(no subject)
Well, hell wasn't so bad once you got over the sweltering heat, the back-breaking pain, the moans of the damned.
I mean, Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone like I had been expecting. It was more along the lines of an office. Complete with a sea of cubicles, and metallic decor. Of course, that was the nice part that I only got to see for a precious few moments. Every day at a quarter to seven, I was ushered downstairs with the rest of the poor fools that had managed to upset the Senior Partners.
The area I was condemned to for most of the day had rows upon rows of shelves, the stacks running as far as the eye could see. It kind of looked like one of those bad abstract paintings you see in those homes that are owned by people with no taste in art. And , naturally,everything in this dank basement was covered with some sort of night-black soot that covered everything in sight.
Every day from 7 to 5:45 I'd be down here, filing whatever papers needed to be filed. It was mind-numbing, menial labor, and I could practically feel all the facts I'd so carefully memorized over the years slipping from my brain as I did it. I mean, the whole thing had some sort of logical order to it, all of those files in the cabinets didn't get there on their own. And if you multiplied the two-hundred odd cabinets in the Los Angeles branch with every Wolfram and Hart branch in every dimension... You get the drift. Numbers and statistics aside, Files and Records was vastly underappreciated.
Of course, they couldn't just make the job easy for us. They couldn't give me the simple pleasure at peering at a file every once in a while to check up on what the God-King was doing, or even what mess Merlin was in for murdering me. Oh, no! All the papers were completely blank! Not even an indentation to prove they were real. You just got the files, were given the section, and had to /feel/ where the file goes. Logic has no part in it, which I found rather unsettling. Intuition, while a basic human necessity, wasn't reliable in the slightest, and I was loathe to rely on it so often. I had been punished so many times for trying to use formulas to figure out a file's proper location, that I'd just given up on the concept.
Science was part of my life, for one. And I wasn't exactly living. I was one of the insipid fools that trudged down here every day on the orders of some higher power.
Not my higher power, for certain.
I shook my head, picking up a file and idly wandering wherever it 'led' me. Sometimes this task helped me forget faster. Which was almost okay some days. Her holiness had forsaken me, her loyal servant and the fact kind of burned. A lot. Most of the time, my job gave me more time of introspection, unfortunately. It seemed like one of those days.
I almost wished I could have the fire and brimstone. At least then I wouldn't be so terribly bored all the time.
It wasn't like anyone could blame me. We didn't even get vacations down here.
((Open for the Wolf and Ram. (and Hart, if we get one) ))
I mean, Hell wasn't all fire and brimstone like I had been expecting. It was more along the lines of an office. Complete with a sea of cubicles, and metallic decor. Of course, that was the nice part that I only got to see for a precious few moments. Every day at a quarter to seven, I was ushered downstairs with the rest of the poor fools that had managed to upset the Senior Partners.
The area I was condemned to for most of the day had rows upon rows of shelves, the stacks running as far as the eye could see. It kind of looked like one of those bad abstract paintings you see in those homes that are owned by people with no taste in art. And , naturally,everything in this dank basement was covered with some sort of night-black soot that covered everything in sight.
Every day from 7 to 5:45 I'd be down here, filing whatever papers needed to be filed. It was mind-numbing, menial labor, and I could practically feel all the facts I'd so carefully memorized over the years slipping from my brain as I did it. I mean, the whole thing had some sort of logical order to it, all of those files in the cabinets didn't get there on their own. And if you multiplied the two-hundred odd cabinets in the Los Angeles branch with every Wolfram and Hart branch in every dimension... You get the drift. Numbers and statistics aside, Files and Records was vastly underappreciated.
Of course, they couldn't just make the job easy for us. They couldn't give me the simple pleasure at peering at a file every once in a while to check up on what the God-King was doing, or even what mess Merlin was in for murdering me. Oh, no! All the papers were completely blank! Not even an indentation to prove they were real. You just got the files, were given the section, and had to /feel/ where the file goes. Logic has no part in it, which I found rather unsettling. Intuition, while a basic human necessity, wasn't reliable in the slightest, and I was loathe to rely on it so often. I had been punished so many times for trying to use formulas to figure out a file's proper location, that I'd just given up on the concept.
Science was part of my life, for one. And I wasn't exactly living. I was one of the insipid fools that trudged down here every day on the orders of some higher power.
Not my higher power, for certain.
I shook my head, picking up a file and idly wandering wherever it 'led' me. Sometimes this task helped me forget faster. Which was almost okay some days. Her holiness had forsaken me, her loyal servant and the fact kind of burned. A lot. Most of the time, my job gave me more time of introspection, unfortunately. It seemed like one of those days.
I almost wished I could have the fire and brimstone. At least then I wouldn't be so terribly bored all the time.
It wasn't like anyone could blame me. We didn't even get vacations down here.
((Open for the Wolf and Ram. (and Hart, if we get one) ))