City of IF

[ashkent]

Many humans would assume that in the role of Death is not too taxing an occupation. Consult a list, bend time a fraction in order to arrive at the moment of death, collect the soul and be gone.

No one ever considers the constraints and the high probability that somewhere Fiona Fate will decide to play with a different set of dice. In short, I may be immortal but that just means I have infinite time to make mistakes and attempt to rectify them before they become noticeable.

To be honest any being, immortal or otherwise, could find some solution to any conundrum put before them if they were also given no restrictions. I have powers beyond measure, but I also have rules.

I hate rules.

The House of Commons continued to bustle with voices, rattles of paper and a very loud snore. I tried not to think too much about what was happening around me, and I tried to think even less about what I would like to do to Pinkie.

The one thing I always find annoyingly frequent is the number of times events spiral out of control in numbers rather than singularly. I would say I feel it in my bones, but I don’t. The first inkling I have of chaos approaching at speed never comes until I am up to my neck in it. You’d think in my position I would have a better sense of impending doom. Ironic really.

I tapped my fingers against one of the opposition’s benches. I find it easier to think when I distract myself. That is why I visit Jimmy so often on my business travels; he is usually partaking in some bizarre ritual or activity that is sure to end in extreme violence. There’s nothing like a good bit of unnecessary, wanton gore to straighten out your thoughts.

This time, I needed to work this alone and without Jimmy’s distractions. I couldn’t leave before doing something to alleviate the damaged I had unwittingly caused.

“Arr-“

“Your mother never taught you to speak only when spoken to, did she?” I asked.

“Ar.”

“Pity.”

I looked up to the high ceiling, as if I was going to find the answer to my problems swinging from the light fittings.

“What the f-“ I said, before my words were cut short by something that sounded very much like “Weeieahhhhhaa!”

The throng of politicians suddenly fell silent, except for the snoring back bencher who uttered a series of vaguely questioning sounds at the ruckus that had disturbed his slumber.

All eyes turned skyward as a figure dressed in a skin-tight green body suit, who – it would be commented on in the evening papers – bore a striking resemblance to the West Australian Wanga Wanga Frog had he been a mere four feet shorter, detached itself from the light fitting and dived majestically to the ground.

I have been present at any number of assassinations and attempts, from Kennedy to Lennon, and I have seen patterns emerge in the way people behave during such instances. In the moments leading up to the splatter or the slash very little seems out of the ordinary. People chatter, walk around a bit, watch whatever event is going on around them, until a single pair of eyes fall upon something out of place in the scene. It could be a person with their eyes trained upon a nearby window, the sight of a flash of blade in a crowd, a hand reaching inside a long black coat. Whatever the moment of instigation, what follows is always the same. Panic.

The House of Commons, succumbing to the belief that current times were uncertain and someone was always out get one politician or another, erupted into chaos before the thin green figure had completed half of his swift descent.

The Prime Minister was bundled to the floor by Commons security, his legs briefly rising above his head before vanishing behind the front bench. Shouts and cried echoed around the room, accompanied by the thundering stampede of feet and slamming of doors, the occasional thud of someone falling over and the subsequent grunts of the same someone being trampled on.

In the midst of so much movement, I remained perfectly stationary, continuing to tap my fingers in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Arr arrra!” Pinkie shouted behind me.

“Yes, but not the same one. The other one was a little thinner.”

The green clad Wee member finished his drop by landing on the head of a portly but unimportant member of staff, and with a summersault landed on the carpet without the slightest wobble.

For a moment we faced each other across the chamber. I could not help but feel I was being sized up by my would-be opponent and I could not say I liked it. Don’t get me wrong, I did not feel the least bit intimidated. It is somewhat difficult to be cowed by a man wearing Lycra.

From the corners of my sockets I noticed much movement around the edges of the room as security staff poured in from the outer corridors. I tried not to concern myself with their approach. It was not as though they were going to catch the Wee member. That just wouldn’t fit right with the way these things worked. It would also make it difficult for me to gain any information from him.

Ministers crossed the space between us, turning to make sure the green figure did not intend on following them. They needed not have concerned themselves as I was the sole focus of his attention…and that suddenly struck me as odd.

I recalled the similar scene in the back yard of Mr Bones; being watched intently from the sawn off branch of a tree. It should not have been possible then. As nothing had changed in the fabric of the universe, neither should it have been possible now.

“How are you able to see me?” I asked aloud.

“I use my eyes,” the green clad figure said in a voice I assumed he mistakingly believed to be menacing.

“I don’t think this is the right time for being funny,” I said. “And please don’t try to sound more imposing than me. It is quite embarrassing really.”

“Be assured, the Wee are not to be laughed at.”

“I’m sure you won’t be if that is the extent of your humour. Naming yourself after a human bodily function, however, will raise a chuckle or two.”

“Your lack of respect for us will not aid your plight.”

I was beginning to get rather confused and more than a little pissed off. “I am not aware of having a plight. I have the occasional crease in the fabric of existence, but nothing is undoable.”

“Your plight is being at the mercy of the Wee,” the green figure said, still unmoved from where he had landed.

“I find that rather hard to believe. Until today I had not even heard of your peculiar group. I thought the youth of today concerned itself with sex, drugs and rocky rolls?”

“Arr ar arr,” Pinkie muttered beside me.

“Oh, rock and roll,” I said ponderously. “I thought rocky rolls always sounded a bit odd.”

“Are you mocking me?” the Wee member asked. “You will not mock for long.”

