Scripted

Chapter 1: Script

PLEASE DON'T TRANSLATE OR TAKE ANY OF MY STORIES, PICTORIALS, AND/OR POSTERS AND POST/SHARE THEM ELSEWHERE.

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            "What? Nicky, you can't be serious!" A loud, deep voice could be heard rumbling through the walls of a compact office. "You want me to work with him?"

"No way!" Another voice followed from the next room, shaking the glass window behind the blinds with his higher pitched voice. "You must be joking, Patryk!"

"I can't work with him!" Both voices rattled out at the same time from different rooms. "This is absurd!" Stomping their feet to the door, they swung open the wooden barrier and caught eye of each other.

Hissing, the younger of the two crossed his arms and stormed back to his desk. The older shook his head, adjusted the glasses on the bridge of his nose, and then did the same towards the opposite direction.

"Zackery ge, come back here!" Nicky shouted.

"Faniel ge, where are you going?" Patryk called out.

Nicky and Patryk turned to look at one another and gave out a sigh. They averted their attention to the tall male seated at a desk right between their offices; staring up at them blankly.

"Hey, um..." Nicky tapped his index finger on the person's desk. "What's your name?"

"L-Luke. Luke Wu."

"Well, Luke," Patryk addressed.

"Yes?" Luke wondered.

"Work your magic," they said in unison. "We are counting on you."

Plastering on a wavering smile, the newcomer of the radio station turned back to his laptop and continued typing up the skit. Feeling the pressure, a drop of sweat dripped down a side of his face. I finally got the job that I wanted. I better not screw up. The poor guy continued to tackle the heavy burden they have placed upon his tensed shoulders.

Glancing over at Patryk, Nicky asked. "Coffee?"

"My treat," Patryk offered with a blinding smile; his eyes curving into two crescent moons.

"I'll buy you a blueberry muffin."

"Deal." Patryk walked over to Nicky and hung an arm over the shorter man's shoulders, as they made their way down the hallway.

Meanwhile, Faniel grabbed his cell phone and walked out of the studio still mumbling words of complaint. At the other end, Zackery switched off his computer and placed his belongings inside his black backpack. Zipping it up, he flung it over a shoulder and headed out. Neither paid attention to where they were going and bumped straight into one another. Hell broke loose.

"Watch where you're going, short legs!"

"Who are you calling short legs, small eyes?" Faniel snapped.

"My eyes fit my face perfectly," Zackery argued.

"That's because they are too small for you to see correctly."

"It's more like you're too short to see sufficiently."

"I'm only a couple centimeters shorter than you. Your eyes, on the other hand, are way smaller than mine."

"The size of my eyes has nothing to do with my vision," Zackery enlightened.

"Neither does my slightly shorter height," Faniel added.