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On Coworkers -- A Novella Pg 2/10 (Standard text)
Date posted: Aug 15/2012
Page Two of Ten
© 2010 Fred Brown
.
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
❱❱❱❱ NOTA BENE: This copy is in an enhanced, better-readable font, and can only be read on dark background screens.
The Standard text copy that's readable on cyan screens is here: On Coworkers -- A Novella (Enhanced text)
............................................................................................................................................
Page Links:
Pg 1 Pg 2 Pg 3 Pg 4
Pg 5 Pg 6 Pg 7 Pg 8
Pg 9 Pg 10
=============================================================================
"Oooo, you are such a handsome, funny, kitsune, aren't you?" Veronica
hissed. "Go ahead and laugh, fox, laugh. Such lovely golden fur. Maybe I'll turn
you into a throw rug and walk all over you in my bare feet. Let's see how much
laughing you do then. And just how much laughing will you do if everybody's as
sloppy with their funding as Melvin, and this company goes nipples up in a
month? Fine, it's a stereotype: Vampires take the long view, in everything.
Especially about money. I'm no different. Think that's preferable to the zero view
you mages seem to favour."
Ah yes, and peripheral vision revealed the presence of both no bra and a pair
of cutely perky nipples atop those lush breasts. The stereotype about vampires
being wicked flirts was alive and well here. Notwithstanding that she wasn't.
Veronica straightened up. She put a finger under her chin and a ditzy look
on her face. "Oh but wait: I'm a magic user," she squealed. "Out of money? No
problem. I'll just make more. Shazam, outta thin air."
Tom chuckled as he folded his arms over his chest. "Oh please, Veronica, a
little credit," he grinned. "Of all the dumb things people have tried to do with
magic, counterfeiting money or valuable commodities was among the first and
the dumbest. Since manna-made cash is even easier to detect than the ersatz
printed stuff. Fortunately, or our economic systems would be a total hash by now.
That said, without fail, the first stupid apprentice trick in the book, once they get
powerful enough, is to try and whip up some fake beer money. Then they get
caught and focus on the second stupid apprentice trick: Whipping up some fake
beer. Take yeast 'n sugar 'n hops, goose it all up to hyperspeed, and then pa-rty
hardy. And barf hardier."
"And you know this precisely how?" Veronica said slyly.
"Not gonna say," Tom said virtuously, his eyes twinkling. "Besides, the
statute of limitations--and the hangovers--have long since expired."
Veronica giggled. "Damn it, now how the hell am I supposed to intimidate
him if he just keeps making me laugh?"
Not at all. Which was the point. "I guess I'll just have to remain a
challenge," Tom said dryly.
Which wasn't a point that stood up well under inspection. As a magic user,
more than most people Tom knew what he was dealing with here. Vampires were
powerful, were either immune to or just sidestepped magic in some ways that
were not well understood (like most undead).
Anybody who wasn't intimidated arguably needed a good head MRI, 'cause
something wasn't working right up there. When a female vampire really turned it
on no male could resist her, even if she weighed three hundred pounds and
smelled of back bacon and stale Molsons (a Canadian stereotype there). Ditto for
a male vampire going after any female. If you had blood in you and were
breathing you were a vampire's prey, a source of life force on the hoof or
footpaw, no matter how many teeth you yourself owned.
They'd be useless anyway. Run a vampire through a tree chipper and what
do you get? An angry vampire.
Which would remove Veronica's clothes; nonono, let's just not think
about that, thank you. All vampires, bar none, were either stunningly beautiful or
impossibly hunky. Ditto Veronica. An ugly three hundred pound vampire was a
ludicrous contradiction in terms. Supermodels with fangs was closer to the truth;
a scary thought in and of itself. Nor, contrary to the standard mythology, did
today's vampires burst into flames in sunlight or respond to garlic or holy water
or crosses. Some very early ones had. Possibly some evolution in action there?
Tom had to admit it to himself. The scary got punted aside pretty fast
around Veronica; too gorgeous, But still, you were either very careful around
vampires or you wound up badly, permanently deflated. Or one of them. Given
that vampires didn't die some hysterical demographers predicted that Earth
would become the planet of the vampires in another few hundred years.
Cooler heads--literally--on the Undead Council pointed out that this would
mean no more prey; ie., everybody else. A planet of starving vampires would be
no fun at all.
