There had been decades of small slights that led to this. It wasn’t me, except for the definition thing. Fabiola was hardly an aberration. The other female ‘new hires’ were more the exception than the rule. That was probably why Katrina had chosen them. In her profession — internal and external security — creative thinking and flexibility were as important as blood lines.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice penetrated the chaos. The noise died down. Tessa Carmichael moved through the crowd to the mat. “Oh, by the Seven Sister Goddesses, of course Cael Nyilas is here.” Then, in English, “Buffy, pardon me but I think this needs my attention.” See, a good ass-reaming is done in a target’s native language. Tessa went back to Old Kingdom Hittite.
“Why are there a 150 sisters outside in the hall milling around?” Tessa began. She held up her hand to truncate the various responses. “Why does it look like you are all preparing for a general melee? Lastly, why are Buffy and Cael even here? You would think that after his last episode, he’d be avoiding this place.”
“The ‘Lost Bloods’ outside are part of a rebellion of their kind, a few of our sisters don’t appreciate the threat this poses and… Cael is here because Elsa invited him here,” Ngozi explained. “I’m not exactly sure why Buffy is here?”
“Cael, have you inflicted this building with a histrionic-inducing vapor?” Tessa looked at me with exasperation.
I blinked. I had to recall what ‘histrionic’ meant then I knew what to do. I held up my hand in front of my face, exhaling into it to see if something was ‘bad’ with my breath. Next, I sniffed my underarms. Lastly, I peeked down my tight shorts to make sure that wasn’t the cause.
“Nope,” I reassured Tessa, “I’m good. I mean, I’ve been good… this time.”
“Will miracles never cease,” Tessa muttered. The comedy was bleeding the tension and hostility from the room. “Let me try this again. Since top down doesn’t work, let’s start in the dirt beneath the basement. Cael, what is going on?”
“Okay… give me a second to make this sound reasonable and convincing,” I furrowed my brow.
“For starters, Buffy and me were working the queue which currently indicated that I was to come here and participate with Elsa in a weapons exhibition,” I began. “Buffy became confused by the flickering ceiling lights so I persevered alone. While we waited, Elsa and I engaged in a discussion of corporate etiquette.”
“The conversation migrated into matters of close combat techniques and mat thickness, which Ngozi assisted with. Clearly satisfied that we were all becoming fast friends, the discussion traveled to Old Kingdom Hittite terminology, background and the ambiguity of some definitions,” I continued my literary conjurations.
“Buffy discovered she hadn’t made me her bitch in the past ten minutes, so hunted me down to this place,” I grinned at Buffy. “Since Buffy was hankering for a bit of cuddle time, we were wrapping up the matter of ‘Lost Bloods’ only being used by total Prom Queen Wannabes while ‘Runners’ was growing in popularity because it was a word actually used at your people’s genesis.”
Pause.
“Was any bit of that the truth?” Tessa looked to Elsa and Ngozi.
“No,” they both responded.
“But, it makes the mess that happened sound far better than the reality,” Ngozi added.
“That I will agree with,” Elsa said.
“Buffy,” Tessa addressed my boss in English, “the Council will discuss this matter of terminology at the next meeting. Have our sisters outside disperse.”
“Yes Tessa,” Buffy nodded then weaved her way to the entrance.
Tessa walked up, patted me on the head as she shook hers.
“We really should poison, strangle, stab, shoot and finally throw you off the highest available peak,” she smiled warmly at me — psycho.
“If you added ‘rolling me in a carpet and tossing me in a frozen river’ we could call it ‘pulling a Rasputin,” I grinned back.
“I love you,” she looked all affectionate. I wanted to cry on the inside — and the outside.
“Damn! Now you tell me,” I grumbled. “I sent away for a mail-order bride from the Ukraine on Sunday and you know there is no money-back guarantee.”
“You are enchanting,” she chuckled. I wanted to die. “You’ll get used to us, I promise.”
Yes, the head of Human Resources could read my mind.
“Tessa, before I get back to Elsa demolishing me, can I ask you something?” I inquired.
“Yes.”
“During that last interview process, you were seriously throwing out the ‘let’s do it on the table’ vibe, weren’t you?” I posed.
“Very much so,” she beamed utter joy. “I was truly impressed that, with your history with woman, you constrained yourself.”
