milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's a Speak N' Spell in the bar.

It's just sitting there.

Play with it. It wants to spell right now!

Chase recoils. "Shit." How does it know his name?

Maybe it's just spitting out random words. Still, he edges away from it.

"sPecIal AgEnT cHaSe E-D-m-U-n-D-s." Random words, you say?

Chase, wide-eyed, scootches as far away from the thing as he can. "What the--"

That, he decides, cannot possibly be a Speak n' Spell. "What are you?" he demands.

"sPEaK N' SpEll S-P-e-L-l. pLaY WiTH me."

Chase swallows, suddenly very dry-mouthed. "Uh, no thanks. I don't want to play right now."

"gEt Up! i WAnt To sPElL rIGht NOw!"

"I don't want to spell!" says Chase loudly, attracting the attention of other patrons. He curses softly, trying to look as though he isn't arguing with a children's toy.

"c-H-A-s-E! pLaY WiTh Me." The Speak N' Spell sounds demonic. And demanding.

I am a highly-trained agent of the government. I have withstood and resolved countless brutal terrorist attacks and more than once survived a life-threatening secret mission. I am not afraid of a Speak n'Spell. I am not.

"How do you want to play?" he asks weakly.

"sPeLl S-P-e-L-l," it says patiently.

Chase shakes his head. He's never used one of these things before. "So...what, I just say things and you spell them?"

"b-U-T-t-O-N-s." Push the buttons, Chase. Spell out a word.

Chase is hesitant to touch the thing. Gingerly, he pokes a few buttons. "A-B-C-D-E-F."

"aBcDEf." It comes out horribly twisted. "ThaT iS NOt a WoRd, ChASe."

Chase swallows. "I, uh, I was never very good at spelling," he says, hoping to pacify the thing. "S-o-r-r-y," he types, for lack of anything else to say.

"SoRrY."

"hOw Did MArY DiE hoW dId MArY DiE? MoNKeY FUCkInG A COcONut cOcOnuT c-O-c-o-N-u-t."

"What?" Chase, hopelessly confused, narrows his eyes at the thing.

"cOulD bE a mElOn lOoKs LIke A cOcONut."

"Right." Chase frowns. He's had enough of this, and he's very annoyed with himself for letting himself be afraid of a talking hunk of plastic. "Look, thing. You want people to play with you, then start making sense and be nice about it."

"plAy WiTh mE." It sounds almost... pitiful.

Yet still demonic.

"I'm not playing with you unless you quit with the monkeys and the coconuts and start being civil," says Chase sternly. But he does feel just a tad sorry for the thing. He has been known to sympathize with evil incarnate before.

"I wAnT To sPeLl," it whines (demonically).

"RigHt noW."

"Say 'please.'" Military discipline, that's what it needs. "Nicely."

"P-L-e-A-S-e n-I-c-e-L-y SpEciaL aGent C-H-a-S-e c-H-A-se."

"ThErE cAn OnLY bE oNe HiGhlAndEr," it mutters darkly.

"Good," says Chase approvingly.

He pauses. "Wait, what?"