Simply amazing. You guys kinda like it. o.0

Now starts the beginning of the switching perspectives. I will always narrate from the first-person POV, but I will switch who I am narrating. I will put the name of the current narrator at the beginning of the chapter, and if there are any switches during said chapter, I'll put the next name before they begin narrating.

Make sense? Probably not. But here we go anyway.

Warning for Cael's dirty mouth.

…You'll find out who he is later in the chapter.

Linger

Chapter Two

Opportunities Arise

Angelus

I should probably mention that Badger is the Inuart human's reincarnation.

For as long as it's been since Caim's rather untimely demise, I have never run into one of his reincarnations. I figure that's probably due to the fact that his soul is, more than likely, burning in limbo for all of the horrid things he committed in his previous life. After all, he and I did murder countless humans, even if they were all slimy Imperial jackals. However, I have, on numerous occasions, run into the Inuart's reincarnations.

It didn't really shock me when I ran into him the first time. It was during my time in Spain -which was only a few weeks- and I had stumbled upon a missionary full of mute, chocolate-making Spanish monks. The Inuart Monk Counterpart (which will be later referred to as the IMC; I didn't get his name then because a, he was Spanish, and b, he had taken an oath of silence) was the bell ringer, and looked something similar to a mule. The only thing remarkable about him was that he was very generous and gave me most of their chocolate bricks. Then again, he couldn't verbally protest to my consumption of them, but that doesn't matter. It would probably be good to note that he was killed in the belfry; he was crushed by one of the bells.

The second time was when the American Civil War occurred. The IMC had changed to the IREC, or the Inuart Real Estate Counterpart. I met him shortly after finding my way into society with my new human form, where he tried to sell me real estate. Shortly after our conversation, he was crushed by a runaway cannon. (On a similar note, General Sherman, the one who burnt Atlanta, was Arioch's Civil War counterpart. I haven't come across her since.)

The third time was during the Great Depression, when lent was worth more than American stock and when glass held more agricultural potential than the native soil. He had gone from IREC to IOWC, or rather, the Inuart Old Woman Counterpart. I met "her" in front of a dilapidated, dust-ridden house trying to find something to eat. She happily took me into her home, fed me, then ushered me back out before the "gub'mint" discovered she was still on her property. I found out not long after that, that during one of the common dust storms, her old home had been blown over, and she had been crushed underneath the moldy debris.

The fourth and final time before I met Badger was in the 60's. The IOWC had finally "evolved" into the IHC. I had somehow ended up in Woodstock while the infamous Who were playing there. I was trying to find someone still sober and knew how to speak the English language when I stumbled across him, the IHC, or the Inuart Hippie Counterpart. I didn't actually recognize him until he said "gub'mint". He told me what I needed to know, and I went on my way whilst trying to find a means to remove the stench of weed from my clothes. I read in the paper a few weeks later that he had been run over by a tour bus. (I should also mention that Richard Nixon was Verdelet's reincarnation.)

Which brings me to the present day Inuart human counterpart: Badger. Near eight years ago, the twenty year-old Badger -then known as Arthur- came in for the interview as my understudy. The titling company was small then, newly created. Badger had the look of hope in his eyes, and when I first saw him, I instantly knew who he was and decided to have him on the team. After all, he is the one human that most resembles a welcome mat.

However, even a man of Badger's temperament can be pushed to the limit. Apparently, the Lillian girl I hired a few weeks ago wasn't working out, and was stressing Badger even more so than he already was (which I thought impossible). She had to be eliminated. I smiled as I paged my secretary, a young woman by the name of Shay, and asked with a hint of malice in my smooth voice, "Shay, send Lillian in. We need to have a chat."

After a second, Shay's computed voice came back through the sleek black speaker next to my desk. "Yes, ma'am."

My smirk widened as I opened a drawer and found a small stopwatch, something I had acquired from a dirty hobo when I made partner. (For those of you who think I stole it, think again; I traded my bottle of vodka for it.) After a few moments, a short, bubble-gum popping middle-aged woman came clopping into my office. She wasn't that remarkable as far as human women go. What attracted men to her, from what I could tell, was her "sassy" nature. When I hired her that fatal day two weeks ago, I hadn't paid too much attention to her and her "sassiness". I pulled out the hobo stopwatch and pushed the button. My record for inducing tears was 15.03 seconds.

"So, what is this, like, about?" Lillian asked as she popped her gum. "'Cause I have, like, a thing to get to right now, and I really need to like, get there. You know?" I glared as she smacked her gum and suddenly got the impression of a giraffe munching on grass. Or a cow.

"Well, the thing is, Lillian," I began slowly, "I don't like you."

Her smacking stopped for a minute and her mouth hung open, revealing the offending piece of gum. My nose wrinkled in disgust as I examined the shriveled thing with morbid fascination. It was glistening in all of the spittle in her mouth, and was a dull gray color. How revolting… "What are you saying?" she asked, completely astounded that her amazing people skills had not amazed me.

The gum looked like a slug in her mouth… I shook my head to get back onto the current subject. After all, I had a time to beat. "Well, you suck at your job, for one. Your production rate is something to laugh at, while most -if not all- of your co-workers have complained about you one time or another. Some more than others…" I straightened a few piles of papers on the side of my desk as I watched Lillian's reaction. Water was welling up in her eyes, but no true tears yet…

She fanned herself with a manicured hand as she talked. "I don't f'in believe this!" she cried, her piece of gum threatening to pop out. "I mean, I'm like, awesome at anything I do, and…" She batted her eyes as she tried to reach for the suitable word (but with her limited vocabulary, I didn't think she'd ever find it) and I watched, almost on the edge of my seat. The water was welling up behind a dam of bad mascara, threatening to fall. I clutched my stopwatch; I was almost there…! "I can't like, believe this is, like, happening!"

