To: Import contacts list=“Miltons”
Subject: Family matters
Dad hasn’t called in eight days. He’s missing. Rectify this matter immediately, please. I’d advise you both to be discreet: do not contact the police; all private investigators should have their backgrounds scrutinised; keep this within the nuclear family only – Dad has always expressly forbidden contact with the cousins in these situations.
I have (rather understandably, I feel) neglected to inform Luce. The first person to do so will find themselves in an uncomfortable position. Between a rock and a hard place, so to speak.
Your loving brother,
P.S. The rock is a lawsuit. The hard place is literal.
Subject: Re: Family matters
You have reached the office of Senator Milton. Please, do not be hesitant to air your views in a sensible and constructive manner over the phone: call 929 1024 333 to speak with Senator Milton’s personal secretary. Should you wish to speak to the Senator in person, he would be happy to arrange a meeting with you – please phone his secretary between the hours of 12:00 and 14:00 (Sundays excluded) to be provided with an extensive list of available time slots within the next sixteen to thirty two months.
Thank you for contacting us. We are always interested in ordinary matters for ordinary people. Remember, Raph Milton works for you.
To: Import contacts list=”Entitled Asspollocks”
CC: “Asspollock Garrison”; “Virgil”
Subject: Sup, bro?
Don’t Shoot’s going fine – thanks for asking. Tickets are sold out at venues across the nation; prices on Ebay are skyrocketing. Last I heard, someone was offering their grandmother’s antique whale thighbone in exchange for a spot in the gardens next to a theatre in Vancouver. They won’t get anywhere near a window (a surprisingly charming, regrettably unresponsive Canadian security guard assured me of that), but they’re going to hold a wine glass to the lawn rim-down and see if they can pick up a few oneliners solely through the vibrations.
I love my fan sites.
That aside, your reservations about Luce are egotism and snobbery at their finest. I’m ashamed, Mikey, truly ashamed. Surely, a ‘loving’ brother such as yourself would be aware of the honesty, trust, unconditional devotion bordering on incestuous fixation, etc., that dear old Lucifer reserves solely for you. So, I took the liberty of forwarding this message to him - and, by extension every Milton I'm aware of with half a brain and internet access. And Virgil.
BTW, are you sure Daddy didn’t just stop off at Mistress Magda’s for the night? He’s a big boy, now. Don’t wait up. No need to go around assuming he got lost, or something.
Yours with an idiosyncratic, flail-inducing, sexual-orientation-befuddling half-grin*,
P.S. Raph’s secretary is one smoking redhead (you can always tell; it’s the way she rolls those ‘r’s) but ultimately kinda unhelpful in terms of getting ahold of the bastard. I’m planning on calling him up live, and it’s going to be something of a flop if he doesn’t turn on his freaking cell.
P.P.S. I know that I’m gonna have to say this in advance, the matter being the prime specimen on our growing list of elephantine subjects in the metaphorical family sitting room – I don’t want to hear about your jobs. Or your children. Or your picket fences. Go find Daddy, kids. Then feign ignorance at any mention of this email address’ existence.
*I quote iwantgabeshorn42 of the official Don’t Shoot forums. Let me assure anyone whose orientation I have befuddled – it’s entirely unintentional.
Subject: I cannot believe you
Hello Gabriel. This is Castiel. As you might have guessed.
I’m not going to ask which star-struck intern you shanghaied into tracking down my new, private email address. I won’t bring up our previous estrangement, or take the time to wonder why you chose to break it. I’ll curb my incredulity. I’m just going to sit here, accept that bad things do happen, and perhaps even neglect to press charges. We’ll cut straight to the chase.
You cannot do this. I hate you so very much right now.
So apparently, being heavily, obnoxiously famous is synonymous with being unable to find your way around the ‘bcc’ option. Thank you for alerting the entire extended family to my current whereabouts, Gabriel. I appreciate the forethought. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go relocate to Antarctica. Admittedly, my first choice was Andorra, but considering that any connection to Raphael is enough to get me deported from anywhere with a human population, icy wilderness is my best and only option.
My best and only option besides collective lobotomisation, I suppose. Which, regrettably, isn’t remotely cost-effective. Don’t think I haven’t given it serious thought regardless.
I’ll ask once, nicely. Please don’t drag me back into this mire. Not for something so trivial as an impromptu holiday on your Dad’s part. You of all people should respect my right to barricade all doors against the coming hordes of family obtrusion. I can ask nastily too, if that makes any difference. I can even plead.
I hope you’re joking about this. You sound like you’re joking. But then, you always sound like you’re joking. Please be joking regardless.
Castiel is staying at a place called Winchesters Diner??
Just did a quick spot of google-fu on the address. Turns out it’s some kind of weird establishment a couple of states away; family business sort of deal? Oh my freakin’ god. Gabe. Why was I unaware of this. Moreover, since when did you get the privilege of being aware of this? We’ve had nothing but a vast dollop of radio silence these past few weeks. I blame the old man. Kid grew up neurotic. But that doesn’t explain the unprecedented mountain of trust he’s done gone dropped on you.
Speaking of the ol’ paterfamilias, specifically his absence – what’s with Mikey? Guy sounded genuinely freaked. Tell me it’s just a drill. I don’t think I can take much more drama. Particularly after Cas’ big, dramatic exit stage nowhere. Do you know, I tried to call him at work, and got told he left in a blaze of self-righteousness, after spray-painting ‘YOU CAN’T FIRE ME, I QUIT’ all over the boss’ office windows? For real. In bright, indelible red. I’ll give him points for guts, if not originality. Secretary seemed to find it hilarious, at any rate – and, to be honest, I’m with her. You realise this confirms what we suspected all along: little bro might actually possess a sense of humour.
… Gabe. You don’t think Mike’s stressing for a reason, do you? Yeah, I know, ridiculous question. Still. I can’t believe he was going to try and keep all this quiet from the rest of us. Dick.
Am on the edge of my seat here. Nails bitten to the quick. Keep me posted.
P.S. Anyone heard from Luce recently?