked and clattered at his key board Guy leaned over and asked 24602; “Temps?”
“Well,” 24602 whispered back, “our CSR are so busy that the big guy has a bunch of the rest of use fill in as temporary customer service representative. Not as useful as the real thing, but better than nothing.”
The clattering stopped and the salary man spoke: “Ah, here we go. Right. Take a left and use the elevator at the end of the hall. You wana go up another 600 floors, but it’s an express so you should be fine. Big office, only one up there, the secretary will be expecting you.”
They were indeed greeted by a secretary as they stepped off of the elevator. “Welcome!” she exclaimed in a voice that could only be described as chipper, “We have been expecting you, right this way.” The three of them walked the short distance past the secretary’s desk to a set of massive double doors. “I’m afraid that your guide will have to wait out here.” Then the two great doors swung open and Guy found himself being ushered in. Briefly he caught a glimpse of a bronze plaque next to the door which read “Morning...” something and then he was inside with the sound of closing doors behind him.
If asked afterwards it would have been the cold that Guy remembered the most, that sharp sting was like walking from a well heated house into a blizzard. His breath seemed to hang in the air, as though it had become part of the scenery. Beyond that, he was struck by the deep dark red of the carpet, at how the drawn curtains admitted no light, and the items scattered throughout the room as decoration: an electric guitar (A 1961 Gibson EB-0) on a stand, next to a picture of a handsome holding said guitar while Hitler sat at a drum set (a third individual that Guy did not recognize held the microphone), a photo of the demon giving the “v” for victory at Golgotha, A large gilded pitch fork at leaned against an ornate ivory desk atop which sat an IMac and behind it, cloaked in shadow like great wings sat a handsome demon.
“No, no, no! Mount the severed heads on the OUTSIDE of the walls, where they can be seen.” Cried the demon into his cellular telephone. “I don’t care if they don’t like the view, I’ve never cared about the opinions at all. They are severed heads for crying out loud!” A glance up revealed to the demon that he was not alone. “Wait, f***, I’ll have to call you back. No! I am not skimping out. *Inappropriate* you! I have a customer. Of course I work! What, did you think I just sat here and brood all day? *Ba Word* off, I’ll call you back.” With that the demon angrily jabbed the end call button on his phone before putting it down. He looked at guy and held up a single finger in the inter-dimensional signal for “just a moment” before beginning to search his desk in earnest. Guy waited patiently, his brief case at his side, admiring the room around him until he heard the demon clear his throat. Looking back Guy saw that the demon was now holding an index card. The demon politely indicated a seat and guy politely took it.
As Guy did so the demon began to read: “Greeting and salutations, welcome to the Principality of the Fallen. Your business is important to us. We understand and sympathies with the fact that you are having trouble navigating our services and that such experiences can be frustrating, unfortunately there are no customer service representatives available at this moment. Instead, we proudly offer you the opportunity to log you complaint with one of our temporary acting customer service representatives, such as the one with whom you are now speaking. The TACSR will file your concern in the appropriate box and attempt the help you heaver they can. Please not that since this is only a temporary duty for the TACSR that you are speaking with that they do not have access to the same range of abilities to address your issue as would a fully trained and empowered CSR. Thank you for your cooperation and understanding, please enjoy your stay within the Principality of the Fallen.”
The demon paused and let out a long breath before putting the index card down looking Guy straight in the eye and continuing. “Alright mortal, what’s your problem? Something with the check in process?”
“Wait, before we get to that, I must know; are you Satan?”
“I am the Morning Star, Lucifer; most perfect physically and mentally of all the angels and lesser creations, Lord of Lies, Prince of Darkness, Commander of Unseen Host and Leader of Uncounted Legions. Ad yes mortal, I am sometimes referred to by lesser being as “Satan”.”
“Cool, and this is Hell, right? I am in hell.”
“Hell is a derisive and offensive term used by those who do not know us to belittle us. Down here we prefer the more factually correct title of; “The Principality of the Fallen.””
“So…um…still Hell though, right?”
With a might, and slightly depressed sigh Lucifer continued: “Yes mortal, this is the infernal plain of damnation commonly referred to as Hell. Now, I am only filling in as a TACSR because we are rather shorthanded at the moment and I am very, very busy with my actual job, so please, can we move on to whatever the **** your problem is?”
“Well,” replied Guy as he reached into his brief case, “that was the plan, and I suppose the we could still do that; but, I think that instead we should take advantage of this most fortuitous situation and actually take care of the reason of me being here. In hell that is.” As he spoke Guy removed a plain manila envelope from his brief case and passed it to Lucifer. The Prince of Darkness took the envelope and examined its contents.
“I see, alright, in order to discuss this you are going to have to make an appointment. My secretary out dies can help you with that.”
“But, we can finish all of this stupid mess right now. Why not discuss the offer on the table?”
“Because I am not currently acting as the Lord of Lies, but rather as a TACSR and therefore cannot look over this right now. Besides, what about all those poor souls that you would be skipping? No, can’t have that. You still need to go through the check in process, just like everyone else. Now, having an appointment with me should make that a little easier for you, so you have that going for you. Now, if you would excuse me, I have work to do. Oh, and on your way out ask my secretary to call the AC repair man, it’s *Still a Bad Word*ing cold in here.”