Slain by the Manifestation of. . . Bureaus?

By: Triptika Posted on: August 25, 2010

For a moment, The Greyface, C.E.O., considered sitting in the elegant black chair behind his elegant black desk. Pausing for a moment, he scrutinized the seat.

There it was. The one thing out of place.

A speck of dust marred the perfect curve of the stuffed leather, an inch from the right edge. (This direction taken from facing it, of course. No one had ever yet sat upon its glistening surface.)

The Greyface, C.E.O., rolled his eyes and breathed out an irritated sigh. "Moronica, fill out one of the Complaint forms and deliver it to Sally and have her pass it to the proper Bureau. Todd missed a spot on my chair."

Snapped out of her dreamy reverie, the intern scrambled to find something to write on. She grabbed the first form she found in one of the desk drawers; it was labeled "Divorce Application", but who would notice? It's not like He ever read anything. . . that was her job. Not that she ever did it either.

In a moment of misguidedness, she almost put the piece of paper down on the desk as she pulled the pen out from behind her ear. One look from The Greyface, C.E.O., had her hastily shifting to use her leg as a table.

He resumed his pacing.

The sound of the lock turning over rolled like thunder through the room.

When the handle turned and the door swung open, Moronica the intern had already resumed her wistful gazing, the form held limply in her hand by her side, and The Greyface, C.E.O., was thoroughly absorbed in retracing the dotted line of his footsteps that had been quite thoroughly emblazoned into the once-new carpet.

No amount of cleaning could replace damaged carpet fibers, as the unfortunate janitor had long ago learned.

Two adventurers passed through the open doorway. The female was a towering creature; a Xoran of formidable height and build, she was clad in the glistening fullplate armour of a knight. Her male companion, meanwhile, was a diminutive Mhun, the top points of his spiky brown hair barely reaching her shoulder. A whip was curled in one hand, the other arm twisted at an odd angle.

None of this, however, was what really bothered The Greyface, C.E.O., as he stopped dead in his tracks. It was in fact so troubling that when his foot fell to the ground, it was not placed perfectly within the next mark.

"Well, it should be interesting to do this without fixing myself up." Sinester chuckled, adjusting his grip on the whip he held.

EXCUSE ME SIR, BUT YOU ARE ON FIRE.

Dextra shook her head, tail swinging behind her in a perfectly opposing motion. "You can borrow my vial if you want, you know."

"No. . . we're almost out of here anyway." Producing a fully completed form, he passed it to The Greyface, C.E.O., and waited expectantly for his reward.

Looking at the oddly unburned thing in his hands, the Chief Existential Officer looked back toward the flaming Mhun man, momentarily struck dumb. After reflexively congratulating the walking and talking experiment on humanoid combustion on his achievements, he managed to speak, just before the two visitors reached the door. "Have you visited the rest of the Pyramid yet? You seem to be quite the curious, adventuring types."

The both of them paused and turned back. "Yes, we've seen all of it." Dextra replied. "Is there something you need?"

MA'AM, I DON'T KNOW IF YOU NOTICED, BUT YOUR COMPANION IS ON FIRE. HE SEEMS TO HAVE REACHED THE TEMPERATURE THAT LIQUIFIES METAL, JUDGING BY THE FACT THAT HIS ARMOUR SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN FUSED INTO ONE SOLID SHAPE.

"I was wondering if you had yet paid a visit to that odd wooden box that I've heard tell about on the Tier of the Apocalypse. Some odd things have been happening in there lately."

The Greyface, C.E.O., had not attained the title of Chief Existential Officer through being meek and roundabout in his speech, yet here he was. It was outrageous, preposterous! No, he had earned this office through doing what he did best, and it was to these primal instincts he returned.

'The Bureau of Odd Business'. . . no, too vague.

"Yes, we've been there a few times." Sinester said, after taking a sip from a shining emerald vial. His companion made a rough sound of amusement and smoke wheezed from her crocodilian nostrils. "Nothing much seems to happen there though."

"Sometimes, I hear people scream." Moronica whispered, eyes wide as saucers.

Dextra and Sinester glanced at her in alarm, but the Greyface waved a hand dismissively, drawing their attention again.

ALTHOUGH SHE'S NOT WRONG. PERHAPS YOU OUGHT RETURN AND YOU MAY YET PREVENT YOUR SCALE MAIL FROM MERGING WITH YOUR SKIN THROUGH SOME AS-YET-UNDISCOVERED PROCESS THAT OCCURS FROM SUPERHEATING METAL. IF YOU HURRY, YOU MAY EVEN BE ABLE TO SAVE WHAT IS LEFT OF YOUR POSSESSIONS ONCE YOU RETURN TO YOUR BODY.

'The Bureau of People on Fire'. . . opposite problem: too specific.

"I've been needing someone to take some measurements for me; perhaps you would be able to do so?" The Greyface, C.E.O., asked pleasantly. "I have this form all ready to go."

Seizing the piece of paper Moronica held, he passed it to Dextra. "Just make sure you fill in the dimensions of the box, equipment inside, and most importantly, the full length of the extended cord." As he passed Sinester, he felt the hairs on the back of his hand shrink from the heat.

IF YOU'RE NOT CAREFUL, YOUR KNIGHT FRIEND WILL BE ABLE TO USE YOU AS A PORTABLE FORGE.

The Xoran's eyes roamed over the form, and she opened her mouth to respond; to stave off hearing any point she could have possibly made, he ordered, "Moronica, show our guests out. I expect those results within the hour!" He added as the intern herded the sentient fireball and his accompanying pyrokenetic lizard-person out the door.

'The Batty Business Bureau'. . . too informal.

With a decisive click, the door closed and the lock turned. The Greyface, C.E.O., waited for a moment before his feet found themselves once again in their regular pattern.

The stunned voices of Dextra and Sinester rose to a confused crescendo.

"But this form doesn't say anything about measurements! Not to mention that he didn't give me anything to write with." Dextra objected.

WAIT ANOTHER TEN MINUTES AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO USE YOUR COMPANION'S FINGERS AS CHARCOAL PENCILS.

"How are we going to measure the length of the cord? Do you even know what he's talking about? I barely caught a glance of it last time we went." The two-legged torch's voice (and sizzling) grew more distant as they made their way down the stairs.

'The Bureau of Bad Things'. . . completely inadequate and would overlap with previously existing Bureaus. 'The Bureau of Things Out Of Place'. . . too easily misconstrued. 'The Bonkers Bureau'. . . while tempting, not professional enough. The Greyface, C.E.O., pursed his lips and continued to run through possibilities.

I DO HOPE HE DOESN'T SET THE BOX ON FIRE. THEN AGAIN, MY CARPET SURVIVED.

He inspected the floor and grimaced when he found a few burnt threads.

TODD WILL HAVE TO LOOK AT THAT TOO.

From the vicinity of the Tier of the Apocalypse, the sound of water rushing down a small pipe and drain was accompanied by two shrieks of surprise.

'The Bizarre Business Bureau'. . . that would do nicely.

EXCUSE ME SIR, BUT IF YOU WISH TO FILE A CLAIM FOR MISLEADING INFORMATION, YOU MUST FIRST SUBMIT THE PROPER PAPERWORK TO THE BIZARRE BUSINESS BUREAU. . .

The Greyface, C.E.O., smiled.