"Five, four, three, two…" Vin Tanner, body tensed
forward with anticipation, glanced between his watch and the doorway as he
counted down. Just as he reached 'one,' the office door opened and the
immaculately dressed figure of Ezra Standish, fashion guru and undercover agent
extraordinaire, swept through, carrying yet another cup of cappuccino and some
type of French roll in a paper bag.
"I win, Buck." Vin smirked victoriously at Buck Wilmington, who sighed and
pulled change out of his pocket. "Came in right when I said he did, so pay
up."
"What'll it be?"
"Snickers." Vin's eyes
glazed briefly at the thought of chocolate, peanuts, caramel, and mmm… nougat.
"You got it. Hey, J.D.- go get the man a Snickers." Buck plunked
seventy-five cents down on the rookie's desk; J.D. stared at the change blankly
for a moment and then looked up at Buck.
"Why?"
"'Cause
I said so."
In the midst of this
exchange, Ezra stood in the center of the office space, with a considering look
in his eye and his cappuccino cooling rapidly. At length, he said, "If one
might beseech thee, my noble Wilmington, what manner of happenstance hath occasioned
this exchanging of money for a toothsome morsel from that rude mechanical
purveyor outside our doors?"
Silence fell- a shocked
silence. Five pairs of eyes riveted themselves on Standish; a sixth joined them
when Chris Larabee, he of the "don't fuck with me, dammit"
stare, came out of his office.
"What did you just
say?" was the collective response.
Ezra raised an expressive
eyebrow and gestured dramatically with his coffee cup and French pastry.
"How happens it that mine words should fall on deaf ears? For lo, I knowest all of thee, my compatriots dear and my
brothers-in-arms, wast all standing where thou coulds't hear me declaim and inquire what I hath just
inquired. If thou wish'sts me to give tongue to those
same words, I say thee nay! A pox upon thee for thine insolence!"
"Ezra, for God's sake, speak normal," said Nathan. The EMT's brain felt like
tapioca.
"Dearest, most
honorable Jackson, I speaketh merely as all of
England speaketh, in a good and forthright manner
becoming of a proper man."
The others turned to Josiah
Sanchez in wordless supplication. A slight smile worked its way across the
profiler's face. "I believe the proper saying in this instance, gentlemen,
is 'revenge is mine.'"
"You don't mean…"
J.D. trailed off and shot a glance at Vin.
"Yup. You want Shakespeare? You got it.
Did you think Ezra was really going to let you get past with all those puns
yesterday?"
"Indeed, methinks it to
be the highest justice to avenge mine own self upon
thou, thou foul pillagers of the noble English tongue, in such a manner,"
interposed Ezra, nodding graciously to Josiah. "The gods' justice, handed
down from atop the lofty heights of great Olympus, and even that dispensed from
the fair hand of Justice herself, standing atop th'courthouses
with her twinned and golden scales, could not be more fitting. I have the hand
of noble Themis upon my shoulder, and she casteth a smile upon me at my actions. The sun shall pass
through many hours and chaste Selene through her many phases before I shall
obtain mine satisfaction."
"Aw, hell,"
muttered Vin.
As it happened, Ezra's
revenge limited itself to the sun's many hours, rather than chaste Selene's
phases, but the torture the rest of the seven endured made that one day seem
like months.
"A pox upon thee!"
shouted Ezra at Vin, who looked up from his lunch,
blue eyes like those of a deer trapped in headlights.
"What?"
"The foul vapors of
what thine barbarian kin have given the name of
'food' art corrupting and sullying the fair atmosphere of this space which we
all inhabit. Indeed, the leaves of this noble plant upon good sir Jackson's
desk doth wither and fall away at the inhalation of such vile breath as that
which reeks from what those mechanicals at McDonald's can only call in name a
'hamburger.' Thinkest thou that perhaps they art
acquainted with MacBeth, and mayhap have used poor
Duncan's bones and sinews in the making of thine
meal?"
Vin extracted 'bones' and 'sinews' from
Ezra's discourse, deduced the rest of the meaning, and dropped the rest of his
hamburger in the trashcan.
"A
pox upon thee!"
It was J.D.'s turn this time; apparently, Ezra had decided to avenge himself
upon those who had roused his ire yesterday.
"What?" J.D.
looked for somewhere to run- anywhere, but escape was impossible. The monologue
descended on him like an avalanche.
"I would fain know why thine space is't littered with
such garish and synthetic curiosities such as thou hast placed in such a
random, and indeed, haphazard manner. For their presence jars the eyes without
mercy, and sends into chaos those same orbs that seek to behold the world in
unity and tranquillity. Lo, their colors are found
nowhere in Iris's rainbow, nor in the whole realm of
fair nature either, and Mother Earth has never given birth to those bright and
hellish tones. I demand therefore, good young man, good J.D., most excellent
J.D., to remove them forthwith, lest thou incurrest
mine wrath everlasting!"
Bewildered, J.D. swiveled
back to his computer and tried not to break into frustrated tears.
Elizabethan vengeance
wreaked itself on the entire office for the duration of the day, with poxes
placed on the slowness of the network server, the water cooler, and the hygenics of the 12th-floor restroom. ("Behold, we livest in an age of greatest wonders, in which mankind
might ascend the fiery heavens and probe the mysteries of those things which
the eye may not see, yet still the soap dispenser remaineth
void of cleansing lye and ash! A pox upon them!")
Unfortunately for Ezra's
strategy, his diatribes began to wear on Chris; the loud declamations from the
main office wore on the senior agent, and at long last, Larabee intervened.
"Hey,
Ezra?"
"Aye, my Lord?"
"Shut up. Please."
"But
soft, my noble and honorable leader! Wherefore wouldst thee demand of me
to cease my speech?"
"Because
it's pissing the hell out of me. Shut up."
"A pox upon thee…
varlet," was the mumbled response.
"Ezra?"
"A pox!" whispered
Standish with true Mercutio-ian defiance. "A pox upon thee!"
THE END