Employed by the Big Shot

Light

The sounds of bunches of unfamiliar voices, clattering and banging, and a ruthless, dagger-like shooting pain across your body isn't actually a nice way to wake up, but here you are. The pain makes more sense as the post-sleep fog fades and you remember yesterday's events. It feels like last week at this point. What doesn't make sense is the other stuff. Why does it sound like a town event is being set up in the room next door?

Resting on the beside table is a pair of crutches next to which is a note and a small package. Whatever magical recovering you felt you had done yesterday might as well have been a dream, because sitting up and grabbing the things proves to be more than difficult.

'For you,

Call me when you're up.'
With a surprisingly badly drawn heart at the bottom

Unwrapping and undoing the string bow on top, you find a beautifully decorated cookie inside. With white frosting, baby-blue eyes, a pink nose and black outlines, the snack dressed up as a kitten appears to glow and sparkle up at you. It's almost too cute to eat. Almost. Dripping crumbs, you press your phone to your ear. He answers, then immediately hangs up.

You blink at the screen, then audibly struggle to lift yourself into your crutches. You cautiously take your first few steps of the day. Using these might take a little getting used to. As you finish that thought, Spamton comes bounding into the room like a labrador with a grin that's a little too wide and bright to be considered usual. The edge of your top lip brushes against your septum as you pierce your lips and squint at him. Being suspicious would be putting it gently.

"GOO 0D  MORNING! HOW'd YOU LIKE YOUR FIRST SURPRISE?" He sing-songs a tad to loudly for your just-woken-up self.

"Morning... Really good! Thanks... Um, what do you mean '"first"'? Also, what's all that noise-?"

"YEP. HERE's THE SECOND." He offers a cup of coffee that wasn't eye catching enough compared to his demeanour for you to notice.

"...Thanks." As you swing forward a crutch towards the bed, he sets down the mug and lifts you the rest of the way, setting you down and handing it to you. You attempt a thankful smile, but what you come out with probably looks more like a straight-lipped acknowledgment instead. It's beginning to be less and less fun to be lifted. You mourn your legs before drowning those feelings with boiling coffee.

"SO," He claps, sitting beside you with an arm acting as a backrest for you. "I FEEL TERRIBLY ABOUT HOW i ACTED YESTERDAY, I WANT TO APOLOGISE,"

"Oh," You curl in your lips and soak up the mousey-coloured moustache you've given yourself and shake your head at him. "No, don't even. You had every right to be upset. Today's a new day, no worries, alright?" You nuzzle the side of your head against his shoulder, soon after putting your face back into the steamy cup.

"STILL... I AM SORRY. AND, I WANT TO MAKE UP FOR IT!"

"You don't need to-"

"BUT I DO! AND I'm GOING #2!"

You shake the last few drops out and inhale the caffeine. That would explain the noise. You sigh.

"What did you do?" You brase for it.

"YOU'LL SEE. NOW, PICK A NUMBER FROM ONe [2] S1X."

"Oh god." You whisper into your hand. "Two." You fake an exited tone. You dread whatever comes next.

The next four hours. Yes, four entire hours. Specialised personal set up literal stores in the bedroom for you to browse and select things from. You're told over and over again how there's no budget, how much something suits you, how good of a thing it is and how useful and necessary it is for you to accept. By the time it's over, you feel like your voice is about to give out and you're buried neck-deep in everything from clothes and jewellery to stationary and books to nicknacks and hand-written coupons to fancy restaurants and shops. You'd pass out from overwhelm-induced exhaustion if there was any room on the bed for it.