(no subject)
Ficlet for slashalicious. She wanted some Lorne, so I wrote Lorne. Which I've never done before, so if it's bad, AK can thwap me with a stick.
Title: Lesser Evils
Author: Flannery
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Lorne doesn't belong to me, nor do any celebrities mentioned.
Notes: For slashalicious on her birthday, which was a few days back. No spoilers, unless you've somehow missed the end of Angel season 4, and if you have, you probably don't care about being spoiled anyway.
* * *
In the history of the universe and this Earth in particular, no organization has come near to touching the utter evil that is Wolfram & Hart. In fact, by the figures of some, a person or group would have to kill 2.5 puppies each second and rape every orphan on the planet, and still have time to set fire to Australia in order to melt Antarctica - all this by dinnertime. That would still put you behind Wolfram & Hart, but if you continued that pattern in every alternate timeline of the earth in existence, you could, by some counts, catch up.
Eventually.
A rumor was once started that Wolfram & Hart was responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs when they financed a successful campaign to turn the oceans to Tang.
Less-reputable science journals even printed this story.
The New American Progressive Science Digest reported that the sand at the bottom of the sea is actually gritty, unstirred orange-drink mix. Tests, both scientific and taste-based, were performed before coming to this convincing conclusion.
How then, ask some, was the sea returned to saltwater and fish?
To that, The New American Progressive Science Digest offers the following quote: “If we knew that, we’d be twice the civilization we are today.”
There’s not a single disaster or sinister happening since the establishment of recorded time that has not, in some way, involved Wolfram & Hart. Pick your event - any event - and look into the gears turning behind the scenes.
There, hiding in the shadows behind the curtain, you will see.
“Oh, my little English muffin!” The affable smile infects Lorne’s voice. “I didn’t buy you that Grammy. You bought you that Grammy.” Lorne cuts through the corridor, phone glued to his ear. A pathway parts just for him as other employees instinctively dodge out of his way.
He laughs suddenly, taking a graceful stride over a spilled box of shredded documents. “Lunch? Sounds fabbo, but my two o’clock got here at five minutes to way too early.”
Pushing the up-arrow button, Lorne leans against the wall next to the elevator. “Oh no, I can’t blow him off,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, “Or he’ll obliterate a third-world village and then hold a benefit concert for the survivors.”
Doors slide open, and he steps into the empty elevator.
When the doors open again with a ding, he says, “I’ve got to click off now, kay?” He pauses outside the elevator doors. “Yeah, wonderful hearing from you too, and a trillion congratulations on the award! Buhbye now. Say hi to Gwynnie for me.”
Lorne takes the phone from his ear and quickly shuts it off with a long claw-like fingernail. “Irritating little fiend,” he mutters, pocketing the phone.
What often gets lost in history is that Wolfram & Hart is not only involved with the Greater Evil, but with thousands of lesser, petty evils as well. Small things, mischief and fraud with few lasting consequences: many of these are handled with skill and panache by the Entertainment Division, and by Lorne.
“Hey kitten.” He leans against Lucy’s desk, interrupting a vital game of Tetris.
“Hey boss.” She smiles at him. Flipping a few pages back in her candy-colored notepad, she tells him, “You’re very popular today.”
This isn’t news to Lorne. “The entire floor’s tied up with Martha and Michael.” There’s a slight sneer threatening his easygoing expression. “Which sticks me with an extra client or twelve.”
The comment is waved off with a manicured hand. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’ve eaten four power-lunches!” Lorne exclaims.
The possibility of free leftovers makes his secretary’s face light up. “Yeah? So what’d you bring me? Oh, wait.” The smile dies. “Demon food, wasn’t it?”
“Wet and still squirming,” he confirms.
Understandably, she shudders at the information, and is thankful that he brought back nothing requiring air holes to be poked in the take-away box.
“Anyway,” she says, pointing a shiny nail at a scribbled phone number, “Tomorrow’s ten o’clock cancelled. She’s molting pretty badly and didn’t want to leave the house. And, that Andrew Wells called again…”
Again! Lorne groans. “Did you tell him - “
“ - That you can’t get him an actual lightsaber, you couldn’t do anything about Keanu Reeves as John Constantine, and you would absolutely not give him Elijah Wood’s phone number.”
“You’re priceless, doll.” She beams at the compliment. “Did we hear back from Justin’s people?”
She shakes her head, dark hair swirling around her face. “Nothing yet. Oh, and Mr. McCartney is running late, but you can observe that by the empty waiting room and lack of sulfuric odor. Do you want me to get you one of those lemonberry smoothies from Blenda’s?”
A brief reprise in his hectic day! “Actually, I think I’m gonna catnap for a few,” he tells her.
There are perks to his position - mingling with A-list celebrities and having his own smoothie-fetching secretary being only two of the things Lorne adores about his job.
Topping the list? Lorne can sleep soundly at night knowing that he doesn’t have to deal with clients and catastrophes of enormous consequence.
He manipulates the TRL countdown; he doesn’t defend dictatorial demons against charges of genocide. He hires teenagers to spam blogs with movie promotions; he doesn’t acquire lethal viruses capable of wiping out all of Asia.
Lorne will never make the seas run orange with Tang.
