"My place... or yours?"

[Maid of Marvels]

Lancaster Green is a business executive who has come to New York City on special assignment. He is tall, handsome and muscular; resplendent in his immaculately tailored suits. His face has a sneering, arrogant appearance, yet also a certain devilish charm. He carries himself with a feline grace, and has the confidence and self-assurance of a man with, well, let's say substantial concealed assets.

Angela Buonacore is a research librarian at the Epiphany Branch of the New York Public Library on 23rd Street. Unassuming, Angela dresses for comfort; she is of medium height and her chestnut brown hair hangs in spiral curls just below her shoulders. People are drawn to her by the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth of her ever-present smile which make up for the fact that she is not what most would consider beautiful.

To all outward appearances, Lancaster is just another hard-charging, aggressive businessman, and Angela is a quirky bookworm with a passion for poetry and coffeehouses. But things are not always as they appear...

*****

This thread is for penprick and myself, but you're welcome to read along. As always, comments and critiques are welcome by PM or IM.

~Maid & Pen

 

[penprick]

"Yes, Mr. Green"

It was a hot, sticky New York morning with no breeze to coax the smog along. Traffic was snarled and the yellow taxis sat herded at a standstill. The throng of pedestrians bustled by, mostly annoyed by the relentless monotony, the drone of the traffic and the uncomfortable heat and fumes. Lancaster Green, in his hand-tailored black wool suit and crimson dress shirt, strode arrogantly and firm-jawed against the flow as he made his way down the four blocks from his hotel to his new office. The heat didn't bother him at all. It was a perfect day.

He worked for Siffert and Co. Mr. Siffert had sent him personally from the head office in Miami to take care of some important business. The 'Big Guy' wasn't happy with the situation at the Manhattan office. Basically, Lanc had been sent to 'kick some ass'. That's what he was always sent to do. They knew he was coming so it would be certain that they knew the shit was about to hit the fan. He relished the thought of how far he would let it spray.

Something suddenly irked him. It was an odd feeling that he experienced from time to time.

"What the fuck is this?" he snarled a thought as he looked up at the steeple and cross of an old catholic church. He crossed the street where he was more comfortable walking past the First Union Bank instead. "Whoever booked that hotel for me is so bloody fired!" he decided. "They should know better than to put me up somewhere with a sickening church directly on the commute."

Siffert and Co.
Manhattan
Criminal Attorneys​

He ascended the marble steps of the art deco highrise and entered the foyer through the glass doors. The twenty foot ceiling was supported by marble columns. The walls were trimmed with crimson velvet and brass. The receptionist sat at the front desk in a black business suit with matching skirt. Lancaster approached and met her gaze.

"Good morning sir, how may I help you?" she asked with suggestive eyes.

Lancaster removed his dark shades to reveal charcoal irises to match his tie. He looked the brunette's fine figure up and down without apology. The lapels of her suit angled downward to reveal her chest and the black lace bra she wore without a blouse.

"Lancaster Green," he introduced himself sternly. "Where's my office?"

"Oh, Mr. Green," she reacted. "We've been expecting you, but I don't believe you've been assigned an office yet."

"What?" he snapped. He stuck out his chin and thought a moment. "Get me Mr. Blight right now."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Green. He's in a meeting."

Lancaster leaned on the large desk and spoke lowly and clearly.

"You may not know who I am yet so I will tell you now," he began. "I am the main man at this office effective immediately. I am your boss. I am your boss' boss. I am Mr. Blight's boss." He leaned in even closer. His nostrils flared and the charcoal of his eyes began to smoulder as he spoke. "I ... own ... his ... balls." He made a clutching gesture with his upturned palm.

"Yes Mr. Green, I understand perfectly."

"Good." Lancaster stood up straight. "So lead me to Mr. Blight's office."

"Right this way," she smiled coyly and stood up from her station. Lancaster followed her to the elevator watching the twist of her sexy hips as she walked. She selected the thirteenth floor, the top.

"What's your name?" he asked on the way up.

"Lola," she answered breathily as she eyed his powerful neck and shoulders wondering what else was concealed beneath his fine clothes.

