|
In, flash
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 12:25
|
|
|
|
| # ? May 18, 2024 22:38 |
|
|
I'm in, with a flash!
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 15:53
|
|
|
Chernobyl Princess posted:In, flash Two departments/teams share the same floor. In the eyes of management, one is a cost-center pariah and the other can do no wrong. Whether it’s the ability of the teams (or their bosses) for doing corporate political judo, historical reasons, or some other explanation, the disparity is blinding in their shared office area. You don't have to use this example, but to illustrate (and based in truth): If one team gets a fleet of top-of-the-line smart whiteboard-tablets on wheels, the other team has an ignored requisition ticket submitted to ask for working dry-erase markers.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 18:39
|
|
|
Paranoid Dude posted:I'm in, with a flash! Sales in an office cube is even tougher. You’re expected to mingle and banter with those in direct competition with your livelihood. The tech folks just rolled their perfect, egalitarian solution for distributing sales leads optimally. When you are free and ready to work a new lead, you click a button on your screen and the system will claim a fresh lead for you and dial out to them on your phone automatically. Simple! Perfect! There’s one small problem: when there isn’t an unclaimed lead in the system, the button does nothing. When a lead does arrive (from the web, or however those tech guys do it) whoever clicks the button next gets that one. Call it a small use case oversight, I'm sure a fix will come around in six months or so. Oh, and also they keep staffed up to make sure leads never sit around unclaimed. The result is you have a cubical ocean of sales reps, spending at least a third of their day just clicking a button madly to try and win the next new lead that comes in from the rest of the field. Absurd and annoying, but no big deal for the younger reps who grew up with video games. The older folks still in the biz, though, they may have decades of savvy experience but they haven't dabbled with a video game in 30+ years and they've already got a touch of arthritis settling in… You don’t have to use this exact example, though feel free to, but the gist is a celebrated high tech system is woefully far from the mark when it comes to actually making the job easier, better, or fair. All it did was make hell that much worse, but good luck trying to talk sense into anyone in control of the thing. Bhaal fucked around with this message at 19:16 on May 14, 2024 |
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 19:07
|
|
|
 Thunderdome DCXIV Crits!Fairy tales are often pretty formulaic. I think we all understand that and so when tasked with writing one, the tendency is to try and put your own spin on it. I really get it, but sometimes you want something familiar. Some stories this past week followed close to what's traditional, while some just took the set decoration and made something new. I mentioned (here or Discord, I forget) that there were a lot of typos this week. I mostly didn't bother bringing them up in crits to not seem nitpicky, they just seemed weirdly prevalent for some reason. Fat Jesus Small Rabbit, Big Sound I read every story this week twice and I have to admit, this grew on me the second time around. The writing is proficient and the rhymes are actually pretty good. I love a good pun as they're a great way to make a lot of people angry in a short amount of time, and your character names are great. All that being said, the characters in this felt like stereotypes and it was cringy enough to draw me out of the story in the first half. I also couldn't identify a three of anything in here. MED Flyerant The Big Four Oof. I want to like this, and you definitely did everything you could with the pun and premise, but it reads like a rough draft. There's some good in here. I enjoyed the line "they ruled the kitchen with an iron chef." Something like that is... well honestly it's dumb but it is the exact kind of dumb that I resonate with. I think you need to examine what your words are accomplishing in some areas. For instance, "delectable delights" are basically conveying the same information. Its the same with "by the time I got there, the police had already arrived" and "even thought I had not been called, I had arrived." These two are describing the same action. You could easily replace the former sentence with the latter and lose nothing. This is told in first-person by Hercule, but he's hiding in the closet at the time Rosemary is killed. Instead of visual details of what happened, we need aural ones. MED-LOW Last Emperor Bedtime Fits the prompt and theme, and the voice is appropriate to fairy tale. I'm not sure that the framework of a grandparent telling this story to their grandchild is necessary. It doesn't detract either but without serving a purpose, I think you'd have been better off without it. The same goes for the characterization of the three spirits. The traits they're described to have don't really play much of a part in the story. You know what was good? "It was not within Uma’s nature, or any good Spirit for that matter, to ignore the plea of any animal" That line gives us a little characterization and motivation that also helps the story move forward There's some redundant or awkward language in spots. "A few moments later Bryn arrived and spoke to her sisters and their turtle. They explained the predicament they were in and what they had tried so far." These two sentences describe the same action. I appreciate that this piece was tied to a real world phenomenon. A lot of old myths and legends were told by people trying to understand the world around them. Among this week's entries, this one was unique in that regard. MED Kuiperdolin The Ogre's Cakes I think this one did the best job of aping the fairy tale story voice. I liked it for that, but the anachronisms like the President and journalists are out of tune with that voice and don't seem to serve any purpose other than being different. The set up works but would've been perfect if we could get a reason for the ogre to even agree to eat these cakes. So arrogant he doesn't think a cake can harm him? Too hungry to stop himself? Too smart to eat the last