1. Andrea's the office bitch
Creed's staying late; not to work, but because it's easier to steal stuff after everyone else has left. The new blonde in accounting is staying late, too, tacking up a poster of kittens. She's tiny, so prim she must be hiding a wild side. In the 70s, Creed spent some time with Nadia Comaneci, and this chick reminded him of her. Little, lithe, energetic. She looks like she could go for hours.
"Hey, good lookin'," he says. The blonde turns, and she's surprised to find Creed standing right behind her but she doesn't yell. He likes that.
"Please do not speak to me in such a disrespectful manner," she says.
"Disrespect? I is giving you a compliment." And he is -- she is good lookin'.
"Go away."
He leaves. Clearly she's playing hard to get. He wanders into the break room, steals a few bags of chips out of the vending machine, eating one and saving the rest. It takes him about twenty minutes to crack the soda machine, but it's well worth it.
She's still there, arranging figurines around her desk, when he gets back. Creed walks silently up behind her -- he learned that in the Marines -- and places a hand on her ass. That was how he'd gotten Nadia.
There's a loud shriek, a crash, and stars. A minute later, Creed comes to, sitting on the floor, rubbing his head. The blonde stands over him, a terrifying look on her face.
"You are going to hell," she says, and Creed realizes she's holding half a figurine, the rest in pieces around him. "That was my favorite."
2. that's the union of the monkey
From the day she starts Creed is crazy about the Indian chick. Loud and curvy -- his type. She looks like she knows how to have a good time. And she's into him, too -- when he introduces himself to her, asks her how she's liking it at work, she talks for at least five minutes straight about... well, a lot of things. He has a hard time following.
That weekend, he runs into her in a bar -- her friend... Janie? Janice? something -- recognizes him, he'd sold her an ID the year before. She invites him to their table, and the Indian chick (Callie?) gushes about how they work together and he's been so nice and once he brought her chips when the machine gave him two bags. (That had been a good day; not often the machine is so generous.) She asks him what he thinks of Michael and then proceeds to spend the next fifteen minutes telling him what she thinks of Michael.
So Creed is feeling good. He's had two beers, and the bartender slips him some absinthe -- he'd brought it to the guy, last time he got back from Beijing -- and he tries to put a little in Callie's drink, but she never lets go of it long enough. Still. She's into him. He can tell.
So he leans over, whispers in her ear, "Hey, sister, you ready to discover nirvana?"
"What?" she squeals. She sounds excited.
Creed squeezes her thigh, leans in to whisper to her about his initiation into the mysteries of her people. He'd spent some time in Nepal in the '80s, really learned a lot. That's where he learned about mung beans. Still has the bunions, but his arthritis is lots better.
"Ugh, gross, get OFF me," she says, and she pushes him, a lot harder than he would have guessed.
"What? You don't want to learn the sporting of a sparrow? The mixture of sesamum seed with rice? The splitting of the bamboo?"
"That's DISGUSTING!" she yelps, and dumps her beer on his lap as she walks off.
Creed shrugs, takes a plastic basket of fries and walks back to his car. Shame when people don't want to learn about their heritage.
3. well, draw me a map, mama
The redhead is new. She has tired eyes and smells like vodka. Creed always had a thing for MILFs.
She seems to have already made friends in the office, but Andrea has it out for her. She shows up late some mornings, staggering in wearing sunglasses.
It's the 05-05-05 party, and Creed sees her spiking the punch; she's smooth, very good at sleight of hand. No one else notices. He admires her technique.
Creed sidles up to the redhead, holds out his cup for punch. She ladles some out for him, and he looks at her. "A little more," he says, and she meets his eyes. He knows. He understands.
They end up in the supply closet ten minutes later. That is some of the freakiest shit he's ever seen.
At work on Monday, the redhead raises a hand in greeting, then goes back to her computer. Her blue sweater has a pattern of apples and a missing button, and her hair clip had a stringy white bow.
Creed understands. Appearances.
4. oh, I thought that was more on a volunteer basis
The lady who hires Creed is smokin'. She's got that corporate woman thing going for her -- very Working Girl, very sexy. He wonders if she's straight.
"So," she says, standing up from behind her desk, "welcome aboard, Mr. Bratton. We're glad to have you with us at Dunder-Mifflin, and I think this will be a productive partnership."
"Oh sure, oh sure," but he's wondering if they validate parking. It's not his car, but still. Nice thing to do.
"So you'll begin work here, on Monday, and we'll have our HR person go over our benefits package with you at that time. Do you have any questions?"
"Yeah," Creed says, using his sexy voice. "What're you doing, after this?"
"What. Do you mean?"
"I mean" -- he leans across the table in his sexiest pose -- "you want to go get a drink? I know a great little place, amazing sake. Great service." He leans in, but she stops him with a hand to his chest. Which she quickly removes.
"I am your boss, I am married, and you... you smell disgusting, frankly," she says.
"Mung beans," he says with a shrug.
"Mr. Bratton," she pinches two fingers around the sides of her nose, "just... no. Please, please just go."
He slides off the table and walks out. Behind him, boss lady exhales loudly, curses quietly.
5. it's possible a man slipped in, there'd be no way of knowing
The new guy's not so bad looking, really. Creed likes 'em young. He looks like Frank Sinatra -- same baby blues, though Frankie is a real jerk, not like this kid. God, Creed is so tired of Sinatra.
He's all over the place, out of the office on errands for Michael half the time, a real go-getter. Creed likes ambition.
And one day Creed's coming in around 11 (he had a card game, and man, those Italians don't fuck around, so he'd had to hang out at his cousin's for a while, just till the heat died down) and the kid's getting out of his car, carrying balloons shaped like teddy bears. He looks tired.
"Hey, kid," Creed says, following him into the building. The kid doesn't respond.
"Who're the balloons for?" he tries.
"Michael," he responds, and he sounds defeated.
They get on the elevator together, and Creed just wants to try. The kid's eyes really are amazing. He leans in, but before he can get close enough, the kid shoves him back, hard.
"What the HELL?" he yells.
"Nothin," Creed says. "Just a little pick-me-up."
The kid stares at him. The elevator doors open, and Creed gets off.
"You know what?" the kid finally says, stepping out of the elevator and past him. "I quit. I fucking quit." He lets go of the balloons, and they float slowly up to the ceiling. The kid races down the stairs.
"Suit yourself," Creed says. Once the kid's peeled out of the parking lot, he goes over to his desk and roots through it, but there's nothing to take.
Story Notes:
Maybe Once over at TWOP made a joke involving the phrase "step 1: cut a hole in the box" and it got stuck in my head. And then this happened. I'm calling it a "character exercise." Also, this is with my deepest, sincerest apologies to Nadia Comaneci.
Disclaimer: None of this is mine.
Chapter End Notes:
Names of Kama Sutra positions were take from this website. I have no idea how correct they are, but I feel the animations make up for any possible inaccuracies.
sundancekid is the author of 12 other stories.
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