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All In A Day's Work	By : Robofetus Category: Final Fantasy VII > General Views: 751 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-All In A Day's Work
- 1
All in a Day's Work

I do not own Final Fantasy Seven and earn no money from writing this.

There is no dip.

No Dip.

There are tortilla chips in little wooden bowls in the center of each table. And there's no dip.

Motherfuckers.

This is a great frustration. But, regardless, I'm the one that chose this particular godforsaken hole-in-the-wall, and I still have to order something, whether I'm boiling over with righteous indignation or not.

Yes, ma�am. I�m ready to order.

Oh, this is the non-smoking section? Thank you for your generous words of wisdom, Little Miss Hotpants. Now fuck off and get me three beers.

What the hell does a tavern need a non-smoking section for, anyway? Jeez. We didn't come here to blow bubbles and make daisy chains. Ah, well.
Tseng said earlier that he just wanted to smoke, but he orders some kind of seafood. There are some raucous men entering the building, but they are heading toward the back room. So I guess they won't disturb our meal.

"Reno."

What? It talks. Holy shit.

"Boss?"
You see, Tseng wasn�t appointed our �boss.� Nor was he elected. He just became the boss, and very quickly, I might add. Something about him is just inherently�princely. His becoming the leader was a natural shift that we all allowed because it seemed instinctive. On a subconscious level, you take one look at him and think, �Well, here comes Admiral Tseng. Better look busy.�

"Where is Rude?" His eyes narrow. His eyes already were narrow, but they narrow even more now. This is an interesting phenomenon that I don't have occasion to see often, but I am distracted by the barmaid, err...waitress�handing me my order, explaining that Tseng's shrimp will be finished in a few minutes. She sets a glass of water in front of him. He doesn't even look at it. I begin to drink.
Mmmmm. Shitty'n'Cheap. My favorite brand.

After a few minutes, he snuffs out his cigarette and repeats his question. It had flowed so easily out of his voicebox earlier that I had almost entirely missed it, it seemed so natural in the air. Didn't startle me awake. His voice is white noise, like good elevator music.

"Oh. He can't make it."

Oh god, they're getting narrower. How is this possible?

"Where is he?"

"Intensive Care Unit. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Did that fat bastard get shot again?"

Now, now, Tseng. He�s not fat. He�s just big-boned.
"Yeah, shoulder. He'll be out tomorrow. It just happened this morning."

"Why didn't I know about it?"

Shit, I dunno. Why didn't I know your eyes could get that narrow? Why didn't I know that this godawful music would drill a hole through my stomach? What is this racket, anyway?

I turn around and see that a live band has somehow sneaked itself into this tiny little bar and has begun to play behind a couple of strippers who are dancing.

"Reno."

Sorry, boss. I guess I was a little distracted by the peepshow or whatever. God, those girls must be over forty.

"He wasn't shot in the line of duty. Believe it or not, there was a drive-by in Wall Market and he caught a bullet in the shoulder."

Shitty'n'Cheap. Mmmm.
"What was he doing in Wall Market?"
I try not to laugh, but in doing so I make a sound like a guy who�s trying not to laugh, and Tseng seems to get a little angrier. I bite my tongue. He seems to have an idea now what Rude was doing in Wall Market, and nods wearily, obviously irritated.

"Well, I suppose I'll brief you now and get to him later."

His boiled shrimp arrives. I ask for refills.

"Don't get drunk, Reno!" He hisses, a little louder than usual. His voice hisses when he's mad. His eyes get narrow and he starts hissing. Don't bite me, Tseng, I didn't shoot him.

"Don't worry about it. I'm even better at covertly murdering people when I'm drunk."

"You're not murdering anyone. We are going to...interrogate someone tomorrow."

"�Bout what?"

He's relaxing slightly now. If I squint, I can almost see his hairs smoothing themselves down and settling in place.

"I am to receive a communication tomorrow morning directly from Mr. Shinra containing questions that he demands answers to, along with a set of responses that are to be considered implausible."

Ahh. It's been a while since we've done that kind of work. Sounds like fun.

"Rude would be a big help."

"Yes. We will wait for him."

I drain my third and tap my fingers until the barmaid comes around with my refills. Slowpoke.

"So where are we meeting this guy?"

"It may not be a gentleman."

Oh shit. Rude might have to kick some woman's teeth in. He hates hitting girls.

"So where are we meeting him or her?"

