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Eternity, Ltd.

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nepheliad @ 10:19 pm:

the meeting: part one
Number One, Wrath, pushes a dangling red-streaked lock of hair from his eyes, clears his throat and glances around at his six co-workers. The established leader because he is Number One (to the distaste of Pride) and because Wrath is the original theoretical fuel of Evil (many more have now been discovered), it has always been his job to choose the locations for the meetings. This time, he was feeling particularly and uncharacteristically nice, and the choice was Sloth's room.

Sloth's room is the ideal place because she never, ever wants to move. With the perpetual appearance of a very small girl around the age of eight, complete with cute black pigtails, owlish brown eyes and pink pyjamas, it is rather ideally characteristic that this one is Sloth. Of course, all of the Sins appear to be the stereotypical and easiest way to present themselves, but some may prefer to think of Sloth as a very fat old man with a beer belly, or a teenager who would prefer not to go to class. Some may like to say that how you picture her is how she will appear to you -- but no, Sloth is always this same little girl.

Her room is appropriately filled with blankets, pillows and stuffed toys. All of the colours are relaxing and pastel: influential to sleep. Calming enough to sleep. It almost makes the six others tired, and Wrath is struggling to stay awake and read the bulletins. Five others (Avarice, Gluttony, Pride, Envy and Lust) are doing the same thing -- Sloth is sleeping. Wrath is not concerned. She pays attention better that way sometimes.

"All right," Wrath clears his throat, tapping on the clipboard. "Let's go in order -- except I'll be last, in case Sleeping Beauty chooses to actually speak this time around. I was hoping being in her room might be an incentive for her to actually participate. Maybe if she knows we're waiting on her. Stupid foolish girl!"

"Darling," coos Lust from her perch on a pile of pillows, "you're becoming hostile again, sweets. Not that anyone minds, but really, we all must suffer through our own natural personalities for the sake of work, don't you think, lovelies?" Running her fingers through Pride's hair, she thinks It's so nice how they all listen to me for my natural sex appeal, and he simply thinks, She likes me the best, obviously.

Envy sneers rudely at Pride and Lust. What business does she have playing with all of the men, when Envy never gets to try it? Hah! She'll get her comeuppance someday, when Envy has it made too ...

"Can it," snaps Wrath.

"Fine," pouts Lust.

"Can you tag your sentences with something more plain?" yawns Sloth, likely still mostly sleeping. "You're making the narration so complicated."

"Like this?" says Envy.

"Yep," says Sloth, before closing her eyes again.

Nobody else moves. Sloth and Envy sometimes seem more aware than the rest -- Sloth most of all, because every slight noise bothers her. After a moment, though, the confusing sentence structure conversation ends, and Wrath gives a look toward Number Two, Avarice, otherwise known as Greed.

Avarice is a tall man, with fine brown hair in a mushroom cut. He wears jeans and a blouse, pinstripe spats and jazz shoes. No one has ever bothered to ask about the jazz shoes. He just wanted them, and he always gets whatever he wants. "Eh," he yawns, mimicking Sloth's move almost perfectly (it's in the air of her bedroom) "nothing much really going on with me. Same old same old. My best this month was making some religious leader turn into a powerhungry asshole."

"How kind," Lust croons. "How dear."

"Powerhungry over what, though?" Wrath isn't quite as convinced, apparently. "What's there to really want from that kind of shit job? Oh, and what was the dude's name? For record. ... Are you writing this down, asshole?"

Gluttony shrugs and writes something down:
this

Luckily, Wrath's attention is elsewhere -- focused on Avarice, who resigns to present the man's name with his facts. "He wants money and power, duh: and that's what he's got. Don't need nothing else."

"Doesn't need any--" starts Envy, the grammarian. She's cut off by a return glare, and Avarice keeps talking.

"The dude's name was Wallace. John Alexander Wallace."

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From:bluedano
Date:January 25th, 2005 05:51 pm (UTC)
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More, more! *claps* :D
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