little bit? That last one would would have dovetailed really well with how the rest of the story played out. There are some really great details here. You promised us the three best cakes in the world and I think that that curse needs the amount of detail you put into the cakes to pay off. The line about the cake "so soft that a feather would have made a dent in it" is perfect fairy tale bullshit. This type of story recounts fantastic, unbelievable events and that is EXACTLY the kind of thing a tale like this needs. Ditto on the ogre becoming so thin it gets carried away by the wind. Honestly just a couple of fixes and I could have seen this as this week's winner. MED-HIGH Jossirossi The Three Shadows I mentioned voice a lot in these crits, and this is one of the stronger ones. More like a parable, but very much fits a fairy tale vibe. Like Last Emperor's story, you went with the grandparent telling a story framework, and like theirs, I'm not sure what purpose it serves. Here it's a little more intrusive what with the interruption in the middle. It only really adds to the piece if we know why this is of significant to the person who is telling the tale, hearing the tale, or both. Hey, you've got two threes! First the aspects of the storm and then James's negative feelings. That's not a complaint, just an observation. It works, although for Anger, Fear and Doubt, I'm not sure we got enough space to really explore what they meant to him or what his past experiences had to do with them. The walking stick in particular feels kind of weak. If my anger is going to manifest to me in the middle of the night, I feel like something worse must have happened. Maybe with "Cordiala?" The name pops up once but is a dead end. If this person was important enough to bring up, I think they needed more space in here. MED Shwinnebago The Three Celestial Sisters and the Five-Sided Fortress You've introduced your three right off the bat but I'm not a huge fan of how the opening is framed. "The days of the Ogre, Nogol Blalorth, are numbered." Are they? That sentence suggests a struggle that is nearing completion, but this story doesn't fit that position. If anything, seems like the Ogre is doing fine for himself if "the last thousand times" they tried to reason with him he's just kept rampaging. Even if that thousand isn't literal, it obviously means he's been a thorn in their side for a very long time. In any case, its five paragraphs to set up what comes after. There's a lot of fat to trim here. There are some odd choices with the prose. I gotta call out the line about rabbit. I have no idea what "the divine oceanic sense of time flattened and hope elevated" is supposed to tell us about Rabbit. That and "manifold lepidopteran" really stick out. The swarm of butterflies is good fairy tale bullshit; it fits in with things like Loki turning into a salmon to escape Thor, or the princess who could feel a pea through a dozen mattresses. I have a few more thoughts but don't want you to feel like I'm beating on you. If you want any of the other details you can PM me but I'll get it if you just want to let it be. MED-LOW Chairchucker Doing Hard Time and Fairy Dust Hey, it's the shortest story! It's a bit bare bones overall, but the writing is clear and pretty precise, so I can't complain. I would have liked to have known what it was Parsley was getting. The early focus is on this but it's just dropped. I'm guessing something like magic fairy dust given the title, but what this is for isn't really obvious. Fuel for magic powers, maybe? I'm guessing it had something to do with the escape plan. I'd have liked to have known what the plan was too. This is one of those endings that is more of a stop than an actual end. Actually I'm not sure if the last scene is totally necessary if the previous one could have been expanded a little. Just some thoughts by your three fairy godmothers on how things went and/or how they felt about it. MED-HIGH Thranguy Beastly Don't have a lot to say here. This is the most technically proficient piece of writing in this round. That being said, it's not without a handful of typos. ("apartmeclose" "and I she was right") Still, the story flows logically from one scene to the next with very little excess baggage, if any. Very tight. Very specific. The details make enough internal sense that a reader isn't going to get taken out at any point. It's also really not a fairy tale. Even with the title, the link to Beauty and the Beast feels tenuous and I cannot identify a set of three anything here. It's really a sci-fi story and I felt a little lost at times. Gabb? Dumbsystem? What are those? Basically A+ on the writing but this strays very far from the prompt. MED-HIGH Bhaal Something Gnew in Etru This was ridiculous. That's not meant as disapproval. It's extremely silly and childlike. Of all the entries this week, this one felt most like something you might spot in a children's book and the voice fit pretty well. The constant rhyming was a little annoying at first but obviously a necessity to tell the story you've presented, and I have to respect keeping it up (and mostly keeping the meter) for the entire tale. That had to have been a pain to put together, particularly with the stupid "Gnomish accent" I saddled you with. Oddly heartwarming. MED-HIGH
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 19:09
|
|
|
TY for crits, fairy nuff. This week's prompt! Does this have to be set in a modern human office (Mad Men, Glengarry Glen Ross kinda thing, etc?) I'm in, anyway. e: Bhaal posted:Nope, it does not need to be contemporary! Kafka's time was a century ago (just looked him up and the 100 year anniversary of his death is this June 3, wow), and I'm sure centuries from now our methods of demented professionalism will only improve. I daresay the same goes for any species advanced enough to be so degenerate. Fat Jesus fucked around with this message at 22:41 on May 14, 2024 |
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 21:38
|
|
|
Nope, it does not need to be contemporary! Kafka's time was a century ago (just looked him up and the 100 year anniversary of his death is this June 3, wow), and I'm sure centuries from now our methods of demented professionalism will only improve. I daresay the same goes for any species advanced enough to be so degenerate.
