The Horsemen (NaNoWriMo 2017)

Chapter One - Scapegoat

hey yall this is almost completely unedited and undrafted but hey? thats how NaNo is supposed to go hope you enjoy my trash 

"Damn it, Jeoffrey," Brian cursed and glared at Jeoffrey.

"What did I do?" Jeoffrey looked to Brian. What could he possibly have done-

"You know what you did," Brian said, telling Jeoffrey absolutely nothing at all. Jeoffrey did not know what he did. Jeoffrey never knew what he did.

"I can't find my shoes, Jeoffrey," Brian said as if Jeoffrey would have a motive for taking Brian's shoes.

He did not.

"Still don't know what I did." Jeoffrey turned away from Brian and began to put on a tie. He didn't have time for this. He had work.

Ever since he had helped God Damn Alan do some minor grave robbing, everyone had begun to blame everything on him. All their bad luck, misfortune, anything they did wrong. Everything they did wrong. Even if Jeoffrey had nothing do to with it. Even though it was Alan who did the actual grave robbing, it was Jeoffrey they blamed. Always.

He kind of – no. He really wanted it to stop because he kept almost getting arrested for very very small things or big things he had not done. It was nice to go out in public without getting arrested, but that was something Jeoffrey could not do.

"It is obviously your fault I can't find my shoes." Brian lifted up a pillow from the couch. "Oh, wait, no, I just found them. Never mind."

This joke was getting...old. It'd been months since the actual Incident happened. Somehow, in these months, everyone in the entire Second Quadrant of Hell (and some beyond) had heard about it, and become part of the world's biggest, shittiest in-joke.

"Is it still my fault?"

"Absolutely." Brian checked his watch. "Oh. Time to go. You ready?"

Jeoffrey nodded and tossed his keys in the air, because he had been ready for the past fifteen minutes. He didn't know if that said more about himself or Brian. He turned and headed out the door and-

"Jeoffrey."

Jeoffrey resisted the urge to squeal and hide, because that was not Brian. That was not Alan. That was not even Alan doing one of his famous impressions, because not even Alan could perfectly imitate the King's anger like that.

That was The King Leviathan of the Second Quadrant of Hell, and he was pissed.

Jeoffrey straightened himself up and fixed his arms to his side. He was also slightly too scared to breathe, because he was pretty sure he was about to be murdered by The King himself. "My. My Liege. Sire. Your Majesty The-"

"Shut up, Jeoffrey. Please." The King sighed and put a hand to his forehead. "Relax. You're making us all uncomfortable."

Jeoffrey heard Brian supress a snicker, because for once it was actually Jeoffrey's fault, and not just some joke.

"I have," The King said through gritted teeth, "for the fifth time this week. Interrogated a prisoner. Only to hear. That the crime they were arrested for. Was supposedly your fault."

Jeoffrey did not dare speak. His heart was beating fast enough that he was sure that the moment he spoke any words, he would throw up. Or just flat-out die. He'd just drop dead.

The King raised his eyebrows and stared at Jeoffrey, who probably looked like an absolute nong at this exact second.

"Now, I know about the whole 'It Was Jeoffrey' thing. I know about the 'Jeoffrey Did It' thing. I know about the 'Fucking Jeoffrey' thing, because these are all the same thing. I also know about the grave robbing incident, and I have decided that I will not act out punishment for that. But for the love of God or whatever we're supposed to say in Hell, is there some fucking way I can stop hearing this? Is there some fucking way that I can prove it was not you?"