Another raucous band of young men enters; this time a bigger swarm. And these guys aren't just here for Madam VD in the back. They all want drinks.
"Lower Six. Bollix Street and East Post."
"Hey, cool. I know a great bar right near there."
What can I say? It pays to learn your geography. Of course, there�s not a single place in Midgar where you couldn't literally throw a rock and hit a bar. But I�m proud to say that I have all seven trillion of these bars perfectly mapped out and ranked, first in order of the quality of their exotic dancers, and then�
A very loud and rude sound clangs in a far corner of the bar, distracting me. I think someone was harassing the barmaid and made her drop their food and drinks. I look over, and, sure enough, the already-drunk young men are laughing uproariously at the girl�s misfortune. One of them still has his hand on her ass, so I can guess what caused her grip to falter.
"School kids," I mutter. I can�t help but start to feel a little uncomfortable. My boss is here, right in front of me, staring me down while he eats shrimp so silkily and gracefully that I can�t even tell he�s moving. I�m drinking when I'm not supposed to be. There is really terrible music fouling the atmosphere.
I know the smell of a bar just before some shit goes down, and this is it. It�s a weight in the air, a tenseness as everyone braces themselves for some nonspecific, unidentifiable unpleasantness that�s coming. They don�t know what�s going to happen; they don�t even know that they�re reacting to it. It�s something purely subliminal. And right now, everyone�s uneasy. And those stupid, ugly kids are galvanized for battle.
"The natives are restless," I remark to Tseng, who is calmly and neatly touching his napkin to the corner of his mouth. Not that he needs to do that. I think the planet would cease its turn and stare amazed if Tseng�s shrimp sauce would dare defy his absolute control by dribbling anywhere it shouldn�t. The napkin is just a polite gesture, to disguise himself for a moment as a human being whose existence holds some possibility of disorder.
Wait. Shrimp sauce? Hmm.
"Don�t do it Reno," Tseng says, and the venom of his voice actually physically paralyses my hand on its way to dip a tortilla chip in his shrimp sauce.
"Aw. Can I at least have a shrimp?"
"No."
"Just one?"
"Reno!"
"Oh, don�t be so shellfish."
He glares. Oh, does he glare.
"Reno, for one thing, shrimp aren�t shellfish. And,"
He�s cut off before he can finish. The Prick Party has begun to spill over into our portion of the room; one of the loudest assholes Midgar has to offer is approaching us with his band of Merry Men. They look like the type of kids who live in a fishbowl filled with alcohol, eating only tacos, who habitually steal from blind people and laugh about it, and who think ripping phonebooks in half impresses women.
The thing is, not a single hair on their heads is out of place. They look like they feed themselves styling mousse intravenously so that their hair will eternally look perfect even after their bodies have decayed. It's really weird.
Huh.
Tseng redirects his glare, and I suddenly feel much lighter. The gang was apparently only here to greet about a half dozen way-too-young, emotionally confused girls who somehow got tricked into being date-rape partners tonight for this stinking, sweating crew of good-for-nothings. A couple of them actually seem to have a parochial school bearing to them. I shake my head and pay attention to my drink.
"You wanna leave, boss?" I inquire politely. Tseng somehow, through his amazingly sharp perceptive powers, knows that I'm addressing him and not my mug of beer, but no one else would have been able to tell. I usually wouldn't even think of leaving a tavern before I've finished at least all of my own drinks, and almost always a few of someone else's, too. Tseng even almost-raises an eyebrow at my unusual suggestion, but then he lowers his head slightly in assent.
"The waitress is approaching. Ask her for the check."
I obey my superior's orders to the letter, but the poor, overstressed ho-bag of a waitress forgot separate checks. I'll forgive you, this time, Missy. But I can't speak for my friend the mountain lion, here.