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 22:32
|
|
|
In!
|
|
#
?
May 14, 2024 23:44
|
|
|
In, flash
|
|
#
?
May 15, 2024 03:10
|
|
|
Thranguy posted:In, flash Linguists would find a rich study in the dialects of the corporate world, but that's a dwarves-and-the-balrog type of proposition. I can tell you more, let’s arrange a “lunch and learn”. Full schedule for the afternoon? Maybe just a “brunch and brief”. Still too busy? No problem, we'll circle back and do a snack and share. You see, to succeed you need the right vernacular, and the right attitude. Tell people to “disagree but commit”, but don’t elaborate further. Citing the 2nd anniversary of something does not connote a winning trajectory. You’re celebrating it “being around almost over two years”. And whatever you do, always make sure to preface whatever you’re up to as “identifying key areas to focus on”. Whether it’s just a character or two, or just the way things are done during business hours, this mode of speech should be showcased. And get nasty with it. Real depraved poo poo. I once heard “generate understandment” (along with the others quoted above) used sincerely and not just the person getting tongue tied. Make us hurt a little. Bhaal fucked around with this message at 04:01 on May 15, 2024 |
|
#
?
May 15, 2024 03:58
|
|
|
quote:Flash: Slack. Teams. Email: All notorious for popping detailed notifications to your screen. When you copy and paste, sometimes the copy command doesn't take and the wrong thing shows up. Words: 1384 Title: IMPORTANT: Presentation to Investors on progress. 9am to 10am. Bemulax of the Black Undying sat in front of his crystal ball. The soft light from the ball illuminated his laboratory in long shadows. It was dark and cozy, with his cat Chubbins snoozing next to him, snoring gently. His desk was a jumble of scrolls, notebooks, half drunk mugs of tea, unopened bills with a red border, and dirty plates. A pot of tea steamed on his desk, the scent of bergamot wafting towards him. The meeting was supposed to start 7 minutes ago. Bemulax sighed and checked his crystal ball again. He was connected to the meeting, but still in the lobby. Nobody had let him in. Either they forgot about him (unlikely) or the host hadn’t connected yet (likely). With a sound like an eldritch bell tolling, he was finally let into the meeting. “Bemulax! How’s my lord of all that is unholy doing today eh? Still with the Black Undying?” Wayne was the head of Information Thaumaturgy. Wayne wore a seemingly endless parade of blue button down shirts with a white collar. Wayne played pickleball. Wayne talked about craft beer. When Bemulax first met Wayne, he placed his hand on his shoulder, thinking Wayne was a projection, a mindless creation of some Lich he didn’t know. Wayne took it as a friendly gesture and now when they meet in person, Wayne always touches Bemulax’s shoulders. Bemulax does everything in his power to avoid coming into the office. “Good morning Wayne. I’m doing well.” Bemulax lied. “I’m ready to present the progress on Alastair’s Asymmetric Algorithm. Did you hear any more from Exec about the name?” Wayne’s permanently affixed smile disappeared for just a split second. “Yeaaaah, sorry Bem. Marketing says that alliteration is in this year. We’re sticking with triple A.” “But it doesn’t even describe-” Bemulax stopped and took a breath. He’d hear back from them today. He only had to last a little longer. “Okay Wayne. Thanks.” Wayne narrowed his eyes and leaned in, the webcam making his nose look especially bulbous. “Bemmo, are you connecting on the laptop we issued you? Your video seems awfully misty.” “No, I’m connected on a personal crystal ball. I was building some of the subroutines and-” “Bemmmmmm Bemtabulous, Bemulaxian, we’ve been over this! Company work on Company devices, okay? We shipped you that laptop for you to do the work on it, not your old dusty Crystal Ball.” Wayne’s joviality grated at Bemulax. Wayne was endlessly friendly, but it was a friendship that was thinner than a coat of paint. Bemulax was pretty sure that underneath Wayne hated everyone and everything. Bemulax glanced over at the laptop next to his crystal ball. Chubbins used it as his bed most days. “Of course, Wayne. I’ll use the laptop from now-” The eldritch bell tolled 3 more times, and the rest of the stakeholders joined the call. Three faceless shadows appeared on the call, their names written in Enochian along the bottom chyron on the screen - with their pronouns. Wayne smiled broadly. “Wonderful! The