I know I just said updates would be slow. And they will be. Soon. ... :) I write when I'm not supposed to.
Danny (c) someone else.
Now Hiring
I bit into my burger, chewing slowly. I wanted to say no, that I'm not really looking for anything new. Then again, the man sitting in front of me—staring oh so intently at the method in which I picked up another french-fry and tossed it in my mouth—would not accept such an answer. I just knew it.
I guess I could play some mind games with him, then, just to get him to go away. Annoyances like him were enough already. I was done talking to reporters and scientists, to political candidates and screaming females. I was somewhat done eating in public, too, if this was going to keep happening. There's something about people watching the way I eat that makes me uncomfortable. I simply don't like it.
But, who am I to say anything about it? It was my decision to go this way – my consequences. I guess I'm kind of responsible now. I have to answer questions, I have to play the game—but this is just ridiculous. I shouldn't have to listen to this guy, of all people, tell me I'm in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing.
I know I could have asked someone else to help me with all of this, found a way to make pests like this guy disappear—but I suppose I don't roll that way. Huh. I always wondered how I'd handle fame, and I never really saw it going down like this.
Interviews at the Nasty Burger. I snorted. Who would have guessed it? Oh, well. I have to get back to work after this – and I really don't care about this guy's opinion-of-whatever. "Look," I stated firmly, watching his pale eyes jump from my tray, "If you're going to ask any more questions, I suggest you send them to my website where they can be handled in an orderly manner. I have to get back to—"
"Don't!" he chirped, jolting to his feet and straightening his uniform. I sighed and rolled my eyes, making my disappointment clear.
"What?" I snapped. He hesitated, holding up a hand and shuffling through his untidy manila folder. "Y-you need to...I-I mean, we would like you to, um…." He trailed off and slipped out a form, handing it across the table.
The papers slid next to my tray and stayed there, untouched by my greased fingers. My arms were folded and my eyes were glaring. "I don't like you," I stated flatly. "And I don't like where your agency stands. Are we clear?"
The timid agent nodded, and I again cursed the GIW. They think sending their most mediocre, timid—it's pathetic, what they've been doing just to suck up to me enough for a conversation. I have half a mind to write them an invective letter informing them of the importance of "growing a pair" and "facing me like a man." I'm tired of these stupid field agents that don't know how to stand on their own two feet.
"I'm out." I stood and pushed past the guy-whose-name-I-hadn't-bothered-with. "Next time, why don't you send some real agents. You know," I tossed a pretty tip to the table, for the sink the Box Ghost had broken in the bathroom, "someone who actually knows what they're doing."
The agent stuttered and I pushed past him, waving a brisk goodbye to the manager and marching out of the eatery. I have work to do. Really. Seriously, a lot of work. I don't really know what yet—but I'm sure there's some poltergeist out there that needs my attention. "W-wait!" A pesky voice batted against my ear insistently, "We-we want to h-hire you!"
I froze, my eyes half-risen to inspect the nearly cloudless skies as my shoulders tensed—agitated. "Hire me?" I mumbled, turning to inspect him. He stood, half in the doorway, holding out a clump of papers and staring at me in despondency.
"Hire me?" I repeated, louder. Something wasn't quite right—or, well, this was just… I shook my head, trying to find a way to make it as comical as I'm sure I'd find it later. "For what?" I asked, beckoning the idiot closer, "I don't suppose you're joking, are you?"
The man handed me his folder, his hands shook as they moved, jolting unsteadily. I gave him a sour look and took the thing, flipping through it—wouldn't you guess it, an application form. "You know I don't even have a resume," I stated, "and I already do everything I can to protect this town – I get a presidential pension every month, I have no need for money." I scoffed, "What on Earth would you need me for?"
I paused, chewing my lip, "Other than tearing me apart to analyze my organic structure, of course."
"That goes without saying." The agent half-chuckled, and then froze, covering his mouth in obvious horror. I lifted an eyebrow—is it me, or…
"Bet you didn't mean to say that, huh?" I grinned slyly, watching the color infuse his cheeks. "Don't tell me you've actually got a sense of humor?" The agent stuttered but I cut him off with hand gesture. "Relax. What's your name?"
"Agent—"
"Your name," I pressed, glaring, "No more of that letter garbage, k?"
He looked at me and his lips opened, then closed. He turned, glanced back at the Nasty Burger, and his shoulders slumped, "W-well…." He sighed and turned back to me. "My-My name is Bleckley. Roger."
"Weird." I nodded down the street. "Let's take a walk, Rog." I started walking and didn't look behind me to see if he'd follow—it was obvious that he would. These people have a tendency to… do anything. I guess. Timid, shy, a little heavy on the stutter—but, still, it's not every day I get sharp comebacks. It's a moment, I must admit, I kind of relish. I'd feel accomplished if I can work another one out of him. "Tell me what the GIW wants to hire me for."