They exited on the thirteenth floor and she led him straight down the hall to the main office. They stood in front of the door. The secretary was away.

Irwin Blight
Attorney at Law​

"Lola," he asked. "You are the receptionist here?"

"Yes, Mr. Green."

"You've just been promoted," he said. "Empty out this desk and it's yours."

"What shall I do with Janice's things?"

"Don't care," he answered with little regard. "Toss them in the dumpster if you wish."

"Yes, Mr. Green."

With utter contempt, Lancaster ripped the sign from the door and dropped it in the waste bin.

"This is my office now. Have a new door sign made up today," he ordered and opened the door to enter.

He was appalled. The tan berber carpet and oak desk were deplorably weak and the white roll-up blinds had to go. The fern in the corner drew a nasty scowl.

"Order new carpets. Something dark in a plush," he dictated. "And I want a new desk. Cobalt top. The walls need paint. Deep red tones. And these windows need venetians. Black." Lola took notes on a palm-pilot from her new desk. Lancaster grabbed the fern and tossed it, pot and all, out into the empty hall. It flopped to the floor, the dirt spilling. "Get me a large venus fly-trap," he demanded dusting his hands.

"Yes, Mr. Green."

"Where is Mr. Blight's meeting?" he asked.

"In the conference room on the fourth floor."

"Go there and tell him that I have arrived, and that I wish to see him as soon as his 'meeting' has concluded."

"Yes, Mr. Green."

"And call up the temp agency. We need a new receptionist immediately," he ordered. "Then I want you to get the accountant to contact me so I can double your salary."

"What about Janice?"

"She's fired."

"What about this mess?" she inquired.

"Leave it, for now."

"Yes Mr. Green," she smiled sultrily. "If there's anything else I can do for you just let me know. It would be my pleasure."

"And don't you forget it."

Lancaster watched Lola's ass twitch down the hall as her perfect, high heeled calves sidestepped the fern towards the elevator.

 

[Maid of Marvels]

"This is the house. The house on East 88th Street...

It's empty now, but it won't be for long."

An hour later, Angela closed the book. Story Time ended as it always did, with a chorus of 'so longs, byes and see you next weeks'. This was quite possibly the most favorite time at the Epiphany. The children. So pure and innocent. Their eyes wide with wonder as she read them stories week after week.

She ran her fingers lovingly over the book's cover as she set it back on the shelf where it belonged. Someone was certain to be asking for it tomorrow, she thought with a fond smile.

Returning to her desk, Angela took her last phone call of the day, a little boy wanting to know how much a gallon of water weighed. "Eight point three three pounds." She chuckled when he uttered a quiet "Wow!" and mumbled a quick thank you before hanging up.

Angela loved her job. Every time someone had a question or needed help finding something was like going on a treasure hunt. She always seemed to find something new and exciting along the way. Lateral thinking. Sideways surfing. That's what her Boss called it anyway.

Grabbing her coat, Angela said her goodbyes and headed for The Comfy Chair, a coffeehouse near her loft in the Village. It was "Open Mike" night and she hoped to hear at least some good poetry while she scribbled in her ever-present ledger over a light dinner and a cup or six of coffee. Or maybe she'd splurge and have something decadent like an Irish Monk. Angela couldn't help chuckling at the thought as she got into her car and headed down toward Bleecker.

******

The Comfy Chair wasn't very busy. Angela could hear the clinking of coffee cups over the low drone of voices as she sat down at a table near the window. "Hi, Ange!" Lisa, the waitress chirped. "Whatcha havin'?"

"How about a grilled portobello? And a cappuccino in the meantime, please. Cinnamon."

Angela took out a pack of cigarettes and lit up, taking a deep drag and watching the smoke swirl upward in a wispy tendril. It was probably her only vice, a bad one most would say, but she knew of a lot worse. She smiled as she opened her carry-all, pulled out her ledger and a pen and began to scribble.

Angela closed her ledger and pushed it to the side when Lisa brought the portobello and a salad. "You're always writing in that thing, Ange. When you gonna break loose and read for us?"