At last, she batted her eyes for the last time and the first tear fell, leaving a blackened trail of makeup in its wake. I clicked the stopwatch and looked in victorious glee at the time: 8:54. That was a record. Lillian watched in horror as I happily pulled out a worn sheet and wrote her name and the time down. "What the hell is that?" she demanded.

"A time recording," I replied smoothly as I put the record sheet back into my desk. "But that has nothing to do with this." I clasped my hands and rested my head on them, giving Lillian a confused look. "Why are you still here? You're fired."

Lillian took a glance around the room, her anger building. After taking the very few decorations, she glared at me and stood out of her chair. "You are such an f'in bitch!"

"Well, it's better than being a whore," I responded coolly, keeping in my comfy leather chair. "Goodbye, Lillian. Remember, use plastic wrap. Not all of your customers are clean, especially the ones hanging around that street corner."

I waved amiably as she stormed out of my office, muttering to herself angrily. As the door to my office closed softly, I leaned back and sighed as my gaze fell to my monitor. Time to find someone to replace Lillian…

…………

Cael

It was damn annoying.

Working in Customer Service in any kind of business is bound to suck, simply because of the nature of the job. Retail and fast food are probably the worst, but I was in something far, far worse than any burger-peddling adolescence or store clerk could ever face.

An obsessive-compulsive 70 year old woman, bitching about something that I had no clue about.

I sighed as I switched hands to lean my head on. She had been rambling about something for about forty-five minutes now, well off the original grievance that she had come in to complain about. I gave a somber glance to the clock, which read 3:56. I had missed my chance for a lunch. I sighed again and lolled my head back towards the angry old lady. When would this walking corpse ever shut the hell--

"Were you even listening to me, young man?" she demanded, to which I sighed and placed my hand back on my desk.

"For the first ten grueling minutes, yes," I replied wearily. "But when you started bitching about your neighbor's dog? Yeah, I turned off right about there."

She huffed and stomped her heeled -and probably bunion-ridden- foot on the carpeted floor. "Where is customer service?" she growled.

I smirked and pointed a finger to my gilded name tag placed in front of my desk. Her eyes and nostrils flared and she glanced around the office, searching for something in her rage. "Then where is your manager? I want to talk to him and get you fired."

As I turned to direct her to the janitor's closet, a bald man approached me, a small slip of paper in his plump hand. My own hand fell as he looked at me, then to the angry old bag, and shook his head. "Cael," he stated tiredly. "Because of the amount of complaints we've gotten about you, I have to let you go."

I gasped as he handed me the slip of paper, which wasn't an actual pink slip at all. I took a quick glance at it, and I read a couple of words: "Dr. Pepper" and "Cheetos". I simply smirked and slipped the paper under my desk to where the old gargoyle couldn't read it (then again, with her withering eyesight, she probably couldn't even with a microscope and a pair of glasses as thick as my arm). "Well," I began smoothly, "it's not so bad, I suppose. I still have that other job I can fall back on for a while."

My boss nodded and cocked his head thoughtfully. "Oh yeah, the one at the strip joint?"

"Yeah," I nonchalantly replied as the old hag's eyes grew.

My boss glanced down at me with his hand on his chin. "What was it you do again?"

"I'm the jizz janit--"

"Pardon me!" the old bag shouted. "This is NOT appropriate for anyone's ears, much less my own!" She glared at my boss, who was as put-off by annoying customers as much as I was. He used to be a manager over at Wal-Mart, so it's easy to imagine what he had to go through. In fact, that job was the reason he was more jaded and cynical than I could ever hope to be.

The bag pointed a wrinkled, shriveled finger at him and glared through her thick glasses. "I'm calling your upper management and get you fired as well! And you!" She then pointed her hideous remnant of a finger to me. "You should be fired. You are a disrespectful little maggot. I'm looking forward to the day when I can throw my spare pennies to you on the side of the road." She gave a curt nod, then left. I nonchalantly flipped her off and glanced at the pocketed note more closely. It looked more like a grocery list.

"You know, Bill," I stated as he chuckled, "I know we've been together for a long time, but I don't think I'm ready for this kind of commitment." As he gave me a very confused look, I held the slip up to him. "A grocery list? What am I, a discarded housewife?"

He chuckled again and took the slip of paper back. "Oh, sorry. I gave you the wrong one. This one's meant for Sarah…" (Sarah's the receptionist.) He shoved the grocery list back into his coat pocket and rummaged through another for something else. After a few moments, he pulled another slip out, glanced at it, and after an approving nod, handed it to me. I stared at it for a long time. After the years of joking about it, it seemed surreal that I was actually being transferred. "You're… actually getting rid of me?"

He sighed and leaned on my desk, which gave a mellow groan. "Cael, I wouldn't want to give you up, but this is an order from higher up than me. This is an order from one of the owning partners, name of Angela. Her plant in Los Angeles wants you there."

My mouth floundered like a fish as my stomach fell to my feet. "Los… Los Angeles?"

Bill nodded slowly. "Yeah… You'll be working directly under the co-partner of the company." He leaned in closer as the shock began to settle in. "So don't screw up. I heard she's a real bitch."

…………

I'm really bad at ending these chapters now, aren't I?

And so, enter Cael Wolff. Three guesses as to who that is.

Anyway, give feedback. Mucho love.

Ja!