cottoncandypink | New Employees

"Which usually means there's a bed."

Jim made sure of it, because Wilford was content to leave it empty. Looks like Jim was right. Damnit.

Wilford pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and hands it over. "That ought to do it to get you through the door. Make sure it works."

He has no intention of keeping Autor there like some sort of weird servant, and doesn't want to always be there to open the door for him. They'd both be happier if the could come and go as he pleases.

Autor opens the door, and peers out. The first thing he notices is the heat radiating from the other side; rather than a crisp, pseudo-Scotland November, the Los Santos temperature is in the eighties.

He tips his head towards the door, indicating that Wilford should go first.

Wilford grabs his coffee and heads over. That's good enough for him. He opens the door all the way to a long, narrow room, with floor to ceiling windows on the far wall, next to a slanted fireplace. The ceilings are vaulted, with exposed beams, painted white to offset the pale slate walls and the soft, tan carpets. There's a deep, plushy sofa along the near wall, facing a huge television and something that looks like an old radio on top of a large shelf of vinyl records.

To the left is the kitchen, open and airy with dark wood and brushed steel.

The view from the windows looks out over the city, already hazy in the heat.

Buster comes trotting in from the back of the house to greet them, holding a comically large blue teddy bear in his mouth.

"I wish you'd hurry up and eat that thing," Wilford says to the dog.

Buster makes an insulted noise and comes over to greet Autor instead.

Autor soaks in the house like a sponge, his gaze darting this way and that as he takes all the areas he'll be responsible for cleaning. He stays quiet until he sees Buster, who he holds a hand out for.

"This is your dog? I've met him before. He tried to get me to open a can."

"Yeah, he does that," Wilford says, heading over to the kitchen and picks up a folder. "He knows where the food's kept, so watch out for that. He's figured out how to open the door to the fridge, but not the drawers. So keep any meat inside those."

He hands the folder over, which contains a slightly more detailed version of the care sheet the Bar hands out. In addition to food schedules, it has groomer schedules, notes about dead things in his inventory, what to do about dead things in his inventory, vet phone numbers, and more.

"Most of that stuff I'll take care of, or take him to have it taken care of. He comes and goes as he pleases, but don't let him stay outside too long. He gets sunburned."

Autor sets his duffel bag on the floor and peruses the folder, memorizing its contents. He reads slowly, haltingly, and has to start over a couple of times.

"I take care of dog and house. You no worry."

Wilford gives him a thumbs up and nods toward the back of the house. "His room," he says, pointing at the bedroom door. "You'll want to check in there to make sure he hasn't made a mess. Bathroom. My office. And you are down here."

He opens the door to a small alcove with a spiral stair case, and heads down. The lower level is, depending on whether you're in the front or the back, either the basement or the ground level. It's decorated similarly to upstairs, just as sparse but with the same theme throughout. "Don't use that door. There's a mean-looking cactus on the other side. Garage there. Bedroom, and your bathroom."

The bedroom is fully-furnished, as if he expects people to stop by for the weekend at any moment. Large, soft bed with dark bedding. Flatscreen TV that's not quite as big as the one upstairs. On the bed is a large cellphone, a netbook, and an envelope.

"Safe's in the closet. Use it. There's cash in there for whatever you need. Let me know when it gets low."

Autor looks around the room that is to be his own, and his eyes widen. He finds the envelope has the combination for the safe, a fake ID, and a pre-paid Visa. He assumes the phone is pre-loaded with relevant numbers.

"This is best job," Autor says, blinking at Wilford.

"You can call a taxi on that thing. There's maps, and all sorts of stuff." He points to the netbook. "Do your shopping on there, or call a taxi. Up to you. Ever use a credit card before?"

"I have use laptop, but not credit card," Autor says, taking the Visa out of the envelope. "This is credit card?"

"Yep, that's a credit card. It's got five hundred bucks on it. There's an app on the phone that'll let you check the balance. Let me know when it gets low," Wilford explains. "You put in the number and it'll tell you."

If the kid's going to be doing all his shopping, Wilford could at least do the decent thing and pay the bill. He already was, anyway.