"One of these days, Lisa. One of these days."

"Yeah. Right. That'll be the same day you order a burger," the waitress giggled as she walked away. "I'll be back with another cappuccino in a sec."

"Hey, Sunshine." Angela looked up and smiled. It was Poet, one of the locals that hung out in the Comfy Chair.

"Hey! Sit with me for a bit," she invited. "Haven't seen you for a while. Where have you been?"

When he sat, she saw the white gauze bandages peeking out from under the cuffs of his flannel shirt. Pretending not to notice, Angela grinned and pushed her untouched plate over toward him. He was probably hungry, too. "It's not a steak, but it'll do you fine." She looked around for Lisa to order Poet a cup of hazelnut coffee, his favorite.

******

"You're always scribbling, Sunshine, but you never show anyone what you're writing or even tell us what you're writing about," Poet said quietly as he rubbed his nose. "Allergies," he offered lamely.

Angela shrugged and laughed it off. "Uh huh. You really don't want to know anyhow, Poet. You reading tonight?"

Poet looked up at her and smiled wanly. "Probably. Nothing of mine though. Kinda dry lately." Lost in thought, he ate in silence while Angela continued to scatch out more words in her ledger.

Would-be poets, singers, comedians, actors and actresses and just folks with an ax to grind... the stream of performers onstage was steady. And then it was Poet's turn. Angela snapped her fingers in approval as he found his way to the mike.

Poet waited until the room grew quiet in expectation. When it did, he began to recite a piece by Ginsberg from May of 1968:

"PLEASE MASTER

Please master can I touch your cheek
please master can I kneel at your feet
please master can I loosen your blue pants
please master can I gaze at your golden haired belly
please master can I gently take down your shorts
please master can I have your thighs bare to my eyes
please master can I take off your clothes below your chair
please master can I kiss your ankles and soul
please master can I touch lips to your muscle hairless thigh
please master can I lay my ear pressed to your stomach
please master can I wrap my arms around your white ass
please master can I lick your groin curled with soft blond fur
please master can I touch my tongue to your rosy asshole
please master may I pass my face to your ball,s
please master, please look into my eyes,
please master order me down on the floor,
please master tell me to lick your thick shaft
please master put your rough hands on my bald hairy skull
please master press my mouth to your prick-heart
please master press my face into your belly, pull me slowly strong thumbed
till your dumb hardness fills my throat to the base
till I swallow and taste your delicate flesh-hot prick barrel veined Please
Master push my shoulders away and stare into my eye, & make me bend over the table
please master grab my thighs and lift my ass to your waist
please master your rough hand's stroke on my neck your palm down my backside
please master push me up, my feet on chairs, till my hole feels the breath of your spit and your thumb stroke
please master make me say Please Master Fuck me now Please
Master grease my balls and hairmouth with sweet vaselines
please master stroke your shaft with white creams
please master touch your cock head to my wrinkled self-hole
please master push it in gently, your elbows enwrapped around my breast
your arms passing down to my belly, my penis you touch w/ your little fingers
please master shove it in me a little, a little, a little,
please master sink your droor thing down my behind
& please master make me wiggle my rear to eat up the prick trunk
till my asshalfs cuddle your thighs, my back bent over
till I'm alone sticking out your sword stuck throbbing in me
please master pull out and slowly roll into the bottom
please master lunge it again, and withdraw to the tip
please please master fuck me again with your self, please fuck me Please
Master drive it down till it hurts me the softness the
Softness please master make love to my ass, give body to center & fuck me for good like a girl,
tenderly clasp me please master I take me to thee,
& drive in my belly your selfsame sweet heat-rood
your fingered in solitude Denver or Brooklyn or fucked in a maiden in Paris carlots
please master drive me thy vehicle, body of love drops, sweat fuck
body of tenderness, Give me your dog fuck faster
please master make me go moan on the table
Go moan O please master do fuck me like that
in your rhythm thrill-plunge and pull-back bounce & push down
till I loosen my asshole a dog on the table yelping with terror delight to be loved
Please master call me a dog, an ass beast, a wet asshole
& fuck me more violent, my eyes hid with your palms round my skull
& plunge down in a brutal hard lash thru soft drip-fish
& throb thru five seconds to spurt out your semen heat
over & over, bamming it in while I cry out your name I do love you
please Master."

