Neutral Omens

Warlock pulled up in front of the ominously large building, parking his bomb of a sickly-bright green VW van just inside the gates. He shuffled uncertainly through the front entrance, straightening his tie as he went in a last minuet attempt to look halfway adult. He placed a hand across his mouth and nose and breathed, smelling his breath - it made his feel a little faint.

He looked around the lobby of the building. There was a old woman, but there didn't appear to be anyone behind the counter. There was a bell, but Warlock had not yet recovered from the night before and didn't think that ringing the bell would aid his throbbing head. He coughed softly at first and then a little louder. No one came out.

On some level Warlock felt quite relived. He had only come down here because his father had threatened to cut his weekly allowance if he didn't make some attempt to find employment (although this was not a knew threat - his father had threatened to cut his allowance when he dropped out of his BA in Economics, Politics and Public Policy after barely a year, and even after last week he had been caught in his bedroom smoking pot by his mother).

Before leaving, the thin, flaky looking young man decided he better make some feeble attempt at an application for employment (his father will no doubt check up on his visit) so he quickly scribbled, in his lazy, childish hand, a note to the owner:



To Whom it may concern,

I am looking for a job. I am happy to wash dishes or water the plants - whatever requires the least responsibility.

I have no experiences or references and I am not really that outgoing, but I am have a trust fund, so you don't need to pay me much.

Sincerely


Warlock Dowling.


He figured this half-arse attempt might do, though somehow he knew the likelihood of him getting hired anywhere that wasn't a complete freak-show were pretty slim.