(no subject)
Title: Ten Ways Daniel Could Crush Walter-the-Worm
Author: comeon_eileen
Characters:Walter, Betty, Daniel, Other
Rating: G for Gosh, Is Walter Still Around?
Notes: I know this is several hours later than usual. I apologize. I tried to type it up last night and half the words were typos. Bah. Anyways, I do hope you all enjoy, and since Katya is going to actual be finishing off the series on Day Ten...you'll actually see me again very kind of soon.
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"Hey. Bring that light over here. Tilt the camera. Okay, steady? Steady, okay. How is the sound? Good? Good. Everyone, try to remember your cues. We're only going to get one shot at this and then it's gone. And ready - set - and action!”
Walter sat up in bed as light suddenly flooded his room and let out a loud yelp as he realized that he was most definitely not alone. The lights were being upheld by men, and there was an entire camera crew with their focus on him. Before he could form the words to ask - what the hell? - someone in jeans and a suit jacket burst out from the small invading crowd with a grin and a microphone.
“Walter, my friend!” The man dropped a hand to his shoulder and gave an overly friendly squeeze. He spoke to Walter, but directed his voice and facial expressions at the camera. “Walter, I am host Michael Bloom, and this is your Personal Hell, the show where a painful, miserable, achingly awful twenty-four hours of personal hell could pay off with up to one million dollars.”
Walter blinked. “I - I didn't sign up for any television show. How did you get in my house?”
The host frowned at him. “Of course you signed up! You think we just randomly walk around, inviting ourselves in? No, no, Walter, we have a contract signed by you, dated and witnessed. You, my friend, have a legally binding contract which can be neither avoided nor forgotten. Now, unless you have a itchin' to pay us money for a breach of contract, I'd say it was about time you got up out of bed and enjoyed some buffalo testicles for breakfast!”
“Woah, I'm not eating that,” he declared, just as someone produced a bowl full of - well he had a pretty good idea of what, but it was one of those things that seemed to be better off unacknowledged. The bowl was set on the table beside him.
Bloom leaned in. “Oh, come on, Walter. You know you could do something pretty nice with that million dollars. A Mexican cruise? A visit to Hawaii? I bet your girlfriend could really use a diamond.” Walter was nudged. “What do you say? Open up for those deliciously delicious buffalo testicles or set a record on Personal Hell for cop-out?”
“I really didn't sign up for this!”
Bloom sighed and stared into the camera. “My friend here needs a little coaxing. He doesn't want to get up, so we should probably tell him about the snakes we slipped underneath his sheets just moments before waking him up.” To Walter, the host shrugged. “You like snakes, right?” And no soon had the words been uttered than Walter realized the cold pressure against his leg wasn't just an odd sensation...
It was a freaking snake, making itself at home on his limbs.
“Ah!” He was up and out of bed in two seconds flat. Running a hand through his hair, he stared at the invaders with wide eyes. “Are you crazy?” But they just kept on staring at him, almost as if they were staring through him.
“The testicles, Walter. For one million dollars.”
With a groan, Walter grabbed the bowl and started walking with it, periodically poking at it's consistency. “I'm not going to eat this. This is disgusting. And I didn't sign up for any tv show.”
“Eat it, Walter.”
“No.”
“Don't flake out on us now, Buddy.”
“Sorry, I just-”
“Eat it.”
“I'd rather n-”
“Eat. It.”
“But I - ”
“EAT IT!”
“OKAY!” More to stop the screaming in his ear than anything else, Walter shoved his mouth on the dish prepared. Thought came only half a second later, but it was half a second too late. He realized with a hard swallow and sinking, sickly feeling that this was going to be a very long, uncomfortable day.
------------
“Well, well, well, Walter. Perhaps you are wondering why we have you here in front of your girlfriend's place of work.” Bloom patted the wall and smiled brilliantly for the cameras. “Well, reliable sources tell us that she is currently out running errands for her boss, a Mr. Daniel Meade. And we here at Personal Hell would like to personalize your suffering by suggesting that you uh, go have a chat with Mr. Meade.”
Betty was not going to like this. He crossed his arms. “What am I supposed to tell him?”
