This was written for @flashfictionfridayofficial
And is a sequel to this earlier piece
WC: 603
“Same time, same place next week. Don’t you forget.”
The way he sounded when uttering that phrase still haunted Ophelia, even though it had been quite some time since that ill-fated meeting. And no matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried, she still found herself at the same place, at the same time, every single week. He had made her do this, had forced her in the role she now played for an hour or two every week. Despite being only a First-year Psychology student, Ophelia had found herself in the role of the Devils shrink. And she wasn’t even religious, for crying out loud...
She took her place on the empty bench and waited for the park to become deserted. Somehow, every single other person would slowly leave once Ophelia took her seat. Businessmen in three-piece suits got important phone calls, nannies and mothers alike remembered that playtime was over and that the toddlers had to be put to bed for an afternoon nap, even the few ice cream stands decided to pack up shop and move elsewhere. It had freaked her out at first, this uncanniness, but she slowly had come to accept it as a part of the foul play she now took part in.
Eventually, the King of Hell made his appearance beside her. He would just materialize on the other end of the wooden bench. She had never seen him walk towards her, and probably never would. Lucifer had a flair for the dramatic.
He smiled at her, the quiet fires in his eyes burning just a tad brighter. “Hello Ophelia, how are you at this fine hour?”
She felt her mouth moving on its own accord, pulled my strings she didn’t control.
“I’m good, thanks for asking. But we’re not here to talk about me. How do you feel, Lucifer?”
The exchange of empty pleasantries was all part of the routine, the ploy that seemed to suggest that they were at least amicable to one another.
Lucifer then would start talking about this and that and Ophelia would take notes, the twisted play starting properly. Despite not understanding a single word Lucifer said, her hand was able to take notes seemingly effectively. The script in which it wrote was foreign to her. The whole affair was a mind-numbing thing, she felt like a robot, doing what her operator instructed her to do.
After what seemed like an eternity Ophelia was starting to drift away when she heard something legible from the Prince of Darkness, a name. Startled, it took her a while to realize her hand must also have written it down. Looking at the yellow pad, she saw it, a name. Letters blazing between otherwise illegible characters: “SAMMY”
Sensing Lucifer was about to finish talking for the day she discreetly flipped to the last page of the notepad and let her hand jot down the last remaining words of the Devil, before returning to the page on top.
“Well Doc, thanks for listening.” Lucifer stood up from the bench and helped her to her feet. “And don’t forget same time, same place next week.”
Her body was her own again, and for the first time since they had met, Ophelia regarded the man before her.
She had been forced into a non-speaking role for weeks now, and it was high time she got some lines in this Foul Play. And as she walked away, Ophelia spoke her first:
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A/N: just something different for @flashfictionfridayofficial​. i miss writing non-WIP related shorts, ngl, so this prompt set the mood for it.^^
Word Count: 701
TW: just aggressiveness and swearing, nothing more
***
Of course, her days had been anything except exciting. Sure, she had a job to earn cash, and a schedule catered to her stuff. But. . . sometimes, she felt as if she was missing out on a thrilling day.
Hell, she started to miss watching regular people annoying each other. Whether it was over a trivial issue or inane drama. Sure, she could pick a trashy reality show but. . . it was better to see it happen at real time.
Except she didn't expect to run into any today.
"You asshole, I'm gonna make you pay for this!" a woman screamed, a pitch in her voice high.
Just a regular day of getting home from work, she thought dryly, walking up to those people.
"Hey, take it easy," Katia said, using her 'breaking a fight' voice. "What's going on here?"
"See, this asshole had the audacity," the woman started, glaring at another, "to not watch where she's going! And look what she's done to my hair! I just got it done in the saloon an hour ago!"
"So? You're gonna make your problem into everybody else's problem?" the other woman snapped, propping her hands on her sides. "Lady, I'm sorry for what I did. If you let me, I can fix it. . ."
"No need, you bitch!"
