Post by Jennifer on Dec 29, 2005 23:55:09 GMT
His usually immaculately well-presented working surface lay strewn with unopened envelopes as Gordon Brittas glanced the length of each address, his mug of hot coffee pressed indignantly to his lips in anticipation.
One letter, though not the one he had been waiting so eagerly for, sat proudly boasting a lack of stamps, or even an address. One thing was for certain, this letter was from someone who couldn’t have cared less.
“Penny Bidmead.” He announced to himself as he examined the envelope. “A typically unorthodox letter of resignation. Slightly illegible handwriting, and there’s a hot-wax stain here…Messy.” He tutted disapprovingly.
He, being Gordon Brittas, was used to having to read letter upon letter like this one, so swallowed his pride and deftly ripped open the document.
“Mr Brittas,
As I am so obviously not needed in your so ‘wonderfully-run’ establishment, I have come to the decision to take my services somewhere without a certainty of being exploded, drowned, burned or crushed.
Obviously I will be expecting my owed wages to be reimbursed at your earliest convenience.
I thank you for your inadequate training techniques, team-building and management skills that could only be described as sh -”
“How needlessly rude,” Gordon thought as he half-heartedly stuffed the paper back into its envelope.
Penny had never been an adequate replacement for the one thing he felt was lacking in his precious centre (No, she had tried her damndest to 'privatise' part of HIS centre in his absence.) … she couldn't replace the one thing that had left a gaping chasm in his management structure.
Having been killed so suddenly, reconstructed and brought back to life in little over a few weeks; Gordon hadn’t the time for formal goodbyes, let alone informal. And he hadn’t quite shaken off the regret at not having said goodbye properly to his Deputy Manager, Dry.
Gordon looked reluctantly at the one stamp-laden letter he had not yet opened. ‘Air Mail’.
He knew who it was from. And he daren’t open it, no matter how much he wanted to.
***
Okay, I haven't written ANYTHING for fanfiction in a good few years, the last time I wrote anything creative was last year's English Higher. I annoy myself writing the damn things.
One letter, though not the one he had been waiting so eagerly for, sat proudly boasting a lack of stamps, or even an address. One thing was for certain, this letter was from someone who couldn’t have cared less.
“Penny Bidmead.” He announced to himself as he examined the envelope. “A typically unorthodox letter of resignation. Slightly illegible handwriting, and there’s a hot-wax stain here…Messy.” He tutted disapprovingly.
He, being Gordon Brittas, was used to having to read letter upon letter like this one, so swallowed his pride and deftly ripped open the document.
“Mr Brittas,
As I am so obviously not needed in your so ‘wonderfully-run’ establishment, I have come to the decision to take my services somewhere without a certainty of being exploded, drowned, burned or crushed.
Obviously I will be expecting my owed wages to be reimbursed at your earliest convenience.
I thank you for your inadequate training techniques, team-building and management skills that could only be described as sh -”
“How needlessly rude,” Gordon thought as he half-heartedly stuffed the paper back into its envelope.
Penny had never been an adequate replacement for the one thing he felt was lacking in his precious centre (No, she had tried her damndest to 'privatise' part of HIS centre in his absence.) … she couldn't replace the one thing that had left a gaping chasm in his management structure.
Having been killed so suddenly, reconstructed and brought back to life in little over a few weeks; Gordon hadn’t the time for formal goodbyes, let alone informal. And he hadn’t quite shaken off the regret at not having said goodbye properly to his Deputy Manager, Dry.
Gordon looked reluctantly at the one stamp-laden letter he had not yet opened. ‘Air Mail’.
He knew who it was from. And he daren’t open it, no matter how much he wanted to.
***
Okay, I haven't written ANYTHING for fanfiction in a good few years, the last time I wrote anything creative was last year's English Higher. I annoy myself writing the damn things.
This is probably nicer, Elf - "You count the MOST, Elf!!"
Heh. I do wonder just how totally pschyzophrenic all this makes me though 