4
You slide onto the stage, currently occupied solely by the Serpent, and find the nearest convenient noisemaker to jam on, in this case a hollowed-out and dried deep sea fish of some kind that fits neatly under your arm with these pipes coming out of it. They might not actually be bagpipes, but you damn sure are drunk enough to play 'em like they are. There's an alien warble that comes out of some orifice within the fish.
"THIS ONE GOES OUT TO ALL MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS OF DIVISION 15, I LOVE YOU BASTARDS," the Serpent roars into the party, who applaud as you attempt a harmony with the electric lute. You and the Serpent proceed to experiment with how either of your instruments might actually be played, and come to a conclusion that you can place on the low end of the cosmic shoegaze/synth noise spectrum. This is good. This is kind of actually good. You don't think the crowd
likes it, technically speaking, but screw them, this is your art and your soul, and what do they even know, they don't know you, that's for sure. You begin to sweat inside your Acter-shell as you lose yourself in the strange music, the sweet death running through you, the Serpent's monotonous growls into the microphone (they seem even drunker than you, seemingly having done the heavy lifting even before you arrived). Nobody has the heart to ask you to stop, and as a budding princess of darkness that's basically your social wheelhouse.
You don't know how long it's been when you're interrupted by a sudden resonant tone coming from a freshly arrived guy banging a ceremonial mace against his massive U-shaped crown, which is loud and piercing enough to make even the Serpent quit howling the opening of the Primordial Syllable of Death. His eyes are black voids and his massive, immaculately shined spiky armor gives off the unmistakable impression of middle management.
"I have been informed," you hear a voice like grinding steel come from what you assume is the boss, "that the band contracted for the evening has cancelled their appearance at the last minute." An exasperated sigh comes from the audience. "Luckily Tchmarz and Acter have already picked up the slack, let's give them both a big hand." There is a moment of humble applause. "Yes, yes, good work all around."
"However!" he starts up again just as everyone's started to adapt to having to listen to you the entire evening. "There are also other news." Everyone stares. "Mmh, yes. The news are," he hesitates, "that Division 15, on account of poor performance reviews, underwhelming creative achievements and frequent complaints about workplace behavior from the other divisions, is to be let go, effective immediately."
Stunned silence.
"And yes," he says, "that does unfortunately mean no holiday bonus. And, as per most of your contracts, no severance." The crowd looks like it's about to boil with murmurs and complaints. "I was going to inform you after the cleanup, truth be told, but I found out they were firing me as well shortly after and, well. I was considering a division-wide etheric message, but this just seemed like the right thing to do for you all. Best of luck!"
And with that, he struts cheerfully right out of the room with heavy metallic steps, accompanied by a chorus of utter bewilderment and shock.
A) But the band plays on!
B) Descend from the stage to better take in the experience of being fired from a job you didn't even have.
C) Eh, looks like your work here is done.
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Topic: [SG] The Gods Are All Right: Queh, Goddess of the Dark (Read 9992 times)