The constant, chaotic whispers here were pressing in, a pressure that promised death, promised bloodshed, begged for it. But as the sounds grew louder--threatening to reach some dire crescendo--they abruptly went eerily silent.

Behind V-Ruby-One, someone cleared their throat.

It was a gentle sound, but one with quiet authority. And when V-Ruby-One turned, it would see...

...a clerk.

A small, balding human in a brown suit, his tie impeccably knotted. He was adjusting his glasses, where he sat in a worn leather chair at a desk--one of expensive wood, but well-used. This desk was set somewhat crookedly atop the jagged stone of The Hole. Atop the desk were a wire bin full of papers in two stacks, a paperweight, a cup-like wooden pen-holder filled with pens, and--beneath the man's folded hands--several papers. None of it was voidlit: a pool of regular, white light surrounded this scene.

"Pardon me, err-" and here the man leaned back, tilting his head upward to better see out of the bottoms of his bifocals; he looked over the paper before him. "...V-Ruby-One? It seems you are looking for work, but-" ...the man shifted the papers around him. "...I'm afraid I don't see a résumé on-hand. A--CV, if you prefer. Did you file one?" He looked up, studying V-Ruby-One with no trace of fear, his eyes large as he blinked behind the glass lenses. Then a hand waved to the desk, as if inviting the Valkhound to stand at the other side to speak. "We can fill one out now, if you like."

The clerk sat back a little, his brows knitting in consternation. His palms first flattened on the desk, and then he took on a more thoughtful, focused expression, fingers drumming a little thudthudthud on the wood.

"...I see we must start from the beginning. Very well. You seek a role, yes? A new job?" The clerk glanced up as he spoke, but now focused on pushing aside a few papers, returning them to his bin. What he was left with seemed to be an empty job application form, complete with gaps, like a résumé yet to be filled out. Not that the Valkhound would necessarily recognize it. "To apply for a job it is best to have a résumé prepared. This is a form, which you fill out to inform your prospective employer--err, the Creator, in this case," and here the clerk glanced over at the Black Altar, "of your experience. Of what makes you fit for the job. But--tell me, what position did you wish to apply for? Or would you be satisfied with any assignment within this organization?"

The Cursed Flame lashed out, igniting the paper, which... vanished.

It didn't burn. It simply disappeared, as if the engulfing flame had consumed it altogether. Or destroyed it, on a level wholly different from simply burning.

The clerk eyed it, thinning his lips in disapproval. He looked back at V-Ruby-One and started to answer, but then paused--and looked back at the owl, as if something had occurred to him. His mouth closed again, and he looked several times between the towering Valkhound and the miniscule owl, as if struggling to see something in it. At length he cleared his throat, gently pushing the feathered corpse aside, very much with the demeanor of someone too polite to comment something very rude. "...As impressive as that is... I am a clerk. I had come to assist with your attempts to procure a placement. Did you have a position in mind?" he asked again, and this time, when his head tilted to the side, it went... a little too far.

It looked wrong, even if one weren't well-versed in humans. It might have been creepy, or just... off. But it didn't look right.

The magic sought, and tore, and roared in Chaos through the space. And it was a strange, or even horrifying, realization: that as solid as the objects seemed, as placid as the man appeared,

There was nothing there.

The clerk stared up at V-Ruby-One, what looked like disapproval in his eyes. That changed to a more... intense expression.

Then the little, balding man began to laugh. It was the laugh of a small man in a brown suit, at first. The laugh of a man who wore bifocals and pushed paper all day. Contained. Discreet.

The laughter changed, then: it swelled, becoming something loud, something of deep lungs and swelling power. It became a cackle, one that echoed throughout the Hole. The place filled with this laughter: amused, pleased...