“It strikes me that mockery would be a waste of effort,” I said. “I’m sure there are plenty of others who can mock in a much better fashion than I can muster. My line of work does not usually lend itself to the development of a good line in comedy.”

The figure paused a moment, appearing uncertain of what he should say in response. I waited patiently, Pinkie now by my side and gripping onto the bottom of my robe like a needy child. I found it hard to decide which of the two posed the greater annoyance. Certainly Pinkie should have won purely on his ineptitude, but something told me that a man disguised as a West Australian Wanga Wanga Frog claiming to be part of my “plight” should receive that particular honour.

“Are you sure you aren’t mocking me?” the Wee member finally said.

“I’m certain of if,” I said. “But would you mind quickly telling me something of interest? How you can see me?”

“I do not need to answer to you.”

“Believe me when I say this,” I said. “At some time, everyone answers to me. I do not expect you or your group to be an exception to the rule.”

“And underestimating us will be your downfall.”

“I’m sorry?” I asked. “Who are Us? I thought you were Wee?”

“We are Wee.”

“So who are us?”

I had the distinct impression I was lowering myself to a level that no immortal should ever sink to, but maybe it was a necessary step in order to understand their motives better. Besides, between their level of thought and that of Pinkie there was a whole stratosphere so I was not scraping the intellect barrel quite yet.

“You are mocking now, aren’t you?” the Wee member asked.

“It would appear that way.”

“Then you will be sorry.”

“You aren’t the first to say that,” I said. “Besides, I don’t do apologies. I leave that to him.”

Pinkie gave a bashful salute. I’m sure he took some kind of pride in being namedropped in the conversation. It spoke volumes on so many levels.

“What?” the Wee member asked, looking down to the bottom of my robe then back up to me.

“Never mind,” I said. “It would seem I am unexpectedly out of time.”

“Wha–,“ the Wee member managed before his was crushed under the bulk of four heavyset security guards.

From the tangle of limbs an occasional sight of green emerged before once more falling beneath the thrashing sea of blue-grey uniforms. I doubted I was about to gain any further information from this particular member of the Wee group. I had not really learned much from him anyway, other than this Wee group seemed to think they could intimidate me and seemed to have a very high opinion of themselves.

And they did not like to think they were being mocked. Very touchy.

“Who has my rubber ducky?”

Pinkie and I turned around to find a rather dishevelled Prime Minister leaning over the front bench, his eyes darting wildly while his aides tried to pull him back into his seat.

“Where is it? Where’s my rubber ducky? Will you get your hands off me? I want my ducky!”

“We need to get a doctor in,” one of the aides shouted across the room. “He took a knock to the head and seems to have regressed to his childhood. He was asking for mama a second ago.”

The Prime Minister suddenly burst into tears, bawling like, unsurprisingly, a very large, well-dressed baby.

“Why did you mention that?” a second aide asked. “You saw he was going to cry when he said it down there before I took his mind of it with the duck!”

“I want my mama! I want my ducky!” the Prime Minister wailed, stamping his feet behind the bench.

“Can someone do something?” the first aide shouted.

“Order, order!” the Speaker bellowed, rising from behind his own desk and slamming his gavel down. “I declare this session over. No actions discussed today shall be acted upon until these disruptive matters are dealt with and a controlled, stable session can be resumed.”

The gavel slammed down once more and the remaining ministers who had not fled in terror of their possible assassination mumbled in agreement.

To my right the green-clad Wee member left the room in handcuffs, his unconscious body hanging between the four guards who had overpowered him. In a way, it was a shame they had not managed to squeeze him just a little tighter to get that last breath out. At least then I could have persuaded him to speak before passing his soul on to Jimmy to do his worst.

As it was, I was unlikely to see him again soon and my questions would have to remain just that until the unlikely assassins attempted a second interception. If that had indeed been the intention of the interloper.

“Arr ar arrrr,” Pinkie uttered beside me, watching the Prime Minister being carried away.

“Yes, it was lucky I suppose. I really didn’t want to have to ask Fate to help out with him. I much prefer her owing me.”

“Arr arrr arrr?”

“I don’t really know what I’m going to do,” I said, pulling my list out of my robe. “But I’ve got a backlog to clear. Then I think I need some more advice.”

Ok, as always in these situations Grim is about to pay another visit to Jimmy. Last time he was lurking in a hair magazine in a women's shower room...the question is...where is he this time?

[Crunchyfrog]

Jimmy's latest manifestation is large scale - on the biggest of the animated billboards at Picadilly Circus. :)

[scissorkitty]

As an inflatable character in a local even parade.

[ashkent]

Any more for any more? My finger is itching to get started...and i don't mean scratching my arse. :)

[Scarlet Sunrise]

hahaha!
this is very Monty Python - esc. but with an oddly surreal touch.
And being a fan I do rather like it!
Keep up the slightly unusual, but nonetheless good work!

:)

[scissorkitty]

okay.. a third suggestion?

He is.. working as the REFLECTION of an elevator attendant, in a mirrored glass elevator that moves only to the penthouse suite, in a very posh hotel.

[Crunchyfrog]

That was a sneaky poll without really announcing it! Eh, the Picadilly Circus advert has mysteriously turned into another inflatable, but that's okay. I voted for the lift attendant.

:D

[ashkent]

Ah, I thought i'd put a post about the poll. That must have been one of those i posted as my computer decided to crash.

And as for the poll, i'm sure it was correct the other day when i looked. Ah, who knows. I've tried to redo it again but it's still not changing. Anyway, the top on was the Picadilly Circus billboard.