"Processing information management," the man stated cleanly, then froze, made a scuffling sound that was near to tripping over himself, and then caught up next to me. "I-I mean, that's what I do. It'd be y-your job to bring in the infor-information. Help us re-search ghosts."
"I already cleared it with the government that I'm not writing any reports." I rolled my eyes. "Now they want to pay me to? No." I watched him from the corner of my eye—his brow was furrowed and he watched the ground in front of him with acute attention. His lips moved in mute conversation with himself.
I'm pretty sure he would have been embarrassed if I hadn't hidden my amusement so well, but his response was, unexpectedly, very clear and fluent. "We only really want to work with you, and learn new things. The agency wishes to compile more information concerning specters so that, on any occasion that the city is under an unmanageable siege – or by leave of your absence, the city remains under protection and without chaos."
He smiled in a way that I felt alienated by, like it wasn't meant for me to see the small victory in those eyes. "We'd also like to expand our forces across other spectral hotspots across the globe—there are places that have mild (in comparison) paranormal activity that, re-re" He stopped, frustration suddenly snapping onto his face—and then he slowed and his breathing became deep and regular. "Reee. Regardless could still u-se help." A real stutter problem, I added mentally. They really do know how to pick 'em.
"Of course." I sighed, ringing my hands together and bringing myself back to the issues at hand. "Bring in universal importance, the "world as we know it" is at stake. Not bad. But you've missed the mark—I'm not writing any stupid reports, not following any regulations, and I'm not going to run around like one of you." But, in effect, it was possible…there really was a ghost problem growing in other cities across the US and beyond, even.
If they're the ones willing to handle it, well…and if I use that idea the family discussed the other day…Maybe the GIW could, actually, be useful. I wouldn't need to put in as much work, and, after all… "Okay." I grinned, the plan settled, "Okay, yeah, tell you what – we can work together."
"R-really?" Bleckley stared at me with wide, unbelieving eyes.
I slung my arm over his shoulder and leaned in with a secretive smile, "I've got an idea…"
A man plopped a pile of documents onto his grey desk, staring at them with intense concentration. "Let me get this straight," he drawled, voice contorted with trembling emotion. "He what?"
"H-h-h-he. W-w—"
"Stop, just, stop." The man turned briskly, his white suit a flourish, to address the flinching agent. "He specifically requested you? Agent S, I do not understand. He cannot just—just—turn it around like that!" The Agent paced in frustration, pulling off his sunglasses to clean them with a routine swipe.
Spectacles returned to their proper place, the man swiftly moved to inspect his wall—searching for something, anything. "So he wants to hire you. Specifically. To…to run the reports, process information and – how dare he suggest that we actually work with those things!"
"It is an idea," a woman mumbled, straightening her skirt after she smoothly slid on top of the desk, crossing her ankles comfortably. "Perhaps we should take this as progress, Agent Zero. Agent S has clearly specified that the boy has the same goal we do – maybe if we were to work with the ghosts, as the boy suggests, then it may far excel our learning process concerning the paranormal."
"The ghosts are evil!" the Agent spat, pacing faster than he ever had. "And with all due respect, Mrs. Finch, this is my operation, not yours." He snarled and folded his arms, "It's a wonder that boy is even allowed in public space; nonetheless treated like a spoiled little prince."
"With all due respect, he did stop the apocalypse." Superintendent Finch sighed and inspected her nails, "Also, as the overseer of this entire operation, I do have the right to make sure we are being productive." She hopped off the desk and wandered to the door, "I believe that Agent S has made significant progress. Thank you, Agent." The man hesitated, nodded quickly, and then scuttled out of her way. "Working with ghosts could be…very productive."
Agent Zero froze, glared. "I'm not working with ghosts. I refuse to be their—their companion!"
"Hmm." The woman smiled, too sweetly, her beady eyes soaking in the room with hunger. "Then you stand in the way of progress, Marshall Blake." She looked at Agent S and patted his flinching shoulder gently, "Have a good day, Agent Zero. And please, do get back to Mr. Fenton that we shall be accepting his proposal."
"B-bu-bu—" Roger Bleckley stood in dazed confusion as she marched out of the room, staring at the door in complete disbelief. "D-did sh-she, I—" The former Agent Zero growled in a way that was closer to a scream and shoved past the stuttering man in hot pursuit—in the hall, a series of loud, extraneous yelling could be heard for some time until it was suddenly and unexplainably cut short.
Alone in the quiet office, the newly appointed Agent Zero turned around very slowly, eyeing his surroundings with wide eyes. Almost uncontrollably, a wicked grin split his face in two. He tapped the top of his white suit collar and whispered, "Master—I'm in."
...You guys should seriously watch Danny Phantom in other languages if you're trying to learn said languages. :'D It really helps to already know what's going on in a show when you're watching it in Polish.
Thanks AB for the awesome help~!
~Catalyst
