That Nelson, I don't think he looked into my eyes even once during our conversation. Am I too intimidating, or is it something else? No I'm perfect, it must be a him issue then.
Observing the couch, I crouch in my approach. Treading lightly with soft and slender movements, I squat down, stomach squished against its arm, as my head peeks out.
Reaching out my arm, slithering against the cushiony brown, my fingers capturing the closest folder, dance along its creamy colouring in celebration.
Drawing back, dragging with them a submitted corpse, my hands plop over the arm-rest falling into my patient embrace.
I'm sorry but this spot, is mine.
Shifting around and leaning with my back, I let out a short, but amused chuckle, slogging down, stretching my legs across the varnished floor of wood.
---
Loafing around for the next couple of hours and absorbing the content of numerous reports labelled between 1150F and 1190F passes the time. The only interruption that occurs is the frequent and hourly chimes of the church-bell.
The room is quiet, the light good, the perfect kind of silent environment that allows me to concentrate on understanding the world around me.
I should do that at least, as the town's esteemed 'vice-leader'.
I never liked incompetent leadership.
Reading through the words, the inventory reports, the census tables and logistical updates related to the transport of the town's various supplies, causes my brain to fog.
After placing down the last folder onto my tilted pile, I crawl away. Over the couch, then across the floor, my butt, searching for its last comfortable resting place, sinks into the cushioned chair that sits at the table.
Now for the second pile.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Low priority]
Another one. Groaning, I tilt up the pages corner so I can read its contents while slouched.
'Increase in reported sightings of prowlers by the southern exit.'
Wait, Isn't that the direction I came from? This speaks to my attention.
I can't help but feel partially responsible for this one.
Too bad.
Holding my quill, I scratch the paper as I write:
"After further investigation into the causes, it has been determined that their unexpected presence in the camp's proximity was the result of a 'change in migration patterns'.
This volatile and unexpected shift in ecology was found to be a direct result of various mana-storms and environmental complications.
Further travel through this exit should be cautioned against!"
There, that covers my ass if anyone is too stupid to die.
Reconciled. I stamp in yellow ink.
Next report:
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[Low priority]
Again.
A suspicious person's report, oh please forgive my ignorance, tell me more.
'Various residents have reported a suspicious individual who recently entered the settlement and is spreading anti-orthodoxy sentiment. Various scathing reports have been filed claiming this perpetrator was inciting violence in the townspeople; eyewitness testimonials even claim the aggressor initiated physical combat with a local child, a boy, named, Timothy Wood.'
Who is the man attacking my boy? I'll find 'em.
Squeezing the paperweight in my hand, I lean closer to the paper:
'The newcomer and offender, identified as Desmond (no surname given), has been heard citing various religious concerns through profanity he had with the victim's ideology as his primary justification for the engagement.'
Various religious concerns he had with the victim's beliefs—Who wrote this bullshit?
Denied. Denied. Denied.
Slamming the red stamp over the written words, I toss it to the side.
You annoy one old guy and everyone starts interfering with your life. How utterly shameless. Me inciting violence! Never. This whole camp is a conspiracy to take my social life.
Whoever reported this, is out to frame and then kill my ability to make any future friends or future connection, Jiord was right, I can't trust anyone.
Thudding down the glass paperweight next to the current report, I rub my forehead for a second.
Next file:
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[Medium priority]
Inquiry into the Salt Mines Operations.
Potential causes for diminishing output:
- Personnel shortage.
- Increase in missing persons (see tracking report of documented residents 1174F).
- Faulty/damaged/missing equipment including: broken picks, malfunctioning floodlamps, ect (see equipment listings of salt mines 1152F).
Suggested Revisions:
- Invest in more higher quality equipment
- Increase the active population
- Deregulate/Streamline the frequent workplace hazard Incidents.
- Upskill labour of the orphaned children
- Increase the Mining sectors annual budget.
Child labour, damn this is the story I've been looking for.
"By pairing orphans with a practicing miner, the children would learn various disciplinary and practical skills, reducing the burden on the town's education budget (Ref: Orphanage literacy and numeracy tracking 1164F)."
Hmm. I see the children aren't childrening hard enough for you.
