V. 1/2/08

An excess of tea indulgence left her antsy and dehydrated, but Grimironie made it into work on time only to find out that she had to see the Chief right away.
“There’s a new twist to the game,” Chief Kalel grumbled into a stack of files. “First, I need you to pose for some Death Chicken Watch PR photos, and second, you’ve got to up your attitude. The DCDA with the lowest viewer rating status gets voted off the precinct next Friday, and I don’t want to lose one of my best because she has a sour-puss 99% of the day.”

Unbelievable. “Are you out of your mind? You agreed to this? Why do you hate cats?” Grimironie reached for her hip, but she hadn’t had time to don her baster holster.

“Easy Grim,” Kalel said, finally looking her in the eye. “There was the usual loose talk in the coffee room, and if you want, you can blame Haskins for planting the seed in my head.”

“Everyone blames Haskins for everything. I at least want to be original.” Grimironie seethed.

“Nonetheless, I don’t know what the ratings will say when they come in, but I don’t want to take chances.”

She sulked for a moment until her frustration mounted. “But the world loves a curmudgeon! Look at House; it’s in its 80th season!”

“Maybe. Maybe you’ve been spending so much of your downtime preparing relish that you’ve gone and pickled your own brain. Go out and find yourself someone who’ll make you happy. Take the day off and get a pedicure or something, but lighten the heck up already and get out of my office!”

Grimironie slammed the door and muttered her way down the hallway, resplendent with expletives. She slowed as she neared the coffee room and stepped quietly. The door was ajar. She saw Billy-Ray MacHaggis III holding a low-fat soy mocha latte and chatting with Maestro.

“I gotta say, man” Billy-Ray MacHaggis III elbowed Maestro in the side, “those are some smokin’ chocolate pants you’ve got on.”

“Yeah,” Maestro laughed, “the chicks really dig ‘em.”

“I bet the women love ‘em too,” Billy-Ray nodded.

“Oh yeah,” Maestro smiled, “almost as much as those cute, furry little chicks down in the holding station!” They laughed and sipped their nasty, brown coffees. Grimironie skulked past the door and nearly bit through her lip. What could possibly happen to make things worse? To her relief, the Death Chicken Watch photographer told her that “angst-ridden and surly” was all the latest rage. She didn’t have to summon any happy thoughts for the photo shoot.

“But what are my happy thoughts?” Grimironie wondered as she walked back to her office. A nice, crunchy breading on a cordon bleu? Stealing into the garage and adding restrictor plates to Billy-Ray MacHaggis III’s ATV? That made her smile, but it didn’t feel like the pinnacle of happiness. She leaned against the cinder-block wall and closed her eyes. She saw a gargantuan, clawed and red foot stepping down amongst rows of corn, and looked up to a mass of white feathers. She’d imagined it many times, her secret obsession. “I will find him and take him down,” she thought. “I will conquer Capon Frank.”