Chapter Text
The tablet flashes a garish blue, wielding its hue —an unfortunate blend of the relentless hell's sun, and its hammering strikes and unearthly chromatic divergence of an opened program on the screen — into an intrusive flash echoing all through your tightly shut eyelids. You try to drift off back to slumber, slightly brushing your nose with a sleeve, yet in a mere instant, your environment is swallowed up by overbearing, blinding lights, forcefully waking you up and throwing your body off the office chair. While your eyesight adjusts to its surroundings, shifting from dark figures to bright voids throe slow waves and dots, moving, changing size, and flying closer and closer, you notice your coworker, or better saying, new student, who was already on delightful terms with everyone in the team, except the elders, which was not a surprise to you. Trisket had just moved to the office but already shoved his animalistic-looking nose whenever he could. He was loud, quite rude and pushy, but got his way out of everything with a pair of puppy eyes and good talking. His werewolf-like attire still creeped you out, though he wasn’t one of the hellhounds, that’s for sure. Trisket’s massive fluffy hand appears on your shoulder, he gives you a little reassuring kick, as you yawn and frown in annoyance. What a noisy child.
-What time is it? - you ask, searching for any kind of functioning technology with your blurry gaze.
-Eh- five-ish pm. Somewhere like that. Why, you worrin’ bout something? Lunch was over like- two hours ago… And I don't have any leftovers with me, I could ask Scheherazade if she has some, but-
-Oh- no shit! Missing a good half…, - you burst out with unease, but decide to be more polite with him, as a freshman, - it's Shaherezada, the Uzbek version, Central Asia-aaa! Try to remember that, it will be much better for you to at least try to refer to people in an- um- a professional way. Kinda?
Trisket rolls eyes, but accepts your point, scribbling a tiny transcription on a filthy yellow sticker. Again. This conversation happened 3 times already in a range of a single month if your mind is not messing with you, as it shouldn't.
-It is the accent, no way I will ever get rid of that shit! Words just scramble here, - he pointed in his mouth with a claw, - and I am nodd'a pro quo of spokesman master after all.
-You apply infernal to spell it anyway, just go with the flow - there will be no need to learn other stuff. You can always try of course, but that will be one of a tough quest. Go for it, by all means... I would love to see your attempts!
A sarcastic chuckle bubbles from your lips as you sit up in the chair, hands wrapping around its frame in a tight grip. You overslept half of your working hours, besides skipping a couple of encounters which really would be appreciative to attend, unintentionally claiming half of your work hours for sweet dreams, filled with an empty white noise as all your memories are being perfectly structured and sunk in a pit of sanity. And you sigh again, now standing right up and swooshing a little of your belongings in the bag under the desk. You can physically experience every second of your extra sleep etching onto your spine, fractures moving, shifting with loud cracks and pops, muscles putting unexpected care in each move of your wicked dead body. The werewolf shoots you an anxious look, following the view of your hands, which now were fixing your messy hair.
-Get this place sorted before Boss arrives, - you think for a moment, - please. All the blessings!
-Where are the keys at? From the main door? Should I really ask that creepy janitor again? Hey!..
His voice fades away somewhere behind you, as you leave, the doors of the community center slam shut. A delightful melody follows you after some time, as a little bell on the entrance keeps ringing, and to your surprise, your brain doesn’t find it that annoying anymore, despite your current state of mood. Districts were still in ruins, some demons crashing into territorial genocide, others just taking advantage of the situation and chasing delusions, just causing more chaos than determination itself. And this circle of life, more of a circle of death, but we will put that one down, keeps spinning and won't stop. You just remembered a song, how was it going again? "Samsara-aaa, unstoppable circle of life-" Drained by an everlasting wave of thoughts, you miss a corner and at full speed introduce your head to someone's leg. A tall ill-looking demon furiously glances at you, ready to show you some manners, before noticing a small badge on your coat and stepping back, just cursing at your face. “Watch your way, deepshit! Fucking garden children…” You don’t even blink, silently apologizing and moving to the other side of the street. Garden-garden. It’s been a long time. Since you changed your title from the “garden” child, climbing a paper-thin career ladder, locals still remember you and all of your coworkers by this nickname. No matter how many years have passed. With a gentle hum, you sense your phone lightly vibrating in the confines of your satchel. Ah, that age-old habit of having all your electronics on silent mode has saved your soul in multiple accessions. You spend a couple of minutes digging through the nightmarish cluttered depths of your bag with all sorts of papers and sketches, finally getting the phone out. You are scrolling through a message list, checking off once that you wished to ignore forever or just weren’t in the right social battery state to answer, when you see a text from your Boss. Their profile picture flashed with endearing neon art of a widely grinning Cheshire cat. More like a terrifying lion, you observe in your thoughts.
“Как спалось тебе, ваше величество Мужская поллюция 2005? Работа, едрить налево, не снилась?* Just go and try to curate this wall text thing, the lady who signed for it tragically perished due to extermination, but it just means more work for us. You can take this project into your own hands, I don’t care. Don’t have a nerve for that one”
(*How was your nap, Your Majesty, male sexual intercourse 2005? Did you at least dream about work, for fuck's sake?)
Another text, a moment later.
“Luck!”
It’s going to be a very long evening ahead.
The building of the community center is located on neutral territory, so it’s just a piece of cake to catch a cab or a spontaneous driver who will kindly allow you to travel by their “precious” vehicle. That option is not recommended, though, referring to sinners’ love of unsuppressed violence. Such a ride wouldn’t end well for you, especially if you are not granted any power of supernatural, well, nature. Fist fights won't save your ass for a long time here - even a gun is not enough at times. The only thing that stops cab drivers from starting a mass terror of their customers is the everyday opportunity to earn a stable income without putting much effort into it, having blood off their hands, and being a partially inviolable part of the sinners' society. You catch a nearby car with a couple of splashes of yellow paint on its hood, jump on the backseat, spell location to the driver, and try to imagine a willingly close-to-reality result of your task for the next, as you think, a couple of days. In the back of your mind, you can hear the vile smell of fuel, and you wince, not surely noticing how you're getting deeper into your thoughts. The flow of information runs in your head like a precisely coordinated conveyor system, everything has its place and time. But there's something wrong now, something you're missing, something very important. It must find you later.
-A tablet of boric acid and a cassette of Zhanna Aguzarova were not wasted for nothing..., - you hum a joke under your breath, clearly losing sense of your surroundings.