Surprisingly, though, he doesn't say anything to her, just pays. He even tosses a couple gil on the table for her after she leaves to get our change�an insult, yes, but it's something. I add my own contribution afterward, and even though trying to hide anything from Tseng is as useless as trying to boycott Shinra, I make an effort to keep it discreet. That politeness I caught is acting up again. There's gotta be a drug for that�
And then, just as we're getting up, it happens.
Tseng is just turning around, and all of a sudden, there's the loud, indescribable noise of a blunt object connecting with flesh at a very high speed, and there's blood gushing from Tseng's forehead. The ugliest fratboy I've ever seen is raising his slightly-bloodied-but-unfractured beer bottle for a second swing, screaming at the top of his lungs:
"Getcha own barrrr, ya pink fuckin' pink-ass fairy pinks!"
�I feel bad for the kid. What ungraceful last words.
Before the crowd can even accomplish the inevitable echoes of the buzzword "pink", Tseng has the kid's arm twisted backwards in such a way that it becomes visually obvious how absolutely broken it is. But he decides not to stop breaking it until the sharp edge of the bone has actually punctured through the skin and pokes out grotesquely near the elbow. He follows this up neatly by simultaneously knocking the kid unconscious and destroying his face with two separate punches, executed so fast that they look like one blow. The first is a straight upper cut to the bottom of the jaw, knocking his head upward into the next blow to the left eye and upper cheek.
I'm proud to work for this man.
The kid falls limply to the floor, right on top of his broken arm. I sucker-punch a couple guys that are just plain in the way, and I walk outside, following Tseng, who is holding a hand to his forehead and maintaining a dangerously blank expression. There's blood dribbling down his face; some of it splattered on his clothes. I offer him my handkerchief. He takes it and continues to walk briskly toward the car.
"You all right there, Tseng?" I ask, once we're in my car. It's a Shinra-provided car�new, expensive, black. Tinted windows, even. We actually have older ones we have to use if we're doing covert shit, because these ones just scream, "TURK". Everybody in the lower sectors knows not to try and steal the hubcaps off a sleek black luxury car.
"The bleeding has slowed down, but do you still keep a level 3 cure in your glove compartment?"
"Sure do. But let me look at it first."
I lean in over him and examine his face. He graciously allows me to do so, even moving the handkerchief so that I can see. It's a pretty bad gash, skin split open and all. It's gotta sting pretty bad, and there might be some bruising.
"All right. It's not a clean cut. Some of the skin is damaged. Looks like we'll need a level 2 spell if you don't want a scar." I hit the glove box hard with my elbow and it falls open, and the materia gracefully rolls into my open palm. I cast the spell as soon as it touches my skin.
"Thank you, Reno."
"Ah, it's nothing. I just did it 'cos you look so good in sparkly green light."
"You owe me for six beers, seven gil apiece. Pay up."
Just to annoy him, I'm not backing off, still hovering right over is face, practically in his lap. Hell, literally in his lap. He's showing amazing control by not breaking my jaw right now.
"Let's see. Seven times six�that's nineteen, right?"
"Forty-two."
I dig out my wallet and sigh. "Aw, phooey. I can never pull anything past you." I fold the bills neatly and wedge them suggestively into his belt. Then I get off him and crawl backwards, fully intending to settle down in the drivers' seat.
But Tseng catches me by the wrist.
"That's the kind of behavior, Reno, that causes incidents like that one."
Uh-oh. No amount of joking or ass-kissery can rescue me from this upcoming insubordination lecture. I'll probably get written up again, too.
"Tell me, Reno. Why do you think Bowlcut Boy attacked us back in there?"
When he says 'why,' you can actually hear the 'h' in it. He always takes care to enunciate everything perfectly. And I don't know how, but it makes him sound that much scarier when he's mad.
"Because he was stupid and drunk?"