Who wrote this?
Searching the header of the report, I read.
Prepared by Giana Heart-Rhine.
Sounds like yet another instance of an old cow trying to eat the young and healthy grass. Why not go after all the children, not just the orphans? Too afraid of pushback from their parents?
Child labour and exploitation—let me keep your name in my mind. If this gets referred to Jiord and he actually implements this, I would feel it would be terribly inefficient.
Thump.
I'm sorry, but my stamp says Denied!
Reason: Official proposals have to be filed under the '[High Priority]' classification.
Grabbing a new sheet of paper out from the stack, I begin to fill it out.
New drafted report:
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[High Priority]
Name:
What's a killer last name I could use that just oozes superiority?
Name: Desmond Darker.
Yeah… that's hot!
Job: Vice-leader to the administration office.
But this… it's not enough is it. I dip my quill into the cartridge, fishing up a big juicy splotch of that oily goodness.
Name: Desmond Darker.
Job: Vice-leader to the administration office.
Title: [Counter-proposal] 'Salt Mines Operational Report Proposed Suggestion 3 (ref. Inquiry into the Salt Mines Operations. 1196F).
Never underestimate the power of the bold. Thank you, Bill Microsoft.
Now, how do phrase for maximum damage?
After pacing back and forth around my office, sudden inspiration strikes.
Content: Whilst it is evident in the report that the children are not reaching current educational goals needed to fulfill their potential, the data doesn't seem to support that direction of proposed action.
This approach is limited in scope, asit would not align with our current operational objectives.
Bold for further emphasis and continued nibbling on the quill for a continues stroke. This is, my 'art of pen'.
'Education remains one of our scarcest resources and is projected to become more necessary with increasing demands of administrative reporting requirements from oversight bodies (Ref: Domestic Output Subsection C, file 1176F).
Rather than divert the children to the mining sector, I recommend a relationship-based upskilling program in the industry projected to have the highest future demand.
Admin.
Partnering the children with junior administrative officers: inventory keeping, messaging, town finance. Such roles will teach transferable skills and would reduce the long-termburden on the towns budget and employment crisis.'
Is this a little too harsh? No! the orphans, we have to look out for them.
Reinvigorated with self-justification, my pen carves at the paper as my font only becomes more and more aggressive.
'Furthermore, expecting a child's physical output to match an adult's risks stunting their physiological and psychological development, only adding further strain on our most vulnerable community members.
I applaud the aforementioned idea proposed by resident Giana; however, a more measured approach, taking into account the various long-term considerations of the holistic picture, will be of greater effect.
It is evident that my proposition of mentorship under the junior employees mitigates: workload, stress, delinquency, and cultivates communication and leadership skills among staff—a net benefit to our community.'
Yeah, you're gonna take that slander like a lil good bitch, moo for me. A chuckle escapes my mouth.
There, I think I make my point pretty clear here. Please read between my lines and leave the children alone.
Signing, I stamp the page dull green, and add it to the pile.
Accepted.
Stupidly satisfying—inking up my own report like this. Why hasn't anyone else done this before?
I rub my hands rub together before adding the proposal to the growing monster.
Then, I reach for the next file:
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[High Priority]
A proposal of changes resulting from the inquiry into the missing-body investigation of deceased resident Jimson Plank. [Pending investigation.]
Finally, something useful.
I turn the page.
[Medium priority] Inquiry: Missing-body investigation contents, summary: [Low priority] witness reports; [Low priority] investigation progress (pending); [Low priority] suspected parties (pending); review and proposal of new security measures (pending).
Too shame, they don't even understand the hazards of bundling all the low-priority reports under the label of a higher classification proposal. This has disaster written all over it. Only one step away from crashing the office filing standards.
I open the progress log.
'Measured in the BTCST?'
What's this.
I refer to the docket. It reads as follows:
'BTCST Acronym:
Before
Theological
Consideration
Standard
Time
Or Bell Time Chime (BCT), as culturally referred to in local populations, proposed and implemented to be standardised as an officially recognised terminology by the Church Integration Committee. Current usage in local communities remains in effect.
The passage of time is Denoted as followed:
24 chimes in a day,
30 days in a month,
12 months in a year.'
