The ad in the newspaper seemed, although a grammatical nightmare, up Ambrosine’s alley.
'HELP WANTED: WIZARD EXPERT'.
After a while of the most headache inducing translation session she had put herself through, the finished product now only made half a bit more sense, but now she was able to get an address. So, from New Orleans and off to the badlands of New Mexico in her well loved thunderbird, hoping to be first one there.
At first, she had thought this is was nothing more but a prank, as when she finally ended up at where the map stated her destination was, there was nothing! Well, that was before Leviathan, her back seat driver, pointed out the very obvious canvas tarp that was painted to blend into the desert landscape.
Looking back at the instructions to get into the compound, that was the way in. Parking her car where it couldn't be seen by anyone who was driving by, she made the trek over, and after ways of walking, the poor exorcist was met with a very peculiar sight. A man dressed in a red themed solider uniform screaming at the top of his lungs at what looked like settled on a fence line...severed heads? Surely, this man wasn't the one who wrote the ad? Or was this too apart of an elaborate prank where she didn't get the joke? The only way to find out was to politely interject in the midst of him barking inexplicably to tell him she was there about the ad, which only rewarded her a tirade of insults towards her appearance. The one that sent her away before she competed a capital offense was, 'a tofu tossing, kumbaya singsong commie hippie'.
This walk was where she found a sign pointing to the medic bay. Maybe there she could find if this was a joke or not, though at this point, no punchline would be worth the spittle that she had to wipe off her lavender tinted round sunglasses.
No answers was given beyond the bay doors, only a sea of blood, dismembered limbs and organs, and bird feathers, which now stuck to her dark platform loafers. She also took notice of the many unknown machine parts, gutted from their place of belonging like the human parts were. Now seeing someone of intelligence was there, staring back at her with confusion and possible irritation, did she realize how out of place she was.
"Sorry, I realized that was quite impolite of me. But," she reached into her tan satchel bag to retrieve the newspaper folded to where the ad was visible and presented to him, pointing it out with a sharp manicured finger. "I came here for this job that was listed, but I'm not too sure of who here wrote it. Or, I think I'm certain but I do not want to go back out there to get berated like that again."