What the undeads proposed to do about this curious long-range problem
wasn't clear. Undead could kill undead (somehow), and some of them did get
tired of it all and suicided. If that was the right word to use. It didn't seem likely
that a cull program was in the offing. Long-range problems can be a bit
intractable.
The immediate short-range problem in front of Tom smiled sweetly. "Oh,
well, a challenge, he says," Veronica cooed. Then bent back down, this time
draping her arms around his neck (Whoa!!).
"Take care, oh cute kitsune," Veronica purred, an inch from his nose again.
"Us gorgeous persnickety vampire accountants have ways to make you talk.
Moaning, howling, screaming in ecstasy: That's talking, isn't it? But I'll settle for
legible reports, which is the problem here. Can't read the damn numbers, much
less the text, or tell if anything matches the e-copy. So I need either a redo or a
reconciliation statement out of you as his administrator to validate his numbers.
I'll let you argue with him over which ones are real and which are just abstract
art. Oh, and I am disallowing line six on page two. I think he's claiming $500 for
ten sessions from the hotel masseuse. What the hell does that have to do with a
magic conference?"
Ohhh yah, another little ground rule about vampires: Don't let them get too
close to you. Oops. Tom swallowed. And tried to ignore the blatant signals
coming from the Trouser Department. His chair had wheels, so if he pushed hard
with his legs he might be able to shoot backwards away from her. This was
altogether too similar to a coming-on situation.
Actually, it was a coming-on situation. Just wasn't cum she was after.
Mind you, when a beautiful female vampire is in fact this close to you and
staring at you with those glowing red hypnotic eyes, legs tend to lose a lot of
functionality. Tom could feel her reaching out to him. Could sense her potent
hunger. Aimed at his neck. Her lips parted a bit, just enough to see the points of
those sharp, sharp fangs.
Now hold everything. What the hell was going on here? They had to work
together...
Tom lifted his paws, snuck them up between her arms, and covered her
eyes. Veronica squeaked, the connection broken before it could really sink in.
Simple tactic, sometimes worked if the vampire hadn't gotten too far. Then all
you had to worry about was their superhuman strength. Good luck with that.
But maybe that wouldn't be an issue here. "Point one of two: I'll be happy to
fix that report,," Tom growled. "If I remember correctly Melvin brought back
some very useful material from that conference. Every shekel spent worth it, and
I think I can explain that masseuse charge to your fiscal satisfaction."
A thumb stretched and a claw poked her lightly in the nose. "Point two:
When I take my paws away, do you mind explaining why you just tried to feed
on me? Or were gearing up for it. Yes, I'd probably be downright bellowing with
joy if you did me--assuming you're in the mood to stop before it got
life-threatening--and no, it apparently doesn't matter to you that I'm married.
But it sure as hell matters to me. As well, think my Collie fur wife would likely
have something to say about the artery-deep hickeys you'd leave behind."
Vampires cannot blush with embarrassment. If she could, Veronica would
have. Her arms tightened around his neck for a second, her lips pressing shut in
the effort it took to turn it off. Cautiously, Tom took his paws away to see she'd
scrunched her eyes closed.
Remarkable. She really would have done it. Or tried. And right here at work?
Not that anybody could have stopped her. But surely she valued her job more
than a snack of kitsune blood?
This is a vampire we're talking about. Redact that last sentence.
"I'm... sorry," Veronica choked, her eyes still closed. "I like you, Tom, I do,
and I've usually got better control than this, and I'm just having a rotten day. My
time of the month, and it's just..."
Hanh?
Veronica shuddered, then opened her eyes. "Four more days to go, then it's
over and dealt with. There's a good escort agency I go to, all buff, healthy guys.
Weightlifters. Usually takes five of them. But let's just say for the past week or
so, everybody I've met has had a bright neon 'Feed Here' sign taped to their
neck. Or it feels like it. Christ, this is torture."
"Ohhh. PFS. Pre-Feeding Syndrome," Tom breathed. "Know about it. Didn't,
um... know you had it."
Certainly it was kinda personal. And not quite good news. Perhaps the most
important thing to know about a vampire was, how long since they last fed? If
the answer was, too long, the next question was: And you're not running away
exactly why?
"I've got it this month, that's for damn sure," Veronica growled (and Tom
was deeply aware that her arms were still around his neck). "And a splendid
fuckin' month for it too, what with the mountain of work to do. Even at the best
of times everybody's scared I'm going to take a liter or ten out of them.
