"Jamdaggu," Vozdrammar says in a wheedling voice, leaning over his desk and conspicuously rearranging herself to show off some cleavage, "can I book a day off?"
"We've got a web form for that, Vozdrammar," Jamdaggu sighs. "Just — log into the system, right, go to Manage my Schedule in the sidebar, click on Holiday Requests and see? It tells you how much holiday you have left to book, and you can use the calendar widget to put a request in."
"A request!" Vozdrammar says happily, and bounces a little, still showing off but now fixing him with a look. "Wow that's so clever Jamdaggu, I can put a request in on the computer! What happens to the request after that? Do magic computer pixies look at it?"
Jamdaggu sighs again. "Okay, fine," he concedes. "I'll do it just this once because Mawgull's still having her midlife crisis or whatever's going on. Reason?"
"Makkata's getting married," Vozdrammar says. "You don't know her, transferred out years ago, but it's traditional for us to make a showing when one of the girls gets hitched, you know? Sort of let 'em know you can take the succubus out of Lust, but we still know where you live, bitch." She beams at him. "I love weddings so much, I always cry," she adds. "Zo and Pam and Grax are all coming too, they're gonna put on gimp hoods and I'm going to burst in with them all on leashes so we can all throw ourselves at Mak's feet and howl about her abandoning me to raise our litter of puppygirls all by myself. I get to hold the leashes because I'm the best crier!"
She wiggles proudly, then notices Jamdaggu's narrowed eyes as he comtemplates the holiday request system.
"...Sorry," he says. "Who and who and who are going too?"
"Uh," Vozdrammar says. "Zo and, uh...."
"Jurhazo," Jamdaggu says, "and Pamnaxxa, and Lorgrax?" He drums his fingers on the desk. "As in, every single senior supervisor worth a damn is taking off together and leaving this place to implode in Mawgull's hands?"
"Makkata's getting married," Vozdrammar says pathetically.
"You're all in on putting the boot into Mawgull," Jamdaggu counters.
Vozdrammar kicks at the carpet, looks at her nails, sucks her teeth, and gives him a hangdog look. "...No?" she tries eventually.
"If she played into the drama," Jamdaggu says wearily, "you'd all be back eating out of her hands overnight. All yasssss Evil Office Queen, step on my face."
"Yeah," Vozdrammar says, "but she doesn't know how to play, Daggu. They never fucking do. It's fine when they let us manage ourselves, but they won't let us do it because we look like we're having too much fun."
"You are!"
"You know what'll be fun?" Vozdrammar leans over the desk again, eyes glittering seriously this time. "Watching Mawgull stomp in here for another day of terrorising a captive audience, realise she's got to run the place or it'll fall on her head, and desperately try to outrun the fucking pratfall of doom she's stacked up for herself, when you've been prewarned that it's coming and you can kick back and do the thing."
"The thing?"
"Oops," Vozdrammar says, in an unflattering imitation, "I'm Jamdaggu and I'm hapless! Oh no, how did I end up in charge of Lust! Everything is constantly on fire and I never even get singed, like a bureaucratic Drunken Master, because I'm not as stupid as I make out."
They look at each other.
"We can work with you," Vozdrammar says. "C'mon. C'mon, Daggu. Play along. Play with us."
"I already clicked Confirm," Jamdaggu says, and prods his Newton's cradle into motion with one finger, grinning as she cranes her neck to peer at his monitor.
"You're sneaky. I need to watch you closer," Vozdrammar tells him.
"I'm your boss, that's my line." He ostentatiously Alt-Tabs to Solitaire. "Enjoy the wedding!"
