Even Remotely Godlike

Grant Dale-Cooke was a perverted trickster. Not a glamorous title, to be sure, but that's only a title that they refer to him as in polite company.

He was smart, sure, but it was channeled into the wrong avenues, and such his reputation preceded him as the town pervert and king prankster, having numerous incidents that exposed him as such. Fresh out of High School a whole six months early, he was kicked out for one too many reported incidents. Though to be fair, the straw that broke the camels' back was a false accusation after he just promised himself that he'd stop now. Not that he knew who framed him for what is now known as the 'Security Toilet' incident, but he did make enemies with every student that would walk the halls at least once, so he would have trouble figuring out who. Such is the life of someone having a special kind of obsessive disorder and not being diagnosed with it.

His appearance was one would be described as gangly, thin as a rail. He wore his hair in a sort of long center-parted black hair, and was clean shaven. He always wore casual clothing, not even having a pair of sicks that can be labelled formal. Various T-shirts of cartoons and anime he likes, baggy jeans, and red running shoes normally was his 'formal' attire; If it was cold, it'd be a thermal longsleeve under a t-shirt. On a 'job' he would go for a jumpsuit with a harness he made that contained and hid the equipment he needed for his tricks.

Grant settles back in the beat-up armchair that he cleaned and fixed from his weekly scrapyard raiding, looking up at the ceiling at how it all went wrong. Just three days in his small apartment after leaving and he was nostalgic already for the days when he'd go. He was the type to actually enjoy going, unbeknownst to everyone he actually learned a lot, it's just that his 'expertise' prevented people actually seeing his real grades clearly.

The repaired flatscreen computer monitor serving as a TV in his place was still running as he was pondering, playing a rerun of an old rubberhose cartoon, and reached for the remote, before he forgot for the upteenth time that he has yet to acquire one. Not Diving Day this week, after all; too upset.

Just as he was about to silently fume again, he jolted in his chair. The doorbell had been rung. "I don't get visitors..." He mumbled to himself in puzzlement as he got up to answer the door.

He opened it to a rather shapely woman wearing what can be assumed as an odd delivery uniform and a grin wider than her face. Grant was confused at her appearance, not expecting such a person, much less somebody he didn't recognise. She was wearing a bright green soft shell jacket, which was tight on her body alone revealing the curvy form she had, but seemed to custom-fit around her massive bust, which stretched the logo on her left breast. Her pants looked more like yoga pants than anything else, how it clung so tightly, as well as being the same dark purple as the jacket. Grant could've easily mistook her for a jogger if it wasn't for the box she was carrying and the ball cap covering her eyes, said ball cap having the image of some cartoon representation of a grinning man and woman in a toga with the letters 'A.D.D.' flanking them.

Just as he finished his scan of her; with curves like that, he had to make several stops before continuing; The mystery delivery woman jolted up, as if realising she had company. "Oh! Hi there, Mr. Dale-Cooke, This is yours, straight from the boss and bossess!" She excitedly gushed, shoving the safety-green box she was carrying into Grant's chest, almost winding him. Grant was even more confused, but she wasn't letting up, spouting a bunch of words that might've made a good sentence if she could control the stream of her talking. Grant caught bits and pieces like warnings and terms and conditions, but there was a kaleidoscope of distractions, from the bouncing up and down that the lady was doing, sending her mighty cleavage aloft, to the jumbled mess that she was spouting, to the really hefty weight of the cat-sized box he was holding barely.

At last, she ran out of steam, and said in a hurry, "Welp, that's all I was told to say, so see ya!" He couldn't even say for her to hold up before she took off, though not very fast to be honest. In her hurry, she tripped down the spiral staircase to his apartment, and for a brief second, Grant thought she had no feet at all. The sound of comical sound effects were going off, but that had to be just the TV having great timing. Out of sight, he finally heard the stock sound of a pot being smashed, a beat later a cry of "I'm oka-ay" was warbled from the bottom.

Grant was at a loss for words, to be honest, but the box was heavy, so he took it in to set it on the counter.