Part 2 – Of Big Scary Dogs and Big Scary Girlfriends

In which Marvin wishes he had a French accent

The Muffin Man knocked hesitantly on the doors, his knees mimicking the sound with fright. No, he didn’t fear God.

He feared his giant Rottweiler, Bob.

The Muffin Man (oh screw this,Marvin, HIS NAME IS MARVIN)could hear a thudding coming from the other side of the door, growing in magnitude with every outburst. Marvin shook in fear. He hoped that Bob didn’t jump at him and slobber on his pristine white garments again.

Especially the hat, he loved his hat.

Luckily for him, when the door was opened there was someone holding Bob’s collar. However Marvin didn’t recognise the blonde haired woman who stood before him. Which was slightly worrying.

She was clad in a long and simple white dress than reached down to her ankles – which actually seemed a little charred at the bottom. She wore a blackened wooden cross around her neck and had a set of prayer beads wrapped around her left fist. Her golden hair was cut into a rough bob and her wild fringe stopped just before her brilliant blue eyes. Her face wore a charming smile that flashed as she noticed Marvin standing awkwardly on the door step.

“’Ello there, can I ‘elp you?” she asked, her accent unmistakably French.
“Oh yes thank you, I’m the Muffin Man and I’m here to deliver some muffins?” he stated, though it came out as more of a question as he felt suddenly unwelcome. It didn’t help when her smile faltered as he spoke, before returning in a more “restraining unimaginable violence” sort of way.

“Je suis desolé, Monsieur Muffi’, but I was under ze impression zat you were French also.”
It was true that both of his parents came from France, but he had been brought up in England and so didn’t share the same lilting accent that they did. He did share the culinary expertise of the French though, and for that he was grateful. He attempted to explain this to the woman, but her smile still did not change.

“Whethzeh your parents are French or not will not ‘elp your cause, you are still a stupid Englesh man.” She spat. Marvin had no idea what could have caused her to hate him – or any random English man she happened to meet for that matter – in this way and was just about to inquire as to this when a voice came from behind Bob.

“JOAAAAANNN! Where are youuuuuuuuuuuuuu?!”
Joan? As in… Joan of-

“Not right now mon bel ange, I am trying to reason with an imbecile.”
Marvin was taken aback, and not by the fact the woman had called him an imbecile. He’d had long conversations with Seb over the phone about this woman, and the rumours were quite intriguing. If she was who she seemed to be, she could be none other than Joan of Arc, Jesus’ new girlfriend.

He didn’t realise just how zoned out he was thinking about it until he felt something poking his forehead impatiently. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and saw that Jesus was leaning over, his bright eyes observing him curiously. Marvin noted how dilated his pupils were, and made a mental note never to give the man Actimel.

“Are you coming in or what?” he inquired, leaning out further by using Bob’s collar as support. Joan was no where to be seen, she must have gone inside sulking. Marvin assumed she didn’t like the English because they’d burnt her at the stake or something.
“Yeah sure,” replied Marvin, glancing nervously at Bob – who was drooling crazily and staring intently at the Muffin Man’s white apron – before stepping over the threshold and into God’s house.

***

"Well Marvin my boy, I didn’t expect to see you here today,” noted God as he leaned back against the lounge door.
He wore a bright pink, frilly apron over the top of his casual white t-shirt and jeans with multiple cleaning supplies sticking out of pockets of the well fitting trousers. He also wore a yellow, spotted handkerchief over his long greyish-white hair to keep the dust out of it. He looked rather ridiculous, but it was a common sight for most people who knew God well. He liked to clean his own house, because apparently the angels, “Try their best, but aren’t that thorough,” which is basically God’s way of saying “By the blazes, I’ve seen better cleaning from poo-flinging rabid monkeys.”

“Oh, I’m sorry sir but I didn’t have the time to call ahead…”
At this, God laughed jovially.
“It’s ok Marvin, you know you’re welcome to drop in whenever you like,” God smiled in a friendly manner, before his eyes darkened and he leaned in close to whisper, “so long as you don’t bring Sebastian with you…”
Marvin nodded, wincing slightly. While it was true Seb worked as God’s receptionist on Fridays he was certainly not a welcome employee. Technically, he wasn’t even an employee as Seb had insisted to God when he had once tried to fire him (out of one of his cannons)
“I’m a volunteer, it’s charity. Who would you be to refuse me the heart warming feeling of helping another and receiving nothing in return?”

