January 20th: Reid's Pundamentals of Magic
.
January 20th: Pun - 100 words - Set up a really good pun today! Prompter hides under desk and prepares for hatemail.
.
"I'm starting to think this guy is actually insane," Emily said bluntly, staring at the door between them and the seriously irate Rossi bellowing on the other side. "The fuck is this?"
Reid ignored her and ignored Rossi—if he was shouting, he was fine—and stared at the door. Various images carved into the wood decorated it, ten in a circle around a hand shaped print in the centre. When he prodded it with his magic, the door completely resisted him. He scowled at a rabbit in a bowl and said, "It's a magical lock. If we don't unlock each spell in turn, it will probably… well, I don't know. But it won't open, and it may eviscerate us."
Emily stared. "Oh, I fucking hate that stoat," she whispered under her breath. "How do we unlock it?"
Reid looked back at the pictures. The aforementioned rabbit. A dinosaur crammed in between what looked like two waffles. A running banana. None of them made sense.
Unless…
"Oh," he said, and touched the rabbit. "There's a hare in this man's soup." The rabbit glowed and vanished.
"Holy fuck me dead," Emily breathed. "I hate him, I hate the world, I hate everything—"
The banana was next. "Bananas splitting," Reid said, touching that one, and then moved onto, "A dino-s'more."
A fish playing with a guitar. "Tuna fish." A man with a straight razor standing at an ATM: "Shavings account." Two identical boys drawing what looked like lewd pictures while frowning at each other… Reid stared intently at that one. "Scribbling ribaldry," Reid said with a huff, and Emily swore again. The boys vanished.
Finally, the door was empty. The handprint remained. And it still wouldn't open. Finally, out of desperation, Reid screamed, "What could he possibly want from us! None of this is funny! Is he trying to kill us or make us fucking laugh or what?"
Emily blinked, looking at him and then at the door. "Holy shit," she breathed, stepping closer. "I think that's it. This sick fuck was trying to make a joke. Hey, asshole, asshole!" In Reid's pocket, the mad stoat was silent. "If you were trying to make a joke, you seriously screwed up, you wanna know why?"
Reid touched her arm, concerned. "Emily, I think you should calm—"
"No!" she hollered, pressing her hand against the handprint. "Because, you know what? If you were trying to make us laugh, you suck! Because no pun in ten did!"
The handprint giggled and vanished.
The door opened.