Tseng's using this trick he has, where he acts like he's being patient and humoring you, but everything you do or say wrong is winding up in him slowly, tighter and tighter, until it all snaps very neatly right back at you. And after that happens, you really come to realize how much you'd probably be better off as one of those mute, paralyzed abortion survivors who have no idea how to swallow their own saliva. It was a bad idea for me to piss him off.
"Why us, though, Reno?"
"It must have been your gorgeous, long, shimmering ebony tresses. Everyone's jealous of your terrific hair, Tseng," I say, starting the car. Digging my grave.
"Wrong. I'll give you a hint. It was something having to do with you."
"My gorgeous, long, shimmering red tresses? You're too modest. That can't be it."
"It isn't. It was because your childish behavior was mistaken for flirtation. Really, Reno. Reaching over, that unnecessarily close to me, just to leech some of my shrimp sauce? The suggestiveness of that kind of posture, even to you, must be obvious."

What? Now that's just bullshit.
"Tseng. Really. I'm serious about this. Those guys were fag-bashers, and we walked in with long hair. They weren't paying attention to our behavior. They eventually noticed us out of the edges of their bleary vision and saw my ponytail. Then they came over to try and break bottles over our heads. That's how guys like that work. I know you'd like to blame it on my behavior, since it oh-so-plainly rubs your sleek, black coat the wrong way�"
"Then why keep doing it, Reno? This isn't the first time you've acted unprofessionally while you're on duty, in public. This is habitual conduct for you. And your posture is terrible. Even your clothes are always disheveled. If you weren't such a good fighter, I'd have transferred you to janitorial work years ago. You should start thinking before you act."
Well. Isn't that interesting.
"Aww. Don't you love me anymore? You know, if you wanted to get rid of me so badly, you could've just said something."
"You're not fired. In the future, just try to�"
"I quit."
"What?" He's surprised, because he knows what happens to insiders who 'quit' prematurely, and he knows I know it, too. I've seen too many dirty little secrets to be a safe thing to let loose into the wide, wide world. They'll never let me go alive.
But I always knew I'd go young. And I'd rather die as I am than let Tseng sculpt me into a shiny, convenient little ornamental hitman.
"I said I quit. Wouldn't want you to have to dirty your hands with any more drunken queer-haters on account of little old me."
"Reno, stop this car. Now."
"Yes, boss." I pull over into to an alley, and let the car idle. It really barely fits in here.
"I can't allow you to quit."
"Y'know, Tseng, I like Midgar. And I even like all these filthy little alleyways it has everywhere. I'm really going to miss this place."
"Reno�"
"But Scarecrow, I think I'll miss you the most of all�"
"Reno. I've been rebuking you for the same behavior for almost seven years now. So tell me. What the hell is different now? Why are you quitting on me all of a sudden?"
"Tseng, get real. It's not my conduct, my clothes, or my posture that's bothering you. It's me you don't like. And if you don't want to work with me, it's better if you don't have to."
Sometimes, Tseng gets really mad very quickly when no one expects him to. Like right now. It's like he just suddenly slams down on his wrath accelerator, and vrrrooooooom�watch out.
"But that's not true," he snarls, and somehow pitches himself right at me, grabbing me by the rumpled collar and yanking me toward him. "I do like you." And then he pauses, like his words just smacked him in the face as hard as the beer bottle did, like he's almost somewhere near as surprised as I am about what he just said�
Only for a second.
Then the son of a bitch kisses me.
Pushes me back, leans his face into mine and kisses me, hard, tongue and everything. My head gets somehow wedged very uncomfortably inbetween the window and the seat belt thingy, and when my head falls back, it engages the autolock system and there's a loud 'click'. Despite the fact that he just ate, his mouth just tastes like water�hot water, and nothing else. He probably tastes like cigarette smoke, too, but I'm unable to taste that any more�and Jesus, he just keeps kissing me.
For a long time, too.
I break it off, finally, and I admit, a little reluctantly. Even though my neck hurts like holy hell, I like the feel of his weight on me, and I like how tightly he's holding onto me, still with his right hand on my collar. I take a moment to breathe.
"All right. What is this, Tseng?"
"It should be obvious."
Jesus Fuck. After what he just did, he has the audacity to look irritated. At me. Like I forced him at gunpoint to stick his damn tongue down my throat.
"I beg you. Spell it out for your untidy, slouching, lamebrain understrapper."
He's silent for a while, and just when I think I'd rather walk back to work than share the same car with this monkey any longer, he decides to end his dramatic pause.
"�I apologize, Reno." I have to hand it to him, he's meeting my eye with no problem. Tseng's no coward. I'm shocked as hell that he's apologizing, but it takes balls to say you're sorry to someone you don't get along with.
"You sure got a funny way of saying 'sorry'."
He doesn't respond. Unless you count blinking. Which I don't.
