Linger

Chapter One

Another Day

It was damn annoying.

Some moron had decided to try and turn left in the one place everyone in America knows NOT to turn left in. There was no protective green, so he -and through him, I and the other thirty people stuck in that particular lane- got to wait until an opportunity presented itself. Which it wouldn't, I knew, until about lunch time, which was a good five hours from now. I snarled, an expression rather reminiscent of the "good ole' days", and impatiently tapped my pale fingers on the leather steering wheel. Rear-ending the insolent bastard was becoming very tempting…

I took an irked glance at my wrist watch, even though I was already painfully aware of the time, since the last time I checked it was twenty-seven seconds ago. I had ten minutes to make it to my destination, which on a normal, asshole-free day, was fifteen minutes away.

Another sigh was heaved from my chest, and I decided that the backup plan was to be ensued. I took another look at the cretin of a human in the car ahead, and saw that it was some adolescent male talking on his cell, probably to his equally hormonal girlfriend counterpart about when they should consummate their three week anniversary. A grin my own counterpart would have been proud of spread across my pale face. Yes, the backup plan would be needed.

Out of the ever-useful small plastic container that was fitted into my car came a .38 caliber, loaded and ready to go. I casually leaned out of the window, aimed at the concrete just behind the rear wheel and shot. Just as I intended, the horny teenager and his paint-lacking truck skidded out of the left lane and into the oncoming traffic rather quickly. Smiling, I put the gun away back in its wonderful little hole and made a mental note that I would have to stop by the ammunition shop on the way home.

…………

It wasn't long after Caim was murdered that another Goddess was found. Verdelet seemed useful in one practice, and that was singling out the poor girl doomed to be the new Goddess. Some young infant called "Eris" or some such nonsense. I don't really recall because the matter no longer interested me. In fact, most of the issues that arose after Caim's demise no longer concerned me; anything remotely associated to him was a rather tender nerve.

After about a decade, I flew to the small island now known as Ireland. I quickly reconsidered, since the Native humans didn't take my coming too well, and went back to the Drakengard lands, presently known as Europe. The land was much different than when I left it; Verdelet had started some military cult known as the Knights of the Seal, and the Eris child was weakly and sick because of the Goddess Seal. After her death, the Nameless, for some unknown reason, let the need for a Goddess Seal dissipate, and allowed mankind to thrive. That was the end of the Dark Ages, and I made my way to Iceland. The only thing I really recall about Iceland was the abundance of sheep.

I never felt the heart to go back to that particular region of the lands Caim and I trekked through, but I suppose everything worked out. The skies never fell apart and became a chaotic, blood red, and the dead didn't rise. Save for one close call somewhere near that contraption called "Stonehenge" sometime around the 17th century, but I had nothing to do with that.

I forget when, but I eventually flew to America, or at least the lands of it. The Natives, though skeptical, more or less left me alone, which made me all the merrier. I didn't have any real contact with them until one of their stray children asked me if I knew anything about these "white devils" coming to their lands and if I could do anything about them. When I saw that it was just more humans and not the Nameless, I told him and his people that they were no real threat as long as he and his people were smarter than they were.

But that was before I knew about guns.

After the European humans more or less decimated the Natives with their fewer numbers and filthy diseases, I began to worry about myself. These new humans were awful curious, no longer bound by the superstitions of old that kept their damnable curiosity at bay. They were more than willing to test the limits, and I knew that if I were to be captured, I'd end up as a hide to trade or worse, a freak show.

Using the mountains -the Appalachians, I believe is the human name for them- to my advantage as a natural barrier, I flew further and further West, seeking solitude from these inquisitive pests. However, human "ingenuity" (which was just laziness and curiosity manifest) created railways and canals, and I found myself on the edge of what is now known as California. With nothing but the far-reaching ocean on one side and the threat of more humans on the other, I moved myself back up into the lands of Washington state, hopefully to hide in the cold weather and mountains up there. However, more humans began to enclose in on me, and by the 18th century, I flew back into California, which, to my dismay, held gold and Spaniards.

Infuriated by the brash actions of the "Spaniard" humans further south of my hiding spot, I flew back to the Eastern Seaboard, more specifically, Massachusetts. And even more specifically, Salem. Fifty or so years passed, during which time, I realized that the humans were going to completely take the entire continent over. Knowing what would happen to me if I didn't conform, I attempted a humanoid evolution.

Fortunately, I don't look a lot like I did then, but it was the best I could have done at that time. I had the form of a large, human female with bright red hair and yellow eyes. My skin was fair, for the parts that weren't still ridden with random specs of scales. Underdeveloped wings were attached to my back, but I was proud of myself that I had managed to lose the tail and horns.

However, by the time I finished my handiwork, a plague amongst the village's wheat plants spread rapidly, and made many humans ill and delusional to the point that they thought they could fly. (I thought it rather hilarious.) Word of witches putting people under spells and witchcraft and all of this nonsense (I say nonsense because all of the sorcerers died out after the Nameless left) spread even faster than the disease itself, and soon, almost every female was suspected of witchcraft. I myself lived on the outskirts, entering the village only whenever necessary, but on one such day, I accidentally bumped into a local village woman, and my cloak came off, revealing my shriveled, useless wings.

Needless to say, I was convicted of being a witch.

The villagers did not get a chance to burn me because, simply put, I killed most of them and fled.

After roaming the wilderness for what seemed like ages, I finally found a suitable cave that, once I frightened the bears out of, was quite cozy. I honed my human form as fast as I could, but I didn't completely finish until after the country's war in 1812, probably the most useless bloody confrontation in the world's history.