“If I had come on to you, would I have lost this job opportunity?” I asked.
“Oh Goddess no,” Tessa laughed. “Someday I should let you read the sheaves and sheaves of transcripts our investigators gathered on your sexual exploits.”
“That’s why you’ve never encountered anyone from Human Resources in the building. They are forbidden to be alone, or only in the company of other Human Resources employees, with you out of fear they’d rape you,” Tessa informed me.
“Is he really that good?” Traska asked.
“His college years don’t read as an XXX rated movie — they read as top shelf erotic fiction,” Tessa enlightened the masses. “Oh, Cael, the nun hopes you’re are still seeking spiritual fulfillment.”
“Cool. How is she doing?” I responded.
“She’s in Uganda, working at a Catholic school for war orphans,” Tessa answered.
“You slept with a nun?” Oneida gulped.
“Oneida, if there was no intern program, and this wasn’t an Evil Empire, I’d never leave this place. I’d move my bed into a spare room, set up a mini-bar and spend every second off the clock seducing each and every one of you,” I stated.
Even the ones who didn’t terribly like me chuckled, snorted, or laughed.
“To answer your question: sort of Oneida. I slept with a woman who was about to take Holy Vows, not truly a nun,” I confessed. “I’ve slept with a Wiccan Priestess too, if that matters.”
“Why do you think you can treat us like those lesser women?” Ngozi looked angry.
“You have tits, a vagina, are straight, or bisexual, and between the ages of 18 to 70,” I shot right back. “I have no desire to sleep with men, or lesbians. Outside of that, given somewhere between five minutes and five days, I could nail every women in this room. It is not that I’m better than any of you.”
“I can do it because you all are hopelessly arrogant, thus unable to put forth an effective defense because you don’t believe I can seduce you. Add to that, I can figure out what you want in an erotic encounter. End of story,” I sighed. “Frankly, having lived lives devoid of romance, you Full-bloods are too easy.” I could see Tessa smirking.
Not only had I seduced all kinds of women, apparently all of them had been willing to relate those encounters. I’m a great lover and a lousy boyfriend.
“We would never submit to your predations,” yet another Amazon jumped in. Sex. I told them, they are simply too easy — except Katrina, Tessa and Hayden. They were scary. I’d still sleep with them because I had no common sense.
“Hey Lady, if you want to be on top, I’m okay with that,” I smiled disarmingly. Plant the idea of erotic positions early. It can be as easy as pushing up against a girl from behind, or a hug.
“If I ever consented to have sex with you, you would do what I said,” she persisted.
“That sounds like fun — 70 more days and its Hunting Season,” I winked.
I repeat, these ladies were too easy and that was because deep in their subconscious all men were bestial Neanderthals, one step above creating fire, or spineless sheep who would rather stampede like lemmings off a precipice than show an ounce of resistance (and be put down), much less any actual romantic inclinations.
Since they were convinced sex consisted of either being raped, or your partner staring at the ceiling and wondering if he was missing the latest episode of NCIS, a tiny dose of my sensuality was the equivalent of turning their moped of a hypothalamus into a street racer. My hope was I’d live to regret it.
They were all psychopaths and murderers after all, so death was becoming a vocational hazard. Me refraining from having as many sexual liaisons as possible wasn’t realistic. I wasn’t going to be willingly castrated and that was the only way out. The one benefit I could see was me working in a target-rich environment.
“Now that I have had my turn stymieing Cael’s chaotic yet well-meaning attempts to educate us in the dangers and rewards of free-ranging masculinity,” Tessa regarded the assembly, “I am getting out with my victory intact. Good luck, Sisters. You’ll need it.” Tessa exited, order was restored and — oh yeah, Elsa had brought me here for a sadistic love-fest, sans the sex.
“I don’t know what to make of you,” Elsa smiled warmly, “I don’t understand you and I find you to be very interesting.” Let me make this clear — all three of those statements can be very bad, or very good. ‘I don’t know what to make of you’ means I want to make it with you. ‘I don’t understand you’ is 30% bad and 70% good.
When bad, it is a prelude to a break-up. What she means is ‘you aren’t trying to understand me’, thus the end of the relationship. On the beneficial side it means ‘I’ve totally bought into your seduction and I’m ready to screw’. Ah, ‘interesting’. Two types of women find a man ‘interesting’ — women who have to have you, and stalkers.