"So why? Why'd you do that?" I test his seriousness by coming in close to him again, to try and gauge how unsettled it makes him. To my sheer and utter bafflement, he just closes his eyes like he thinks I'm coming in for another kiss.
And he wants it.
He realizes quickly that I'm not about to kiss him, so he answers the question.
"It would have been my fault, if you had left. Your�loss�would be on my hands. It's important for me to apologize. I don't want you to leave."
"Since when does that matter, though? We've all got trained candidates lined up and ready in case one of us dies. We've all got more deaths on our hands than you can shake a bloodied switchblade at. Quit bullshitting and tell me the real reason."
There's only about a half an inch of space between our lips, and damned if my clown of a boss doesn't take this moment to decide that it's too damn much.
And then what he said finally dawns on me. And it is obvious, even to me. He doesn't want me to stay because he feels guilty, or because he needs my skills, or because he wants to make out with me in my car. He kind of likes me, and doesn't want to get rid of me just yet. He�doesn't resent me like I thought he did.
"I don't want you to leave," he repeats, ending the kiss and drawing himself partway up so he can quickly unfasten the few buttons on my shirt that I actually bothered to do up this morning.
"I'll have you know Tseng," I warn, trying to keep my composure as he circles a thumb around my right nipple, "that I'm not a 'first date' kind of girl."
"Reno. For once would you just take my advice and shut up?"
"No. Because if I do it this once, you'll only ask for it again, and�ooh, keep doing that. And�"
He kisses me again. His kisses are hard and smooth and deep, and he's somehow managed to completely take off my blazer and is almost finished with the rest of my shirt before I even notice. He's got his right leg wedged in between mine, rubbing my crotch with it though the fabric�which sounds vulgar but is actually quite nice.
All right, so I'm going to let my boss fuck me in the front seat of my car. No problem, I know just what to do.
I slip my hand down between his legs and give him a polite getting-to-know-you squeeze. He hisses when I touch him, but it's a purely complimentary kind of hiss�just a sharp inhale though his front teeth. Then he suddenly jerks me hard and quick up by the collar, with one hand somehow maneuvering itself to hold on to my waist, and pulls me forward into his arms as he sits upright and moves backwards. His right and my left leg end up dangling down into the floor of the passenger's seat, and we're sort of sitting on our other legs, half-kneeling. He moves his right hand from my collar to my throat, then back behind my neck, and pulls my face back to his for another, longer, kiss. I grind against him and he moans, low and throaty, rolling his hips to meet my almost-thrusts.
He kisses my neck, and scoots back a little to give himself space to unbutton my fly. My shirt and jacket ended up somewhere in the wheel-well; I begin to carefully unbutton his while I expertly remove both my shoes without using my hands. I kick the one on the seat back so it lands in the hollow between the seat and the door.
I get his shirt and blazer off, and throw them over where my shoe landed. Tseng wraps his long fingers around my shaft, having successfully pulled my pants and underwear half down, and strokes me very slowly while he licks my adam's apple.
I watch the muscles around his collarbone flex slightly, easily as he moves his hand on me, not faltering when I unfasten his belt and fly. Also, he doesn't rebuke me for not wearing my belt, for which I'm grateful.
"Reno, we're going to need something for lubricant."
"Got it covered," I assure him, a little surprised that my words come out in a quiet sigh. I open the glove box again, and reach behind all the papers, materia, and spare clips, bringing out a smallish white tube. I give it to him.
"Hand Lotion?" He looks amused. He even quirks an eyebrow. "'Fast Relief for Severely Dry, Parched, Itchy Skin'."
"Don't look at me like that. You've done sniper work before; you know how chapped your hands can get in the winter. They crack and bleed."
"Only because you won't wear gloves in the cold."
I stick my tongue out at him.
He catches it, of course, in his mouth, and sucks on it calmly, unaffected by my impertinence. I hear him taking his shoes off; he has a little more trouble than I did because he ties them tighter, but he manages all right.
He eases back out of the kiss quietly and nods at me, and I roll back a little, kicking my pants the rest of the way off as I go. He swivels, landing both his feet on the floor, and pulls his perfectly-pressed, crease-down-the-exact-center formal black trousers completely down and off, apparently eager to get right down to business. Just as soon as his pants are off, he starts pouring some of the lotion out into the palm of his hand.
He motions for me to slide onto his lap, and it's a hell of a challenge, but I manage to get there without bumping my head on the dome light. He helps me position myself so that it's not uncomfortable�for me or him.
I sit up on his thighs, far enough away from him so he can reach, and bend forward, giving him space to prep me. His legs are parted and he reaches his right hand between them to slide two fingers inside me, covered with plenty of lotion. I can't see him, but I can feel the movement as he strokes the lotion over himself with his other hand.
"Relax, Reno."
