Categories > Original > Fantasy > 131 Night End
The Olivier Orchestra proudly presents...
0 reviewsConstantine doing Constantine things. Just mostly a break in story and a chance for foreshadowing.
0Unrated
__________________
Constantine tapped his fingers on the rim of his coffee cup. Rain was pounding outside, and although it would be nice to describe the pattern of the precipitation on Constantine’s window, the wonderful refraction of the light, Constantine’s office was in a basement that smelled like mildew and absolutely window-free. The yellow filaments in the light bulb overhead did it’s job well enough to see by, the feeling of being buried alive was present all the time.
The little numbers swam on the page in front of his blue eyes.
Constantine debated starting a small fire to see if he could summon a demon.
Being a Junior Archivist did not engage the mind as well as one would hope.
Con picked up a pencil and tapped it against his empty coffee cup. He hummed the note. He noticed another coffee cup buried under a requisition for higher security for the World Cup in three years. The ring this coffee cup was higher-pitched than the first one, more of a Ting! than the first Ring!
Constantine giggled and started hunting for more things to hit with his pencil. He moved papers around, noting that something that should have gone to the Bureau for Defense ages ago was still there. Not that it mattered, the circus people who worked there hardly ever noticed missing paperwork. They should really hire a secretary.
Once the blonde man-child had dredged up enough coffee cups, glasses, candlesticks, and rubber boots, he began to happily beat the musical tar out of all and sundry.
Ring! Ting! Tang! Bork! Ping! Ting Ting! Ting Tang! Bork! BANG!
Then the small stand-up phone rang from the corner of his desk, adding it’s own shrill screech to the Olivier Impromptu Symphonic Orchestra. Sticking the pencil through one of the small braids that was hanging over his ear, Constantine lifted the earpiece and and raised the voice-capture up to his lips.
“Hello,Hall-of-Justice-Library-Junior-Archivist-Constantine-Olivier-Speaking!” twittered Constantine. He was very proud that he could get all that out in one breath.
“GET! BACK! TO! WORK!”
Constantine yelped and let go of the phone as if it had suddenly sprouted fangs. His eyes widened as he realized what he’d done, and he grabbed at it, fumbling to get it back in his grasp.
“I, I, I’m so sorry Mr. Walter guv beak sir! Won’t see it walk round again never!” rattled Con, going white. Walter continued to shout down the phone line as if he were trying to speak to somebody across the ocean.
“LISTEN! YOU! I! NEED! THOSE! DOCUMENTS! FILED! STARLING’S! BREATHING! DOWN! MY! NECK! THE! PROBLEM! WITH! PEOPLE! OF! YOUR! GENERATION! IS! THEY! HAVE! NO! SENSE! OF! RESPECT!”
Constantine was thankful the man used the phone. Getting screamed in person was ab-so-lute-ly blow blooey.
“I’m so sorry sir! I can’t seem to hear you!” shouted Constantine, and abruptly hung up.
Sinking back into his highly uncomfortable chair, he waited to get his breath back. His heart seemed to be pounding like a hunted animal’s, and the office looked like it had been ransacked. Anna Karenina's biography wobbled on it's high shelf. Picking up his pen with shaking fingers, Constantine resumed processing paperwork.
___________________________________________
Constantine tapped his fingers on the rim of his coffee cup. Rain was pounding outside, and although it would be nice to describe the pattern of the precipitation on Constantine’s window, the wonderful refraction of the light, Constantine’s office was in a basement that smelled like mildew and absolutely window-free. The yellow filaments in the light bulb overhead did it’s job well enough to see by, the feeling of being buried alive was present all the time.
The little numbers swam on the page in front of his blue eyes.
Constantine debated starting a small fire to see if he could summon a demon.
Being a Junior Archivist did not engage the mind as well as one would hope.
Con picked up a pencil and tapped it against his empty coffee cup. He hummed the note. He noticed another coffee cup buried under a requisition for higher security for the World Cup in three years. The ring this coffee cup was higher-pitched than the first one, more of a Ting! than the first Ring!
Constantine giggled and started hunting for more things to hit with his pencil. He moved papers around, noting that something that should have gone to the Bureau for Defense ages ago was still there. Not that it mattered, the circus people who worked there hardly ever noticed missing paperwork. They should really hire a secretary.
Once the blonde man-child had dredged up enough coffee cups, glasses, candlesticks, and rubber boots, he began to happily beat the musical tar out of all and sundry.
Ring! Ting! Tang! Bork! Ping! Ting Ting! Ting Tang! Bork! BANG!
Then the small stand-up phone rang from the corner of his desk, adding it’s own shrill screech to the Olivier Impromptu Symphonic Orchestra. Sticking the pencil through one of the small braids that was hanging over his ear, Constantine lifted the earpiece and and raised the voice-capture up to his lips.
“Hello,Hall-of-Justice-Library-Junior-Archivist-Constantine-Olivier-Speaking!” twittered Constantine. He was very proud that he could get all that out in one breath.
“GET! BACK! TO! WORK!”
Constantine yelped and let go of the phone as if it had suddenly sprouted fangs. His eyes widened as he realized what he’d done, and he grabbed at it, fumbling to get it back in his grasp.
“I, I, I’m so sorry Mr. Walter guv beak sir! Won’t see it walk round again never!” rattled Con, going white. Walter continued to shout down the phone line as if he were trying to speak to somebody across the ocean.
“LISTEN! YOU! I! NEED! THOSE! DOCUMENTS! FILED! STARLING’S! BREATHING! DOWN! MY! NECK! THE! PROBLEM! WITH! PEOPLE! OF! YOUR! GENERATION! IS! THEY! HAVE! NO! SENSE! OF! RESPECT!”
Constantine was thankful the man used the phone. Getting screamed in person was ab-so-lute-ly blow blooey.
“I’m so sorry sir! I can’t seem to hear you!” shouted Constantine, and abruptly hung up.
Sinking back into his highly uncomfortable chair, he waited to get his breath back. His heart seemed to be pounding like a hunted animal’s, and the office looked like it had been ransacked. Anna Karenina's biography wobbled on it's high shelf. Picking up his pen with shaking fingers, Constantine resumed processing paperwork.
___________________________________________
Sign up to rate and review this story