The Game of Earthly Delights HTML version

Piers sipped camomile tea daintily from an old fashioned tea cup across the table opposite me. He was
obviously a trouser bandit, but I never had a problem which side anybody batted for, as long as kept his
chocolate speedway antics away from my rectum. He had James Dean slicked back hair and a 1950’s collar,
this guy was very clued up about everything and had me completely sussed out. But I could tell from the
way he talked to me that he too was negative to all this huge corporate business rat race. His bright sparkly
straight appearance was immaculate, but God I bet he liked a good spliff, it was too early to know.
“So when do I get started in the studio.” I said trying to be enthusiastic.
He smiled pouring more of the scented tea into his cup.“All in good time dear boy.”
We finished our drinks and were about to get up when two strange sinister characters entered the café.
The atmosphere in the place went cold and quiet like two strangers entering an old remote inn somewhere
and the locals all suddenly falling silent. One man was thin and wiry yet also strangely quite scary looking
rather like a German Gestapo Officer. The other was a powerful mountain of a man wearing a priests dog
collar, both were clinically dressed in grey suits with short square hairstyles.
“Who the hell are those guys, Piers?” I enquired inquisitively.
“Well, the skinny chap is Klaus Wolfgang Eisel or The Weasel as he’s known. The cream of Austrian
virtual game design technology and developer of BIP, that’s Brain Impulse Pad. The other big fucker is the
Padre, ex-army Priest and specialist in radar, they’re working on some controversial game down in the lab.
It’s all top secret, but I think they’re up to something quite sinister, I don’t trust them they’re like some God
squad Mafia!” Piers warned.
That whole first day turned out to be a weird happy Monday, the whole corporation was full of oddball
characters, mad professors and colourful spaced out geeks. The great thing about working with computers
for a zombie daydreamer like me was you could make yourself look really busy scrutinising the screen of
information, when in fact you could be just staring into a void and writing song lyrics in your head. The
design studio were I was stationed was a labyrinth of laptops and bays where designers had made personal
working areas, these crazy creative geezers and intellectual but scatty girls beavering away on hare brained
ideas each in their own individual dens. When I first walked in that studio it struck me how the whole place
looked like some fucked up Prep school dormitory for aliens to do their homework in. Piers showed me
through what he called the ‘Mindfield’ to the Studio Director’s office, he put his hand on my back as he
minced along adopting a funny and sarcastic American Jim Carrey accent.
“Good Morning Gideon, this is Daniel Black, your new designer.” Piers introduced. “I trust you will
have a pleasant stay dear boy.” He turned on his heel, Grenadier like and left us.
The bearded Gideon shook my hand.“Welcome aboard Daniel, its good to have you aboard with us.”
He was a typical Studio Director, he looked like a old hippy art teacher in his chunky jumper. Probably not
that computer literate but wise old graphic design skills of being able to look at his staffs’ work and
immediately know what was bad or pleasing to the eye. Everyone seemed quite easygoing and friendly and
the thing I liked was everyone was an individual and able to be themselves, which was surprising in such a
large corporation like VonArb.
Friday evening at the end of the week I bowled homeward out of the great driveway like my dentist had
just given me the all clear, relieved that I could probably live with my new job. I just started to head up
Tavern Street when Piers cried out in his unmistakable voice.
“Wait up dear boy”! He called waving frantically. “I’m just about to head up to the Reali-Tea Café,
would you care to accompany me?”
“Sorry man it’s been a long day and I think I’m about ready to get the hell out of reality.” I said nonchalantally.