Bob the little friend

[vile]

Maybe there was a reason Joyce seemed jealous when he spent long hours at work. It never felt like cheating but in retrospect perhaps he really is one of those people married to their job. But that makes sense. A mind accustomed to working at full speed finds a lack of assignments torture.

The room is a theatrical stage ready for a show but the actors only just showed up for dress rehearsal. Bright lights shine on key areas of wall in the large but sparsely filled room. Boards both chalk and dry erase hang side by side. Bulbs mounted overhead give the boards an aura of illumination that makes them stand out against the dark walls. There are many but only a few are currently in use. Furniture dots the area and one rolling chair sits central to it all. Along one wall is a long workbench that spans roughly 8 feet. Books with long titles, glass petri dishes with a variety of culture medium, an incubator, glass measuring beakers, and a bunsen burner lie in neat stacks and occupy most of the table. They are idle decoration for now.

A man in a white lab coat stands next to the chair. One hand cradles his chin while a finger strokes his lower lip in thought. Two boards currently hold his attention: one with a list of words: lethal, non-lethal, status modifiers, hydrofluoric acid, aqua regia, sulphuric acid, hydrochloric acid, water soluble resin thickening for acids, locate scrap of hull metal for testing, cell samples for growing cultures, mind control/confusion?, microwave gun, arsenic. The other has a series of letters, dashes, and sporadically numbers with mathematical symbols. Each has subheaders and notes scribbled up the side. A few spots have smudges blanking out corrections.

Behind him is a sound. He doesn't have to look at what made it. There's a dry growl and hiss followed by more gutteral noises. A heavy sigh drops Wes's shoulders and the hand raises to massage one of his temples. "I don't feel like dealing with you right now. Go away." Wet gurgling is the reply from behind. "I should give you a name." Westley turns on one of his heels with grace. Now he faces a thing that looks very much but so unlike him. It is like the thing in his head was given a dummy of Wes and a dash of artistic freedom. Solid jet black eyes with clear nictitating membranes in place of eyelids stare blankly forward. Pale skin so white it's nearly translucent has black veins streaking its surface. Humanoid teeth in too many rows are sharp beyond what's natural like the long nails on his hands. It wears a matching lab coat.

"Bob. I'll call you Bob. How do you feel about that, Bob?" Gurgle, hiss. "...I'll take that as a positive response. Do I have to program in some sort of creature other than me to torment when I want some peace and quiet?" Growl. "Fine. I'll...do that next time."

Westley turns back around and resumes staring at the boards. He snaps up a dry erase pen and scribbles down a few more notes under what is likely the working projects section. "It's so nice to have something to focus on again." A happy smile curls up the edges of his lips in a cat-like expression. The potential horror of what he works on is not cause for concern. "Oh, right." he mumbles under his breath and heads to a third board. The title 'collateral damage' and 'projected casualties- friendly/enemy'. "Mm, yes, something to bear in mind." Nothing else goes on that board as it isn't his current focus.

He steps away and then begins pacing. Another sigh and he goes back to the projects board to add: 'Teach Bob some words'.