fuckitybye | 001 - Voice

Entry tags:

fcking love boat on acid

001 - Voice

[Prior to this, anyone near Malcom's room (level 7, room 5) will have heard him banging about in confusion for a bit; as his cabin looks like his office at No. 10, that's where he thinks he is. Then, in an attempt to page his assistant, he accidentally turns on the voice posting device and a loud Scottish voice is heard:]

—Sam? SAM? The fuck is up with putting a bed in here? This some kind of fucking joke? I can ream out that twat Nicholson just fine with him bent over my fucking desk, aye?

[Pause.]

Sam?

Oh, for fuck's sake—

[Sound of door opening. Long, stunned silence.]

What the fuck?

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[Unfortunately, Malcolm is now about to take out his bad mood on Howie.]

Look, you keep on about the fucking language and I'm gonna put George Carlin's Seven Words on my iPod on fucking repeat and weld the headphones to your ears and you can spend the rest of the day hearing shit, piss, cocksucker, cunt, motherfucker, tits, and fuck until your brain falls out, you got that? And yes, I work in Whitehall. I'm only the Prime Minister's fucking Director of Communications, aren't I?

[A silent pause whilst Howie closes his eyes and tries not to lose his patience.]

It's a valid point. Nevermind.

...Seriously? What exactly does one of those do?

[Have a dose of Malcolm's exceptional sense of self-importance.]

I keep the fucking goverment running, mate. I am the government. The sods are probably changing into the brown trousers even as we speak.

[Pause.]

There any way we can find out what's going on? Back where we came from and all?

I thought that was the job of... civil servants, not just you.

[Pause, because Howie hasn't considered it much,]

I doubt it. Unless someone comes in from your world. Wardens sometimes leave and come back, but whilst you're here, I'm fairly sure you can't get any information.

Which, I know must be frustrating. Although, if someone comes in from your future in general, you can find out what's happened. I'm slowly filling in about thirty years of my future.

Someone has to ride herd on all the little bastards. That's my job.

[But he sounds a little less confident now. Just for a moment. And then he's back to normal. There's some noises in the background as he digs his Blackberry out of his pocket and tries to make it do.]

They're never gonna survive the election now. Fucking bad enough when I was there, but the head's off the bloody chicken now, and—fuck.

[Electronic chirping, none of which sounds very promising.]

Afterlife's got no mobile reception, does it? Of course not.

Chickens keep running for a while, but even so... there's nothing you can do about it from here, sorry.

There's definitely no [he pauses, as he has to put two and two together to work out what he means by that term] mobile reception either. Not even a newspaper. I think you might have bigger concerns.

You think so? Seeing as how I'm fucking dead and all, yeah? Oh, wait, we've been over that already. And the cursing. Right.

So what do I fucking do then? Sit on my happy arse and wait for Judgement Day?

Basically, yes. You may wish to try and improve yourself before then, though, because you can earn yourself another chance. You can do good in the world instead of whatever sins you may have committed in your life. That is the intention.

[Looooooong silence.]

Jesus Christ.

I'd say something about you not using His name in vain, but it's a little pointless, given the rest of your language.

[another long pause, and a sigh]

This is going to sound quite surreal, I know. But in your world, nobody outside of say, TV and books has supernatural powers, or is a vampire or... anything like that, right?

Oh, look at that, he learns. Good man.

There's a couple of wankers in Whitehall that I'd call vampires, but they're not the bloodsucking sort.

You're about to tell me this place has fucking got 'em, aren't you?

Doesn't mean I tolerate it.

[Private]

...yes - we've got about ten by my count. It was just as strange to me as it is to you. There's also some angels, wizards, and... Time Lords.

My inmate can produce electricity on her own. There's a lot of incredulous things here.

How'd you do that? Ah, there we—

[Private]

Ha. Nice. So now hold fucking on. Actual bloodsucking vampires. Magic. And ... did you just say Time Lords?

Sorry, that should have been the first thing I mentioned.

I did. At my count, we have three versions of the Doctor, but have had five at one point in the past - I only recognise Tom Baker, one version of the Master, again, we used to have two, and the Rani. Who I've never heard of.

Don't ask. Just accept that I'm not lying.

...Fucking hell, I've gotten locked into someone's telly.

Just tell me that skinny twat with the spikey hair's not here. Had enough of his smug little face on every fucking channel over the holidays. My niece loves him, god help her.

I shouldn't do this, as it's relatively rude, but you don't meet many people from... normal worlds. There's also people from books, which I should warn you about, in some cases; ever read 1984?

I...think he might be, but he's an inmate. I don't know how that worked.

Have I ever—of course I have. What, you got Winston Smith here?

...The other one. Not Julia.

I suppose he's your fellow apparatchik, in a way. Sorry about that.

Hey, I never fucking electrocuted anyone. Threatened to, maybe.

Trust me, this conversation would have gone an entirely different route if I thought you had.

Well that's a bloody comfort I'm sure.

You've been right bloody helpful, Sergeant. Even if you don't hold with the cursing.

Language or not, nobody deserves to be here without any kind of explanation. So you're welcome.

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