A sort-of continuation to "Red, White, and Blonde". The difficulties with chat 'support' mentioned in both actually happened (including the whole 'sent to a search engine' thing, couldn't make that bit of massive stupidity up if I tried), though unlike #476 I was unable to make sure that the incompetent boobs who provide 'support' for EveryWhere Chat met messy ends. Happens after "Prankklok".
As usual, I don't own Metalocalypse or any canon characters. #476 is mine. #416 and #9055 are friends of mine.
#476 was bored. So very bored. She had finally heard back from chat 'support', completely contradicting what she'd been originally told. Firmly telling herself that she was not under any circumstances to respond with all the profanity she'd started muttering, she thanked them for their time. As she knew she owed a status report on the matter, she sent an email to the Commander detailing their problems and that the permanent 'solution' that 'support' had sworn up and down would work in fact would not. She gave names, particularly one that had decided that sending her to a search engine was preferable to actually doing what they were s'posed to be doing. A vindictive smile crossed her face as she clicked Send. She loved ensuring messy deaths for people who pissed her off.
Switching figurative gears, she logged on to the Gear message board. "Again?!" She exclaimed, upon entering a topic regarding more fanfiction on the main server. She backtracked and hunted it down. "'#476, #416, #9055, and the night they cleared out the tequila'?!" This time, she was annoyed. She quickly scanned it through, then facepalmed, knowing right off who was behind it once again. She opened another email window, quickly firing off another email, this one going directly to the culprit and expressing her displeasure on the matter. She really did not appreciate a repeat incident, not on her watch. Additionally, there was the matter of the incident being described (and oversexualized) having actually taken place. Of course, she didn't remember much of it, at least not until she'd seen the footage herself. Sure, she remembered passing the tequila bottle around (they'd been instructed to clear the remainder out after the incident with the master record, but not how they were to accomplish it), and she remembered waking up the next day incredibly hungover with a pair of lacy green panties that weren't hers on her head, but not what had happened during their impromptu party. The three of them had gotten the footage erased and the night stricken from the record.
She frowned, reminded of what had happened when she'd gone to retrieve the single copy of the tape. Someone had insisted on a round of Never Have I Ever, and a particularly brain bleach-worthy confession had her draining her glass several times simply to make sure that she wouldn't have nightmares. She'd then gone tearing off after that tape. One thing had led to another, and she'd done the Walk of Shame the very next day. The Walk had gotten as far as the nearest bathroom, where she'd proceeded to utter prayers to the porcelain god as she threw up. It had been a depressing way to spend the day after she'd drunkenly yielded up her virginity, she'd decided. The actual retrieving of the tape had taken place several hours later, when the painkillers had finally kicked in and she'd remembered that it was still there. She'd rolled her eyes as she'd snuck back in and found Master Pickles still asleep, right where she'd left him, half-covered by a blanket, one arm thrown over his face. It only took a few minutes of digging underneath his bed to unearth the tape. Before she left, she allowed herself a moment to just take it all in with a fond glance, then fairly ran off to grab #416 and #9055.
The three of them had derived great pleasure in melting that tape with a blowtorch. It hadn't exactly calmed her uncertain nerves regarding the whole matter, but it had helped.
Her email pinged, drawing her out of her flashback. She opened it, reading it quickly. That vindictive smile returned. Oh yes, she definitely loved that part of her job. She only hoped that their deaths were as painful as her experiences in dealing with them. She logged back in, waiting for the next batch of problems - and hopefully, a proper solution.