"In person, you slide it through a machine at the register." He mimes the swiping motion. "Online, you enter in the number on front, and the date. Some of them will ask for the number on the back."

Autor doesn't know how to do any of this, but he'll learn fast. He's fairly certain he can walk to a market and save Wilford the taxi money. Autor will figure this all out.

"Thank you for the credit card. I can find out how to use. And I have my own laptop. Unless you want me to use this one."

"That one's got bookmarks, but use whichever you want."

In which case, Autor's going to need the wifi password then. Wilford pulls out his own phone and zaps off a quick text. Seconds later, Autor's shiny new phone dings with the information.

"Put that in your laptop to get online."

Autor examines the phone. He's never seen a text message before, and he's fascinated. "This says Wilford," Autor says, scrolling through his contacts. "I can make words on phone, too, and send them to you. I will tell you about the dog."

"Yep, do that. He comes to the studio with me most of the time, but maybe he'll want to hang around here more with someone else to talk to. He'll listen to you. You just might have to tell him a few times to let him know you're in charge. He thinks he can get away with shit."

Which should not be a surprise, given who the owner is.

Wilford gestures back toward the door, and starts to head upstairs again.

Autor sets the envelope on the bed next to his duffel bag, and pockets the phone next to his sylladex. He follows Wilford, curious to see what other wonders await in this house.

Wilford heads back to the kitchen, this time to actually show him around. It's big, airy, and the only room in the house so far that actually looks like it gets any use. It's stocked full of every kitchen gadget imaginable. An enormous coffee machine sits next to a large, flat griddle. Several large knife blocks hold a variety of knives, all steel and sharpened to a razor's edge. Multiple cutting boards in multiple sizes. Pots, pans, and a collection of woks hang from hooks along one wall.

"Gas oven. It's got an electric start, so don't worry about the pilot light. It doesn't have one. Plates, bowls, forks." He points everything out as he says it. "Dry stuff up here." The cupboard he opens shows a brief glimpse of packaging in Korean and Chinese, with a smattering of Japanese thrown into the mix.

"Fridge. Meat on the bottom. Everything else where it fits." He opens the door to show Autor. It's sparse, and noticeably lacking any dairy products.

"The rest, you can probably figure out."

Autor nods thoughtfully at each of the instructions, taking in the kitchen and what it means for his duties. "I understand. Do you not eat milk?"

"Nope. And neither does he."

And because even he knows that Autor is not going to be spending all of his time cooking for the dog, he heads into the living room.

"Stereo. Be... nice to the vinyl. It gets radio, you can pair it to your phone and listen to your music there."

The vinyl collection in question is a carefully organised collection of classic swing, some old jazz, ska, revivalist swing, and electro swing and jazz.

"TV. There's like, three hundred channels. Remote's on the table. The dog likes the animal channels. Take it easy on the On-Demand stuff. There's a Bluebox down at the 24/7 with DVDs and stuff. I don't have any game consoles, but you're welcome to get one if you're into that."

Edited 2017-11-16 05:47 (UTC)

Autor understands about half that. "I do not use television. Or radio. I have music player, and books. Thank you."

Well, all right. That means his records won't get messed with then.

"Great. Any questions? I gotta go the studio pretty soon."

Autor pulls his phone out of his pocket. "If I have question, I make words on this. Thank you."

"Good."

He looks around for his dog, who is sprawled out on the sofa like he owns it.

"It's time to go. You coming?"

Buster wags his tail happily, but makes no effort to get up.

"Great. He's all yours. Have fun." He makes sure he has his keys and his wallet and heads back downstairs to the garage.

Autor crosses to the sofa and gingerly settles onto it, careful not to disturb Buster. "[It looks like it's you and me, dog,]" Autor says, in German. "[This is the best job ever.]"

Buster wuffs in agreement and wags his tail - thump thump thump against the sofa. He watches Autor for a few minutes before he suddenly remembers something Very Important and hops down to jingle-jangle away back to his room. When he comes back later, it's with his enormous bear, which needs to be up on the sofa with him. He shuffles around, trying to get comfortable with the bear and Autor, and just generally manages to take up every possible inch of space.

