Work is Hell
The fourth entry for The Algerina Memorial Summer Fan Creative Writing Contest is....
Work is Hell
Author: Christopher Marlowe
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-13
Author's notes: This story is set in the near future after "Chosen/Not Fade Away"; all characters are OC.
Work is Hell
Yerb the Chaos Demon clicked his HellPod with one had as he walked to his office, idly smacking down a few Purgatory victims along the path with his other hand. He nodded to his secretary, Vampella, who sharpening her feet talons, asked her to bring him a Screaming Mocha and went to his back office. He leaned back on his desk and surfed Scroogle for the latest on his Hells Angels team.
Vampella brought him his mocha, appropriately steaming with the screams of Purgatory victims. He brought his cup to his lips and almost choked reading the latest Hell Tweet. @brimestonerus was tweeting #ApocalypseNow! and it was re-tweeting everywhere. He put down his coffee and scratched one of his lower antlers.
He was aware that a of group of demons, called Brimstone Party Express, was looking to bring a bit more hell on earth and was demanding more action from the Hall of Hell to bring that about. He had heard some scuttlebutt that some Turok-Han types were looking to exercise their moral imperative within the larger Hell's Demons party.
Yerb was one of more conservative demons in the lower echelons of the HellMouth, but he balked at apocalypses. He had been through a number of attempts, but they never came through. There was always some random human or extra-blonde slayer to muck up the plans. He was done with Earth ever since that fling with that gal from above, anyways. Much better to keep things as they are. When an apocalyptic scenario did manage to almost succeed, it was terrible. Post-apocalyptic societies he found were a complete drag. They had all of the aspects (if rather pale aspects) of hell, but none of the fun. Much better to stick with things as they are. He wondered if his boss knew?
As if the boss heard, Yerb had his eardrums blasted with 'Get in Here' yell that pried loose a few pebbles from the cave walls that formed the Fifth Level, Eighth Section of Lower Middle Hell. Taking another sip of his now cooling mocha, he grimaced and went into his boss' office.
He was immediately hit with an awful smell. Yerb knew how mad his boss was by how bad the smell of the smoke that emanated from him was. It went from 'Unpleasant' to 'Claw your Nostrils Until they Bleed' . He could never figure out how he did that, as Mohra Demons are more known for their red third eye than their ability to give off smoke. Beelzebub was at level 'Noxious Putrefaction' anyway, so complaining about him not being typical of his species would not go over well.
Yerb knew better to say anything, for fear of his sanity as well as his olfactory and orbital senses.
Beelzelbub, glowered at Yerb, pointing to the HellPod he held in his hand.
"Did you see this?" he bellowed.
"Yes, boss," Yerb said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, unsure whether his boss favored or opposed Apocalypses in general.
"These Idiots don't know what they are doing. Do you know the amount paperwork involved in starting an Apocalypse? The manpower to maintain an apocalypse? The profit-loss figures would be staggering. Apocalypses are a massive wastes of times for too little reward. Making people miserable on Earth when they can be easily tortured for free in Hell is sheer nonsense. I want this to stop before this reaches the horns of our Lord and Master," Beelzebub said, giving a quick look downward to the Final and Most Hellish Level of Hell where Satan resides, thinking that it was fortuitous that their Lord and Master didn't do HellPods yet, preferring traditional media instead.
He pointed his finger at Yerb, "YOU STOP IT!"
Yerb mentally winced at the all caps. That was pretty much an absolute imperative. He had to drop everything and stop this from going farther.
"Yes Sir!" Yerb replied. Spinning around smartly and marching back to his office. He slumped back in his chair, clutching his head in his hands, wondering how he was going to do that without losing his cred as a conservative demon. He worked pretty hard to get where he was now and wasn't about to let upstarts wreck it.
He couldn't simply tell them to stop, and muzzling them by other means wasn't feasible either. He had to find a way to get these guys to stop on their own. If they could just see the error of their ways, they would take back their Apocalypse dreams and get back to being sensible demons. But he had experience with these types of groups before and reason was not high on their membership requirements.
He racked his brains, but was coming up empty, much like his now empty cup of mocha. He buzzed Vampella to get him some more and when she sashayed with another screaming cup, he suddenly had a bright idea. They needed to lose credibility, if they can be dismissed like the cranks they are, then their ideas wouldn't infect anyone else and they can safely remain as a fringe group. But what issue can he use that would lose them credibility, he thought.
Hmm....maybe we can work Hell itself as a solution to this problem. As the boss said, Apocalypses are tedious, expensive things. He could recommend that the group do a feasibility study, but tell them right off that Satan would be watching the budget very closely and hint at the dire consequences of anything that would cost too much money. Satan was expansive in his sadism, but tight with the pennies.
The more Yerb thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He could make himself look good by appearing to support this, yet know in reality it was a doomed effort. Smart folks like him would know, but the Turok-Han wouldn't, not being the brightest bulbs in the box. And they couldn't hardly object to the appearances of support, even if some had the ability to think higher thoughts.
Yerb's antlers dripped with glee as he wondered if he should ask Vampella out, she certainly did remind him of a certain special gal named Dru.
