{Original} Wolfspawn - Part 1
Story Name: Wolfspawn
Fandom: Original
Author: Rebekah Davenport
Rating: 18
Part: 1
Words: 1,624
Summary: An original universe with original characters that is set around a lycanthrope who undergoes some changes in lifestyle and at work. Who knew hiring a new lawyer would lead to such horrid side effects?
~#~#~
I slammed the door to the office on my way out. Childish, I know, but I was feeling a little under-appreciated at the moment. The entire meeting had left a bad taste in my mouth, kinda fishy. This was the problem with relationships. Complications! And I don’t like complications. It wasn’t even my relationship and it was already biting me on the ass.
Sure, everyone had been happy when the Boss got a new ‘special friend’. He’s a nice guy, deserved a little happiness, not too mention a good lay! Course, everyone expected the guy to run a mile when he found out the truth but instead this guy started making suggestions. The Boss was delighted. We all were but we should have realised that something was up.
We’ve all been in that position, finding out the truth and none of us reacted well. No exceptions. It took time to accept what goes on behind the glittering front bar, behind the happily vanilla couples on the dance floor. But this guy… He just walked in, ordered an orange juice and started with the suggestions. The Boss was over the moon. We didn’t know it then but that was only the start.
Soon, he was talking about worker’s rights and how the Boss was leaving himself open for problems. All that it would take was one of the guys to complain and lawyers would be crawling all over the Boss’ ass. And he should know, after all, he was a lawyer. That’s where it began and that’s where it started impacting my life. He wants to make us take days off!
Okay, so that sounds like the worst complaint ever but you have a bunch of kids here - and that’s what we are really, all under the wonderful age of 21 - who’ve never, ever had a day off before. Never been out of the club for more than a day since we walked though those doors. You starting to realise the problem?
We know no one outside the club. We have nothing to do out there and no reason to do it. Everything we might want is in the club. Food. Drink. Entertainment. We know how everything works there and what’s expected of us. We have people we meet regularly. Spend time with. Enjoy spending time with. But finding them on the outside would be one step away from impossible. Talking isn’t exactly high on the priority list, if you know what I mean?
Take Nicholi, for example. Nicholi Aranyos, my favourite visitor. He’s been coming in for about eight months now, once a week, almost every week. Always on a Thursday night. He comes in at around eight. Who’m I kidding? He walks in at eight exactly. Not a minute past or a minute before. Eight! Always wearing that long coat - Armani, I think - and that fedora. He always looks classy though, like he walked straight out of a fifties movie. Add in that foreign accent and you have pure instant hardness. We fought over his contract but he picked me! And he kept me ever since. Every Thursday night, I’m his until he leaves the club. He’d tell me a week in advance if he was going to miss a week. So I wouldn’t worry, he said.
And now, for the first time ever, I won’t be there and it’s all that damned lawyer’s fault. He wants to screw the Boss, fine! Just don’t screw us too! I even tried explaining it to him, to tell him why I didn’t want to take the night off. Why I needed to be here on Thursdays, but he didn’t listen. Christ, I even tried old fashioned persuasion. I got down on my knees for that man but all he does is ask me whether I have any plans for my night off! Bastard!
I told him about Nicholi and he told me not to worry, that Nicholi would still be serviced - just not by me. Like that is going to make me worry less. I already know I’m not the prettiest boy in the stable but Nicholi chose me. He picked me and came back every week to see me - or so he says - and it made me feel special, you know? And that inbred son of a whore just shattered that in less than a minute.
And the pretext? That’s what bugs me the most. It’s completely ridiculous! Human rights? For the love of sex, how the hell can he claim human rights violation when everyone in the back room isn’t human? Once a month - more if I’m paid for it - I grow a fur coat and run around on all fours. Have done for the past eight years so don’t feel so sorry for me. I’m a lycanthrope, just like most of the other kids in the back room and a couple of the bouncers. We’re fine with it but not everyone is. Apparently they’re discussing whether to file us under human or animal in Washington, but I could care less! As long as they don’t force me to miss a Thursday night.
Damn it, I blew that guy and he didn’t even move an inch. Didn’t even say thank you. Course, he wasn’t saying much for the few minutes. What? I’m proud of what I do! Christ, even a mountain gets worn down by the weather. Why does he have it in for me? I haven’t taken a day off in the past 12 years. Surely a week won’t make a difference? Part of me is wondering whether it’s really him or whether it’s one of the other boys making a move on my client list. Someone who’s giving it up in exchange for my contracts. But thinking like that will get me nowhere.
What the hell am I going to do? I have no idea how to reach Nicholi. No way to tell him what’s happening. Is he going to think that I’ve moved on? That I don’t want to see him anymore? Fuck! Nothing could be further from the truth. I wonder if I can wait for him at the door, stop him before he goes in. Maybe Jones can tell him? Maybe… Shit! Trust that lawyer to fuck everything up.