“As you may or may not know, Mr. Meade is one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, and has made significant use of this availability. But, there are some stones he has left unturned and you are going to help him turn them. We would like for you to give Meade your permission to woo Ms. Suarez. We're going to attach this minicamera to your shirt, so that we can see everything you are seeing.”
“What?!” Walter nearly choked on his words. “I'm not gonna-” The guy already dominated her time, her schedule was constantly being molded to fit his; they worked late, attended conferences, shared meals. The last thing Walter needed was for Daniel to think he had a free run with her - her - her! “No!” He shook his head for emphasis. It was simply not happening.
“Perhaps you'd like to give up the one million dollar prize?” The host tapped his chin. “I'd hate to think you ate all those buffalo testicles for nothing. That would be really embarrassing, right? But, if it's what you really want.”
Walter shut his eyes and could taste the... texture. It stung his eyes. “Okay, okay. I'll do it.” He wrinkled his nose. But there was no way he was going to like it. “But why?”
The host shrugged. “Because it'd make you unhappy.” And apparently, on Personal Hell, that was reason enough.
The elevator ride wasn't long enough, but he took his stop anyway and shook out his shoulders. Betty's desk was empty, but her space was not. Meade was there, rifling through a set of paperwork, talking to someone - Betty, most likely - over the phone. The other man cocked his head in curiosity at the side of Walter, but gestured for him to come closer. “Yeah,” he told the person on the phone, “Hold on a minute. You're Betty's boyfriend. Can I get you something?” He asked Walter.
“Uh...” He coughed. “I uh, just wanted you to know that I uh...” and another cough. “I don't mind if you and Betty want to... uhhmm. You know, if you want to uh, do your own thing and uh.. spend some time together. That'd be okay.”
“Uh, wow.” Meade carefully closed the paperwork and stared at Walter. “Are you giving me your permission to date your girlfriend?” The wheels were turning. Walter could see them.
“I, uh.” He looked down and the words got all tied up and lost in his tongue. “I guess so.”
“Oh. Huh. I will certainly take that into consideration.” Meade gave him a short smile. “Well, then... is that everything?”
He sighed. “I got to go,” and fled the building.
“Well done,” the host said, and Walter wanted to kill him.
------------
“Our next activity,” the host declared, “involves our contestant, a piece of scotch tape, and a ceiling fan.”
That activity resulted in a very severe bruise to the left leg. But Walter could still walk, and that was good.
---------------
That Walter had contacts wasn't a secret so much as a never-discussed fact. Even so, he had to wonder how they knew. He had a lot of time to wonder, because the following event involved him standing outside, blind as a bat - contactless, of course - soliciting information on the state of the weather. On the street.
Then he was hit by a car and that was less fun.
-------------------
With a pronounced limp and a cast on his arm, Walter made his way up through the steps of his house. His stomach growled for want of food, but he refrained from commenting on that, lest he be forced to swallow down a meal of... gorilla eyes, or larvae or whatever.
Even though the camera crew was still at the hospital. Thinking up new, exciting ways to kill him, presumably. He wiped a hand across his nose and pulled open the front door. He sniffled again and then paused, surprised.
There was Betty. “Hey, Walter,” she said. “Oh my God, are you all right? What happened?” She fussed near his arm, but he shook her away. She sighed. “Walter, what's going on. They said you stopped by the office and-” She paused, clearly not keen on explaining the whole thing.
“I'm on a television show,” he told her. “Called Personal Hell.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”
“It's a reality television show where they try to make me miserable,” he explained.
She frowned. “Look, Walter. You can't just go to my job. Especially not because you want to tell Daniel that it's okay to date me.” She flushed. “It's inappropriate, okay?”
“I didn't want to! But they made me - from the show. I didn't want to have eaten the buffalo testicles for nothing. I-”
“Wait,” Betty held up a hand. “Okay, ew. You ate buffalo testicles?”
“For the show!”
“Walter, look around you! There are no camera crews.”
“They - They're at the hospital still.”
She shut her eyes. “Okay, you know what. I am going to call a doctor and make an appointment with a psychologist or something, because you are not making any sense. At all, Walter.”
“It's a television show,” Walter insisted.
