The tedium of the mid-December day was stretching long. Not enough people around to do anything of significance (safely, at least). Nor enough folks absent on holiday to shut down the building – just the right sort of skeletal attendance to be simultaneously busy and bored. So it was somewhat of a curious happenstance, when a digital inquiry rattled from the stalwart black brick by my purse. The finger print smattered screen shouted with bright whites while the rattle-tattle sing song of vibration jingled sleepy keys and silver coins about with questionable urgency. Although the coffee beside it was my primary interest, the unexpected messenger was a distraction from eye aching emails and ad speckled news articles. I picked up the phone with my fingers as I sipped the caffeinated chalk water and zig zagged a thumb to unlock it, “Meet up outside my building for lunch?” Proposed that most recent entry in a winding chat log. I half-yawned, half-heaved a sigh over my still temperate java broth, brushing an island of foam against a ceramic shoreline. I could certainly do with a walk at the least “Yeh omw,” I mashed back and sipped the black mire in my cup again.

Scrolling upward would reveal the contents of a casual conversation; gossip interspersed with cerulean hyperlinks. Nervous meandering of topics shifted cautiously about an approaching interview. Worries and concerns bounced around before being felled by a smattered sprinkling of lol's and capped off with a hopeful 'good luck'. The time stamp from three hours ago felt like eons and the memory, flushed from my mind under a torrent of lab reports and associated correspondence came bubbling back the forefront of my thoughts. The lack of caps or concerns made the lunch proposal worrisome. It developed a tone of uncertainty. Had she gotten the position? Was she worried she’d done poorly? The note soured in the back of my thoughts and the request began to develop a sort of melancholy tone. A sort of thing I all too often heard from coworkers struggling through the molasses sea of career progression. I was fairly accustomed to summarized short responses. A typist struggling for words under waves of emotion – crashing against them as they attempted to communicate while drowning in under the tidal forces of rejection. Months of effort reduced to wreckage against the merciless rocky shore of peer review that demanded the most obtuse of requirements and seniority to navigate. As I locked the door to my office I into the back of my mind for the dusty folder of condolences I’d assembled over the years. Being a friend meant there was an expectation for affectation when abiding lamentation. Thankfully, the number of close associates I keep fits on a single hand.

An elevator trip and a lobby later and I found myself chasing plumes of breath on the street. It was an altogether warm day for December but that didn’t stop the ambient chill from condensing around my snout with every exhale. The nibbling bite of the colds could not penetrate the snug crimson of my blazer so it seemed to focus solely upon the charcoal black of my nose. I hurried along to the more sun-lit sections of the mid-day office block while my gaze traced the cracks of the sidewalk thoughtfully. I mused about which sort of luncheon would be most ideal to resolve a prospective rejection notice. What soup or salad is a good side for a set back? Is it better to passed over for one of your peers with limitless breadsticks or a plate of fries? I supposed the tang of tears would compliment the latter.

A cut corner promised a sunlit street to warm my thoughts. Instead I walked in to the shadow of a startling spectacle. By itself, the terraced tower of Lazaurochs’ corporate office was an intimidating sight – positioned so its sleek design presided over a packed parking lot below. Bullhead – big and blue – it caught your eye and it held you. It also made the figure leaning against the structure all the more awe inspiring by comparison. Cream toned toes spilled over a sidewalk whose splintered surface sputtered dust and disbelief onto the obsidian street they overflowed into. Table scale ankles retreated under a lavender tapestry that spanned skyward – shaming the trees positioned nearby. Dark violet tones curved up over the awning of knees and hugging close to a wreathe of hips, vanished beneath a second curtain of similar tone. Buttons better suited as hubcaps clutched tight an overwhelming overcoat; their spacing almost equal to the span between floors in the building behind. The whole ensemble was tucked away under a fold of arms that could have bore vans as bracers – framing a vaguely canine muzzle. Copper stripes faded into a coffee cream coat while the sharp silver of a smirk glistened in the sunlight, framed by two waterfalls of blond hair spilling down like spoils of white-gold. A shock of sapphire stare stretched along that length of snout; pouring over a rose quartz boulder of a nose and down onto me. I stood there gawking for a moment before recomposing myself with another snort of misting breath.

“So, looks like you got the big promotion after all!”

---

A decidedly non-cannon gift piece for  Fauxlacine to celebrate a rather awesome personal achievement and a birthday earlier in the month.
Looks like she is moving up in the world in more ways than one! Be sure to drop by her page and congratulate her if you're so inclined.



This stunning piece was a collaboration by  setithe-wurst and  shnider
I am absolutely blown away with the results. If you are a fan of ladies of astounding scale posed perfectly, give them both a watch because they are both superb artists in their own right.