And it’s worse than that. He’s signed us up to weekly medicals with another of his “special friends”, a really creepy guy who just happens to have his own white lab coat. Don’t get me wrong, the guy probably is a doctor but I reckon he’s not practicing anywhere outside the doors of this club. We don’t have a problem with the medical exams, but we expect a certain… professionalism? We may spread ‘em seven nights a week but doesn’t make us cheap, ya know?
The Boss used to ship us out to a mate of his. Real nice bloke. It was all a big day out. We used to get treated to ice cream and everything. Now we’re lucky if the guy puts on gloves before doing the internal exams. Granted, it’s probably nothing more than we’d do on a Saturday night, but at least then we call it what it is.
And of course, it’s just my luck that I’m pencilled in just before my night off. Talk about a perfect, fucking day! Add in that annoying, creepy guy that constantly smells like cheese and it would be just the best day ever. And just in case you can’t hear the sarcasm in there, I’m joking! I can’t imagine a worse day.
I’ve even had a word with the Boss. He understood and he’d just started to cave… when in walks that damned bastard and undoes every bit of work I’d done. It’s for the good of my health, he says. It’s the law, he says. Screw him! Know what would be good for my health? Not taking Thursday night off and having my weekly session with Nicholi. That would be good. And screw the law. Not like they even recognise me as a person anyway.
Christ, why couldn’t the bastard be the one getting it up the ass instead of the Boss? You’d swear that actually being the one running the place would count for something. But hell, to say that we were all less than impressed with the new trends in the club is a bit of an understatement. And it’s not just the help that is starting to complain, the bouncers are starting to complain. They’re our last line of safety. If someone gets past them, it’s our asses on the line and let me tell you, losing one of us is something that would cost the club majorly. And no, that’s not just my ego talking.
Anyway, they’ve spotted that the crowd has become rougher since the bastard arrived, but as soon as they stop someone, he’s there saying that it’s alright, that they’re friends of his. Bullshit! We can all see the envelopes that they slip him. What I can’t understand is his hold over the Boss. Is the Boss so cock-whipped that he’ll buy every word out of the guy’s mouth? Apparently so.
But let me ask you one question. If you take away the one person who cares for us, the one whose voice still counts for something, what are we left with? Sweet fuck all! That’s what.
Look, I gotta go. Got a plan to organise. Not going to let the one of the few good things about this place slip through my fingers without at least trying to hold on. I still got friends in this place and a few favours owed. As long as I keep it under the bastard’s radar, everything should be fine. Right?
Fandom: Original
Author: Rebekah Davenport
Rating: 18
Part: 1
Words: 1,624
Summary: An original universe with original characters that is set around a lycanthrope who undergoes some changes in lifestyle and at work. Who knew hiring a new lawyer would lead to such horrid side effects?
~#~#~
I slammed the door to the office on my way out. Childish, I know, but I was feeling a little under-appreciated at the moment. The entire meeting had left a bad taste in my mouth, kinda fishy. This was the problem with relationships. Complications! And I don’t like complications. It wasn’t even my relationship and it was already biting me on the ass.
Sure, everyone had been happy when the Boss got a new ‘special friend’. He’s a nice guy, deserved a little happiness, not too mention a good lay! Course, everyone expected the guy to run a mile when he found out the truth but instead this guy started making suggestions. The Boss was delighted. We all were but we should have realised that something was up.
We’ve all been in that position, finding out the truth and none of us reacted well. No exceptions. It took time to accept what goes on behind the glittering front bar, behind the happily vanilla couples on the dance floor. But this guy… He just walked in, ordered an orange juice and started with the suggestions. The Boss was over the moon. We didn’t know it then but that was only the start.
Soon, he was talking about worker’s rights and how the Boss was leaving himself open for problems. All that it would take was one of the guys to complain and lawyers would be crawling all over the Boss’ ass. And he should know, after all, he was a lawyer. That’s where it began and that’s where it started impacting my life. He wants to make us take days off!
Okay, so that sounds like the worst complaint ever but you have a bunch of kids here - and that’s what we are really, all under the wonderful age of 21 - who’ve never, ever had a day off before. Never been out of the club for more than a day since we walked though those doors. You starting to realise the problem?
We know no one outside the club. We have nothing to do out there and no reason to do it. Everything we might want is in the club. Food. Drink. Entertainment. We know how everything works there and what’s expected of us. We have people we meet regularly. Spend time with. Enjoy spending time with. But finding them on the outside would be one step away from impossible. Talking isn’t exactly high on the priority list, if you know what I mean?
Take Nicholi, for example. Nicholi Aranyos, my favourite visitor. He’s been coming in for about eight months now, once a week, almost every week. Always on a Thursday night. He comes in at around eight. Who’m I kidding? He walks in at eight exactly. Not a minute past or a minute before. Eight! Always wearing that long coat - Armani, I think - and that fedora. He always looks classy though, like he walked straight out of a fifties movie. Add in that foreign accent and you have pure instant hardness. We fought over his contract but he picked me! And he kept me ever since. Every Thursday night, I’m his until he leaves the club. He’d tell me a week in advance if he was going to miss a week. So I wouldn’t worry, he said.