I realize that I'm breathing about as calmly as a rutting moose. I try and slow it down a little, but it's not easy. Tseng, bless him, is very patient with me, just slowly rubbing me inside with his two fingers, back and forth, until I finally start to loosen up. After about a minute, I finally give one last heavy exhale and let my shoulders sag.
"Ready, Tseng. Go ahead."
He eases a third finger in, experimentally, and apparently is satisfied that I've relaxed enough. Without a sound, he draws me back, closer to him, and pushes the head of his cock inside.
I scoot back the rest of the way, so my back is pressed right up against him, forcing him all the way in. He gasps roughly and puts a hand on either side of my hips, thrusting up a little harder, then drawing out a little, then back up. I hook my feet around his ankles for leverage and give him a little extra help with the motions. It's cramped in here, and it's only polite to help out, for the common good.
�And good it is. Evidently Tseng's general aura of cultured, unhurried elegance extends to all avenues of human endeavor. He's going wonderfully slow, no jerking or ramming or anything discourteous or animalistic. He sighs, too, every so often, just a slightly heavier breathing with a little voice to it.
In all honesty, I've never been fucked in a car before. And although in my younger days I was practically famous the world over for bedding anything that could buy me a drink, truth be told, it's been a hell of a long time since I've done this with a guy. And it feels incredible, the way he's stroking me inside, smooth and deep, just like he kisses. I know I'm groaning pretty loud. People can't see us through the windows, but I'm starting to wonder if they can hear me.
Eh. Guess it doesn't matter.
He's still not rushing things, still moving with quiet, skillful ease, but he's going just a little bit faster now. And when he slides his right hand off of my hip and over to cup my balls, I suddenly forget the proper way to work my respiratory system and I damn near choke to death. He makes a very pleased guttural sound when I do this, with almost un-Tseng-like abandon, and wraps his left arm around my belly, holding me tight up against his chest as we keep rocking together.
I think I'm getting close.
Hell, I know I'm close. When he curls his hand around my shaft, rubbing me with my own precome and the residual lotion on his hand, I have to bite my lower lip to keep from losing it completely. I know I can't hold it for long.
But he surprises me and makes me come sooner than I thought.
"Reno, ahhhh�!"
His hand moves feverishly over me, and I feel him tighten all over, and I know that This Is It. He pulls me down and thrusts up, very suddenly, and grunts as he begins to ejaculate. It's all I can take. I come hard, clamping my eyes shut and feeling the liquid rush out of me and onto my chest and stomach.
Honest to Christ, I think I actually see stars.
He goes still, and I can feel him relaxing. Which I think is a good idea, so I follow along. I feel like he's transmuted me into some kind of a liquid. Or maybe I should've just listened to my damn boss and had one or two fewer beers over my break, after all.
"Time to get the hell off of me, Reno," he politely reminds me. And I don't know how the hell he has the presence of mind, but right away he hands me his pocket handkerchief. I clean myself up and climb off him, carefully, sort of scooting my way back to the driver's side.
If it was difficult to get all my clothes off before sex, it's twice as hard to put them back on after. Naturally, Tseng doesn't bat an eyelash. He could probably put on a full tuxedo, while stuffed in a beer keg, without a getting a single wrinkle in the fabric. He's tying his shoes before I've even got my fly zipped up.
"Wait for the driver, Tseng."
"We're already late. Hurry up."
"Oh, the stinking office can wait until I've got my shirt buttoned up. Hold on a damn minute."
He huffs indignantly, but spares me a jab about how I never button up properly anyway so what's the use, and after a little while everything's settled and I back us out of the alley.
"Just for clarity's sake, Reno," he asks evenly, "does this mean you'll keep your job?"
"On two conditions." He smirks at me like he can't wait to burst into roaring laughter, but he waits for me to go on. "First, get me a cigarette�one of yours, and light it for me. "
"That's already two things," he says as he pulls out a cigarette and stabs it in my mouth. "What else do you want?"
"Permission to put it out in Heidegger's eye when we walk in and he immediately gives us six neat little piles of redundant forms to fill out by hand, in triplicate."
He manages not to laugh, but he snickers. "Unfortunately, I am not authorized to grant my permission concerning this request. However, you are hereby authorized to trip him in the hallway, exactly one (1) times, so long as you don't get caught. Failure to conceal your actions may result in discipline up to and including termination, as noted in Shinra Executive Employee Misconduct Protocol, sections E-1 through L-9."
"Maybe I'll pour a little laxative in his coffee again, keep him in the bathroom. That way�"
"Reno! You did that? When was this?"
"You forgot to light my cigarette! Hurry up or I quit!"
He does, and shuts up, but he's got a certain look in his eye, and I can tell he's going to get me back for this.
Doesn't bother me, for some reason.
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All In A Day's Work