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Fright Night

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The Manager was dealing with, quite possibly, the hardest thing he’s ever dealt with in his life. He was trying desperately hard not to laugh at what his Driver was wearing. It was, well, proving to be quite a painful process; his ribs started to hurt quite a bit. 

“So, uh, do I look okay?” The Driver asked, while looking at himself in the mirror in their bedroom. He talked to his Manager’s reflection in the mirror, “Only, you haven’t said anything for minutes. I didn’t know it was possible for you to be quiet, nay, silent, for this long.”

The Manager just nodded and smiled a what he hoped was not a fake looking smile. The first time his Driver wanted to play ‘dress up,’ he thought it was cute; it was almost like the Driver was cosplaying in a way. But, this time was anything but cute. It would actually have been quite spooky, but the way the Driver was executing his ‘dress up,’ had made everything just look incredibly and positively ridiculous. He didn’t dare say anything to his Driver for fear of the put upon, bitter attitude that the Manager would have to deal with, even if it was all in good fun.

“So, you ready, Manager?” The Driver finished putting the final touches on his ‘cosplay.; “I just don’t want to be late.”

“Ah, right. Are you expecting traffic from between the bedroom and the rec room, Driver?”

“One can never be too sure, Manager.” 

“Well, c’mon then. Shawn of the Dead and a bowl of popcorn is waiting for us in the rec room.

“You’re not going to say anything about my outfit, Manager?” The Driver pouted playfully at the Manager.

“Uh......its only just,. Wow, yeah, its...uh.....”

“Please, Manager; we’re British-I know what that hesitation really means.”

The Manager sighed; there really wasn’t any use in not admitting the truth. “Well, it certainly is one of your more elaborate, ah, outfits, Driver. Though, I guess, was the bent golf club hat really that necessary? I mean, you’re dripping blood everywhere. Thank goodness its costume blood.” Panic flashed across his face. “Uh...right? Its fake, right?”

“Yes, Manager, of course, it is fake. And the bent golf club hat was very necessary. How else am I supposed to be a “disgruntled, fed-up-with-life, office worker who takes out his aggression whilst golfing, until one day the clubs fight back” zombie if I don’t have this fantastic hat?

“Oh, so that’s who you are?”

“Naturally; we are watching a zombie movie., silly face.”

“At least I don’t have blood all over my face.”

“Well, yet at any rate.” The Manager blushed a violent shade of red. “Awww, that’s cute, your face matches the fake blood all over me.”

“C’mon, let’s go before you start asking for brains, zombie Driver.”

As the Manager led his Driver to the rec room, the Driver, loudly whispered, “I’ll make you ask for something way more pleasing than a brain, Manager.”