You can, however, blame him for reuniting Hall and Oates.
* * *
Title: Lesser Evils
Author: Flannery
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Lorne doesn't belong to me, nor do any celebrities mentioned.
Notes: For slashalicious on her birthday, which was a few days back. No spoilers, unless you've somehow missed the end of Angel season 4, and if you have, you probably don't care about being spoiled anyway.
* * *
In the history of the universe and this Earth in particular, no organization has come near to touching the utter evil that is Wolfram & Hart. In fact, by the figures of some, a person or group would have to kill 2.5 puppies each second and rape every orphan on the planet, and still have time to set fire to Australia in order to melt Antarctica - all this by dinnertime. That would still put you behind Wolfram & Hart, but if you continued that pattern in every alternate timeline of the earth in existence, you could, by some counts, catch up.
Eventually.
A rumor was once started that Wolfram & Hart was responsible for the extinction of the dinosaurs when they financed a successful campaign to turn the oceans to Tang.
Less-reputable science journals even printed this story.
The New American Progressive Science Digest reported that the sand at the bottom of the sea is actually gritty, unstirred orange-drink mix. Tests, both scientific and taste-based, were performed before coming to this convincing conclusion.
How then, ask some, was the sea returned to saltwater and fish?
To that, The New American Progressive Science Digest offers the following quote: “If we knew that, we’d be twice the civilization we are today.”
There’s not a single disaster or sinister happening since the establishment of recorded time that has not, in some way, involved Wolfram & Hart. Pick your event - any event - and look into the gears turning behind the scenes.
There, hiding in the shadows behind the curtain, you will see.
“Oh, my little English muffin!” The affable smile infects Lorne’s voice. “I didn’t buy you that Grammy. You bought you that Grammy.” Lorne cuts through the corridor, phone glued to his ear. A pathway parts just for him as other employees instinctively dodge out of his way.
He laughs suddenly, taking a graceful stride over a spilled box of shredded documents. “Lunch? Sounds fabbo, but my two o’clock got here at five minutes to way too early.”
Pushing the up-arrow button, Lorne leans against the wall next to the elevator. “Oh no, I can’t blow him off,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, “Or he’ll obliterate a third-world village and then hold a benefit concert for the survivors.”
Doors slide open, and he steps into the empty elevator.
When the doors open again with a ding, he says, “I’ve got to click off now, kay?” He pauses outside the elevator doors. “Yeah, wonderful hearing from you too, and a trillion congratulations on the award! Buhbye now. Say hi to Gwynnie for me.”
Lorne takes the phone from his ear and quickly shuts it off with a long claw-like fingernail. “Irritating little fiend,” he mutters, pocketing the phone.
What often gets lost in history is that Wolfram & Hart is not only involved with the Greater Evil, but with thousands of lesser, petty evils as well. Small things, mischief and fraud with few lasting consequences: many of these are handled with skill and panache by the Entertainment Division, and by Lorne.
“Hey kitten.” He leans against Lucy’s desk, interrupting a vital game of Tetris.
“Hey boss.” She smiles at him. Flipping a few pages back in her candy-colored notepad, she tells him, “You’re very popular today.”
This isn’t news to Lorne. “The entire floor’s tied up with Martha and Michael.” There’s a slight sneer threatening his easygoing expression. “Which sticks me with an extra client or twelve.”
The comment is waved off with a manicured hand. “You’re exaggerating.”
“I’ve eaten four power-lunches!” Lorne exclaims.
The possibility of free leftovers makes his secretary’s face light up. “Yeah? So what’d you bring me? Oh, wait.” The smile dies. “Demon food, wasn’t it?”
“Wet and still squirming,” he confirms.
Understandably, she shudders at the information, and is thankful that he brought back nothing requiring air holes to be poked in the take-away box.
“Anyway,” she says, pointing a shiny nail at a scribbled phone number, “Tomorrow’s ten o’clock cancelled. She’s molting pretty badly and didn’t want to leave the house. And, that Andrew Wells called again…”
Again! Lorne groans. “Did you tell him - “
“ - That you can’t get him an actual lightsaber, you couldn’t do anything about Keanu Reeves as John Constantine, and you would absolutely not give him Elijah Wood’s phone number.”
“You’re priceless, doll.” She beams at the compliment. “Did we hear back from Justin’s people?”
She shakes her head, dark hair swirling around her face. “Nothing yet. Oh, and Mr. McCartney is running late, but you can observe that by the empty waiting room and lack of sulfuric odor. Do you want me to get you one of those lemonberry smoothies from Blenda’s?”
A brief reprise in his hectic day! “Actually, I think I’m gonna catnap for a few,” he tells her.
There are perks to his position - mingling with A-list celebrities and having his own smoothie-fetching secretary being only two of the things Lorne adores about his job.
Topping the list? Lorne can sleep soundly at night knowing that he doesn’t have to deal with clients and catastrophes of enormous consequence.
He manipulates the TRL countdown; he doesn’t defend dictatorial demons against charges of genocide. He hires teenagers to spam blogs with movie promotions; he doesn’t acquire lethal viruses capable of wiping out all of Asia.
Lorne will never make the seas run orange with Tang.
You can, however, blame him for reuniting Hall and Oates.
* * *