investors have arrived. Bem! You gonna introduce yourself or what?” Bemulax blinked. “Oh, sorry Wayne.” Bemulax sat in his ergonomic chair a little straighter, and snapped his fingers. The fire in his stove roared dramatically, giving himself a dramatic outline on camera. “Good day everyone. I am Bemulax of the Black Undying, the lead developer for triple A, and will be giving a demo of our progress so far.” Bemulax was pleased that he didn’t pause when he said the name. He slid his chair back a few inches and made a complicated gesture with his hands and mumbled something in Enochian. As he incanted, a representation of Alastair’s Asymmetric Algorithm appeared in front of him. It looked like a nervous system, thin branching lines that came together and fell apart in nodes all across the representation. “Now, we’ve most recently been developing the collation of the output. I know, it may seem odd to work on the ending out of order, but Rebunian - he’s on my team - had discovered that if you take components out of the fifth octet of Lem’s Ultimate Ululation you-” With a voice like the tolling of a funeral bell, one of the investors interrupted him. “Bemulax is it? Are you on a virtual machine or something? Your presentation is coming though oddly.” “Bem is real old school.” Wayne said, chuckling. “He’s giving his presentation on his crystal ball.” Another investor’s shadowy figure bobbed a nod. “We approve of this use of vintage equipment, but please Bemulax, increase your power flow so that we may observe you more clearly.” “Of course, investor.” Bemulax closed his eyes and borrowed some heat energy from the fire. The flames dampened, but his crystal brightened and the representation of the spell took on an orange hue and became sharper, more concrete. “Better?” “Much. Thank you Bemulax; please continue.” “As I was saying, Rebunian found we were able to take some components out of Lem’s Ultima-” A tinkling of bells interrupted his presentation. He had barely gotten started! He glanced down and on his desk, right in front of the crystal ball, a pixie materialized! His eyes widened in recognition and he tried to sweep her out of view of the ball. His hand passed through her with no effect. She bowed. “Honored Bemulax of the Black Undying, I bring you glad tidings! After much deliberation, your application to Farseer Enterprises has been approved! We understand your desire to work the second shift, and are pleased that we can accommodate this request. Please return this onboarding paperwork at your earliest convenience.” The pixie opened a small portal and took out a black binder, secured with red thread and placed it on the desk. The binder steamed gently. She bowed again and disappeared in a teeny tiny thunderclap. It sounded like a cap gun being fired. Bemulax slowly raised his head to look at the crystal ball. He couldn’t read the expressions of the investors, but Wayne’s face spoke volumes. “Second shift? You were going to work both jobs?” He actually looked hurt. “Bem, I thought we had something here. I- You- I thought we were friends.” The three squares of the investors swirled and merged into one large square. They spoke with odd harmonics. “What is the meaning of this insubordination? Bemulax, are you committing espionage”? Are you planning on giving our secrets to Farseer? Have you done so already?” With each question, their voice increased in volume until they were shouting. “No! Of course not, honored investors! I was going to maintain a proper separation of the jobs. I-I just needed the money.” His eyes roamed the lab, searching for something - other than the past due bills - he could use. “M-my cat, Chubbins. He needs prescription food now an-” “SILENCE.” Bemulax’s mouth slammed shut. He tried to open it but found his lips sealed together. He felt the panic rise in his throat, but he forced himself to breath through his nose. In, and out. In, and out. His eyes were locked onto the crystal ball, He could not look anywhere else. As he stared, the image of the combined investors cleared. A being, taller than the corporate HQ towered over him, their eyes bubbling with black bile, and their mouth filled with jagged, bone white teeth. They raised a thin, bony hand, pointing. “Your contract with us is terminated. Per your NDA, we shall take back what is ours. Your equipment, your access and the knowledge you have gained for use at Wyld Corporation belongs to us.” A fiery hot wind whipped through his room. Bemulax of the Black Undying was helpless as his