When he finished, Poet simply bowed and walked out of the Comfy Chair followed by a raucous medley of snapping, clapping and cheers. Angela sighed. He was probably going to turn a couple tricks for his next high. Things were worse for her friend than she had thought.

 

[penprick]

Ass-kickin'

Lola was a smart girl. She knew that she was in with the new power and that Irwin Blight was fucked. She never liked Janice anyway. Lola took on an aura of sassy smugness as she anticipated the blonde harlot's reaction to the news she would be hearing before the day was out. She handled most of Janice's responsibilities as it was already since Blight's little whore was hardly ever at her desk, and quite frankly, Lola was sick of how Janice looked down upon her. Most of the time the bitch was off getting her hair or nails done, or having 'lunch' with her boss. Lola pushed open the boardroom door and strode confidently through. Irwin Blight sat at the head of the table with his secretary at his side. All the junior partners and their solicitors had their places. Blight looked up, annoyed.

"This better be good, Miss Schwartz," he challenged her.

"Mr. Green has arrived from Miami," she announced. Throats cleared and collars adjusted all around the table.

"What did I tell you this morning?" Blight vented. "Tell him to wait until this meeting's over and I've had lunch. Send him upstairs when I say so."

"Funny. He told me to tell you to see him when your meeting's over," she countered.

"Is that all?" Blight grunted.

"For now," Lola said. Irwin stood up allowing his ponch to portrude over the table. Lola smirked imagining his naked frog-like physique beneath his light-grey suit. Pale hairy legs dangled from his round belly. She didn't bother to give him genitals.

"What do you mean, for now?" he bellowed. "Get out of here before you're unemployed!" Blight straightened his tie and Janice smiled scornfully at the 'receptionist'.

"Threatening me will get you nowhere Mr. Blight," she said coolly. Holding open one lapel of her jacket revealing a decent portion of her lace brasierre, she reached in to retreive her new palm-pilot from her inner suit pocket..

"Where did you get that?" asked Janice thinking she recognized it. She stood up in her thin, colorful flower-print dress. The little slut was all tits and hips, leaving nothing to the imagination.

"It comes with my new job," she replied. Lola made a new note in the device, Redecorate the boardroom as well. She walked out before anyone else could say another word.

* * *​

Lanc strolled over to help himself to what used to be Mr. Blight's bar. How pathetic, the man didn't even stock bourbon. The choice was either cheap rye or cheaper vodka. He settled on the vodka, with no ice. Lola returned.

"The sign company will be around by noon to see to your door and the venus fly-trap will arrive by the end of the day," she updated. "I called Supremacy Furnishings and they will send someone to measure the floor and windows for the carpet and blinds at two. They will also size up the desk to have your new one custom built by Wednesday morning. By then Broadway Décor should have the walls painted and cured."

"Good," said Green.

"And Mr. Blight has been informed of your request," she reported in her breathy voice.

"It's not a request," Lanc stated. He offered her a drink. She accepted the vodka with a nod.

"He still intends to keep his lunch date first though," she added.

"Well, not that it will change the outcome will it?" he noted. "Still, I'm tired of waiting. When is this meeting over?"

"Likely already done," she said. "Irwin and Janice are usually out the door by quarter to eleven." Lancaster glanced at his watch. It was eleven-thirty.

"And you know where to find them?"

"Yes, Mr. Green."

The air conditioning kicked in.

"Where is the main control for that?" he demanded.

"Downstairs, in the basement," Lola answered.

"I want it shut off," he ordered, "permanently."

"Yes, Mr. Green."

* * *​

"The nerve of that bitch," Janice huffed as she descended the front steps with Blight. "She's even left the reception desk unattended."

"This Green fellow thinks he can walk in here and throw his weight around," Irwin seethed. "Damned if I'll change our schedule to suit him. This is my office and he'll wait as long as I damn well make him."