To this, God had given a disapproving snort.

“Thank you sir. Now, the reason why I’m here…”
“Ah yes, you have something to ask me then?”

Marvin swallowed. He had to approach this gently. He didn’t want to upset anyone up here, as they simply didn’t have anything to lose any more – being dead and all.

“Has Jesus been out of the house within the last 48 hours?”
God blinked in surprise.
“A couple of times, yes. Why?”
“I just wanted to know, Seb seemed assured that he’d seen him…”
“You stupid indirect little coward,” Marvin’s inner bastard hissed.
God’s eyes darkened at the mention of Seb, but didn’t question Marvin as to anything else. This was very pleasing for Marvin. Now he had some justification to think Jesus may have taken the bucket, but he’d rather ask about it after Joan left.

“Was there anything else you wanted Marvin? I could fix you a cup of tea if you like.”
“If it’s okay with you sir I’d like to stay for a while, but I’ll pass on the tea thanks, I’m more of a coffee man myself.”
God’s eyes widened as if Marvin had just horrendously blasphemed.
“But…you’re English?!”
“With all due respect sir, that’s stereotyping.”

CHAPTER NOTES

Despite the fact that this one is much better writen than Part 1, it is very, very short. I had already started part three, but I cut the two sections away from on another because 1) It might be too long and 2) It didn't flow brilliantly. I'll try and finish the next chapter in a decent period of time, I promise (school's pretty hectic at the moment, what with it being the first year of GCSE's and all)

Also Marvin, you are a stereotype traitor. *not best impressed* But you are still awesome

Part One – Of Lifts and Odd Secretaries

In which many jump to conclusions, and the quality of the writing is not particularly good.

There was once a little bucket and it shone throughout the day and night with a sheen of awesome that only a select few things in the world can have (and no, Edward Cullen’s sparkling is certainly NOT a sheen of awesome. It’s the left over glitter makeup from the vampire’s production “Fairytopia”). It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever laid eyes upon. So beautiful, in fact, that many were entranced by its radiance and spent the rest of their life in a bucket shrine so as to worship its glory and brilliance.

However, one day the bucket was stolen. People all over the country were thrown into a blind panic, wondering where the bucket could have possibly gone.
“Who could have stolen something so awesome?” they asked.

It was a valid question, as the bucket was too awesome for most to touch and disintegrated all those who dare lay a finger on it. The people of Bucket-ville (for that was the town which the bucket’s resting place lay) decided amongst themselves it must be the work of some divine being.
They turned instantly to Jesus; since it was most likely he who had stolen it rather than his father. God was to busy up keeping his household and suppressing the angel uprising to go around stealing buckets. Plus, there was a small matter of the Ten Commandments, and while God may be a lot of things he certainly is not a hypocrite. They sought out the none other than the Muffin Man (cook extraordinaire) to help them, as he knew the entrance to the celestial realm. He did, after all, cook cakes for the big man himself.

“Now you see,” said the Muffin Man, “I cannot tell you where it is. It’s forbidden you see. God has enough on his hands with the dead without a bunch of mortals cluttering up the place inquiring about some bucket.”


“But what if it was Jesus?” the townsfolk asked.
“It is possible. Jesus was most likely dropped on his head when he was younger and has always had a surprisingly rebellious streak for a 2000 year old man.”
“So Mr. Muffin, will you ask Jesus if he has the bucket?”
“I don’t see why not,” replied the Muffin Man with a sigh.

So the Muffin Man set out towards heaven, a fresh parcel of muffins under his arm. He found the location of the heavenly entrance and said clearly:
“To heaven I ascend, for that is where the paradise lost I shall find.”As you can see, God likes overly glitzy passwords. He could have just made do with: “Urm, I brought muffins?”

The Muffin Man waited for a second before watching as a glittering crystal lift shaft appeared before him, its transparent walls soaring up into the sky. At its base sat the lift compartment itself, its exterior decorated with gold filigree and lapis blue marble.

The Muffin Man stepped into the lift. He was glad God finally got the money to upgrade his technology (climbing all those stairs was a nightmare). As he soared into the sky he looked down on the beautiful sights. Fields and valleys stretched for miles to his left and the glistening sea to the right. In the distance he could just make out the little town of Bucket-ville and he could imagine the bucket-obsessive residents fretting about and biting their nails in anxiety.


