Isyra: The Last Outpost

Andrea slowed down quickly, allowing herself to melt into the lunch time crowd beginning to coalesce outside of her favorite office building. All gray spires and industrial American architecture, it was the perfect attitude killer.

Exactly what she was looking for. She shot a quick glance over the tops of the mass of wriggling formal skirts and expensive ties, standing on her toes. Through the crowd, he was advancing. A menacing man three times her size, and he did not look happy at all. She smiled coyly, bumping into someone in her carelessness.

“Watch it!”

Shouted the young woman, her tray of cheap coffee toppling over the grimy sidewalk. It was hard for anything for Andrea to feel anything as she slipped back into the crowd, dissolving through the expensive glass doors of the building, she heard the woman yell something inappriopriate that began with the little c.

Andrea couldn’t help but think of herself a year ago, in a dead end jon just like that young woman. Running errands and getting cheap corner shop coffee for a myriad of faceless executives and greasy sales representatives. An event like she just caused would have caused a day of pain and struggle, but that was the way things happened here.

It was her own fault. She should have been watching herself a little better. She’d survive, no use crying over spilt coffee.

Making her way to the secretary’s desk, she strasightened out her cheap denim jacket like it mattered.

”Yes?”

The answering machine made of flesh and horned glasses asked with a sneer, icy eyes staring at her over the her rims.

Andrea slipped a crumpled piece of paper over the polished glass desk toward her, receiving a questioning glare.

“This is, miss..?”

”Moreleski. Janet Moreleski. And it’s a note, just for little old you, sweet heart.”

Andrea flashed a thousand kilowatt smile tapping her index finger on the note.

Cautiously the desk jockey took it and read it dismissively.

“Ma’am..”

She began, offending Andrea with her sudden change of tone and title.

“This is an executive building. We rent office space. We’re not a bank.”

Andrea rapped her fingers on the counter as the talking switchboard folded her note neatly in half and slid it back.

She opened her mouth to say something more, but looked past her.

He was getting faster with the years. Andrea grinned, snatching the note and vaulting toward the elevators.

The enormous african man toppled three security guards as she punched every button on the elevator panel. Andrea waved playfully as the doors chimed and closed.

Explain that, mother fucker.

Getting off at the sixteenth floor, she made her way to maze of cubicles and water coolers that was an internet giant’s headquarters. Strutting her stuff like a show horse down the long aisles, she got the approving stares of geeks and she-geeks alike. It took her awhile to find the right managerial office, but once she did Andrea slipped past a protesting secretary like she wasn’t even there.

He glared at her, his pinstripes crisp and fierce from behind an oak desk she could quite comfortably take a cat nap on.

“Miss..?”

He asked, clearly irritated. Andrea shot a glance at his name plate, sitting idly on the corner of his empty inbox.

“O’Brien. Molly O’Brien. I’m here for my interview, Mister Pennault.”

She helped herself to a seat, barely even registering his dismissive look of disgust. Did the faceless executive really have an interview? If Pennault didn’t he surely hid it well.

”Don’t you think you should come back at another time, Miss O’Brien? Clearly you’re not prepared for an interview.”

“I like to keep myself relaxed, sir. It’s one of my strong points. I work much better if I’m not worrying about if my stockings are straight. You know us girls, always fretting over this and that, mm?”

There was a beat, two.

She heard a crash followed by shouting beyond his office.

Damnit, he was moving a lot faster than she expected.

”Your resume?”

He inquired, holding out a hand that clearly did not expect anything impressive. Andrea leaned forward, trying to show off a little clevage and provided him with the same note she had slipped the paper surfer down stairs.

Pennault read it like it was a comic strip. She noticed a smile working itself into the corners of his bland mouth.

”But I don’t have any valuables, Miss O’Brien. How ever shall I meet your demands?”

What a fucking pervert.

She shot him a coy smile as he stood up and began unzipping trousers that really did nothing for him.

The door to his office exploded inwards, and he materialized like a black ghost. All muscle, sweat and torn clothes he thrust a finger at her.

“You!”

His french accent accused. Pennault noticably pissed himself.

“Hiya, Butch.”

Andrea grinned as Pennault stammered an explaination, his Calvin Kline’s dripping.

She bolted, throwing Pennault’s name plate at Butch, hitting him squarely between the eyes. While he was stunned, she disappeared into the office beyond trialing laughter.

Strange, she thought. He had been chasing her since she was a teenager. Why now become so angry over just a little scatch? How could she have known that tinted BMW following her down the street was his?

Served him right anyway. The pain in the ass deserved a little bit of humility. He had to be over compensating for something.

Looking back, she was lost in giggles and the image of that expensive beauty torched in a ditch. Lost in her own little world, she didn’t realize that she walked in on two faceless suits making it on a desk worth more than her car.

Laughing hystrically now, she could barely hear the one on top yell that he told her to lock the door. Andrea made her way out leaving both open.

It took her a couple of minutes to locate the stairwell, but she found it soon enough. Sensing that Butch was hot on her trial, she blitzed down skipping two stairs at a time. Getting off at a random floor she burst into the headquarters of the National Telegraph, a puny newspaper that serviced nothing more than a couple cities in the north east.

Snatching up two roses from an unattended vase marked with “Happy Birthday, Sweetheart!” she made herself at home, carefully walking with a purpose. She sat down in a cubicle with the alpha geek, his black tie stained with jelly filling.

“Hiya, Gary.”

Giving the stranger the two roses she kissed him on the lips passionately, slipping a hand on his chest. Fiddling with a button, she tore it off.

”I… I.. I.. think you’ve… made a mistake..”

He stammered sprouting a spindly erection inside of his cheap cotton dress pants.

“That’s what I thought this morning too. I know you’re upset that I did that with your brother Gary, but it meant nothing to me! You were in the Amazon on one of your business trips. How could I know that were were coming home early?

I know.. I know. That’s a mean thing to say. I’m sorry, sweet pea. It’ll never happen again. I really mean it this time. No more sleeping around for me. I’m a one woman girl.”

Andrea raised her voice to catch the attention of the few deaf individuals who had not already honed their ears on them.

”Uh.. “

He blushed bright red.

What a sweet heart this guy was. She giggled.

”I.. um.. mean man. I’m a one man girl. Forgive me, snuggle bunny?”

The door to the stairwell exploded open, both Butch and Pennault moving into the office with a vengence.

“Oh, bother.”

Andrea said mostly to herself, looking for that damned piece of paper she had been using all morning. It was missing.

Frantically she searched all of her pockets for it, but it coly avoided her.

”Looking for this, honey?”

Butch held the crumbled piece of college rule between his sausage thick fingers. He stank like piss and sweat. Pennault came out from behind him, then realized Butch probably wasn’t the culprit.

”He made me do it!”

She screamed, grabbing the man-who-wasn’t-a-Gary’s tie with desperation.

”He said he’d kill me if I didn’t have sex with him! He’s a crazy, Butchie! Mister Pennault, you gotta believe me! This little punk had a gun!”

Gary fainted as Butch bitch slapped them both.

Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.