"You're sexy when you're angry," his busty floozy remarked.

The limo driver opened the rear door and Irwin guided his secretary's ass in with the palm of his hand. It was a short drive, a mere three blocks around the corner to a small but classy café called L'Oriente. The non-stretch limo pulled up into the same shady parking space behind the café that it always did.

* * *​

Lola led Green the three blocks around the corner to the shady parking space behind the café. The black, limousine had black tinted windows. The driver was leaning up against the wall having a smoke. He didn't recognize Lancaster but knew something was up when he saw the receptionist.

"Where's Mr. Blight?" asked Green.

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met," said the young driver.

"Name's Green. I'm your new boss," he glared. "Just answer me, kid."

"Uh, he's ... in the car but he's ... busy, sir," he blushed.

"Open the door," Lancaster gritted with intimidation.

The driver unlocked the car door and Lanc flung it open. There, propped up in the corner of the back seat was Mr. Blight with his pants around his ankles. Janice had the hem of her dress hiked up, the shoulders down and was bouncing on his dick. They stopped in shock at the intrusion. Janice gasped.

"What the hell?" Irwin scrambled.

"Lancaster Green. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blight," Lanc mocked sharply.

"Just who do you think you are?" Blight demanded. Lancaster stuck his head inside the door and glared at him piercingly.

"I'm the Goddamn motherfucker known as the 'ass kicker', and you're about to find out why," he said forcefully. "You've kept me waiting all morning and I'm pissed off."

"You don't scare me!"

"No?" Green retorted. "Let me advise you that in your shoes right now, being scared is a far wiser choice than being stupid. I wanna see you upstairs at the office in fifteen minutes!"

"Or else what?"

"Or else I'll tell Mr. Siffert what an incompetent piece of shit you are and let him deal with you himself!"

The smouldering effect returned to Lanc's eyes. Blight's expression changed to fear at the mention of the 'big guy' and he lost his erection.

"Get dressed, cocksucker!" Lancaster ordered. Janice huffed and began to rewrap the front of her dress. "Not you!" Green spat. The bimbo growled contemptuously. Lancaster motioned for Lola to give her the news.

"I'm sorry Ms. Crenshaw, you've been terminated," she relished.

"Oh, really," Janice huffed again.

"No," Lola comtemplated dryly, "No, I'm not really sorry." She smiled coyly as she eyed Blight's frog physique and limpness. She almost chuckled.

"Fifteen minutes," Green reiterated and slammed the car door shut.

* * *​

Lancaster sat behind his desk as the carpenters measured it. He flipped through some files that he had brought from Miami as he awaited Mr. Blight. He called his secretary on the intercom.

"Miss Schwartz, have Mr. Michaels and Mr. Kruger sent up as well."

"Yes, Mr. Green," she responded. "And Mr. Blight is here to see you now."

"Send him in."

"What is going on here?" Irwin asked. His eyes darted from the depotted fern to the nameless door, to the usurper in his chair.

"Sit down," Lanc ordered. His glare forced compliance. "I've been going over a couple cases," he began. The carpenters moved on to the windows. "The State versus Maria Grace Tierney. I see you've handled this one personally."

"Yes," Blight confirmed. Lancaster peered up at him from under his brow and back down at the file.

"Why did the firm even take the case?" he inquired.

"She was innocent," Blight pleaded. "The obvious victim of a smear campaign by the NYPD. And our victory gained the firm an influx of clients due to the notoriety."

"And so you figured that helping a little old lady, pro bono against trumped up charges would get the firm anywhere?" he steamed. "Do you realize how hard it will be to get the cops to cooperate with us ever again?" Blight demured. He was sweating like a pig. Lancaster sat perspireless in his sharp wool suit and the dank heat.

"The number one priority around here for the past month should have been the Alton case," said Lanc. Irwin searched for a moment.

"The poet street junkie?" he finally said perplexed. A buzz on the intercom interrupted things.

"Mr. Michaels is here to see you."

"Send him in."

Michaels had a puzzled look from the mess in the hall. Lancaster motioned for him to have a seat next to Blight.