She studied him a moment before nodded. Then she dialed a number on her phone. After a moment, she brightened. “Hey, Daniel? This is Betty. I was wondering if you'd ever heard of a television show called Personal Hell. You have. Uh huh.” She started moving towards his bedroom, still speaking with her boss. “Oh, oh it was. When was this? Are you sure? You dated one of the producers. Oh. Okay - Daniel, I'm talking to him right now.”
She hung up the phone with a sigh. “See?” Walter demanded. “It does exist!”
“It did,” she corrected. “It was canceled two years ago. Apparently, it just came out on dvd.”
Walter blinked. “Maybe they were renewed.”
She glanced at him, then past him. Side-stepping his person, she made her way to the television set in his room, and the dvd case sitting nearby. She snatched it up into her hands and wheeled around to face him. “Is this some kind of joke?” There, in her hands, was the dvd set itself. Walter recognized Bloom on the cover.
He frowned. “No, I mean - they were really here! I didn't even buy those!”
“Yeah, Walter. Sure.” She shoved the dvd set in his direction and started to leave.
“Betty, wait!”
“I think it's time for me to leave, Walter.” She picked up her coat from where it had been left on a chair and proceeded towards the front door.
“Betty, but - I'm being serious!”
“Sure, Walter.”
“No, I am,” he tried to insist, but then she was gone, lost past the door. He collapsed into a chair and ran his good hand through his hair. The phone rang. Walter glared at it for a moment, then considered the possibility that it would be Betty, sorry for having left in such a huff. He leaned over and brought it to his ear. “Hello?”
The voice was recognizable immediately. “Well, Walter. I can safely say, welcome to your personal hell.” And then Bloom hung up and Walter was left staring at the phone in his hand. He - he needed to go back to sleep.
Like, a lot.
----------
“He was hit by a car? That wasn't a bit much?”
Michael Bloom shrugged. “He just fractured his arm. He's healthy and good. And you got what you wanted, after all. The man's gonna be afraid to leave his house tomorrow morning. And Betty...”
Daniel Meade grinned and sipped his wine. “Betty is going to be fine, too.”
Author: comeon_eileen
Characters:Walter, Betty, Daniel, Other
Rating: G for Gosh, Is Walter Still Around?
Notes: I know this is several hours later than usual. I apologize. I tried to type it up last night and half the words were typos. Bah. Anyways, I do hope you all enjoy, and since Katya is going to actual be finishing off the series on Day Ten...you'll actually see me again very kind of soon.
option one option two option three
option four option fiveoption sixoption seven
"Hey. Bring that light over here. Tilt the camera. Okay, steady? Steady, okay. How is the sound? Good? Good. Everyone, try to remember your cues. We're only going to get one shot at this and then it's gone. And ready - set - and action!”
Walter sat up in bed as light suddenly flooded his room and let out a loud yelp as he realized that he was most definitely not alone. The lights were being upheld by men, and there was an entire camera crew with their focus on him. Before he could form the words to ask - what the hell? - someone in jeans and a suit jacket burst out from the small invading crowd with a grin and a microphone.
“Walter, my friend!” The man dropped a hand to his shoulder and gave an overly friendly squeeze. He spoke to Walter, but directed his voice and facial expressions at the camera. “Walter, I am host Michael Bloom, and this is your Personal Hell, the show where a painful, miserable, achingly awful twenty-four hours of personal hell could pay off with up to one million dollars.”
Walter blinked. “I - I didn't sign up for any television show. How did you get in my house?”
The host frowned at him. “Of course you signed up! You think we just randomly walk around, inviting ourselves in? No, no, Walter, we have a contract signed by you, dated and witnessed. You, my friend, have a legally binding contract which can be neither avoided nor forgotten. Now, unless you have a itchin' to pay us money for a breach of contract, I'd say it was about time you got up out of bed and enjoyed some buffalo testicles for breakfast!”
“Woah, I'm not eating that,” he declared, just as someone produced a bowl full of - well he had a pretty good idea of what, but it was one of those things that seemed to be better off unacknowledged. The bowl was set on the table beside him.
