The rays of the rising sun shot through the window as the office's staff trundled in for another day of work. The huge, cast-iron sign attatched to the exterior proudly proclaimed that this was the office headquarters for Sodor Communications Limited. Well, it would if the sign wasn't horribly rusted and the building it was attatched to looked like a care home for the mentally disabled that had been neglected for thirty years.
Thankfully for its staff, the office looked a lot more modern inside, something that nineteen-year-old Thomas Billington noticed on his first day at work. He sort of forgot it when he realised that the people working inside there were utter tosspots.
The man in question sat at his desk, absent-mindedly sipping a mug of tepid coffee dispensed from the broken and probably hazardous to human life coffee machine. The mug stated in large, faded red letters, "I'm #1!", and the top was covered in an innumerable amount of chips and scratches. Thomas had his actual work open in another tab on his computer, just in case his boss came around, but for now he was perfectly content with browsing through a softcore pornography website. He had another tab open with something more safe-for-work, again in case one of his colleagues happened to have a look at his computer screen.
One colleague in question was Edward Sharp-Stewart, sitting opposite Thomas, who was busily working away typing up a report. His chin was enveloped in stubble, and a pair of thin spectacles sat upon his nose. Like Thomas, he had dark brown hair, but Edward's was greying, and a sizeable bald spot marked the top of his head. Also like Thomas, he was dressed in a pale blue button-up shirt, with a bright yellow tie and black trousers. They sat opposite each other in two rows of cubicles, with four cubicles per row. The set of eight desks bore a limp paper sign designating that this was for the Tidmouth branch of the company. Each seat had a computer, and small personal possessions were scattered around each workspace.
To Thomas's left sat Percival Avon, better known as "Percy" to his colleagues. Percy was suitably attired in a pale green shirt with a red tie, and his clothes were marked by small food stains. Percy was shorter and noticeably pudgier than Thomas, and a few years younger. Being good friends with Thomas, it was not at all surprising that he shared a similarily apathetic work ethic, and he was currently engaged in a flash game.
To Percy's left sat Gordon East and Henry Stanier, two stockily-built men who were dressed in pale blue and green shirts, respectively, with matching red ties. Gordon was taller and stockier, and Henry had quite broad shoulders. They were both doing actual work, thank God, instead of just pissing around and abusing the computers like Thomas and Percy.
At the opposte side of the desks to Thomas sat Toby Wisbech, a frail and old, but kind man with a similar age and appearance to Edward. He had by now come to realise that he was in a dead-end job, but he accepted it. His head was quite rounded at the top, and it was topped with sandy brown hair. Wrinkles lined his face, and his nose was distinctively turned up. His less-than-appealing clothing choice consisted of a brown button-up and a red tie, plus a grey pair of trousers. He, too, was also doing work, currently arranging a spreadsheet.
Sandwiched between Toby and and empty space was Emily Stirling, the only female member of the Tidmouth team. Well, it wasn't a "team" per se. It was more of a "group of people lumped together because they fought the least in the office". Her head was framed by locks of straight, black hair that ran over her shoulders and down her back. She was dressed in a flowing, dark green dress and a set of yellow pearls around her neck.
Suddenly, the door banged open and James Hughes strutted in. Upon his entrance, the whole of the cubicles groaned inwardly, or audibly in Percy's case. He had a head of immaculately combed jet-black hair, given a sheen thanks to a copious amount of hair gel, and he was dressed in a red shirt with a black tie. The way he walked and the look on his face exulted a feeling of pure anger.
Deliberately trying to press James' buttons, Edward spoke up.
"Morning, James," he greeted with a shit-eating grin on his face, "did you have any trouble getting here today?"
"The train was late! Again!" he answered through gritted teeth. He scowled at Edward in such a way that Toby thought they'd have first-degree murder on their hands.
"And whose fault was it?" asked Gordon, joining in the fun.
"The bloody train company!" replied James.
"Or," probed Percy innocently, "did you hold off getting up here because you saw a certain female and wanted a little chat?"
"No!" yelled James, again, but his voice faltered slightly, and some of the anger seemed to escape him.
Thomas saw the chance and took it. "James," he said with a smug smile on his face, "if you really like Molly that much, do you want me to-"
"Piss off, Thomas. Besides, when could you ever-"
"Excuse me?" he replied, "I think this is sufficient evidence." Thomas held up a framed photo of a girl, dressed in lavender and pale pink, pictured with him. It bore the caption "Valentine's Day 2015".
"So he's not denying it, then," remarked Henry.
"Can it, Henry."
"Hey!" said Percy in mock offence, "What did Henry do to you?"
