Quality

Terry arrived in a rumpled robe and met with immediate disapproval. "We may have a spare," Nicky mumbled, moving away to rummage in the storage closet. "So, do we have standards suddenly?" Terry asked, grinning. "We do have standards, Terry; we have always had standards," Chad replied (with no grin visible), "and they're going to tighten in the best interest of the cult and all of the cultists therein." "Uh, okay, sorry," Terry pouted, looking around at the others in their pressed and pristine ritual attire. "I prioritized timeliness over cleanliness." "They're all next to godliness," Nicky prickled, handing him a folded bundle. "Try not to get donuts on this one in the next 10 minutes." Before Terry could punt at a clever retort, Chad asked to see his ritual text; he dug the wad of paper out of his jeans pocket while Chad gestured to Moira, who grimly stepped forward. "Wait ... what's this now?" Terry reacted as Moira took the paper from him and pried it open to read it. "We have created a position of Ritual Red Pen," Chad explained. "Moira will review the construct of every ceremony, from the diagrams to the arrangement of people and the invocations themselves. She will add, edit, and delete as needed. She is ... our quality control." "She's our corrections officer, you mean!" Terry huffed, feeling a tingle of doom. His eyes stared at the lanyard around Moira's neck where it did, in fact, suspend a red pen. "It may feel like that to some," Chad whispered, but Moira had locked eyes with Terry as she raised the pen to her mouth and removed the cap with her teeth. "But, ultimately," Chad continued, "we'd like the Old Ones to tear fewer people apart when we summon them." "Just kill me now," Terry mouthed as Moira began to draw the first of many lines.