"Where'd that come from then?" Terry asked, barely pausing from her morning cruise around the office. No one was quite sure why she looped the place before tucking herself safely behind her desk – it probably had something to do with her ongoing campaign to kill the bank of plants outside Miller's office.
Terry's interest had been briefly drawn by the unusual addition of antlers mounted on the wall where Miller's portrait used to be.
Ollie swore when he saw it, dropping his toast. Glen rushed over, levering the grotesque thing off the wall before hiding it hastily behind his desk. He'd only just finished straightening Miller's portrait when the replica droid strolled in looking ever so slightly worse for wear after his night of drinking. Glen nodded in greeting. Dan gave his usual unnerving, false smile before vanishing into his office, blinds down like fucking Satan.
Glen collapsed against the wall in relief, holding his chest. He half expected to find his heart on the floor. He even looked for it.
"How the fuck did Malcolm get that thing up so fast?" Ollie cursed, almost in awe.
"No idea but I'm changing the bloody locks again."
There was a peculiar line of mandarins running the edge of Malcolm's desk. He was engrossed, placing each one carefully as close to the threshold as possible. It was almost a compulsive action, as though Tucker was channelling his frustration into potential kinetic energy that he could tap into with a slight jolt. Basically, he was daring the second law of thermodynamics to come out and play.
"What, in the name of almighty fuck, are you doing, you crazy fuck?" Jamie asked.
It was early morning and the pair of them had taken up their usual positions in Malcolm's office. Miller's antler incident was playing silently on the TV behind while Malcolm listened to various radio interviews from the weekend, taking notes on which ministers he had to tear fingers off. 'Listening to Cunts' might as well be his job description.
Tucker was undeterred by Jamie's tone, setting down another piece of fruit. "Don' you have work to do – you know, a job – victims to round up and terrorise? My couch is not your home. Yer don' blend in with the carefully crafted décor."
"Jesus. Have you seen your office? It's offensive to the fuckin' blind. Christ you've got at least six different examples of poor taste on that chair alone. Don' go getting' all fucking poncy on me jus' because your office has a door an' mine's got a divider. An' stop fuckin' smiling. You'll crack the windows yer fuckin' vampire cunt."
Tucker was back on form. His grin only widened as he stood up, bundling together a pile of paperwork. "Nothing you say can annoy me today."
"That's a fucking disappointment. You off somewhere?"
Tucker's eyebrows did a little happy bounce. "Off to spin a bit of positive press around our lord and saviour. You know – plug a few thousand volts into them until fucking sparks fly out their eyes. You stay here an' be useful listening to our ruling class of twats."
"...You're snooping on Miller's new friend..." Jamie realised, pouring himself a cup of tea from the tray on the table. He looked perfectly ridiculous – his manners at violent conflict with his tongue. "Stop bloody smiling! I'm gonna have nightmares about your fucking, fang-filled face."
"Thought I told you to stop nicking things from my bookshelf? Gothic literature isn't good for you."
"An' I told yer to stop bringing your P.A. home."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you, cunt."
Tucker's grin expanded as he fetched his jacket. "I'm gonna go spread myself all over this ministerial fuck up before I settle in for a nice, relaxing afternoon of violent, abstract metaphors. I've told those fuckers at Number 10 a thousand fucking times... Saying crazy shit and doing crazy shit are two completely different things – unless you're a minister in this government and there are cameras present. Then it's the same fucking thing."
"You were holdin' hands – don' think I didn't notice."
Tucker leaned back through the door, "Laters..."
Go.
XM
The click of Sam's sensible heels quickened against the marble floor. She dodged the opposition's envoy and slipped by a rabble of hacks trying to edge their way in with the junior ministers. With her hair pulled back, a neatly cut suit and a borrowed pair of glasses (that didn't make her too blind) she very nearly passed as one of the many office slaves clogging up the halls. Walk like you own it, she kept telling herself, whispering it under her breath.
