Now, I don't look up, 'cause I work in a muse factory and someone's always screaming about something. If it ain't a muse that's been on the shelf too long crying 'cause she's feels unloved and moreover, unneeded, then it's some poor schlub who just got a headful of ideas poured into him and doesn't know what to do next or how to handle it. I keep lookin' through corsets 'cause I know we just got in some good ones with rivets and LEDs in 'em. And then I hear more screams, and people start tearin' around through the racks like bedlam, and amongst the general confusion I hear folks callin' out and prayin'.
Prayin' ain't something you hear every day at my job, leastways not out loud, so this gets my attention an' I finally look up.
And there are ANGELS in my factory.
Real, live, Ezekial 1:10 angels. And yes, for those of you keepin' score at home, that's the third time this month that they've been in Emerald City. I am so glad these aren't Old Testament days or the Lord of Hosts would've smoked the whole city flat in the first round, I'm sure.
You know the type, with four faces on each side of their head -- human on one side, lion to the right, bull to the left, eagle on the opposite -- and four wings, and those freaky hands underneath their wings, man, you got to see this to believe it, I am tellin' ya. You can't tell which way they're facin', or rather, they're facin' every way at once. They never turn those heads of theirs, or their bodies; they just move straight in whichever direction they want to go, and whichever face is in front does the lookin', I guess. Fre-aky!
They are movin' through the factory like lightin' striking, with flaming swords in every hand, goin' after the ones they came to smite. All around, people have dropped to their knees to pray and plead and beg for their lives, while others are still runnin' or hidin'.
Me, I don't bother with either. It's not that I'm so sure they haven't come for me -- I've sure had more'n my fair share of transgessions, and hey, some folks claim just workin' with muses is idolatrous (to which I say: it's a muse, you moron, not a god, trust me, when you've got five of 'em in your house you can tell they sure ain't goddesses whatever the Greeks thought). But, you know, if bloody angels have come for me, then I can't run fast enough and the Good Lord sure ain't gonna be impressed by a little show of piety now.
So I'm just watchin' as one of 'em smites down poor Freddy, and I'm thinkin', Fraggit, I told you you shouldn't be cheatin' on your wife, you dumb sap. But maybe that wasn't it anyway, 'cause the angel leaves Jessica alone and that's who Freddy was bangin' on the sly. About then, Richard from Dispatch runs into costuming and dives into the racks behind me. He begs me to hide him, and says that they got his supervisor Paul while he was standing right next to him. Paul's the one who lectured me about timeliness this morning and dumped me into clean up, so I'm sorry to hear it, but maybe not as sorry as I could be, you know? I tell Richard, "Hey, if they were gonna do you they would've done it at the same time, two in one blow, right?" but he's already buried himself under a mass of greco-roman gowns.
The angels are still roamin' the factory, but they haven't smited that many people, actually, only Freddy and a couple of others I don't know, as far as the floor goes. 'Course, I can't see Paul or anyone else in Dispatch, so I don't know about them. Did I mention how glad I am not to be livin' in Old Testament days? Or dyin' in Old Testament days, I should say. I mean, three times in a month bites, don't get me wrong, but it still beats been nuked by fire from heaven, you know what I mean?
Anyways, I think for a minute about gettin' back to work, but drek, everything's still chaos and someone's let loose at least a gross of muses which ain't helpin' none, lemme tell you.
So I decide to call it a day, and before I leave I snarf the unicorn girl and Silver Eyes 'cause it'd be such a waste for them to get trampled. Elloen's wandered off and the bloody Ball is still down, fraggit all, so me and the muses caught a breeze home. Which took forever, but at least I'm home and unsmited, which is better than poor dumb Freddy can say, so I ain't complainin'.
Even if I still don't know what the frag I'm gonna do with two more muses.