It was then that I made my debut into society, and from then on, I made a routine out of life. I would live amongst the humans -however disgusting and filthy they may be- for twenty some odd years, fake my own untimely demise, wait another fifty years, then repeat the process under a new name. Through this routine, I have been able to witness some of the human's greatest achievements (such as the automobile, the moon landing, the television, air conditioning and the Snickers Bar), and laughed at their follies, i.e. semi-automatic weapons, President Taft, the 60's in general, hula hoops, and most recently, Brittany Spears.

During the present time lot that I am in the middle of, I have swiftly become the co-partner in a titling company called "Universal Land Titling", mainly for one reason:

I'm looking for "it".

I parked my blue Honda Accord in my reserved spot, smiling when my gaze came upon a small, off-white moped chained and leaning against a yellow post. It seemed he was already here. How wonderful.

As soon as I opened the door, a man with bright red, disheveled hair, black-rimmed glasses and panicked reddish-brown eyes and a nametag that read "Arthur" stumbled out of his cubicle and almost tripped on the flat carpet in front of me. "Angie!" he cried hysterically. "Angie, thank God you're here! I need your help!"

Sighing as I removed my coat and briskly, steadily walked toward my own office, I replied in a bored, indifferent tone, "What is it now, Badger?"

Badger, who had been nicknamed that after an unfortunate run-in with alcohol and stripping, walked beside me, pointing at a stack of papers in his shaking hand -unfinished orders, from the look of it- anxiously. "Angie, I can't do all of this on my own. You need to get someone else!"

"I did," I replied calmly as I unlocked my office door. "I got Lillian, didn't I?"

Badger slammed the stack of papers on a nearby empty desk -no one was here this early besides the two of us- angrily, the force of which sent his Harry Pottery-esque glasses off of the bridge of his nose and down across his face. I turned and glanced at him, amused that he would try and be angry. He was one of the most submissive humans I had ever met. "No, Angie! She doesn't count!"

"Why ever not?"

Badger suddenly remembered his place, and his posture sank back into its crouching, recumbent form. "I uh…" he stammered, "Well, she doesn't… she doesn't help me with the orders… She doesn't help at all, really…"

I "hmm"ed doubtfully and entered my office, turning on the fluorescent lights and plopping down into my comfy leather chair. Badger's eyes widened as my hand reached for the power button of my computer. "Wait, Angie, please, this is important."

I shook my head as I hit the button, causing the machine to rev and hum with life. The screen came on, and at the bottom, was the loading percentage bar. It, after the many years that Badger had worked under me, had become his worst nemesis. I placed my head on my hand, which was propped up against my smooth, obsidian desk.

It was on. I smirked as his trembling, sweaty hands gripped the papers. "06." I stated simply.

He wasted no time. "Angie, listen to me. If we can't get someone else in-"

"12."

"-then…" he stumbled as he lost his train of thought. "…Then I can't get these orders in fast enough to the closers!"

"26."

"I-I mean, we'll fall behind! We'll fall further behind than we already are, and…"

"Oop," I commented airily as the Yellow Bar of Doom shot up a huge amount. "67. Running out of time, Badger."

His trembling expanded to his arms and legs. "A-Angie, please…!"

"You're almost out of time, Badger. I'd spend it more carefully, rather than simply stammer away the percentage. You only have…" I squinted at the screen. "29 left."

He squeaked like only a man like Badger could, then proclaimed angrily, "You should fire Lillian and hire someone else more useful!"

Badger seemed to expect that I be proud of him for finally getting his point out across to me. I wasn't, however. "You've told me that already. And I've already asked once, 'What ever for?'" He stared at me blankly, confusion and fear mixed in his pitiful gaze. "Oh," I added buoyantly, "and you have 13 to go."

"Because… Because…" he struggled, wringing the stack of orders in his hands.

"Because you only have 9 left?" I supplied.

His floundering for words became more pathetic. "Because… because… because… she… she…!"

I smiled to myself. This was his time to shine. "5, Badger."

He sucked in a load of shaky air, then shouted, "BECAUSE SHE'S A USELESS BITCH THAT GETS HERE LATE AND SHE'S EVIL BECAUSE A COUPLE OF DAYS AGO SHE STUCK GUM ON THE SEAT OF MY CHAIR AND I SAT IN IT AND NOW THEY'RE RUINED AND I HATE HER!"

Leaning back in my ever-so comfortable chair and examined him with calm, calculating eyes. "So, you don't like her."

He panted for a bit before answering. "I… guess not…"

"So that would make your opinion biased."

Badger gasped as he realized he walked right into my trap. "Wait…"

My eyebrows escalated as I turned to the monitor, which was happily reporting that the computer was up and running through high-pitched beeps. "Oh dear," I stated slowly, "it seems the computer's booted." Badger's shoulders slumped, his hope now shattered, as I turned my attention back to my machine. "You know what that means, Badger."

"B-but…" he started, and I nonchalantly picked up my stapler gun.

"The computer's booted, Badger." I glared at him from the corner of my eye. "Go away."

He sighed and reached for the door handle. "Yes'm…"

I smiled as he walked out with the crumpled stack of papers in his hands. Today didn't seem to be a total loss, it seemed. I would get to fire someone.

…………

Okaaay….

So….? What do you guys think? If ya'll don't like it, fine. I'll take it off and you'll never see it again. But… if you do…?

Please respond.

Ja!