Something I'm Toying With

[badgersandjam.livejournal.com]

Written for comedy more than anything else, but there are still kernels of truth.  Written and posted with richardiii 's full knowledge and approval :)  I make no apology for the last line, nor do I deny that the entire story is a setup for it.

A Taste for Things to Come?

 

It wasn’t a large apartment.  More a sort of studio flat, with a kitchenette in the corner and plenty of light.

 

The alarm rang.  She woke up the slumbering computer, turned on the kettle, sliced a bagel and put it in the toaster oven, got the cream cheese out of the fridge (not so much today, girl, she said to herself.  It wasn’t so much she was hippy as she had never really lost the podge from being a mum and, well, 45 was 45) made the espresso and brought it to her bed.   Then she opened her eyes and sat up.

 

“Shit,” she said, distinctly. 

 

After she finished the coffee, she pulled a notebook and pen out of her bedside cabinet and began to write doggedly:

 

I will not work vulgar magic in my bedroom.

I will not work vulgar magic in my bedroom.

I will not work vulgar magic in my bedroom.

I will not—

 

She tried to work through the hunger pangs and ignore the friendly little urging at her side until she eventually noticed the bagel hovering there.  She sighed, took a bite, and kept writing.

 

I will not—

 

Her work phone rang.  She checked.  Three hours before she had to be in.  He was early today.  “Good morning, sir,” she said cheerfully.

 

“Good morning.”  Lysander’s voice.  “El, could you tell me where the latest file on  Palestine is?”

 

“On your desk, sir.”  It was now.  “Under the blotter—I didn’t want it open.”

 

“So it is. And the White Horse fi—“

 

“Third drawer down, sir.”

 

“Sorry, El, not seeing it.”

 

“Third drawer down on the left hand side, sir.”

 

“Ah, yes.  Why…”

 

“I don’t trust the cleaners, sir.  Marjeta.  I think she’s in it for what she can sell to the tabloids.  I apologise for the inconvenience.”

 

“You’re not responsible for the cleaners, El,” Lysander said jovially.  “I’ll have a word.”

 

He hesitated, and El could hear her morning going over SETI data evaporating.  “El, they’ve just called a meeting for late this afternoon.  Could you possibly get me some info on,” and he named two important names.

 

Her clothes assembled themselves.  The good grey power suit, that had a couple more seasons in it.

 

“I can be there in twenty minutes sir, fifteen if the roads are clear.”

 

“Oh, I have a feeling they will be.  You’re a gem, El.”

 

“On my way,” she responded, ended the call, and left, practically flying.

 

-- magic in my bedroom.  The pen, finishing the hundredth line, dropped to the floor.

 

Morning did not become Electra.