**Option A
Things had not gone well, the snow was coming down thick and fast, and the man known as Lord Djibril was ready to blow a gasket.
Or would have been, if he'd had the strength.
Blowing a gasket was somewhat harder to do if one didn't even have enough strength to pull oneself off a dumpster.
He didn't even want to think what condition his clothes were in.
And that...."eeeeee"ing.
It went on and on, and stopped only to start again... Damn it, if he became permanently hearing-impaired...
Eeeeeeeeeee. Eeeeeeeeee. Eeeeeeeeeeeeee......
Damn it, damn the universe, damn operations that go off the deep end on one, damn...
He looked, then. And stared.
...Something was moving.
EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE
The people who worked for Section Chief Djibril knew better then to ask him idiotic questions.
But still...
"Hey."
"...Yeah?"
"...Why is there a drowned rat in a chicken sandwich box on the Boss's desk?"
**Option B
Things had not gone well, the snow was coming down thick and fast, and the man known as Lord Djibril was ready to blow a gasket.
Or would have been, if he'd had the strength.
Blowing a gasket was somewhat harder to do if one didn't even have enough strength to pull oneself off a dumpster.
He didn't even want to think what condition his clothes were in.
And that....wailing.
It went on and on, and stopped only to start again... Damn it, if he became permanently hearing-impaired...
And it went on and on and on....
Damn it, damn the universe, damn operations that go off the deep end on one, damn...
He looked, then. And stared.
...Something was moving.
Waaaaaaaaaa
The people who worked for Section Chief Djibril knew better then to ask him idiotic questions.
But still...
"Take care of it."
"...Sir?"
"Just take care of it! Don't they have people to take care of those things?"
The filthy thing had just kept wailing and wailing and...
"Well, if it's a rat, we could just throw it out, but..."
"It's a kitten, silly."
A woman from the secretarial pool mumbled.
"And it's not even weaned, probably. Maybe you should just call the Vetenarian section and have it put to sleep, sir? Taking care of unweaned kittens are a awful pain, and half the time they die anyway. And that one looks sick to begin with."
Djibril stared. What?
"...Though we could try to feed it with cat-milk and stuff like that if you'd like, sir."
He looked at - the thing. The thing didn't look back, as it's eyes were all covered with mucus and worse.
"...Mr Djibril?"
"...Do...that."
"...Alright, sir. Get the vets and some cat-milk - it needs to be fed every two hours or something, I think. ...Do any of you have something to carry it in?"
"Here" The woman waved a chicken sandwich box.
"OK, here goes..."
Djibril stared. And nearly choked.
Alright. So it was a cat.
Whatever his other five senses told him it was.
There was no way a sick human baby was going to fit inside a chicken sandwitch box.
**Option C
Things had not gone well, the shit was coming down thick and fast and going to hit the fan any moment, and the man known as Lord Djibril was ready to blow a gasket.
Or would have been, if he'd had the strength.
Damn them, and the damn universe along with them.
And that bloody...scratching noise...
The too-pretty man in a chinese robe - he'd thought the person was male, though it had been rather hard to tell - he'd sat across on the shuttle had been giving him measured looks all evening, like he knew something he didn't, and it annoyed him even more, though he hadn't thought that was possible.
Damn them. Not just the Coordinators but everybody who had ever -
That scratching again. And...
Was that meowing?
Djibril stared, then.
Who the fuck ever thought keeping a cat inside a suitcase was a good idea?
(*....Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot. *)
(*...What?*)
(*The current Count D's entire Petshop has been opened and is now spread over a entire space shuttle, thank you very much?*)
(*.......Very much Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, thank you.*)
Almost nobody had noticed that the Cat had Walked. With it's Person, to boot.
Yet.
**Option D
Things had not gone well, the snow was coming down thick and fast, and the man known as Lord Djibril was ready to blow a gasket.
Or would have been, if he'd had the strength.
"...Yo, you."
The man in front of him was young, blonde, and very, very drunk.
"...Hello, cousin."
"Come on, call me by name. We're almost all, hic, related here."
And though that was nothing but the truth...
"...You're drunk, Muruta."
"I know, I know, what else is new. ...Aren't you going to congratulate me?"
"...Congrats, Muruta."
Oh, he'd known, he'd known that Muruta Azrael was the one who was going to be chosen to head Blue Cosmos.
It still hurt, though.
"Alrigh..."
Muruta almost went sideways, then, into the table.
"...Sorry"
"...You're the one who's going to wake up with the headache."
"I kno... Hey, cuz? Happy birthday?"
A wrinkled paper bag. How...Muruta.
Lord Djibril watched his cousin sleep on the sofa and sighed, then.
It still hurt, a little. But it could have been worse.
It could have been somebody who'd try to start "housecleaning" with him in mind, after all. Muruta...
Muruta knew he could be useful, at least. He hoped.
Truly and wholeheartedly.
The bag "Miii"d. Djibril barely noticed.
**Option E
The man known as Lord Djibril never had a black, round-faced, golden-eyed cat of unknown parentage.
At all.
He watched the snow, alone.
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(Posted Thu, 13 Apr 2006 14:36)
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