Bloom leaned in. “Oh, come on, Walter. You know you could do something pretty nice with that million dollars. A Mexican cruise? A visit to Hawaii? I bet your girlfriend could really use a diamond.” Walter was nudged. “What do you say? Open up for those deliciously delicious buffalo testicles or set a record on Personal Hell for cop-out?”
“I really didn't sign up for this!”
Bloom sighed and stared into the camera. “My friend here needs a little coaxing. He doesn't want to get up, so we should probably tell him about the snakes we slipped underneath his sheets just moments before waking him up.” To Walter, the host shrugged. “You like snakes, right?” And no soon had the words been uttered than Walter realized the cold pressure against his leg wasn't just an odd sensation...
It was a freaking snake, making itself at home on his limbs.
“Ah!” He was up and out of bed in two seconds flat. Running a hand through his hair, he stared at the invaders with wide eyes. “Are you crazy?” But they just kept on staring at him, almost as if they were staring through him.
“The testicles, Walter. For one million dollars.”
With a groan, Walter grabbed the bowl and started walking with it, periodically poking at it's consistency. “I'm not going to eat this. This is disgusting. And I didn't sign up for any tv show.”
“Eat it, Walter.”
“No.”
“Don't flake out on us now, Buddy.”
“Sorry, I just-”
“Eat it.”
“I'd rather n-”
“Eat. It.”
“But I - ”
“EAT IT!”
“OKAY!” More to stop the screaming in his ear than anything else, Walter shoved his mouth on the dish prepared. Thought came only half a second later, but it was half a second too late. He realized with a hard swallow and sinking, sickly feeling that this was going to be a very long, uncomfortable day.
------------
“Well, well, well, Walter. Perhaps you are wondering why we have you here in front of your girlfriend's place of work.” Bloom patted the wall and smiled brilliantly for the cameras. “Well, reliable sources tell us that she is currently out running errands for her boss, a Mr. Daniel Meade. And we here at Personal Hell would like to personalize your suffering by suggesting that you uh, go have a chat with Mr. Meade.”
Betty was not going to like this. He crossed his arms. “What am I supposed to tell him?”
“As you may or may not know, Mr. Meade is one of the most eligible bachelors in the city, and has made significant use of this availability. But, there are some stones he has left unturned and you are going to help him turn them. We would like for you to give Meade your permission to woo Ms. Suarez. We're going to attach this minicamera to your shirt, so that we can see everything you are seeing.”
“What?!” Walter nearly choked on his words. “I'm not gonna-” The guy already dominated her time, her schedule was constantly being molded to fit his; they worked late, attended conferences, shared meals. The last thing Walter needed was for Daniel to think he had a free run with her - her - her! “No!” He shook his head for emphasis. It was simply not happening.
“Perhaps you'd like to give up the one million dollar prize?” The host tapped his chin. “I'd hate to think you ate all those buffalo testicles for nothing. That would be really embarrassing, right? But, if it's what you really want.”
Walter shut his eyes and could taste the... texture. It stung his eyes. “Okay, okay. I'll do it.” He wrinkled his nose. But there was no way he was going to like it. “But why?”
The host shrugged. “Because it'd make you unhappy.” And apparently, on Personal Hell, that was reason enough.
The elevator ride wasn't long enough, but he took his stop anyway and shook out his shoulders. Betty's desk was empty, but her space was not. Meade was there, rifling through a set of paperwork, talking to someone - Betty, most likely - over the phone. The other man cocked his head in curiosity at the side of Walter, but gestured for him to come closer. “Yeah,” he told the person on the phone, “Hold on a minute. You're Betty's boyfriend. Can I get you something?” He asked Walter.
“Uh...” He coughed. “I uh, just wanted you to know that I uh...” and another cough. “I don't mind if you and Betty want to... uhhmm. You know, if you want to uh, do your own thing and uh.. spend some time together. That'd be okay.”
“Uh, wow.” Meade carefully closed the paperwork and stared at Walter. “Are you giving me your permission to date your girlfriend?” The wheels were turning. Walter could see them.
“I, uh.” He looked down and the words got all tied up and lost in his tongue. “I guess so.”
“Oh. Huh. I will certainly take that into consideration.” Meade gave him a short smile. “Well, then... is that everything?”
