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.”
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