"Yes, I am the ass-kicker from Miami in case you were wondering," he told him. "The State versus Lee Feldman. You handled that?"

"Yes," Michaels replied forthrightly.

"You lost. Why?"

"Well, as your file would say, he was a pimp who had raped and beaten several of his 'girls'. We don't know how many victims he had, but seven were prepared to testify and we couldn't compete with that," he explained. "I can't say I liked the client, but that's not a requirement of the job. Doing my lawful duty, I did the best thing I could and obtained a plea-bargain, a darn good one if I may say so. We got five counts of domestic battery and one simple assault. The seventh charge was dropped as she had testimony only and no other evidence. Feldman is due out by Christmas. I can't say it was proper justice but at least my professional conscience is clean if not my moral one."

"Siffert and Co. does not have room for empathy, moral conscience ... or losing cases," he said slowly and deeply. "You're fired. Have your office cleaned out by the end of the day."

Michaels looked to Blight and Irwin could only shrug sheepishly. Slowly, the young attorney rose and turned to leave. As he opened the door, the sign installer was doing the relettering. The intercom buzzed again.

"Mr. Kruger is here to see you."

"Send him in."

Krueger stepped in and smirked almost comically at the mangled fern. He dressed in stylish colors and one could cut cheese on his tie, as the expression was, although Lanc prefered to cut flesh on his own. Green gestured to the empty seat.

"Lancaster Green I presume?"

"That is correct," Lanc answered as his eyes scanned the next file. "The State versus Rutger Owen Thomas."

"The stock swindler," Kruger smiled with pride.

"Ran a scam operation call center out of Nassau County. Took 358 people nationwide, mostly seniors, for a combined eighteen-point-seven-million dollars in exchange for stock in ficticious companies," Lancaster read aloud. The carpenters left with their notes.

"That's right," Kruger confirmed. "Genius. Even printed up certificates and mailed 'em all out. 'Cept he fucked up when he botched the fineprint. When one of the victims took the paper to the Trades Commission, they spotted the phony. I thought we were dead to rights until the DA's office messed up the disclosure form. The cutoff was July eighth, or 7/8. They goofed and sent it two weeks late thinking it was 8/7. I kept it in my breifcase until trial. My first motion was to throw out all the prosecution's paperwork and we walked." He grinned from ear to ear.

"Nice work," Lanc noted quietly. "Who has a nicer office? You or Michaels?" Kruger was taken aback by the odd question.

"I got a tiny little corner with no windows," he admitted. "So whatever Michaels has must be better," Kruger joked.

"Tomorrow morning, his office is yours," Green ruled. "And I'll ask Mr. Siffert about making you a full partner. You'll be getting a raise." Kruger gave Blight a 'how bout that?' look. "You're free to leave, Mr. Kruger."

Kruger left Blight alone with the ass-kicker from Miami. Irwin was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He adjusted his sweat-dampened collar and the knot in his tie.

"What happened to the air conditioning in here," he asked.

"The State versus Stuart Tyler Alton," Lancaster began. "The poet street junkie." Blight didn't move. "The 'big guy' is very unhappy with how you're dragging your heels on this case."

"We've had some very big cases, more important than this."

"There is no case more important than this," Green scowled.

"Kopec's on it. She's young, she wanted it," Blight squirmed. "Shall I reassign it?"

"Mr. Siffert wants this kid to walk, no excuses, no bullshit," Lanc grated, "and what the 'big guy' wants, I make sure he gets. That's the difference between me and you. You think this is some cushy appointment? An easy ride?" Lancaster fixed his gaze squarely on Blight. "Louis Siffert hired you for a reason."

Blight suddenly looked quite pale and his breathing became erratic. Lancaster stared him down with those smoldering charcoal eyes.

"You have failed him miserably and now you will pay."

Irwin Blight, gasped for air as he keeled over onto the floor in a heap, clutching his chest.

"I'll handle the case myself," Lancaster muttered as he tidied up the files and placed them neatly back in his breifcase. Then he buzzed Lola on the intercom.

"Miss Schwartz?"

"Yes, Mr. Green?"

