Crym bounced his head a few times off the desk. It didn't make him feel any better and only served to illicit a mild chuckle from his fury companion.
"Can you please do something useful ... like ... I dunno ... take yourself for a walk?"
He'd been having the overwhelming urge to scratch for the past hour and he was fairly sure there were tiny white specks jumping about on his keyboard.
As he bent down to inspect further he decided it would be a more appropriate idea to levitate several feet into the air, yelp loudly and land in a crumpled heap on the floor.
"You have mail." Said the computer in that smug, self richeous tone that may as well have been stating, "You have mail but you're probably too stupid to know where the icon is. Here. I'll flash it up in your face but make sure it disappears before you can touch it with a mouse."
"Mental note." He thought, trying to work out where the ringing sensation was coming from. " Quiet room in the early hours of the morning ... turn volume on speakers down to at least ear shattering level. Additional note. Swap computer for a toaster as soon as this whole mess is over ... and buy flea spray."
Groaning he dragged himself back onto his chair and clicked open the offending article of post. It read in huge, bold, completely missmatched letters.
"We are going to take over the world. So there!"
"Don't bother looking for us, you won't find us and we aren't going to tell you anything about our master plan to swap ourselves with all you writers and shove you in your soddin stories where you can be poked with sticks and pointy objects. Let's see how you like to lose all the time! You're in for it now! In fact our plan is so secret we don't even know how we're going to do it yet but we are ...."
The next ten thousand words broke into insane, irate, rantings about how the writers would suffer. The ins and outs of torture at the hands of various pointless contraptions and underfed animals took up a good two thousand words of this. The rest was basically a series of mumbles, grunts, "insert insane laughter heres" and general rubbing of hands.
"Please don't forward to anyone especially the boss ... he'll kill us."
The bad guys.
Glaring gob smacked at his monitor Crymzon casually hit "Forward to all recipients." Then glancing at the werewolf who appeared to have found something interesting, and potentially tasty in the region of his rear, called Dark.
The little screen popped up and sitting in front of the computer was Dru, she was swaying a bit and seemed to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"Oh thank heavens you're still up. Erm ... are you drunk?"
"Crym you better have something good." She slurred as a lamp sailed past her, missing her head by inches and smashing onto a wall. She took a swig from a bottle cringing slightly. "Really very good, or you're going to find yourself with some new flatmates."
Crym gulped. He got the impression that the inebriated scary lady wasn't joking.
"Erm yeah check your messages." He had the unmistakeable feeling that he was being watched. "NOW PLEASE!"
Growling was coming from behind him as he spun round knocking his webcam clean off his desk as he went. The monstrous dog was glaring out of one of the windows, one that he was fairly certain hadn't previously been ajar.