Pre-Comment: You voted for it, I wrote it. On a different note, I say good-bye to my cowboy hat for another year to collect dust on top of my bookshelf until 2010. If that makes sense to you, you probably live somewhere near to me. If not, pay it no mind.
Chapter Three: So You Want to Work For—Wait, What?
Name: Jeremiah Gottwald
Objective: To obtain full-time employment by Minute Maid in quality management and pulp production.
Skill Sets: Armed combat, loyalty, being 30% cyborg, Geass Canceller, orange quality control, compatibility for both PC and Mac.
Past Employment: Knight to the Demon Emperor, orange plantation owner.
ooo
The only thought Lydic had in his mind was Thank God.
After interviewing a bunch of other idiots who had dropped by his doorstep, Lydic had finally come across someone who looked like they were worth the effort, time, and patience. While he didn't want to be too picky about his employees at this point in time, there was one glaring issue he just couldn't put down.
"Jeremiah, it says here you're looking to apply to… Minute Maid?"
The man sitting across from him bristled slightly.
Oooh.
Must've struck a nerve or something.
"Yes," he answered proudly. "That's correct."
"So… why aren't you there? Instead of here. In my office. Wasting my time applying to Pizza Hut? You do know this is Pizza Hut right?"
Gottwald coughed and any lesser man probably would've looked away from Lydic's hard-pressed stare. He cleared his throat politely.
"They rejected me."
Well.
Lydic really only had one thing to say about that.
(In his head, of course.)
Oh BURRRN.
"I see," he returned airily. Lydic looked back down at the resume at hand and back up at the man sitting across from him.
A particularly sinister thought came to mind and he wasn't about to resist the urge to see just how sinister it could be.
"Why not apply to Tropicana, then? They have better pulp, after all."
Gottwald visibly flinched but said nothing.
A red light somewhere on his face started to blink.
Lydic Verell wasn't completely unaware of the first skill on Gottwald's resume.
Er.
Let's stop this train before it crashes somewhere nastily.
"At any rate that's alright because Pizza Hut isn't too picky about those employed under its red-hatted roof."
Who were just rejected by Minute Maid, Lydic added—only in his head.
Gottwald gave him a polite smile. "I'm thankful to hear it."
The light stopped blinking.
Sigh of relief?
Lydic wasn't sure.
And with nothing better to do, he decided to peruse the guy's resume again. Lydic didn't know what to think about this one. He was nice. He was polite. He was well-behaved. He wasn't terribly psychotic (not that Lydic found that a problem anymore given the recent applicants at his door). And, above all, he seemed more than just able.
Jeremiah Gottwald was just a little overqualified to be a meagre employee of a giant conglomerate pizza corporate entity of the western world.
He was the ideal employee.
There was only one glaring problem.
A rather very glaring problem.
"So… uh… can you tell me what that… orange thing—" He really didn't know what else to call it. "—on your face does?"
The man cleared his throat and smiled politely. "It's a 'Geass Canceller.' It cancels any Geass that might be on you."
Lydic frowned. "Are you… calling me a Nancy? I may be out of the social loop, but I'm pretty sure that falls in the rude spectrum of speech no matter how you spin it."
The man's eyes widened in horror and he raised both hands defensively. "No! No! Nothing of the sort! GEE-ASS. It cancels out any Geass that might be on you."
"A what?"
"A Geass. It's like… a… uh… a magic spell that gets put on you."
Uh oh.
A strong sense of déjà vu hit Lydic. Right there.
"A magic… spell…?"
"It's a rather long story I'd rather not get into right now if you're intending to be home by six today."
Lydic glanced at the clock.
3:42.
"I see. We'll move on, then. Ominous background notwithstanding, are you really thirty percent robot?"
Gottwald nodded. "With full compatibility for both Windows and Mac. Although I prefer Windows over Mac."
"In… Interesting. I'm… I'm not sure what to say or think about that. So… you're skilled in armed combat, are you? Were you trained in the military? If so, then why did you leave?"
"Yes. I was. I left due to political reasons and the change of leadership. I'm sure you were aware of the day the so-called Demon Emperor—"
"—was slain?"
Yes, quite literally slain.
Sword and all.
This was covered.
"Yes, I remember—"
Lies.
This was also covered.
"—that day well. It was quite the event. All over the news."
"Yes, well, I was in charge of protecting him that day."
Lydic blinked.
That story sounded vaguely familiar.
The name sounded vaguely familiar now.
Gottwald…
Gottwald…
Gott—
Whoa.
This was Jeremiah Gottwald.
The guy in charge of protecting the late Empress Marianne vi Britannia too.
Hmm.
Late Empress.
Late Emperor. (Demon or not.)
Lydic began to see a pattern of 'fail' surrounding this guy—no matter how adept he was.
"Tell me, Mr Gottwald, were you in charge of protecting the late Empress Marianne vi Britannia the day she died too?"
A flinch.
Oooh.
Struck another nerve.
"Th-That's just coincidental."
The telltale red of embarrassment tinted his cheeks.
The guy probably didn't think how badly it would look on a resume to have failed twice at the same task. You know what they say if at first you don't succeed… and Lydic wasn't against such an old piece of advice… but others considering his bodyguard qualities may want to reconsider their choice at this point.
"I see. Well, just one last thing I'd like to ask you about before we wrap up here…"
Lydic wasn't even sure if he really wanted to.
"Does a Geass Canceller come in Windows or Mac?"
It could've been the badly placed joke. (And bad joke in general.)
It could've been the slight undertone of insult.
It could've been the fact that Lydic was smiling while he asked that question.
It could've been any number of things, really.
But, one way or another, Jeremiah Gottwald got up from his seat and proceeded to leave the office.
With slightly renewed fervour, Lydic Verell finally ate that chocolate mint incentive Nakuru had placed on top of the stack of neatly piled resumes. He then proceeded to scan the pile over for more resumes that could be profiles for the patients of a local psycho ward.
Comments:
The pulp thing is actually my personal issue with Minute Maid. Tropicana has better pulp. I'm not afraid to say it. If Minute Maid ever started to come out with Tropicana quality pulp I think they should call it Minute Maid Tropical.
I would buy it.
On another note, I think this is steadily going downhill. And, for the most part, I'm okay with that.
Please R&R.
- Minute Maid
Beverage of Queens (whose pulp is worse than Tropicana)
P.S. You vote it, I'll write it. Who's next?
