Chapter Text
It was Emil’s first day on the job, and he already hated it.
Kyle, aka the guy he’d successfully begged a job from because best friends are cool like that, continued down his list of Need-To-Know Things before Emil went out on his first delivery. “The A/C in the Trick is out, and the windows stick.”
“Oh my god. It’s summer. I am going to die. And why is it even called a Trick?”
Kyle sighed. “Because it’s a dominoes term for a round, and since you’ll be making rounds...”
Emil rolled his eyes. “That’s the stupidest reason for the stupidest name for a stupid delivery truck I’ve ever stupidly heard.”
“I didn’t pick it. Now you’ll also need to wear this.” Kyle tossed Emil a battered winter jacket.
Emil scowled at his best-friend-now-manager. “It’s like 90 fucking degrees out! I’m not wearing a jacket! Not even with A/C, which I don’t have!”
“Your funeral.” Kyle shrugged and went back to taking phone orders. “Thank you for calling Domino’s—”
The Trick sputtered to a rocky stop in front of a small house in the middle of nowhere.
Emil looked at the delivery request to make sure he had the correct address. The house matched the description: two-storey gray with red trim - watch for the cutouts and WEAR A RED JACKET.
Emil rolled his eyes and left the jacket in the Trick, wondering what the customer meant by cutouts. As he approached the steps of the porch, a fully-armored soldier leapt out of the hedge and pointed a shotgun at him.
“FUCK! DON’T SHOOT!” Emil shouted, using the pizza box as a makeshift shield.
“State your name and business, dirtbag!”
“Emil! I’m just here to deliver pizza!”
When nothing happened for a long while, Emil peeked out from the side of the pizza box, just in time to witness the lovingly-painted wooden cutout fully retract behind the hedge.
Well, that explained that part of the description.
Emil briefly considered going back to the Trick to pick up the jacket. But he was only a few steps away from the door compared to a lot more steps to the Trick and back, so he took a deep breath and walked up the stairs to the very red door and pressed the very red doorbell.
The response was near immediate.
“HOLY SHIT!”
All things considered, that was the only reasonable reaction to coming face-to-face with a shotgun. Especially one aimed square at your face through the crack of a barely-open door.
The man behind the shotgun grumbled menacingly. “Put the pizza down on the doorstep, son. Nice and easy there. No sudden moves, or I shoot.”
Emil fumbled to do as he was told, resting the box on the very red doorstep as the shotgun followed his every movement. There was a small pile of cash off to the side of the door.
“Is that—”
“Did I say you could talk, son? No. Now slide the box inside.”
He had to tilt the box sideways to make it fit through the crack in the door, but he did it. Emil got the box through to the other side. He just hoped the pizza survived mostly intact because the last thing he needed was the crazy old man blowing his head off because his pizza had gotten fucked up by gravity and momentum.
As soon as the box cleared the doorframe, the old man grunted and said “Keep the change,” before slamming the door in Emil’s face.
The first thing Emil heard upon returning from the delivery was, “Should’ve worn the jacket.” Kyle didn’t even look up from the pizza he was making.
Emil gave him the one-finger salute anyway. “Shut up.”
“There’s another delivery waiting on you. Make sure you follow the notes this time.”
“Fuck you,” Emil said as he snagged the next delivery.
This time though, he took pains to adhere to the notes.