"Ring me up a private investigator on seventh by the name of Burnikovitz."

"Yes, Mr. Green."

"And call someone to clean up that mess in the hall."

"Yes, Mr. Green. Is that all?"

"No, there's one more thing," he paused. "Call 9-1-1. Mr. Blight, it seems, has just gone into cardiac arrest."

* * *​

Lancaster had changed hotels. In front of the mirror, he showered, shaved, toweled off and combed his black brush cut fronted by a widow's peak. He dressed in black jeans, and pulled a black mock turtle and dark red blazer over his muscular frame. Leaving the hotel he hailed a cab. The night was muggy.

Burnikovitz had been hired the week before, to track down the whereabouts of Stuart Alton, the junkie known commonly as Poet, and the private dick delivered. The kid had no fixed address but had been hanging out on the streets of Greenwich Village. That was close enough for Lancaster. A general area was all he needed. He'd do the rest himself.

As the taxi reached the Village, he sensed a presence. Although it was not the one he was looking for, it was not entirely unexpected. The firm was not the only institution on the lookout for Poet. There was one major rival.

"Make a left," he instructed the cabbie. Lanc could tell that this was the place. The cab pulled up in front of The Comfy Chair. He waked in the front door and beheld his adversary in the glow of her halo. It wasn't like he had never dealt with a guardian of such sickening notions as truth and love, but did he have to say the word?

Another fuckin' angel.

It had been a while since he had last run into one and it was no secret that she would know exactly what he was here for too. Angel or not, he still had a job to do. He settled on his favorite and most successful approach, the scare tactic. Often a good dose of fear would upset the balance before it could even be found, especially with a lesser opponent. At the very least, he'd be able to gauge her strength. Sticking his chin out in contempt, he approached her table, pulled up a chair and sat.

"Let's dispense with the crap, shall we?" he postured. "I didn't come here to fuck around. I don't know what your boss told you you were getting yourself into, but why don't you just save yourself a whole lotta strife and take a long walk off the nearest short cloud, sister." He leaned forward menacingly and his smoky irises began to churn. Dark puffs billowed from his flared nostrils and the heatwaves radiated upwards from his body. "Poet is ours. Don't make me fuck you up over it."

The waitress came by to take his order. To her the immortal clash appeared as a casual conversation.

"Can I get you a drink to start?"

"Bourbon, neat."

 

[Maid of Marvels]

Armaita (for that was her angelic name)...

looked up and grinned. "Well, well, well. What have we here? Apollyon, is it? Your boss got you slumming? Not good enough for the big jobs in Vegas anymore?" Ignoring his less than veiled threats, Armaita took a drag off her cigarette and blinked innocently, blowing smoke rings, like tiny haloes, in his direction.

His eyes flared red, but much to his disconcertment she merely smiled back. "You're only a second-rate knave. What are you doing here? Punishment for a job badly done? I can't imagine there being anyone here that is worth your boss' time and energy. Slim pickins round these parts."

If his boss had sent anyone other, Armaita would have been a little agitated, but not overly concerned. But Lancaster Green? Not that the particular soul in contention wasn't important. In her eyes, they were all equally important... but she couldn't help wondering who had drawn his boss' attention. And why.

Angela raised her hand, beckoning for Lisa to come over to the table. "They don't serve liquor here," she smirked when he ordered a bourbon. "Two coffees, Lisa. Please." She noticed the waitress eyeing her companion. He was handsome in a devilish sort of way.

Chuckling at her private joke, Angela introduced them, adding in a loud whisper "You don't want to mess with him, Lisa. He's happily married with six kids." Lisa shrugged and asked if they would like something to go with their coffee.

Lancaster started to answer, but Angela interrupted. "Umm... You still have... crow?"

Lisa, ever the willing straight man, answered "Sorry, Ange. All out of that. How about something decadent?"

"Decadent. Hmmm... Why yes. I think we'll have some of that delicious devil's food cake you were touting earlier." She smiled at Lancaster Green once again. "You do eat devil's food, right Lan?"

 

[penprick]

Strike 3, you're out. Damn shame. This was easily my favorite thread.