by Prometheus and GoozX
"Fucking server..." Shirley Francis grumbled to herself, ready to throw the entire computer through the window. She banged on it a few times, but the screen stayed locked.
A gust of wind suddenly blew the doors open, her hair and the papers on the desk tossed in the flurry.
"TOBIAS!" she yelled in irritation, trying to grab all the pages as they scattered.
Tobias Christopher stood with a slight grin on his face, beads of sweat lining his tan features.
"What have I told you about that?" she exclaimed, pulling her hair back into place.
"HehSorryIforgotCometoacompletestopbeforeentering--"
Shirley quickly clamped her hand over her ears, the glass of water on her desk beginning to vibrate from the meta-sonics of his voice.
"SLOW DOWN!" she yelled.
T.C. immediately stopped talking, his mouth still open. He closed his eyes, a sheepish grin coming over his face. "I... guess there's no point in me apologizing more, huh?" he finally said at what was to him a snail's pace.
She cocked her eyebrow, reshuffling the papers. "Just... learn to slow down a bit around us mortals, huh?" she breathed with a slight annoyance. Her face grimaced a bit. "And please leave your workout shoes outside. You don't know what it's like to have to smell burning rubber every morning you walk in."
He broke into a full smile, kicking his foot up onto the corner of the lobby couch, unlacing the completely melted sneakers.
"OFF the couch!" she barked.
He quickly jerked his foot down, gaining a very nervous expression as he noticed a smear of liquid rubber along the edge of where his foot had been. He looked back, seeing a set of rubberized footprints melted into the carpet.
He slowly turned toward Shirley as she merely tapped her pencil rhythmically against the desk. "Fifth time this week, Christopher," she mumbled, staring harsh eyes at him.
"I know! I'm REALLY sor--"
"Go!" she barked, pointing toward the elevator.
He hung his head a bit, a slight smile on both their faces as the sleek metal doors opened for him. "Anybody stopped by today?" he asked, entering the elevator.
"Not a soul," she replied, dialing the office furnishers for new carpet.
A smile crossed Danny Hearn's lips as he sat back from the finished plate of shrimp and pasta.
"Now THAT was good," he mumbled, rubbing his stomach.
"Better than fish sticks, for sure," Sam Dawson replied between burps. A slight bruise occupied the left side of his face. "Too bad Lance ate them all."
"Heh... fuck you..." Dan half-laughed, a burp suddenly interrupting his words. "You're just lucky I didn't say 'gorilla fists'... heh..."
Suddenly, Danny's fists grew spontaneously into thick, primal, hair-covered hands.
"Oh, son-of-a-bitch, Hal!" he rolled his eyes. "Very funny."
"You asked for them."
"You know I was just joking! I didn't ask for anything. Now, reverse it!" he said out loud.
The hands remorphed back into his normal hands. Dan just shook his head, suddenly catching a weird stare from Sam.
"What?"
"That is SO weird..." he said with furrowed eyes.
"What do you mean? You can do the same thing!"
"Well, yeah, but I don't have to talk to myself to do it."
"I was talking to Hal, you twit... you know that."
Sam just shrugged, turning away to get up from his chair. "Whatever... freak."
"I heard that!"
Sam began laughing and headed over to wash his plate as Danny glared at him. Neither noticed as a tall, bald man walked straight into the kitchen, looking around for a bit, then casually walked out.
"Who was that?" Hal asked after a moment.
Dan stopped glaring and turned his attention inward. Who was who, Hal?
"The man that just entered and then exited this area."
What are you talking about?
"Checking... your frontal optical lobe was blocked of specific neurological signals for 4.7 seconds."
Hal, are you okay?
"Genetic-imprint center is functioning at optimal levels."
"You okay?" Sam asked, staring at the blank look on Danny's face.
"What? Oh, yeah... Hal's just seeing ghosts or something."
"Ghosts?" Lance Lorenzo blurted out from the walk-in refrigerator. He rushed back into the kitchen toward Danny. "So you been to the eighth floor? With the bar and ghosts and stuff?"
"What?" Danny stopped mid-sentence. "We got a bar in here?" Danny glanced toward Sam, who just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
"Yeah, the... eighth... floor...?"
"Lance, buddy, I think you need more sleep or something. The only thing up there are some old apartments and boxes," Sam said, his face serious.
"Shit... I..." Lance mumbled to himself as he walked back into the walk-in.
Danny turned back toward Sam with a curious look. Sam broke out in subdued laughter and whispered, "I was just fucking with him. There really is a bar up there."
Danny could only smile and shake his head.