Daniel Radcliffe rubbed the medallion on the edge of his cape and held it up to the light.
“Well that’s Christmas sorted, then.” he scoffed, huffing a stinking, moist breath onto the piece and shining it up once more.
Everyone else in the carriage had fallen silent.
“I’ve always wanted a trinket inscribed with the phrase…” he squinted more closely at the item held in his claw-like grip. “…Lord of the Bitches. It‘s very me, don’t you think?”
I didn’t answer. My brow was bathed in sweat.
Radcliffe did another line of cocaine off the floor through a rolled up copy of Metro. His carelessness with the white powder had created a dull haze in the air around us.
“So this is mine now, yeah? It’s a gift?” he slurred, tugging at his ruff and needlessly adjusting the single peacock feather in his trilby.
“Wha…whatever you want, guv. Just don’t hurt me.” I whispered, barely daring to catch his eye.
“Hurt you? Hurt…you? I could decimate you.” He clicked his fingers and my friend James turned into 15 owls.
“Take what you want. Take it all. I don’t want to be 15 owls like James.” I mumbled.
“Well you know what they say. Owls well that ends owls.” sneered Radcliffe, his neon pink lipstick eerily vibrant in the glow of the harsh lights. I could see that there was some on his teeth.
“Wait a minute. No one says that, do they? This is just awful. Brian!” he exclaimed.
The director yelled “Cut!” and everyone relaxed. Radcliffe went off to get a fresh parrot for his shoulder. I gagged slightly as the smell of 15 owls being nervous all over each other began to radiate across the set.
This was going to be an awful episode of Glee.
By Sean “Puff ‘P Diddy’ Daddy” Combs