And now, for the first time ever, I won’t be there and it’s all that damned lawyer’s fault. He wants to screw the Boss, fine! Just don’t screw us too! I even tried explaining it to him, to tell him why I didn’t want to take the night off. Why I needed to be here on Thursdays, but he didn’t listen. Christ, I even tried old fashioned persuasion. I got down on my knees for that man but all he does is ask me whether I have any plans for my night off! Bastard!
I told him about Nicholi and he told me not to worry, that Nicholi would still be serviced - just not by me. Like that is going to make me worry less. I already know I’m not the prettiest boy in the stable but Nicholi chose me. He picked me and came back every week to see me - or so he says - and it made me feel special, you know? And that inbred son of a whore just shattered that in less than a minute.
And the pretext? That’s what bugs me the most. It’s completely ridiculous! Human rights? For the love of sex, how the hell can he claim human rights violation when everyone in the back room isn’t human? Once a month - more if I’m paid for it - I grow a fur coat and run around on all fours. Have done for the past eight years so don’t feel so sorry for me. I’m a lycanthrope, just like most of the other kids in the back room and a couple of the bouncers. We’re fine with it but not everyone is. Apparently they’re discussing whether to file us under human or animal in Washington, but I could care less! As long as they don’t force me to miss a Thursday night.
Damn it, I blew that guy and he didn’t even move an inch. Didn’t even say thank you. Course, he wasn’t saying much for the few minutes. What? I’m proud of what I do! Christ, even a mountain gets worn down by the weather. Why does he have it in for me? I haven’t taken a day off in the past 12 years. Surely a week won’t make a difference? Part of me is wondering whether it’s really him or whether it’s one of the other boys making a move on my client list. Someone who’s giving it up in exchange for my contracts. But thinking like that will get me nowhere.
What the hell am I going to do? I have no idea how to reach Nicholi. No way to tell him what’s happening. Is he going to think that I’ve moved on? That I don’t want to see him anymore? Fuck! Nothing could be further from the truth. I wonder if I can wait for him at the door, stop him before he goes in. Maybe Jones can tell him? Maybe… Shit! Trust that lawyer to fuck everything up.
And it’s worse than that. He’s signed us up to weekly medicals with another of his “special friends”, a really creepy guy who just happens to have his own white lab coat. Don’t get me wrong, the guy probably is a doctor but I reckon he’s not practicing anywhere outside the doors of this club. We don’t have a problem with the medical exams, but we expect a certain… professionalism? We may spread ‘em seven nights a week but doesn’t make us cheap, ya know?
The Boss used to ship us out to a mate of his. Real nice bloke. It was all a big day out. We used to get treated to ice cream and everything. Now we’re lucky if the guy puts on gloves before doing the internal exams. Granted, it’s probably nothing more than we’d do on a Saturday night, but at least then we call it what it is.
And of course, it’s just my luck that I’m pencilled in just before my night off. Talk about a perfect, fucking day! Add in that annoying, creepy guy that constantly smells like cheese and it would be just the best day ever. And just in case you can’t hear the sarcasm in there, I’m joking! I can’t imagine a worse day.
I’ve even had a word with the Boss. He understood and he’d just started to cave… when in walks that damned bastard and undoes every bit of work I’d done. It’s for the good of my health, he says. It’s the law, he says. Screw him! Know what would be good for my health? Not taking Thursday night off and having my weekly session with Nicholi. That would be good. And screw the law. Not like they even recognise me as a person anyway.
Christ, why couldn’t the bastard be the one getting it up the ass instead of the Boss? You’d swear that actually being the one running the place would count for something. But hell, to say that we were all less than impressed with the new trends in the club is a bit of an understatement. And it’s not just the help that is starting to complain, the bouncers are starting to complain. They’re our last line of safety. If someone gets past them, it’s our asses on the line and let me tell you, losing one of us is something that would cost the club majorly. And no, that’s not just my ego talking.
Anyway, they’ve spotted that the crowd has become rougher since the bastard arrived, but as soon as they stop someone, he’s there saying that it’s alright, that they’re friends of his. Bullshit! We can all see the envelopes that they slip him. What I can’t understand is his hold over the Boss. Is the Boss so cock-whipped that he’ll buy every word out of the guy’s mouth? Apparently so.
But let me ask you one question. If you take away the one person who cares for us, the one whose voice still counts for something, what are we left with? Sweet fuck all! That’s what.
Look, I gotta go. Got a plan to organise. Not going to let the one of the few good things about this place slip through my fingers without at least trying to hold on. I still got friends in this place and a few favours owed. As long as I keep it under the bastard’s radar, everything should be fine. Right?