BODY-SWAP
Chapter 3
My Name is Lupa…I Live on the Second Floor
Disclaimer: Raziel belongs to Eidos Interactive and Crystal Dynamics.
This is ludicrously short, and not of my best I think…so I apologise in advance. I have horrible writer's block *wails* and can't seem to get any good ideas lately.
Raziel: *shakes his head* All work and no play makes VladimirsAngel a dull girl…
Thank God, I think as Raziel proceeds to give my boss a look that says "I wonder what you'd look like dead" Thank God…that my boss is not the most observant woman on this earth and therefore has not noticed the beautiful pearly claw-hooves that are poking out from under the cuffs of Vampire Raziel's trousers. Human beings are not known for looking either very up or very down. It sometimes makes me wonder why I spend so much money on shoes. Nobody ever really looks at them.
"Are you the temp?" demands my boss, and suddenly there is a big, black cloud on the silver lining. I choke, silently. My mind wants to scream "Noooooooo!" but my voice-box is not co-operating. "You're late. And we have a strict dress-code in this department, young man…"
The "young man" flickers an eyebrow at me in immense amusement, then turns to my boss and says: "I'm sorry. I got lost on my way here. VladimirsAngel -" and he turns to me with a sickly grateful grin - "was just giving me directions."
The only direction you're going to get from me, Raz, is how to take a long walk off a short cliff - "Sorry, Boss?"
"I said, seeing as you seem to have spare time on your hands, Angel," says my boss, disparagingly, "you can show Mr…uh.."
"Anderson," says Raziel, who has been impossible to live with since The Matrix.
"…the ropes," my boss concludes, before waltzing off to deal with the rest of us humble minions and leaving me with the cuckoo in the nest, the fox in the chicken coop, the vampire in the nunnery…ahem.
Raziel folds his arms, hiding his claws, and tries to give me an innocent look. "Don't even try," I snap, grabbing him by the shoulder and shoving him towards the empty desk next to mine. He sits down, and almost immediately, the phone rings.
"Hello," says Raziel, snatching up the receiver, "how can I help you?"
He listens for a moment, then expertly puts the call on hold and flutters his eyelashes at me, sweetly. "It's for you," he smiles.
The following is a transcript of my call, complete with mental additions in italics:
Yes madam. I'm sure we can help you with that…bastard bastard bastard big blue decomposing bastard…yes madam bastard bastard bastard if I could just take your name and address…why me?why me? why? Do I look like I deserve to be dogged by vampires?…uh-huh…yes…yes…oh no. What's he doing..,what is he doing…Certainly, madam. Thank you for your call. Aargh! That's my holepunch! Raziel - Sorry, madam, could you repeat that? He's going to die. Again. When I get my hands on…noooo! Not the post-it notes! Not at all, madam. Thank you. Goodbye.
I give Raziel my best glare. Flowers have withered, faces have melted and small children have run screaming before that glare. Raziel just blinkblinks his yellow cat-eyes at me and does his best to look efficient with the fax machine. The shredded remains of my Post-It notes flutter gently down around our desks like so much pretty wedding confetti.
For some reason, a few minutes later as I try to make him understand that you cannot use the word "scum" in a polite telephone conversation, I find my thoughts drawn to pointed wooden stakes and the topical use of hand grenades. And, to add insult to injury, my boss likes him. She thinks he's the cat's whiskers. And he's only been here five minutes. Me, she hates. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.
I dig around in my desk drawer and find a packet of really strong painkiller™ that I keep there in case of emergencies. The back of the packet reads, "One or two tablets to be taken with food. May cause drowsiness".
Perfect.
It's nearly lunchtime. I think I have a little trip to make.