Katia grimaced, taking a small step back. Maybe she shouldn't have interfered. . . She probably made it worse with her presence.
"I'mma report a stench foul play around these parts," the other woman muttered, crossing her arms. "Now you better apologize to me. I was just minding my own business than this. . . this hoe blamed me for a small mistake! Which I already tried apologizing for."
"Excuse me? You're the one, who's got my hair all ruined!"
"Yeah? You're the one, who's acting all high and mighty for no fucking reason!"
The first woman's jaw dropped.
"That's it! I'm going to sue you!"
"Oh, please. As if someone with a weave as fake as yours could afford that."
"No, you incorrigible lady! I'm going to show you to not mess with me!"
The other woman sighed, dragging a palm down her face.
"You can take your compliant elsewhere?" she said, raising her brows. "You can just get your hair done again, right?"
The first woman stomped her foot as if close to throwing a tantrum. Or she was doing it, anyway. Whatever.
"You know what?" the woman muttered, aiming a finger at the other. "Forget about it, maybe I'll call my lawyer to sort this one out."
Ouch. Sometimes she couldn't get why rich people tend to be so. . . so embarrassing. With all that money, she was going to sue someone for. . . a small accident? All Katia understood was that the other woman bumped into her by mistake. And the first woman made a big deal out of it for no reason.
There had to be a way to salvage this situation.
"Hmm, what if I pay for your salon appointment?" Katia suggested, slipping a hand into her pocket. "Then you can be on your way? You've harassed this poor woman enough, and it's best if you leave her alone."
"Fine, deal," the woman replied, sounding irritated. "But remember if you ever ruin my day ever again. . . You're going to regret it!"
At that, she stomped off, and clutched her purse. Katia blinked while the other woman grumbled words under her breath.
"Damn it, she's so. . ." The other woman sucked in a breath, rocking on her feet. "Whatever. I'll be lucky if I never see her again."
"Yeah, I've dealt with people like her far too many times to count." Katia shrugged. "Part of my job, I guess."
"Thanks, I owe you one," she replied, rubbing a hand over the back of her neck. "Without you, I would have been completely toast."
"Nah, it's totally okay," Katia said with a smile. "So, what's your name.
"Uh, I'm. . . I'm Jolene."
"I'm Katia, Cool to meet you, even under terrible circumstances."
They both laughed and shook their heads. Jolene lifted her head and grinned at her.
"Care to join me for a sandwich? It's the least I could do for you."
"Yeah, totally. I'm game for delicious food! Let's go!"
For @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt 144 Foul Play.
“Okay, who did it?” Hands on hips, she stares at the soft brown eyes of her audience. “Come on girls, are you going to blame the rooster again?” A few soft clucks. “Is that a yes?” She looks around at the overturned water pans and the mud under her feet. “Bad chickens.” But there is no true anger in her voice. On such a hot day, the chickens action was understandable. “Alright ladies, the pool it is.”
She pulls the wading pool out and the clucks get louder. They recognize the pool and know what it is for. She smiles as she prepares to fill it up. When she and her husband decided to raise backyard chickens, she didn’t imagine them being this much work. But it was like having nine toddlers and the rooster was like a surly teenage. Nevertheless, she loves them.
“Now ladies, we must wait for the water. Let’s all try not to be so pushy.” She admonishes as they try to get into the empty pool. They get more excited when she pulls the hose out. Shooing several hens out, she starts to fill the pool. They wait with semi-patience, clucking and peeking at the ground as they stand around the filling pool. When it is full, they are in as soon as the hose is off and removed.
“Where is your man?” It was as she had called him. The rooster, his head held high, struts out. He starts to move faster when he sees the pool. A quick leap and there are indignant clucks as he displaces half the hens and water. “Hey, bad chicken!” she yells out as her lower body is soaked. He just look at her from the center of the pool, surrounded by his hens. He knows his place in the peaking order. All she can do is laugh at his foul play.