This is convenient, a time metric that is the same as the one from my old world. Not suspicious at all.
Clearing my throat, I refocus my gaze to the report.
Daily report is as follows:
8th Chime: Conducted search operation for the item of interest. (Body)
9thChime: Checked Francis' log of entrants/leavers—none since suspects Desmond and Timothy arrived; no clear motives of these two residents either.
11th Chime: Reviewed all witness statements—no emerging leads.
12th Chime: Interviewed patrons at the east-wing rock gambling yurt — inebriated and heavily uncooperative.
13th Chime: Widened interview scope; several new leads arose.
14th Chime: Conducted warehouse searches—no actionable follow-ups.
16th Chime: All leads exhausted; assumption: body remains within settlement. Will maintain correspondence.
Wow, this Ileane person is a more competent drunkard than I thought.
And she's right too; most of these are… unproductive, to say the least.
I continue flickering through the arrangement of bland and clinical witness reports. Then a form of crooked handwriting catches my eye. The only one in the pile different from the others both squiggly and unrefined in penmanship, with lines of jumbled text.
Todd, it reads—your handwriting almost gave me a stroke, but out of respect for your time and effort, I will be respectful of your contribution.
Squinting my eyes I decipher the text:
"I had a dream that I was in bed with the town widow Ileane. Out of nowhere, our covers turned to black soil.
Then appears a masked bandit of seductive proportions. Distracting me with the soft, swaying grace of her bosomly Body; enchanting, like an aerial chirp in evocative motion naturally swagging in animalistic allure, Handling the gazes of the many nearby males, but only I deserve this seductive show.
No!
Even remembering my dream, you can't distract me with your wiles. Wench!
You cannot take her! I forbid you.
But then another appeared—built in dangerous but Complete masculinity, imposing, dragging my property away. I gathered my courage, the insults of my powerful family and friends burning behind my eyes.
My anger boils, Waiting For a moment before I release my power, i scratch and slap them, invoking my heavenly name.
Todd Looser.
It terrifying them both. They run. I would never let another take what's mine.
Then it was tranquil, my princess carries me away and we." Skipping 'that' paragraph, I continue reading the few crooked sentences out of place.
'I grasp at her humongous ### ###### ##...' Nope.
'My teeth nibble Further on succulent ##### ####...' Skip.
'She puts a rope around my neck and I beg for permission to bark waiting for my master's Instructions ####### ### ### '…'
What is wrong with this deviant? I get being horny dude, but why did you have to explain it to me in such written detail? Andwhy does that part read like a limerick!
You have such a wasted talent here, Todd, don't be like that.
I fear this kind of thinking will affect how you treat others in the future. I can see through your vocabulary you have potential to refine your creative vision. Just don't waste it on my reporting space.
To think I respected your input over the virginity of my gaze.
I shake my head.
Do I have to pretend reading this is helpful in finding the deceased body of my dead friend? Why is this even in here.
I crumple the paper, intending to toss it into the furnace.
This is filth. Burn it.
Throwing the report, it bounces off its edge fleeing from my persecution.
Your days are numbered.
Forcing myself from out my chair, I walk over picking up the discarded trash.
Hopefully Tim is doing any better at school, because this… is getting me nowhere.
Uncrumpling the creased report, I read it over once more.
"Masked bandit... feminine proportions... dragging my property away."
Was Todd dreaming about body theft?
No—he's too drunk and too stupid to witness anything. This is just his deranged fantasy about Ileane. However, these words are strangely coherent and... oddly specific.
Pocketing the report, I scratch at my chin and return to my drawer, trying to think clearly.
This is getting me nowhere.
The chair legs scrape across the floor's glossy finish as I tuck it beneath my table. Standing up, my bones and joints all click as I stretch my shoulders back.
Placing the paperweight on top of the mound, stacks of stamped reports stare back at me like dull attention-starved paperwork pals.
Wait for me, my babies. I'll be back to ink you soon.
I walk across the room, then to the door.
There must be a filing room somewhere.
But where to start looking?!
Perhaps…
Perhaps those missing persons reports will be a good place to look.
I step out.
The door closes hard behind me.