Maybe when he could spring for a new suit!
Work is Hell
Author: Christopher Marlowe
Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Rating: PG-13
Author's notes: This story is set in the near future after "Chosen/Not Fade Away"; all characters are OC.
Work is Hell
Yerb the Chaos Demon clicked his HellPod with one had as he walked to his office, idly smacking down a few Purgatory victims along the path with his other hand. He nodded to his secretary, Vampella, who sharpening her feet talons, asked her to bring him a Screaming Mocha and went to his back office. He leaned back on his desk and surfed Scroogle for the latest on his Hells Angels team.
Vampella brought him his mocha, appropriately steaming with the screams of Purgatory victims. He brought his cup to his lips and almost choked reading the latest Hell Tweet. @brimestonerus was tweeting #ApocalypseNow! and it was re-tweeting everywhere. He put down his coffee and scratched one of his lower antlers.
He was aware that a of group of demons, called Brimstone Party Express, was looking to bring a bit more hell on earth and was demanding more action from the Hall of Hell to bring that about. He had heard some scuttlebutt that some Turok-Han types were looking to exercise their moral imperative within the larger Hell's Demons party.
Yerb was one of more conservative demons in the lower echelons of the HellMouth, but he balked at apocalypses. He had been through a number of attempts, but they never came through. There was always some random human or extra-blonde slayer to muck up the plans. He was done with Earth ever since that fling with that gal from above, anyways. Much better to keep things as they are. When an apocalyptic scenario did manage to almost succeed, it was terrible. Post-apocalyptic societies he found were a complete drag. They had all of the aspects (if rather pale aspects) of hell, but none of the fun. Much better to stick with things as they are. He wondered if his boss knew?
As if the boss heard, Yerb had his eardrums blasted with 'Get in Here' yell that pried loose a few pebbles from the cave walls that formed the Fifth Level, Eighth Section of Lower Middle Hell. Taking another sip of his now cooling mocha, he grimaced and went into his boss' office.
He was immediately hit with an awful smell. Yerb knew how mad his boss was by how bad the smell of the smoke that emanated from him was. It went from 'Unpleasant' to 'Claw your Nostrils Until they Bleed' . He could never figure out how he did that, as Mohra Demons are more known for their red third eye than their ability to give off smoke. Beelzebub was at level 'Noxious Putrefaction' anyway, so complaining about him not being typical of his species would not go over well.
Yerb knew better to say anything, for fear of his sanity as well as his olfactory and orbital senses.
Beelzelbub, glowered at Yerb, pointing to the HellPod he held in his hand.
"Did you see this?" he bellowed.
"Yes, boss," Yerb said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible, unsure whether his boss favored or opposed Apocalypses in general.
"These Idiots don't know what they are doing. Do you know the amount paperwork involved in starting an Apocalypse? The manpower to maintain an apocalypse? The profit-loss figures would be staggering. Apocalypses are a massive wastes of times for too little reward. Making people miserable on Earth when they can be easily tortured for free in Hell is sheer nonsense. I want this to stop before this reaches the horns of our Lord and Master," Beelzebub said, giving a quick look downward to the Final and Most Hellish Level of Hell where Satan resides, thinking that it was fortuitous that their Lord and Master didn't do HellPods yet, preferring traditional media instead.
He pointed his finger at Yerb, "YOU STOP IT!"
Yerb mentally winced at the all caps. That was pretty much an absolute imperative. He had to drop everything and stop this from going farther.
"Yes Sir!" Yerb replied. Spinning around smartly and marching back to his office. He slumped back in his chair, clutching his head in his hands, wondering how he was going to do that without losing his cred as a conservative demon. He worked pretty hard to get where he was now and wasn't about to let upstarts wreck it.
He couldn't simply tell them to stop, and muzzling them by other means wasn't feasible either. He had to find a way to get these guys to stop on their own. If they could just see the error of their ways, they would take back their Apocalypse dreams and get back to being sensible demons. But he had experience with these types of groups before and reason was not high on their membership requirements.
He racked his brains, but was coming up empty, much like his now empty cup of mocha. He buzzed Vampella to get him some more and when she sashayed with another screaming cup, he suddenly had a bright idea. They needed to lose credibility, if they can be dismissed like the cranks they are, then their ideas wouldn't infect anyone else and they can safely remain as a fringe group. But what issue can he use that would lose them credibility, he thought.
Hmm....maybe we can work Hell itself as a solution to this problem. As the boss said, Apocalypses are tedious, expensive things. He could recommend that the group do a feasibility study, but tell them right off that Satan would be watching the budget very closely and hint at the dire consequences of anything that would cost too much money. Satan was expansive in his sadism, but tight with the pennies.
The more Yerb thought about it, the more he liked the idea. He could make himself look good by appearing to support this, yet know in reality it was a doomed effort. Smart folks like him would know, but the Turok-Han wouldn't, not being the brightest bulbs in the box. And they couldn't hardly object to the appearances of support, even if some had the ability to think higher thoughts.
Yerb's antlers dripped with glee as he wondered if he should ask Vampella out, she certainly did remind him of a certain special gal named Dru.
Maybe when he could spring for a new suit!