✞ facies angeli ✞ (angelorum) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2010-04-21 13:56:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | angel |
Who: Angel and Denver (NPC)
What: Long-distance call.
When: Afternoon.
Where: Los Angeles.
Why: Same guy, except not really.
Status: Complete.
Inside a modest shopfront in Los Angeles, sat a modestly dressed balding man donning a pair of black horn-rimmed glasses. Thin grey strains of smoke drifted like lost phantoms as the tabletop jukebox cranked out selections from The Beatles. They slip away across the universe... The man, quite comfortably laid back in his stool and perusing the day's paper, reached over and turned up the volume. Then the phone rang and he plucked up the receiver with the adroitness of a call centre employee.
'Denver's P--'
'Denver?' A male voice. There was obvious sense of urgency here, which was in itself strange. Most people who called him were not the urgent type. Stranger still was the measure of what sounded like...relief?
'Who's asking?' That call me on and on across the universe...
'Look, I don't think you know me, but I know you. I need your expertise.' Pah, expertise. Sure.
'Whoa, whoa. I'm not bugging anyone again.'
'I'm not asking you to bother anyone, just--'
'And I'm not eavesdropping on Facinelli's men either. All right? I'm done with this stuff. I don't want you people calling here again.'
'Who's Facinelli?' So genuine and sincere was the confusion on the other end that Denver hesitated, but for an infinitesimal fraction of a second. He might not be a super spy, but that's what these people did every day. That was their job. Lying. Watching people. Meeting in dark alleys with their melodramatic cloaks and daggers and listening in on conversations not meant for their ears. He knew what they were all about. He didn't want any part of it.
'Oh drop the act. I know you're,'--a slight pause as Denver lowered his voice down a notch--'from the Man.'
'The man?'
'Yeah. The Man? Big-G?'
'I don't know what's going on here, but I've never called before and I'm not interested in this Facinelli. I just need you to do a little research for me. It's not going to be dangerous.' Sure. Not dangerous. That's what they all said.
'Research? You're kidding, right?'
'We have a situation down here. I'm going to describe it to you and maybe you'll recognise what this thing is. If you don't, you can go through some of your books and let me know if you find something.'
'Books? Only book I got here is the Yellow Pages and a cheesy romance novel some bird left behind months ago. Come to think of it, recognising your thing is probably not my thing either, unless it's pizza topping you need identified.'
'But you're...Denver.' They tumble blindly...
'Yeah, think we established that a couple pages ago.'
'Denver's Books?' ...as they make their way across the universe...
'No,' Denver replied firmly. 'Denver's Pizzeria. You're looking for a bookworm, you're in the wrong place. Now, you want delivery, we got some specials running this week.'
'Um... Not unless you deliver to Kansas.' Well, lo' and behold. Insert awkward pause here--wait. Kansas? Kansas?
'Kansas? You're calling long distance? Oh for--don't call again, asshole!' With this rude awakening, Denver slammed down the receiver. A minute later, the music became so loud that it could be heard out in the street by passers-by. Also, the smoke thickened.
Nothing's gonna change my world...