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make sure you spell things/use the correct words (eg. affect/effect). If you don't it can harm the polish of the piece.
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Eggsahctly!
I'm a procrastinating bastard, but at least I come through...eventually.
*Begins handing out Christmas cards from 2004.*
AHEM.
Virgil blinked. He'd been asleep for quite some time now; the room was foggy. He adjusted his mask as he righted himself.
Huh, that's odd. Somethings right in front of me. He squinted.
Well, whatever it is, it sure is ugly. He blinked again.
Oh, it's a-
***
Overseer Moriarty stirred his coffee lightly. The right side of his face was smug at the prospect of having captured a wanted fellon. The left side, however, was glaring menacingly at the thought of how to handle the stow-away (Moriarty was one of the few members of his or any other species who was able to convey two entirely separate emotions at the same time, albiet at a cost of wrinkles). Virgil was mummbling in his sleep, something about operas. It didn't matter. He continued stirring his coffee. Moriarty never actually drank coffee, as he felt that defeated the entire purpose of it, which was to stir it methodically to keep your body from shutting down while you were thinking about something else. He believed in this to an almost religious degree, although he never got any converts...but he did get enough sugar.
Virgil moaned. He opened his eyes again, but instantly wished he hadn't. He could have just sworn a moment ago that there was a BigBro in front of him, weilding a cattle prod, but the beast had transformed into a monicled Vykker (and a hideous one at that), stirring 3 cups of coffee at once. Never something nice to wake up to.
"So, you're finally awake. Little bastard."
"Finally? How long have I been asleep."
The Vykker pulled out a bizarrely proportioned time piece and examined it. "9 hours, 33 minutes, 17 seconds. No, wait, 21 seco-23-no, wait." He quickly, yet calmly, closed the device. "I suppose you're wondering why you're still alive?"
"If I were you, I'd be worrying about myself. Seesh."
"
I'm older than I look!"
"Yeah, sure."
"You have no right to insult your captor!"
"On the contrary, I have
every right to insult my captor. Can you prove me wrong."
Moriarty began stirring his coffee furiously. After a time, he slowed down again.
"Quite the tongue, for a fellon. So, this is the Virgil I heard about. Never dreamed I'd be the one to locate you. Half of the office was sure you'd have starved to death in the jungle right now."
Virgil blinked.
"I'm sorry, but do I know you."
"No." Replied the Vykker. "Not yet, anyway. We still have 17 hours left before arriving back at the Magog Cartel. Might as well discuss something."
He smirked nastily. "Good thing we found you alive. Winters needs you rather badly."
Virgil flinched.
***
It was dark, as bland as that sounds; it was so dark, that no excess description could be honestly used or even needed - so all-consuming was this darkness. Suddenly, out from seemingly nowhere, a laugh rang. It rang to the hights of the darkness and back down into the depths, never revealing it's point of origin, or moment of final demise.
All the pieces all falling into place. Soon, it will all be over. Soon. Soon...
To Be Continued...
SIDE-NOTE: This may sound rather blatant of me, but if anyone who enjoys my writings also happens to be artistically affiliated, I would love to see some illustrations of your mental images of my story.
