A quiet day, spent mostly watching some television and muddling through the Sunday crossword. And then there was my weekly writing group:
“This muscular depressed woman has unruly strawberry-blonde hair, light brown eyes, and a mild case of acne. She wears a forest green turtleneck.”
“Bloody hell. Well, we did fear the worst. I won’t call him then.”
“Her. It’s a woman. Weren’t you listening? She’s a little muscular, but — ”
“How muscular is he?”
“She. Look, it’s like you’re intentionally misunderstanding everything I say.”
“Could the muscles and the acne be related somehow? Is this miscreant some kind of habitual steroid abuser?”
“Miscre–what? Who even talks like that? No, look, it’s just a mild case of acne. It flairs up whenever she’s under stress. She’s a bit self-concious about it and — ”
“I should bloody well expect so! What with the police investigating him and everything.”
“Her. And the police? What police?”
“You said he was under arrest.”
“Stress. Under stress. She’s not — Look, I just wanted to let you know, so that when she comes in here for the interview you’re not surprised and don’t start…well, being you. We don’t need a repeat of what happened with the last applicant.”
“Bloody villain that was! He threatened to kidnap the mayor!”
“He said you had something in your hair. And you did. What was that anyway, dried squid?”
“Nobody kidnaps the mayor of this city on my watch! Just tell that to what’s left of Johnny Octopus!”
“Yeah, I’m sure he and the whole Cephalopod Gang were a real menace to society. What was Johnny, like 87?”
“He was a wily old mollusk!”
“Maybe back in the nineteen-forties.”
“They led the Fuhrer to Atlantis!”
“Whatever. Look, the point is, you need a new sidekick, and you can’t go bad-mouthing, sucker-punching, or freeze-raying every last person who applies for the job.”
“Did I freeze-ray Mr. Forest Green Turtleneck here?”
“Ms. And no, but only because she hasn’t got here yet. And your freeze ray’s in the shop.”
“Bloody batteries.”
“Look, I’m just saying, don’t do anything crazy. Just be…job-interviewy. She comes highly recommended, the acne notwithstanding.”
“Refrerences?”
“Impeccable.”
“Dr. Charles Impeccable? Really? Hmm…Powers?”
“Acrobatics, mostly. She trained with the Mystic Zafir in Nairobi. So basic combat skills: knife-throwing, hand-to-hand, killer robot. But there’s also a rumor that she’s secretly the crown princess of a telepathic alien kingdom from the Marqu’andic Galaxy.”
“You made that up.”
“It’s on her CV.”
“Hmph. Turtleneck’s not much of a costume.”
“Look who’s talking, Mr. Sweatshirt and Blue Jeans.”
“I told you, woman! Casual Friday! Besides, the cape’s at the cleaners.”
“Look, I’m not saying you have to hire her. I’m just saying, keep an open mind. You have to hire someone. The agency isn’t going to keep insuring you with this lone wolf act you’ve had going since Benji died.”
“Allegedly died! The androids never found his body in the space vortex!”
“Fine, whatever. But for now he’s gone, and you need somebody out there with you, helping you to not be so…well, you.”
“Fine! I’ll see this so-called sidekick! Send him in!”
The first two paragraphs were a pair of (yes, quite odd) writing prompts, but the rest is all me. Not quite sure if that’s a good thing.