He soon got bored however as although this was much better than climbing the stairs it really wasn’t a lot faster. He sighed, leaning back against the mirrored walls. It was a pretty boring setup on the inside, despite its luxury exterior. Two of the four walls were covered with full length mirrors, one was transparent to show the view and let in some light and one was covered in blue paint and contained the sliding door. The ceiling was a dull white and the floor was blue carpet patterned with green and silver swirls.
The Muffin Man contented himself by listening to the tinkling music that ran throughout the lift from small speakers in the corner of the ceiling. Unfortunately for him, the only song that played throughout his entire vertical trip was Hey There Delilah, which is infuriating enough in its normal form, let alone elevator music style. There wasn’t much he could do though, so he listened to the repetition until he reached the top floor. An entire hour later.

He was sure he’d never get that song out of his head and was contemplating how he might update God’s playlist, until he saw a familiar mass of messy brown hair sitting atop the head of the manically grinning secretary sitting at the reception desk. Oh god, please no!
“Why hello there Muffin-chops, didn’t expect to see you here!” said Sebastian slyly, his unnerving grin never once leaving his face.

The Muffin Man was surprised to see Seb here. After all, the Muffin Man had believed that Seb never bothered working here on Sundays, or most other days of the week for that matter. The only day he bothered showing up was Friday. He briefly wondered where the normal secretary – Sally – was, but then decided it would be best not to think about it.

Seb noticed the Muffin Man’s stare.
“What’s your problem Muffin… is there something in my hair?!” Seb asked, fingering his brown locks, voice becoming increasingly flustered at the thought of not looking 100% attractive.
“No, Mr. Winters sir, your hair is fine,” the Muffin Man gabbled, not wishing to upset Seb in case he was blown to pieces. Yeah, Seb can sort of do that.

“Ah, eeeeeexcellent,” replied Seb in a slightly worrying tone, steepling his fingers and lowing his face so his fringe hid his eyes. Then, he added, “Oh, and call me Seb, Mr. Winters makes me sound so…” he paused, thinking of the best word, “…normal,” he spat in disgust. He had a point though; anyone accusing Seb of being normal had something seriously wrong with them.

“Of course Mr. W- I mean, Seb. Urm, can I go inside?”
“Sure thing Muffy the vampire slayer, just watch out for the flying lemurs, Jesus has been on the whoopsy juice again.” Seb said, making “drinky-drinky” motions at the Muffin Man.

The Muffin Man raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“Jesus… was drinking alcohol?”
Seb giggled in a way only Seb could before replying.
“No stupid, Actimel!”
Another sceptical brow. He wondered to himself how anyone could possibly get high on Actimel alone, but he assumed that someone – he glanced suspiciously at Seb – might have slipped something into it. Shooting Seb another worried look, he stepped through the rusted iron gates…

…And into heaven.

The Muffin Man shivered as he made is way through the winding streets of heaven. It was even colder up here than usual and he assumed that the heating bills must have risen on the heavenly plains again. The Muffin Man (whose real name is actually Marvin, though he’s never told anyone in his village) could see his breath crystallising before his face. He pulled his chief hat down to his ears in a feeble attempt to stay warm and he stuck his bare hands under his armpits to warm them up. He suspected that if they weren’t above the clouds and precipitation was actually possible then it would have been snowing like hell. Actually, perhaps that isn’t the best phrase to use. Maybe “snowing an awful lot” would be more appropriate.

The Muffin Man took a left at the next fork in the road, simultaneously jumping and ducking to avoid a band of flying lemurs ("What do you know, Seb was right" he thought) and floor-ridden drunken angels. At least, they looked drunk, because it was odd to be slumped over like that voluntarily. He made his way up to God’s apartment, which was a rather unimpressive building considering who lived there. The only thing that made it stand out was its size; it was at least five times larger than the surrounding flats, all of which were dwarfed in comparison to the giant residence of God. Oh, and the golden double door that were decorated intricately with…

Okay, never mind. I lied; it is a little impressive.




CHAPTER NOTES:
As the subtitle says, the quality of writing is BAD in this chapter.
Very very bad.
However, this is just a short introduction. The decently - and recently...hmm that rhymes - written stuff comes in the next chapter and the chapters after that.
Well, it's not nessersarily the best but it is better than this.

And please don't be offended by anything in this chapter. It's only for a giggle and a little bit of fun. Artistic lisense? *shot*