James said nothing. After a long silence, he sat down, defeated. He took out his anger at being ridiculed by his colleagues on his computer equipment, so nobody was surprised when a fountain of curses erupted from James' mouth.
"Well done, mate." deadpanned Percy, not looking up from his computer.
"Shut up, fatty." James snarled.
Hearing what he thought was footsteps, Thomas instinctively closed his suggestive material and stood up in his cubicle. Looking around the office, though, he saw nothing out of the ordinary. Leonard Gronk, nicknamed "Diesel" after a rumour spread that he once got high by inhaling petroleum, was lazily puffing on an e-cigarette at another set of desks. Stafford York, who sat near the door and was the office's receptionist (if it needed one, anyway), and a rumoured heroin addict, was tapping his fingers on his desk. Two young, new interns were seated not too far away from Thomas's desk, called Bill and Ben Cornish, were sharing a computer and playing a game instead of work.
Seeing that someone else instead of his failure of a friend shared a similar distaste for work, the office's head slacker and attention-deficit extraordinaire got up from his desk and walked over.
"Mornin', B and B. Been given an ASBO today yet?"
"Who's he, Ben?" said Bill, faking confusion, with his thick Brummie accent making his speech near-incomprehensible.
"I dunno, Bill," came his twin's reply, "but he looks bent."
"Maybe it's the tie. Only a proper bender would wear that."
"Ey, you cheeky twats, you can't talk!" replied Thomas. "You both look like you work for the bloody Yellow Submarine!"
Thomas returned to his own desk to type up another line of a Microsoft Word document. Fortunately for him and unfortunately for the rest of the office, he returned to see a squabble turn into something serious.
"Gimme my phone back, fatarse!" yelled James, who was reaching over the top of his cubicle, grasping his hands in the vague direction of Percy.
"Admit that you're a pretentious, self-absorbed twat and maybe I'll consider it." Percy replied. "Ooh, who's this, James? I didn't know-"
"Give it back!" James kneeled on his desk, disturbing his possesions and computer, reaching his hand into Percy's cubicle. Edward could faintly be heard muttering "I didn't sign up for this."
"Lads, could you calm down?" said Toby, who was trying and failing to concentrate.
"Percy," said Emily, "give soppy-arse his phone back before I do it meself."
"Not unless he apologises for takin' the piss out of my late mum and calling my girlfriend a whale." The desk gasped in unison. James was a dick, that was well known, but he was never known to have gone that far.
"James, apologise," said Gordon, "or we aren't getting you anything for your birthday."
James turned around, still dangling his hand into Percy's cubicle. "You what?"
"And," Henry added with a grin, "we'll make sure to remind everyone of that time you nearly drowned in a tar pit."
James widened his eyes in shock. "You wouldn't."
"Oh, yes, we would."
James looked around. He was getting more and more flustered as everyone else looked at him with a shit-eating grin.
"GIVE IT!" James climbed over the top of the cubicles, demolishing his computer and part of the thin wall in the process. He flopped onto Percy's desk, grabbing his phone with one hand and his colleague's throat with the other.
"Jesus Christ!" yelled Emily, while Edward uttered every curse word under the sun. Toby sprung up in an attempt to stop James from choking Percy to death. Thomas videoed the whole confrontation, intending to upload it to YouTube later, while Henry and Gordon just sat there and ignored the whole thing.
"What in the name of all that's holy is going on?!" yelled a short man with broad shoulders, and dressed in a dark green shirt, standing up from his desk. Meanwhile, Toby and Edward had managed to prise James off Percy and calm him down.
"Oh, hi, Duck." said Henry over the top of his cubicle.
"Don't call me that! Just because I was mauled by a duck on a company outing to Wales doesn't mean it's my name!"
"Fine, Montague. Anyway, things are going fine. Nothing to worry about."
Montague looked skeptical, but when he saw James standing up, grinning with way too much enthusiasm (in reality he had been told to by Edward), he was satisfied.
Everyone turned to James, except Thomas, who was making sure Percy wasn't dead and taking pictures of him to post on Facebook, and Percy himself, who was struggling to breathe.
"What. The. Hell. Was. That. For?" said Edward, scowling. "I don't give a rat's arse if you don't want to work, but don't disturbe the others."
"Since when were you in charge?"
"Because I'm the most competent. Now shut up and don't try to kill anyone again."
James complied and sat back down at his desk, attempting to get his damaged computer to work.
"Just another day at the office." muttered Thomas.
A/N: Doing a parody fic, because I want to. Doing a humanisation fic, because why the hell not. I'm also probably giving some fresh content to the stories on this goddamned site.
genericuser22 out!