Autor pats Buster on the head when he returns, absently, as the boy's examining his new phone. He's never owned one before, not even from the bar, and he's amazed at how many features it has, and at the fact that the screen moves under his fingers. He spends about an hour playing with the gadget, figuring out the apps.

He sends a text to Wilford, once he figures out how to slowly type words using the on-screen keyboard: Buster is happy. I make food for him soon.

Next, Autor pulls up the map, and spends about twenty minutes familiarizing himself with the area. According to the map app, there's a store potentially holding food about two miles away. Autor plans to visit that store as soon as he makes a list.

He pats Buster again and crosses to the kitchen. Opening cabinets and the fridge reveals just what he thought: there's not much food available, and he doesn't understand the Korean on the labels of what is available. He calls a quill, an ink well, and a piece of parchment out of his sylladex, and starts writing up a grocery list in a long, flowing script.

Autor is in the kitchen, but there is no food being made. This is such torture! How can he be so cruel!

When his obvious fading away into nothing gets no result, Buster huffs and forces open the fridge door. There is an egg carton in reach. He steals it and drops it onto the floor with a wet crack.

"Buster! Nein!" Autor says, shaking his finger at the dog. He picks up the egg carton and examines how many of the eggs were broken. He sighs, finding that most of them are. He adds eggs to his list and throws away the carton--after throwing one of the broken eggs to the floor for Buster.

Then he finds a rag and a bottle of cleaner under the sink, and starts wiping up the mess. He huffs at Buster, and then moves everything breakable in the fridge to the top shelf, hopefully out of his reach.

He returns to his room for the folder containing the care sheet, and decides that diced chicken is on the menu for the dog tonight. He washes his hands, and retrieves the meat from the bottom drawer of the fridge, and starts chopping it with one of the wickedly sharp knives on a cutting board. Every so often, he tosses a tiny piece of chicken to Buster.

Buster devours the egg that's left for him, and continues to hover around for more. When the little pieces of chicken are tossed to him, he snaps at the air, but misses every single one of them. The chicken bounces off his face and onto the ground.

When he doesn't get chicken often enough, he yips to make sure he hasn't been forgotten. Each time, he sounds just a little more desperate.

Autor shushes the dog, and tosses him one last piece of chicken before locating a frying pan. He spends a few seconds figuring out the oven--it's similar enough to the one in the bar--and starts frying up the meat. Cooking the meal only takes a few minutes, and he's soon dishing up most of the chicken for Buster--and reserving a little for himself as well.

He places the dog's plate on the floor, and carts his to the table--which is covered in mail and Wilford's coat. Autor sets his plate down on the table and stacks the letters, leaving them in a neat pile. Then he starts to eat.

Buster's meal is gone in about twenty seconds. And then he spends another ten licking the plate to make sure he has all of the tiny little bits.

When he's done with that, he comes over to the table. Why is Autor at the table? What's up there? He sniffs at it, while still managing to keep all four feet on the ground. Barely.

Autor scarfs down his food just as fast as Buster did his. The ex-soldier sets his plate down on the floor for the dog to lick, and continues working on his grocery list. After Buster has thoroughly licked the plates, Autor carries them to the sink, where he scrubs them until they shine. He loads them in the dishwasher for good measure.

"[Come, dog,]" Autor says, patting Buster on the head. The boy finds a bright pink leash by the door, and clips it to the animal's collar. Then he queues up his map, locks the door, and sets out to the grocery store.

The leash is weird, because it means they're going somewhere after the car. He tolerates it, but gives a good shake to voice his displeasure at it. Once they're outside, he leads Autor down to the garage and waits for him to open the door.

When Autor doesn't want to go into the garage, it's confusing and exciting. Also, the pavement is really hot on his feet! He dances and steps oddly until he can get to the side of the road to walk on the grass and dirt along the hard shoulder. Everything smells so different out here! He's never been here! He stops to sniff at something green and pokey. It hurts!