Somehow I don't think I've been inspiring much confidence lately."
Could one have sympathy for a vampire? If one were careful, perhaps some.
However skilled and competent she was at her job there would never be any real
acceptance or friendship for her. Unless the company hired more undead. A
difficult spot.
"But I've noticed. Can't include you on that list," Veronica whispered. "And
damn, Tom, but you've got nice fur. Think you might be the only person around
here who hasn't secretly got a wooden stake hidden in a desk drawer. Just in
case they have to plunge it through my heart. For all that would do anything
other than ruin my dress."
"Oh hey, some foreplay moves are just traditional, y'know?" Tom joked. He
reached up to put his paws on her hips; risky, but felt like the right thing to do.
"For me, let's just say I know what it's like to be part magical. Pencil in at least
some understanding. To be completely honest I think folks are more afraid of
what you'll do to their budgets than their carotids. A vampire comptroller. Good
Lord, the idea alone is enough to keep people on the straight and narrow. How'd
you ever get this job? For absolute certain you didn't sleep your way to the top."
"Goodie, so I am doing something right around here," Veronica purred. "This
job? A bit of a story. But you first: Why does a bear fur need a masseuse at a
magic conference?"
"Hmmm. A straight line. Wish I could give you a solid punchline to answer
that. But it has to come in two parts. Melvin's a bear fur, and a real wizard at
chemistry magic. We snagged him away from MIT and have profited greatly by it.
He wanted to do practical work that made money. But he is a bear fur, and bears
aren't exactly built to stand upright on their hindpaws, even as modified as he is.
First thing we had to do when he got here was buy a custom-made chair. Whuffo?
He's got a terribly bad back."
"So get thee to a healer, furry magic user. Why else do we top up
everybody's Medicare with gold-plated insurance?"
"Fine plan, except he's a grade five mage, so he's resistant to most healers.
And he's loath to stoke up on ordinary painkillers. Conventional medicine and
surgery might help him, but doubtful. What does help, however, are frequent and
skillful backrubs. Met his wife one time, this short cute redhead. They make quite
the contrast. As much as she really likes big cuddly bears--two and half meters
tall; a Kodiak--he really likes her talents at massage. Especially when she walks
on his back."
"Um. Some distracting mental pictures there, which says more about the
distractable vampire than the bear and the redhead," Veronica said wryly. "And
this relates to a magic conference precisely how?"
Tom shrugged. "Part two. Professional conferences anywhere are all the
same: Busy, intensive, exhausting, tons of schmoozing and boozing happening,
and a mountain of information to absorb. For magic conferences, add also some
risky, since things can happen when you stuff a hotel full of cranky magic users.
Y'think maybe? That masseuse damn near killed herself keeping that bear mobile
and relatively pain-free and working effectively. And it prevented him from taking
a week off to recuperate. That's why it was a legit expense, and as soon as you
get out of my lap--or at least it seems like you want in it--I'll write it up for you.
Okay?"
Meaning he wasn't going to fold on the issue. Veronica scowled, her hands
playing absently in the fur on his neck. "I... oh heck, okay. That's not quite what
I'd consider legit from a business point of view, but there is such a thing as costs
incurred to accommodate employee health problems. Yah, and I understand sooo
well what it's like to have health problems. Provisionally I'll allow it, and book it
as such. Just out of curiousity, what does he do when he's around here? Can't see
him packing his wife in his briefcase every morning. Although it sounds like she
might fit."
Tom cocked a thumb over his shoulder. "Easy answer. Look out the window
and you'll see the thing that sealed the deal for him, over and above all the
bribes we hurled at him. Took me some... interesting negotiations."
Veronica blinked, then looked at the window. She took her arms away from
his neck (phew!), then straightened up and walked over to peer out. Tom got up
and moved to stand beside her. He had a couple of inches on her. They were on
the third floor.
"What am I looking...? Oh for God's sake," Veronica suddenly giggled, and
pointed downwards. "That's what we get for putting these offices in the low-rent
district to save a buck. I never noticed. That's a massage parlour across the
street! And by 'massage' I am using a honking euphemism, since that's not their
first-line service. You're telling me his wife lets him go there?"
"Yes. Once I persuaded them that he really did just need good massage
work and not the, er, other work. One of the girls trained up enough to do a
credible job. Since it was Marilyn who helped train her, and allegedly threatened
to rip the girl's tits off if she did anything more than massage--redheads--you
might say we have a reasonable accommodation for an employee's health
problems. Apparently the parlour's made money off their extra skill-set too. And
bonus: It doesn't cost us a penny. All very neat, huh?"
"You persuaded them? And what did your Collie fur wife have to say about
that?" Veronica smiled, a perfect eyebrow raised.
---
Letitia took a lap of wine. "Yes, what did your wife say about that?" she said
sweetly. "Considering that you never mentioned it to her." Now here was a
chance to yank his tails if ever there was one.
Tom paused, a chunk of steak halfway to his muzzle. He put his fork down.
"Whoopsie. Or have I let the kitsune out of the bag here?" he muttered.
Tom glared at a grinning Letitia. "Oh wotthehell, so I walked into a massage
parlour and talked to the balding, obese, 60-year-old owner," he growled. "She
listened, I pulled off a neat coup, and made a certain bear fur very happy. A good
days work, and wasn't worth mentioning in my opinion. And if you think I was
tempted to sample the, ah, merchandise when I've got you at home, please,
think again. No need to shop for silver--and rather tarnished at that--when
you've already got gold. With reference to your blowjobs. No sin, no foul."
Letitia took another lap of wine, her eyes laughing. She ran her tongue
around her muzzle in a manner that very nearly was a sin. Implying the
possibility of some sinnin' later on. Tom gulped. Fur women and their tongues.
"I suppose I can take the compliment in the spirit intended," Letitia giggled.
"Not even tempted a little? Just a teensy bit?"
"One girl did offer a grooming session, nudge, nudge. They had both fur and
human clients. Took some diplomacy to turn her down. I pointed out that my wife
would almost certainly catch her scent, then groom me with a rusty Skil-Saw.
Ouchie."
"Let's not completely rule that out," Letitia murmured. "As we left our
vulpine hero he had a sexy, horny, hungry vampire comptroller in his office
apparently coming on to him. Do tell how the rest of the story goes, hmmm?"
=============================================================================
<<< PAGE 1 OF 10 First Page PAGE 3 OF 10 >>>
Date posted: Aug 15/2012
Page Two of Ten
© 2010 Fred Brown
.
............................................................................................................................................
............................................................................................................................................
❱❱❱❱ NOTA BENE: This copy is in an enhanced, better-readable font, and can only be read on dark background screens.
The Standard text copy that's readable on cyan screens is here: On Coworkers -- A Novella (Enhanced text)
............................................................................................................................................
Page Links:
Pg 1 Pg 2 Pg 3 Pg 4
Pg 5 Pg 6 Pg 7 Pg 8
Pg 9 Pg 10
=============================================================================
"Oooo, you are such a handsome, funny, kitsune, aren't you?" Veronica
hissed. "Go ahead and laugh, fox, laugh. Such lovely golden fur. Maybe I'll turn
you into a throw rug and walk all over you in my bare feet. Let's see how much
laughing you do then. And just how much laughing will you do if everybody's as
sloppy with their funding as Melvin, and this company goes nipples up in a
month? Fine, it's a stereotype: Vampires take the long view, in everything.
Especially about money. I'm no different. Think that's preferable to the zero view
you mages seem to favour."
Ah yes, and peripheral vision revealed the presence of both no bra and a pair
of cutely perky nipples atop those lush breasts. The stereotype about vampires
being wicked flirts was alive and well here. Notwithstanding that she wasn't.
Veronica straightened up. She put a finger under her chin and a ditzy look
on her face. "Oh but wait: I'm a magic user," she squealed. "Out of money? No
problem. I'll just make more. Shazam, outta thin air."
Tom chuckled as he folded his arms over his chest. "Oh please, Veronica, a
little credit," he grinned. "Of all the dumb things people have tried to do with
magic, counterfeiting money or valuable commodities was among the first and
the dumbest. Since manna-made cash is even easier to detect than the ersatz
printed stuff. Fortunately, or our economic systems would be a total hash by now.
That said, without fail, the first stupid apprentice trick in the book, once they get
powerful enough, is to try and whip up some fake beer money. Then they get
caught and focus on the second stupid apprentice trick: Whipping up some fake
beer. Take yeast 'n sugar 'n hops, goose it all up to hyperspeed, and then pa-rty
hardy. And barf hardier."
"And you know this precisely how?" Veronica said slyly.
"Not gonna say," Tom said virtuously, his eyes twinkling. "Besides, the
statute of limitations--and the hangovers--have long since expired."
Veronica giggled. "Damn it, now how the hell am I supposed to intimidate
him if he just keeps making me laugh?"
Not at all. Which was the point. "I guess I'll just have to remain a
challenge," Tom said dryly.
Which wasn't a point that stood up well under inspection. As a magic user,
more than most people Tom knew what he was dealing with here. Vampires were
powerful, were either immune to or just sidestepped magic in some ways that
were not well understood (like most undead).
Anybody who wasn't intimidated arguably needed a good head MRI, 'cause
something wasn't working right up there. When a female vampire really turned it
on no male could resist her, even if she weighed three hundred pounds and
smelled of back bacon and stale Molsons (a Canadian stereotype there). Ditto for
a male vampire going after any female. If you had blood in you and were
breathing you were a vampire's prey, a source of life force on the hoof or
footpaw, no matter how many teeth you yourself owned.
They'd be useless anyway. Run a vampire through a tree chipper and what
do you get? An angry vampire.
Which would remove Veronica's clothes; nonono, let's just not think
about that, thank you. All vampires, bar none, were either stunningly beautiful or
impossibly hunky. Ditto Veronica. An ugly three hundred pound vampire was a
ludicrous contradiction in terms. Supermodels with fangs was closer to the truth;
a scary thought in and of itself. Nor, contrary to the standard mythology, did
today's vampires burst into flames in sunlight or respond to garlic or holy water
or crosses. Some very early ones had. Possibly some evolution in action there?
Tom had to admit it to himself. The scary got punted aside pretty fast
around Veronica; too gorgeous, But still, you were either very careful around
vampires or you wound up badly, permanently deflated. Or one of them. Given
that vampires didn't die some hysterical demographers predicted that Earth
would become the planet of the vampires in another few hundred years.
Cooler heads--literally--on the Undead Council pointed out that this would
mean no more prey; ie., everybody else. A planet of starving vampires would be
no fun at all.
What the undeads proposed to do about this curious long-range problem
wasn't clear. Undead could kill undead (somehow), and some of them did get
tired of it all and suicided. If that was the right word to use. It didn't seem likely
that a cull program was in the offing. Long-range problems can be a bit
intractable.
The immediate short-range problem in front of Tom smiled sweetly. "Oh,
well, a challenge, he says," Veronica cooed. Then bent back down, this time
draping her arms around his neck (Whoa!!).
"Take care, oh cute kitsune," Veronica purred, an inch from his nose again.
"Us gorgeous persnickety vampire accountants have ways to make you talk.
Moaning, howling, screaming in ecstasy: That's talking, isn't it? But I'll settle for
legible reports, which is the problem here. Can't read the damn numbers, much
less the text, or tell if anything matches the e-copy. So I need either a redo or a
reconciliation statement out of you as his administrator to validate his numbers.
I'll let you argue with him over which ones are real and which are just abstract
art. Oh, and I am disallowing line six on page two. I think he's claiming $500 for
ten sessions from the hotel masseuse. What the hell does that have to do with a
magic conference?"
Ohhh yah, another little ground rule about vampires: Don't let them get too
close to you. Oops. Tom swallowed. And tried to ignore the blatant signals
coming from the Trouser Department. His chair had wheels, so if he pushed hard
with his legs he might be able to shoot backwards away from her. This was
altogether too similar to a coming-on situation.
Actually, it was a coming-on situation. Just wasn't cum she was after.
Mind you, when a beautiful female vampire is in fact this close to you and
staring at you with those glowing red hypnotic eyes, legs tend to lose a lot of
functionality. Tom could feel her reaching out to him. Could sense her potent
hunger. Aimed at his neck. Her lips parted a bit, just enough to see the points of
those sharp, sharp fangs.
Now hold everything. What the hell was going on here? They had to work
together...
Tom lifted his paws, snuck them up between her arms, and covered her
eyes. Veronica squeaked, the connection broken before it could really sink in.
Simple tactic, sometimes worked if the vampire hadn't gotten too far. Then all
you had to worry about was their superhuman strength. Good luck with that.
But maybe that wouldn't be an issue here. "Point one of two: I'll be happy to
fix that report,," Tom growled. "If I remember correctly Melvin brought back
some very useful material from that conference. Every shekel spent worth it, and
I think I can explain that masseuse charge to your fiscal satisfaction."
A thumb stretched and a claw poked her lightly in the nose. "Point two:
When I take my paws away, do you mind explaining why you just tried to feed
on me? Or were gearing up for it. Yes, I'd probably be downright bellowing with
joy if you did me--assuming you're in the mood to stop before it got
life-threatening--and no, it apparently doesn't matter to you that I'm married.
But it sure as hell matters to me. As well, think my Collie fur wife would likely
have something to say about the artery-deep hickeys you'd leave behind."
Vampires cannot blush with embarrassment. If she could, Veronica would
have. Her arms tightened around his neck for a second, her lips pressing shut in
the effort it took to turn it off. Cautiously, Tom took his paws away to see she'd
scrunched her eyes closed.
Remarkable. She really would have done it. Or tried. And right here at work?
Not that anybody could have stopped her. But surely she valued her job more
than a snack of kitsune blood?
This is a vampire we're talking about. Redact that last sentence.
"I'm... sorry," Veronica choked, her eyes still closed. "I like you, Tom, I do,
and I've usually got better control than this, and I'm just having a rotten day. My
time of the month, and it's just..."
Hanh?
Veronica shuddered, then opened her eyes. "Four more days to go, then it's
over and dealt with. There's a good escort agency I go to, all buff, healthy guys.
Weightlifters. Usually takes five of them. But let's just say for the past week or
so, everybody I've met has had a bright neon 'Feed Here' sign taped to their
neck. Or it feels like it. Christ, this is torture."
"Ohhh. PFS. Pre-Feeding Syndrome," Tom breathed. "Know about it. Didn't,
um... know you had it."
Certainly it was kinda personal. And not quite good news. Perhaps the most
important thing to know about a vampire was, how long since they last fed? If
the answer was, too long, the next question was: And you're not running away
exactly why?
"I've got it this month, that's for damn sure," Veronica growled (and Tom
was deeply aware that her arms were still around his neck). "And a splendid
fuckin' month for it too, what with the mountain of work to do. Even at the best
of times everybody's scared I'm going to take a liter or ten out of them.
Somehow I don't think I've been inspiring much confidence lately."
Could one have sympathy for a vampire? If one were careful, perhaps some.
However skilled and competent she was at her job there would never be any real
acceptance or friendship for her. Unless the company hired more undead. A
difficult spot.
"But I've noticed. Can't include you on that list," Veronica whispered. "And
damn, Tom, but you've got nice fur. Think you might be the only person around
here who hasn't secretly got a wooden stake hidden in a desk drawer. Just in
case they have to plunge it through my heart. For all that would do anything
other than ruin my dress."
"Oh hey, some foreplay moves are just traditional, y'know?" Tom joked. He
reached up to put his paws on her hips; risky, but felt like the right thing to do.
"For me, let's just say I know what it's like to be part magical. Pencil in at least
some understanding. To be completely honest I think folks are more afraid of
what you'll do to their budgets than their carotids. A vampire comptroller. Good
Lord, the idea alone is enough to keep people on the straight and narrow. How'd
you ever get this job? For absolute certain you didn't sleep your way to the top."
"Goodie, so I am doing something right around here," Veronica purred. "This
job? A bit of a story. But you first: Why does a bear fur need a masseuse at a
magic conference?"
"Hmmm. A straight line. Wish I could give you a solid punchline to answer
that. But it has to come in two parts. Melvin's a bear fur, and a real wizard at
chemistry magic. We snagged him away from MIT and have profited greatly by it.
He wanted to do practical work that made money. But he is a bear fur, and bears
aren't exactly built to stand upright on their hindpaws, even as modified as he is.
First thing we had to do when he got here was buy a custom-made chair. Whuffo?
He's got a terribly bad back."
"So get thee to a healer, furry magic user. Why else do we top up
everybody's Medicare with gold-plated insurance?"
"Fine plan, except he's a grade five mage, so he's resistant to most healers.
And he's loath to stoke up on ordinary painkillers. Conventional medicine and
surgery might help him, but doubtful. What does help, however, are frequent and
skillful backrubs. Met his wife one time, this short cute redhead. They make quite
the contrast. As much as she really likes big cuddly bears--two and half meters
tall; a Kodiak--he really likes her talents at massage. Especially when she walks
on his back."
"Um. Some distracting mental pictures there, which says more about the
distractable vampire than the bear and the redhead," Veronica said wryly. "And
this relates to a magic conference precisely how?"
Tom shrugged. "Part two. Professional conferences anywhere are all the
same: Busy, intensive, exhausting, tons of schmoozing and boozing happening,
and a mountain of information to absorb. For magic conferences, add also some
risky, since things can happen when you stuff a hotel full of cranky magic users.
Y'think maybe? That masseuse damn near killed herself keeping that bear mobile
and relatively pain-free and working effectively. And it prevented him from taking
a week off to recuperate. That's why it was a legit expense, and as soon as you
get out of my lap--or at least it seems like you want in it--I'll write it up for you.
Okay?"
Meaning he wasn't going to fold on the issue. Veronica scowled, her hands
playing absently in the fur on his neck. "I... oh heck, okay. That's not quite what
I'd consider legit from a business point of view, but there is such a thing as costs
incurred to accommodate employee health problems. Yah, and I understand sooo
well what it's like to have health problems. Provisionally I'll allow it, and book it
as such. Just out of curiousity, what does he do when he's around here? Can't see
him packing his wife in his briefcase every morning. Although it sounds like she
might fit."
Tom cocked a thumb over his shoulder. "Easy answer. Look out the window
and you'll see the thing that sealed the deal for him, over and above all the
bribes we hurled at him. Took me some... interesting negotiations."
Veronica blinked, then looked at the window. She took her arms away from
his neck (phew!), then straightened up and walked over to peer out. Tom got up
and moved to stand beside her. He had a couple of inches on her. They were on
the third floor.
"What am I looking...? Oh for God's sake," Veronica suddenly giggled, and
pointed downwards. "That's what we get for putting these offices in the low-rent
district to save a buck. I never noticed. That's a massage parlour across the
street! And by 'massage' I am using a honking euphemism, since that's not their
first-line service. You're telling me his wife lets him go there?"
"Yes. Once I persuaded them that he really did just need good massage
work and not the, er, other work. One of the girls trained up enough to do a
credible job. Since it was Marilyn who helped train her, and allegedly threatened
to rip the girl's tits off if she did anything more than massage--redheads--you
might say we have a reasonable accommodation for an employee's health
problems. Apparently the parlour's made money off their extra skill-set too. And
bonus: It doesn't cost us a penny. All very neat, huh?"
"You persuaded them? And what did your Collie fur wife have to say about
that?" Veronica smiled, a perfect eyebrow raised.
---
Letitia took a lap of wine. "Yes, what did your wife say about that?" she said
sweetly. "Considering that you never mentioned it to her." Now here was a
chance to yank his tails if ever there was one.
Tom paused, a chunk of steak halfway to his muzzle. He put his fork down.
"Whoopsie. Or have I let the kitsune out of the bag here?" he muttered.
Tom glared at a grinning Letitia. "Oh wotthehell, so I walked into a massage
parlour and talked to the balding, obese, 60-year-old owner," he growled. "She
listened, I pulled off a neat coup, and made a certain bear fur very happy. A good
days work, and wasn't worth mentioning in my opinion. And if you think I was
tempted to sample the, ah, merchandise when I've got you at home, please,
think again. No need to shop for silver--and rather tarnished at that--when
you've already got gold. With reference to your blowjobs. No sin, no foul."
Letitia took another lap of wine, her eyes laughing. She ran her tongue
around her muzzle in a manner that very nearly was a sin. Implying the
possibility of some sinnin' later on. Tom gulped. Fur women and their tongues.
"I suppose I can take the compliment in the spirit intended," Letitia giggled.
"Not even tempted a little? Just a teensy bit?"
"One girl did offer a grooming session, nudge, nudge. They had both fur and
human clients. Took some diplomacy to turn her down. I pointed out that my wife
would almost certainly catch her scent, then groom me with a rusty Skil-Saw.
Ouchie."
"Let's not completely rule that out," Letitia murmured. "As we left our
vulpine hero he had a sexy, horny, hungry vampire comptroller in his office
apparently coming on to him. Do tell how the rest of the story goes, hmmm?"
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