His new assistant stood there, a novel the size of a brick in her little hands and an odd smile making up bright red lips painted in cheap lipstick. But she was trying hard. Her clothes were brand new, and her mad fire colored hair had been forced neatly back into a bun. You could tell it was usually in a mess around her head. Wild and free and without concern, probably like the heart stuck inside her chest.
But today, this chick was nervous. A chick-because she wasn't quite a girl and too young to be a woman. The worry presented itself inside those honey flavored dark brown eyes, bordered by long eyelashes that were probably fake.
Who could blame her? This poor unsuspecting chick, having to face the cruelty of an enormous front door to an even more enormous mansion. The whole building spit out gloom like a factory, with winding corridors and chambers too large for their own good. Where photographs lined the walls in bitter sweet memories, making the estate seem older than it actually was.
It was a haunted museum. There were a few servants to clean the place and a beast man to sit in the center of it and stare down the new comers with a saw-like scowl. His claws tapped on the surface of the polished mahogany desk.
In thought. In a whirlwind. In a half-interested misery.
And they looked at one another. Words bunching up inside throats like vomit. They even had the same kind of burn to them. The new assistant's bile was of course, much worse.
"It's an honor to be here, sir." A set of rainbow colored nails drifted through the loose bits of hair nearly stapled to her forehead.
Viral caught the papers fogging up his desk a moment. "Did you just get those clothes?"
"Yes. I bought them yesterday." Fingers were beginning to ring the cover of that novel, like the claws of a cat kneading a blanket. That face of hers was becoming a bit red. Pigment slowly creeping up on her cheeks while lips worked themselves into a ball.
She really was nervous, like Viral had her strapped down and held a scalpel to her chest. Like he dissected her… took her apart with a single golden eye and left her dead when the mangling got boring.
"You don't have to dress so nicely. I really don't care either way."
"Well…It's a relief to know that."
The fire cackled in the background. It chewed up fresh wood.
"What do you have there?" The beast man shot his attention right to her hands again. "Come closer, please. You're standing too far away."
So the chick followed orders and came nearer. "It's your autobiography, sir. I know you've probably been asked this frequently, but would you mind signing it for me?" The cinderblock sat against the desk, with an unreal amount of care.
It was an older edition-the reason Viral didn't recognize it at first. The spine was worn and broken in three different places, and the pages had yellowed to gold. The versions that fell under his pen now-a-days were always brand new, literally just picked up from a pile at a book store and shoved right under his nose. This always caused an unpleasant ache. These apathetic people—none of them would actually sit down and read all of those pages. Fuck no. They would all go and sell it to someone who valued signed books. Maybe give it to a grandson or a granddaughter to be placed on a bookshelf.
But this book… this book was worn out and read probably more than a dozen times. Carefully leafed through, markings of high lighters in numerous different colors ate up the pages. Tattoos written in the margins in careful handwriting and corners dog eared, for the most important sections.
It was beaten to hell like a holy text.
"Have you read any of my other books?"
"Yes, I have. All of them, actually. But this one is my favorite. I thought I would bring them in through a few weeks' time, if I didn't irritate you." Her words were so damn careful; you'd think she had rehearsed them.
She probably had.
"I don't mind signing books." The spine was severed once again, this time to reveal the back cover. Viral caught a mirror image of himself, lips dressed up in the typical scowl. He hadn't aged one goddamn day. The image printed in black and white had faded, but it was all the same.
Except, now his scowl had grown.
"I write my name five hundred times a day. Whether it's on a government document or the back of a very old book really doesn't matter."
The pen struck beneath the photo.
The signature was allowed to dry.
The epic was returned.
"I'll show you the office. Come with me."
And so, the two walked across the hallway into another enormous room with practically nothing inside. A gaping window made up one of those four walls, its glass filled up with frowning snow clouds. The entire thing had been cleaned to uncomfortable perfection—like the inside of one of those model homes. A clinical clean. There was no life in it. There had never been any life in it.
There were three things in this office: a desk reminiscent of Viral's, a dead fire place, and an empty book shelf on the western wall.
The space was cold. But it looked cold.
"You can decorate this place, if you like. And you're welcome to bring books to place on the book shelf. Do I have to explain how to do this job?"
"No sir. Not at all. I've been doing this quite a while."
"Good." Then a stillness that would kiss the base of your spine. "I'll be going."
And Viral went.