Cliched Prologue: I Hate My Job
Pixie was bored.
She so should NOT have taken this job. What had possesed her to even think about it in the first place, anyway?
Pixie idly stared playing with her neon-pink nametag, her name spelled out on it in sparkly gold lettering. Unfortunately, it was a requirement for all employees to wear one, otherwise Pixie would have trashed it a long time ago. It contrasted sharply with her teal dress.
The tag read:
Pixie
Chief of Development
Section Two
Pixie glared at it in distaste. She was 99.9 % positive that Fairy Godmother had made that title up. Chief of Development? Hah! As if. Pixie didn't develop anything for the company, much less was a Chief of a section. No, it was only a title to make her job sound professional, as if she was actually doing something important.
Yeah, right.
The gold lettering on her nametag suddenly caught the light, momentarily blinding her.
Leave it to Fairy Godmother to create something impractical.
For supposedly being the Chief of Development, Pixie's office was rather drab. The large room boasted a huge desk--accompanied by trademark paperwork scattered haphazardly across its polished surface--matching wooden chairs with plump blue cushions, making her guady nametag stand out even more, and, of cource, the infamous Fantasyland poster. It was Fairy Godmother's advertising pride and joy, lovingly ripped off from Disneyland.
Although Pixie didn't know much about the human world, she was 99.9% sure that the human-owned company would sue them through the wings if they found out that Fairy Godmother was using a picture of their beloved castle to promote her own theme park.
And it's not that good of a theme park to begin with, Pixie thought, spinning in her chair momentarily. What kind of theme park has to kidnap people to get visitors?
Shaking her head, Pixie turned her attention back to her laptop screen. A sonar-like scanner covered the screen; black with a few green circles, a green line moving perpetually in clockwise motion.
This was Pixie's real job; to watch the monitor, and immediately report anything that was picked up.
She hated it to bits.
Nothing had appeared on the scanner for years. Pixie was starting to suspect how this job had become open in the first place; the 'Chief of Development' before her must have gone crazy.
As she thought this, Pixie pulled up another window on the computer.
That person must have not been very good at Solitare, Pixie thought, continuing her game with gusto, happy to be doing anything except her real job.
And, of course, at that very moment, the sonar picked up something.
Beep.
Pixie froze. I'm hearing things.
Beep.
She minimized the Solitare screen and stared at the sonar. Sure enough, a tiny green dot had appeared at the far bottom right of the screen.
Beep.
The next five minutes were composed solely of Pixie banging her head on her desk.
Naturally, Rolf, the elf with the office next door, heard the noise and came through the door about 28.9 seconds later, his face white.
"Is it--?"
Pixie stopped banging her head on the desk long enough to answer.
"Yes, Rolf, it is."
Silence.
"But that means that we have to--"
"I know, Rolf."
The elf sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"I REALLY hate this job."
"Me too, Rolf," Pixie said, folding her hands underneath her chin. With her lithe body, pale skin, and cascading black hair, the posture would have almost seemed regal if it wasn't for the large red spot on her forehead that was rapidly turning into a bruise.
"But where else can we go?"
Rolf sighed.
"I'll get the paperwork."
