The second weirdo

    ~

This time the knock wasn't loud like the first one, but it was a repeating knock—unending. Mr. Mugler might have preferred the knock, but it's even more annoying than the first.

"Come I..."

Just like the initial pattern, the door swung open, not waiting for Mr. Mugler to finish his words. Mr. Mugler ended up in a whirl of thoughts. 'Is this an afternoon mare?'

A lady in a black overflowing gown walked in. Her long black hair, which has a white dyed tip at one long end of her hair, was covered with a transparent black netted scarf. She was in her prime age— you can say she's more younger than the chubby man but her black crystal eyes were too mean and evil, just like a dark sorceress. 

She tilted her head, looking around the post office. The wrinkle lines that were drawn across her nose already showed that she disliked where she had just entered.

She turned to Mr. Mugler, who was still, like a man who touched an eel some minutes ago, regretting it. "Hello, mail man?  Slipping her gloves off, she dropped them on the counter. "I need your help. Will you give me a hand?"

Though Mr. Mugler was dumb for a moment, he could clearly hear what the woman was saying. "Give her a hand with something?" Mr. Mugler looked beside her, trying to check if there was any load or something that might've gone along with her phrase. 'Nothing... there's nothing to help her with', noticing that she didn't have any loads with her.

"You moronic fool, what are you staring at?" The lady interrupted his thoughts with the scowl in her voice, seeming like the scowl had been there waiting to be released. How long did he take to stare and not answer this woman? He doesn't have any idea.

"Um," Mugler stuttered. "What... What can I help? I mean, give you a hand with?" As soon as he said this, he felt the scowling face melt into a smile. He was left wondering how fast this woman changed her mood.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath with a—probably a fake smile spreading wide across her face, with a little clearing of her throat. "Did you see any little chubby man with an annoying face?" She asked.

Mr. Mugler didn't know what reaction to put forward; he was just expressionless. "What's that look on her face? evil look." He tried to play the question and the tone that came with it in his head.

"Are you deaf?" Another scowl was growing under her eyes. "No," Mugler said. "I haven't seen anyone today. I mean, you're my first customer." He smiled, trying to hide the expression on his face. He was lying. Yes, she wasn't his first customer, but her appearance wasn't good enough to be told the truth.

An evil flick of a smile goes across her face. "You know what I do to people that lie to Mistress Christine?"

"I am not lying, ma'am," Mugler answered, trying his best to look calm. He didn't like the fact that he was going to fess up to such a woman. Whatever that was going on, he knew that the nameless chubby man—that's what he had already tagged him—was the good man, but the lady before him was trying to stop him. At that point, his hand clutched the cupboard. Does the box of letters have anything to do with this? The box was the only thing that the chubby man left behind with his words, "Be sure to mail those letters."

"I have to mail it," Mugler thought. The woman turned away from him like she was lost in thought. "What is that chubby puffy up to?" Very audibly, and with her hands on her chin moving to and fro, simultaneously. Mr. Mugler just stood there looking at her, hoping she wouldn't pester him more about the chubby man, because he may let the cat out of the bag.

"Am I in the right multiverse reality? What is he doing?"

"Um– uh, Miss Christy?" Mr. Mugler asked. "May I?"

The nasty woman turned sharply at him, glaring like she wanted to tear the stupid part of him apart. "It's Mistress Christine, you defeatist!"

"Sorry, ma'am, I just wanted to know if you needed any letters to be mailed today." Mr. Mugler trembled a bit. All he wanted to do was pull the chubby man out of the context, but mistress Christine was not interested in doing anything else but coming for the chubby man. She walked closely to Mugler, leaning on the counter, with her hands clutched together, and the line parting her breasts was visible.

Mr. Mugler became stiff immediately after he saw that. "Mr. Muglie," she said, looking at the metal in his pocket.

"It's Mugler, ma'am."

"Stop talking! Well, Mr. Mugler or whatever, if I find out that you were lying to me, I will come back here to this multiverse reality and find you. I'll wring your ear out of that deformed head of yours". Mr. Mugler's eyeballs were just moving obliquely, like he was preventing himself from seeing something.

"What is wrong with you, daft?" Mistress Christine snarled. "You heard me, right?"

Mr. Mugler was only left to nod. The scary lady leaned away from the counter, with her gloves getting back into her hands. She closed her eyes once more and breathed in like she was meditating in a yoga class. "I'll see you again, Mr. Muglie." She left.

"Phew!" It was like a heavy pound of load was pulled away from Mugler's arms. "These letters are going out first thing tomorrow morning," he said hesitantly, though no one was in the room to hear him.