There'd been casual jokes about spy films but this was the first time anything actually approaching legal uncertainty had been attempted. If she was caught, it wasn't as though she could claim she was 'lost' while in the depths of a building housing members of a public inquiry she'd been sworn into.
Oh shit.
Sam diverted into a side room which (thank fuck) was unoccupied. She lingered, back to the wall.
Well?
XM
Busy. Hush. Patience.
XS
Get a fucking move on.
XM
She was going to bloody slap him. He'd fucking deserve it to. He and Jamie were off swanning around doing whatever it was that psychotic spin doctors did while she was here getting her high-heels dirty for him. Bastard. She hated him.
I hate you.
XS
Sam scrutinised her own message. It seemed to lose most of its effect when signed with a kiss. God-fucking-dammit.
Tucker withdrew his phone. His normally sinister features contorted in a terrifying, fragment of a crooked smile before he put it away and stepped toward the waiting storm of cameras and reporters. He lifted his hands, pushing them back a bit with nothing but the power of fear.
"What the Minister of Transport meant to say is that he is very sorry for the confusion regarding the unplanned road closures over the holiday break and he'll be working closely with the private sector responsible for the upgrade works to find a solution. Thank you for your time. There will be no further questions."
Malcolm then turned and tenderly ushered out his dumbfounded minister (who either couldn't or wouldn't speak) away from the limelight. The friendly hand on his shoulder turned to a violent shoving against an empty hallway once they were out of sight. The minister's two aids were of no help, retreating from Malcolm's reach.
"How many fucking times, Paul?" Malcolm leered in, eyes locked on the trembling minister. "Don't fuck things up over the holidays. You're in charge of the bloody roads. All you have to do is make sure there's no god-damn ice or building debris preventing people from getting to their miserable festive events. How fucking hard is it? I've got departments who deal in trade union existential crises and treasuries divvying up fictitious money. You've got fucking tarmac. That's it. Rubber and gravel. Get it bloody sorted or I'll find a cost-effective way of turning you into unmarked laneway.
"Pardon? What did you mumble?" he continued, getting even closer. His sharp nose nearly pieced the minister's cheek. "You're afraid of me? You should be afraid of them," Malcolm pointed toward where the cameras had been. "That's the fucking sound of thunder. The apocalypse ebbing in with black clouds and a fuck-off tornado of shite masquerading as a blur of light. Those hacks can write nice, carefully crafted things about you or tear apart your life one letter at a time without the slightest hint of wit."
...maybe this wasn't entirely about the minster. There was something else driving Malcolm's fury. It was almost as though it had possessed him.
"Malcolm..." It was fucking Julius, the impossible man. He kept materialising from nowhere, making Malcolm turn with that rabid glint. "That one's being groomed for great things. Please don't leave him with any visible scars." Julius extended his arm, gripping lightly at the minister to rescue him. Malcolm's claws retracted and the minister passed into Julius' care.
"The only thing he's being groomed for is head lice." Malcolm spat back.
The minister scampered away down the corridor with his two aids. Julius took a cautious step toward Malcolm, his voice lowered to a hush. "Come now... You know very well that he's in line to replace Miller as the next leader. Nice work with the antlers. Miller will never be PM now that he's appeared as a Christmas decoration. Your work."
Malcolm said nothing. He'd never to his most brilliant work.
"Terry tells me you really rubbed it in," Julius continued, not in the least bit fooled.
"Why is Terry talking to you? Oh god, you're not lovers are you?"
"Terry may not be as leaky as Glen but she's certainly full of holes. A sinking galleon."
Malcolm was itching to pace. He put his hand on his hip, his other cupping his own face in dismay. "You better be pretty fucking sure about that twat. Transport is fucking easy street. Two weeks and I've already had to parachute myself in with an aid package. He feels like hard work."
"We're sure, Malcolm."
Malcolm's phone buzzed.
Got it.
XS
"He better behave himself with Meet The Press." Tucker added. "Or I'll mail order you more than a marzipan dildo."