| I have no idea if this fits any of the short story challenges or not. Ah, well, as if it matters. Including 'the end' but not the title and credit, this fic is exactly 530 words. Disclaimer: Marvel owns Scicluna and Black Air. Farrah isn't exactly mine, he's more a figment of my Muse's imagination (he's also a spot the reference character). Anyway, please don't MST or flame me. Though, I've begun wondering if I can incur a flame. |
Note: this is more a character sketch. I think. Anyway, it came to me while at work (I am a survey-lady. Boorrrring as hell).
To Be Kind
by Ana Lyssie Cotton"Bring him to me."
"Yes, ma'am." A snap of boot heels and the young operative left.
Scicluna smiled coldly to herself. Farrah was going to learn—had probably already learned, she reflected. Don't disobey my instructions. She leaned back in the luxuriously red leather chair. Her office was a large corner room with two white walls and two huge picture windows. A black carpet covered the floor thickly. The effect of the vibrant cherry wood desk, and accompanying chair, was somewhat like a sundae. Only less sweet.
Not much administrative work was actually accomplished in this office. She sighed and listened to the chair sigh with her. It was a demonstration piece. *This is my power.* Don't mess with it.
The door swung open again and two burly men hustled a smaller, battered man into the room. Cuts and bruises covered his face and arms, God only knew what the rest of him looked like. She removed the smile from her face. His eyes were nearly shut, blackened and purple. It had to have hurt, still he made not a sound.
She stood up and gestured. The two dropped the third man onto the carpet and filed out.
"Hello, Farrah." Scicluna purred, gliding out from behind her desk for a closer look. "I was hoping we'd have a chance to talk," she surveyed the torn black slacks and tshirt. "You see, I want you to get to know me better—to understand why not following my instructions is bad."
"Go to hell, bitch." The voice was hoarse and raspy, as if the person using it had been screaming for hours on end.
"Now, see? That's just something I might have to do someday. Hell would be an improvement over your company, Farrah." She squatted next to him and slipped her fingers through his hair. "Still, I think I can forgive that," she flexed the fingers, bringing his eyes up to hers—both pupils were equal. "You see, I have another assignment for you."
"I won't do it, you sodding bitch." She had to admire the defiance that still was audible in the voice.
"Poor thing, you think I'll just let you go. Give you your pay, pension and medical." She stood, shaking her head at him. "You're pathetic."
Scicluna strode over to the west-facing window and looked down onto London. A city bustling with fools and sheep. Behind her she could hear Farrah slowly, painfully, pulling himself erect. He was walking towards her now, at her back. Stupid fool, I really must think of a way to train better operatives, she thought acidly as he attempted to take her by surprise.
"You're very noisy, did you know that?" Scicluna asked conversationally after slamming an elbow into his chest and a knee into his groin. He lay on the floor gasping now. "Not that I'm surprised. I guess anyone would be noisy with such grievous wounds."
Her only reply the gasps, she turned and stalked to her desk. "Oh, do stop drooling into the carpet. I've just had it cleaned."
Pressing a thumb to the keypad, she sighed softly, "Hello, Scratch. Yes, we've got another one for you."
See? Short. To the point.
© 1999 Ana Lyssie Cotton.