head was engulfed in a red mist which filled the room as his knowledge was forcibly removed from his mind. Chubbins’ ears flattened, but otherwise did nothing. Then, it was over. Bemulax stared at the crystal ball, his mind feeling much less full than it had mere moments before. Only Wayne was left on the call. “I’m sorry Bemulax.” He shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry it went down like this. I was going to put you in for a promotion after next quarter's performance reviews.” Wayne looked at something off camera and nodded. “Look, if you ever need a reference, reach out, okay?” and ended the call. Bemulax of the Black Undying stared at the dark crystal ball for another minute. He blinked and shook his head. Sighing, he took up the black folder the pixie had left. Opening it, he began reading the employment contract. They were offering him thirty percent less than he had been getting paid at Wyld Corporation.
|
|
#
?
May 18, 2024 02:19
|
|
|
|
| # ? May 18, 2024 22:38 |
|
|
The Fist of Baal 1465 words “BUY!” Junior sales orc Krac Vomit gave a final hard lash to the writhing old ogre strapped naked to the kitchen table. The elderly ogre gave a final shudder as Krac untied him and stood back, grinning his best sales grin. He’d been at it 20 minutes. “That was a pretty good spiel I gotta admit. What you think, Maglu?” The old ogre, Mr Fartz, asked his equally ugly wife who stood bored at the sink chopping breakfast manparts. “Oh, I don’t know dear, I think I liked the other gentleman’s offerings. But it’s your drat siege.” she said, going back to her cooking without giving Krac so much as a look. “Oh, wait up folks, I can throw in a dozen free barbed arrowheads. Perhaps the lady of the house would like to hear more?” Krac motioned to the kitchen table with his whip. “Thank you sir, but no. I get enough fake pain from old limp dick.” She went back to her chopping as Mr Fartz gave her a frown, then turned to Krac sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I think we’ll be going with the other feller’s deal.” he said, leading Krac to the door. Krac put his foot in the doorway as it closed. “I can give 10% off, on top of those free…” Krac looked down at the sudden tingling in his foot, now somewhat flat from the whack from Mr Fartz’s morning star. He removed his foot warily. “No, I said!” the old ogre shouted, then added, in a lowered voice, “And she can go eat her own drat pussy.” He slammed the door. Krac stared grimly at the numbers on the door, not really hearing the commotion inside. An entire morning wasted with zero sales. The day had gone from bad to worse, and he wondered if Baal would ever get tired of spreading his cheeks and inserting fist. ~ The next day, Baal did not let up. Krac had wanted to stay in bed, but Krac jr had a happy dream, and Gnawna had let him sleep with them to stop his wailing. Of course the kid got sick everywhere at 4 a.m from all the toads he’d eaten. So he’d got up and found a shirt, put it on, and looked for the iron. He was just finishing the collar and enjoying the steam on his neck, when the phone rang. His desperation to make a sale caused him to burn the side of his face when he tried to answer. By the time he’d found the actual phone, they had hung up. Another lost lead. Now, with the Fartz failure, he had no leads and nowhere to go but his desk at SiegeCo’s head orifice. He trudged along the bustling streets of Nar Yuck, down the million steps to the subway lava tubes with the millions of other ogres and orcs, pummelling each other with iron briefcases. They pushed him along in an endless stream to brave the death trains downtown, where they would emerge to shove their way to the surface, flooding out like Krac jr’s technicolor yawn across the business district. Freed from the horde, Krac trudged on, past UltraSiege, PainCo, Flayrack & Maul, around the corner past the sulphur fountains, crossing the street at Sodom and 5th, and entering his place of enslavement with dread. ~ Ms Bloodweltz was a young, overly attractive orc with large shiny glasses and a way of looking at you as if she could see your soul, or lack thereof, and know your every secret. Your family, your sexuality, your education, your debts, your social security number, your penis size. Everything. Krac recalled HR’s questionnaires were very thorough, and Ms Bloodweltz had forged an unholy alliance with them, since she ran the orifice. Ms Bloodweltz called to Krac as he attempted to sneak past. He got up from all fours as she peered