He sighed. “I got to go,” and fled the building.
“Well done,” the host said, and Walter wanted to kill him.
------------
“Our next activity,” the host declared, “involves our contestant, a piece of scotch tape, and a ceiling fan.”
That activity resulted in a very severe bruise to the left leg. But Walter could still walk, and that was good.
---------------
That Walter had contacts wasn't a secret so much as a never-discussed fact. Even so, he had to wonder how they knew. He had a lot of time to wonder, because the following event involved him standing outside, blind as a bat - contactless, of course - soliciting information on the state of the weather. On the street.
Then he was hit by a car and that was less fun.
-------------------
With a pronounced limp and a cast on his arm, Walter made his way up through the steps of his house. His stomach growled for want of food, but he refrained from commenting on that, lest he be forced to swallow down a meal of... gorilla eyes, or larvae or whatever.
Even though the camera crew was still at the hospital. Thinking up new, exciting ways to kill him, presumably. He wiped a hand across his nose and pulled open the front door. He sniffled again and then paused, surprised.
There was Betty. “Hey, Walter,” she said. “Oh my God, are you all right? What happened?” She fussed near his arm, but he shook her away. She sighed. “Walter, what's going on. They said you stopped by the office and-” She paused, clearly not keen on explaining the whole thing.
“I'm on a television show,” he told her. “Called Personal Hell.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What is that?”
“It's a reality television show where they try to make me miserable,” he explained.
She frowned. “Look, Walter. You can't just go to my job. Especially not because you want to tell Daniel that it's okay to date me.” She flushed. “It's inappropriate, okay?”
“I didn't want to! But they made me - from the show. I didn't want to have eaten the buffalo testicles for nothing. I-”
“Wait,” Betty held up a hand. “Okay, ew. You ate buffalo testicles?”
“For the show!”
“Walter, look around you! There are no camera crews.”
“They - They're at the hospital still.”
She shut her eyes. “Okay, you know what. I am going to call a doctor and make an appointment with a psychologist or something, because you are not making any sense. At all, Walter.”
“It's a television show,” Walter insisted.
She studied him a moment before nodded. Then she dialed a number on her phone. After a moment, she brightened. “Hey, Daniel? This is Betty. I was wondering if you'd ever heard of a television show called Personal Hell. You have. Uh huh.” She started moving towards his bedroom, still speaking with her boss. “Oh, oh it was. When was this? Are you sure? You dated one of the producers. Oh. Okay - Daniel, I'm talking to him right now.”
She hung up the phone with a sigh. “See?” Walter demanded. “It does exist!”
“It did,” she corrected. “It was canceled two years ago. Apparently, it just came out on dvd.”
Walter blinked. “Maybe they were renewed.”
She glanced at him, then past him. Side-stepping his person, she made her way to the television set in his room, and the dvd case sitting nearby. She snatched it up into her hands and wheeled around to face him. “Is this some kind of joke?” There, in her hands, was the dvd set itself. Walter recognized Bloom on the cover.
He frowned. “No, I mean - they were really here! I didn't even buy those!”
“Yeah, Walter. Sure.” She shoved the dvd set in his direction and started to leave.
“Betty, wait!”
“I think it's time for me to leave, Walter.” She picked up her coat from where it had been left on a chair and proceeded towards the front door.
“Betty, but - I'm being serious!”
“Sure, Walter.”
“No, I am,” he tried to insist, but then she was gone, lost past the door. He collapsed into a chair and ran his good hand through his hair. The phone rang. Walter glared at it for a moment, then considered the possibility that it would be Betty, sorry for having left in such a huff. He leaned over and brought it to his ear. “Hello?”
The voice was recognizable immediately. “Well, Walter. I can safely say, welcome to your personal hell.” And then Bloom hung up and Walter was left staring at the phone in his hand. He - he needed to go back to sleep.
Like, a lot.
----------
“He was hit by a car? That wasn't a bit much?”
Michael Bloom shrugged. “He just fractured his arm. He's healthy and good. And you got what you wanted, after all. The man's gonna be afraid to leave his house tomorrow morning. And Betty...”
Daniel Meade grinned and sipped his wine. “Betty is going to be fine, too.”