Post by kharma on Feb 1, 2013 4:19:58 GMT -5
"God damnit, this is the last time I ask that good-for-nothing half-wit to head up one of my projects, FUCK!"
Back and forth across his office, rife in splendor, Sorein Fairchild fumed amidst copious profanity and agitated gesticulations. Cyric Valdhaz of the Alchemists' Guild was refusing to transport Sorein's latest pet project because "EQUIPMENT TOO SENSITIVE." Cyric was never too forthcoming as to the intricacies of his reasons, unless you had an hour or two to kill and a few shots of brandy available, so the trite note was appropriate, but struck a harsh cord with Sorein--overworked and overstressed in lieu of two grueling weeks of arranging a thousand-and-one subordinates whose salaries exceeded their intellect. Sorein hated incompetence, and his staff seemed to be churning out an extra portion this month.
"FINE!! If Cyric won't ship it, I'll send someone to do it for him!"
Sorein's marching, bored of the expensive carpet, led itself out onto the well-polished oak-plank corridor of the mansion in search of the appropriate tone to tap out for an errand-servant.
"Damn, damn, damn! Why can't the people I pay just do their damn jobs? Whose turn is it to figure something out for me today? Hmmmmm...."
As the steady drum-roll of Jakka hide filed past the offices in the worker's wing, a one-word melody followed along, adding just the right overtone of cynic narcissism to the impending doom its droll suggested:
"No...no...no...oh, hell no....no...n--hold on!"
Sorein's gripe-song came to suspense directly in front of his head of intelligence's office door.
"Lucky Winner!" Sorein projected, his normal propriety and composure almost nonexistent. If anyone could take care of this fiasco, it would probably be
Back and forth across his office, rife in splendor, Sorein Fairchild fumed amidst copious profanity and agitated gesticulations. Cyric Valdhaz of the Alchemists' Guild was refusing to transport Sorein's latest pet project because "EQUIPMENT TOO SENSITIVE." Cyric was never too forthcoming as to the intricacies of his reasons, unless you had an hour or two to kill and a few shots of brandy available, so the trite note was appropriate, but struck a harsh cord with Sorein--overworked and overstressed in lieu of two grueling weeks of arranging a thousand-and-one subordinates whose salaries exceeded their intellect. Sorein hated incompetence, and his staff seemed to be churning out an extra portion this month.
"FINE!! If Cyric won't ship it, I'll send someone to do it for him!"
Sorein's marching, bored of the expensive carpet, led itself out onto the well-polished oak-plank corridor of the mansion in search of the appropriate tone to tap out for an errand-servant.
"Damn, damn, damn! Why can't the people I pay just do their damn jobs? Whose turn is it to figure something out for me today? Hmmmmm...."
As the steady drum-roll of Jakka hide filed past the offices in the worker's wing, a one-word melody followed along, adding just the right overtone of cynic narcissism to the impending doom its droll suggested:
"No...no...no...oh, hell no....no...n--hold on!"
Sorein's gripe-song came to suspense directly in front of his head of intelligence's office door.
"Lucky Winner!" Sorein projected, his normal propriety and composure almost nonexistent. If anyone could take care of this fiasco, it would probably be