at him from her counter of skulls. “Mr Vomit, are you some kind of hatchling?” She glared at him in contempt. Her voice froze him to the spot, and Krac had a sudden urge to pee. Bitch is some kind of wizard. Krac noticed his own reflection in her shiny glasses, slowly turning his head and touching his face to check if the mark from that morning’s ironing had faded. He finally noticed her eyes behind his reflection, just as he began to tousle his hair. “Mr Vomit, are you trying to be fresh with me?” The ice in her voice turned his giblets to water. “Sexual harassment will not be tolerated in this building below the level of junior executive. Do I need to call HR again?” She gave Krac a look that withered his parts as he fought for words. She rolled her eyes. “And…something… came for you.” she said, ominous portents in her voice. “Ah…no, sorry, I was just, um… what was that? What came for me?” Visions of corpse lords riding dread barlrax swept through Krac’s mind. “A lead.” She stood, her tight dress barely containing her, as she held out the lead with disgust. Krac took the lead from her, relief flooding through him as hugged Ms Bloodweltz in gratitude, her screams of outrage echoing through the sales department. ~ As HR orcs go, Pliers was a pretty good guy. Krac liked him, and he seemed to like Krac. Hard to tell, really, since he always wore an iron mask because a marazang ripper had torn off his face as a baby. Krac had heard the story many times, and knew it backwards, all nine hours of it. Pliers never tired of talking about himself, and his stories left out no detail. Krac probably knew as much about him as Ms Bloodweltz. Pliers finally wound up the tale of his siegeing trip to the plains of Zarg with his uncle Filthor in the summer of ‘82, and gave a sigh. “Good times, let me tell you.” “No need, I feel you.” Krac understood long ago why the windows of Pliers' 125th floor orifice were welded shut. “Well anyway, look at the time. It’s been a day already! Let’s see about YOU.” Pliers bashed away on his boneboard. He shook his head with a whistle, pointing at the screen. “Your sales are way down, old friend. And you’ve been naughty again. Not good at all.” “I sold 5 SiegeMaster towers the week before, 5 firm orders!” Krac protested. Pliers could only shrug. “Yeah, yeah, we know. We just didn’t have any.” “How is that my problem?” “They didn’t sell, so you made no sales. I don’t make the rules, and you don’t break the rules.” Krac blinked at him. “You guys been sending me out to sell siege towers you don’t have?” “Yes, and no.” He slammed the boneboard some more. “IT just haven’t updated the inventory yet to reflect our new models.” Pliers pointed at the screen and Krac leaned over. “They’re the same, just different numbers. Same price too, why didn’t they ship those?” “They got different numbers. You don’t mess with the numbers, spare a thought for the girls in accounts, bro.” Pliers shook his head. “I’ll go see the customers again, change the numbers, give them new invoices…” “We already gave out refunds.” “You gave out refunds?” Krac stared at the iron mask as it nodded slowly. “Well, just to the two our shadow reavers couldn’t kill. Sorry buddy. Says here you owe that commission back.” “This is bullshit!” Krac stared open mouthed. The iron mask gave no sign, but Krac liked to think Pliers sympathised. “It’s bullshit! Baal fist me dead!” “Careful what you wish for, bro. But anyway, this Ms Bloodweltz thing is getting old, and management has made a decision.” Pliers got up and came over to Krac, putting a hand on his shoulder. Krac prepared himself to die, or at least to find a new job. “Since you can’t help yourself regarding our sexual harassment policy, they have decided the best course would be… to make you junior sales executive. Congratulations!” “Junior sales executive?” Krac fought the urge to hug Pliers, uncertain of the extent of his new powers. “I’ll give you the new numbers, and a hot tip. The Silverhand horde are moving in down by the gates. They siege next moon, and…you’re the first to know.” “Really?” “Really. You better get thumbprints on dotted lines. Close that deal. Don’t take no for an answer!” He handed Krac the list. Dozens of leads. Krac gave a nauseating smile. He got up and shook Pliers offered hand. Pliers glanced at the wet stain on the chair before leading him to the door. “Get out there and whip up some sales, Krac!” Pliers called out, as Krac rushed off swinging his briefcase for the lifts of doom.
|
|
#
?
May 18, 2024 06:45
|
|