Autor lets Buster explore along the shoulder of the road, watching him be startled at every little blade of grass. The boy tugs on the leash, keeping him to a meandering pace towards the store.

Buster stops to snap at some bugs flying around in the grass, and to bark at a squirrel, and to pick up something dead, making it vanish into his inventory before Autor has the chance to spot him.

When someone walks down the other side of the road, Buster immediately switches from curious exploration to attack mode. He barks and growls at the person, trying to put himself between the other person and Autor. It makes the other person look warily their way and pick up the pace.

"Buster! Nein!" Autor says, tightening his grip on the leash. If Buster is going to bark at every stranger, this will be a long trip. Autor wraps the leash around his hand thrice, holding on to the pink lead. He tugs the dog along the road, eventually reaching the store.

Autor has never seen a supermarket before, and he's amazed at how large the store is. He watches people pick up carts from the outside before picking up one himself. Then he walks up and down the aisles, marveling at how expensive all the food is.

Buster doesn't bark at every stranger. Just that one. Because he was scary.

When they get to the supermarket, Buster knows what he's supposed to do. When Autor picks his cart, Buster quickly gets into the bottom compartment to stay out of the way. He watches everybody walk past, yipping a few times when Autor passes something he should get.

This isn't the same supermarket they usually shop in though. It's a weird, new place, full of weird new smells, and lots of kids that want to stop to pet him.

Autor tries to tell the kids that Buster is not for petting right now, because they're at a store, but eventually gives in to let the children do as they will with the dog. Autor watches Buster closely to make sure he won't bite, and says, "Welcome," to the grateful parents.

"[Good dog, Buster,]" Autor says, patting him as well. The boy returns to his shopping, and with Buster behaving, he's able to relatively quickly complete the trip.

He watches the person in front of him in the checkout line load their groceries on the conveyer belt, and use the register. He's silent, focused on his task, as he mimics that person. Swiping the card is a lot easier than he thought it would be.

And no one made any loud noises in the store, like he was braced for. So many strangers made for a dangerous trip, but he finds he was able to walk among them without being massively triggered, so he counts it a victory.

"[Buster, let's go home,]" Autor says, after coding all the groceries into his sylladex.

Buster knows that shopping time is quiet time. Because Daddy gets really angry when he gets kicked out of a store. Buster doesn’t like that, so he sits still and is quiet.

Once they’re outside again, he dances around the hot pavement until they’re able to get to grass again. Then it’s more snapping at bugs and sniffing at things that are pokey and painful. Buster does not know why the plants hurt, but they make him angry, so he starts barking at them every time they pass one.

Autor almost smiles. The dog is angry at cacti. Autor has never seen a cactus in real life, and is tempted to poke the plant himself, but doesn't. He allows Buster to bark and wander and play more than he did on the way to the store, but he's still on high alert for strangers.

Buster doesn't bark at any more strangers that come their way. Not even the joggers in their neon spandex.

He gets excited again when they come into view of the house once more, and starts jumping and running in circles around Autor. What a fun adventure! Didn't Autor think this was fun?

Autor almost gets tangled up in the leash, but he mananges. He approaches the house, eyeing the giant cactus that blocks the back door. "[Strange,]" he murmurs to himself, and crosses to the front door with Buster.

Unlocking the front door takes only a moment, and Autor enters the house. He shuts the door and unclips Buster's leash, hanging the lead in its place. Then Autor crosses to the kitchen to put the food away.

While Autor puts everything away, Buster runs a few laps through the house, shaking off the feeling of the leash on him. He tolerates the leash, but that doesn't mean he likes it. Once he feels better, he hops back up onto the sofa with his bear and rolls around, apparently falling asleep mid-roll with his back twisted and his hind legs straight up into the air.

Autor finishes straightening out the fridge. He bought enough to make meals for himself for the next week or so, as well as food for Buster--with extra eggs.

After passing the dog on the couch with another almost-smile, Autor settles into his new room. He figures out the netbook and decides to use that rather than his own while he's in Wilford's world. The ex-soldier still thinks this is the easiest job in the multiverse.

New Employees

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject