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On Your Shoulder

By: Smokey125



Smokey Saga #58: "On Your Shoulder" 

***** 

Here's another story I originally wrote as a theater play to get produced on stage. Well, that didn't happen, but I was always very fond of this funny little fairy-tale, and the upside is, I can now redo it as an erotic story. There'll be about a quarter of a sex scene in the middle and a full one at the end. I hope you'll find it worth waiting for, 'cause there's a lot of content here. And in case you're unaware, I'm only writing lesbian stories at this time; sorry, hetero-/androphiles. This is sci-fi/fantasy and also lesbian sex. The story—or script, rather—was originally written in 2008, hence the setting. Also, like my other Saga that was first penned as a play, this will switch narratives between first- and third-person. Like usual, italics here denote the intro, bold is the protagonist's first-person narration, and the bold italics are the individual segment titles and settings. We'll start with our main character's first monologue, her initial in parentheses. Enjoy, and as always, your feedback is highly valued and appreciated. 

***** 

(P) Hi there. You're looking dapper. Y'know, our system of morals and values can really get flipped on its head sometimes. When we're growing up, people try to teach us right from wrong, but what they don't tell us is that in our world, sometimes the "wrong" path is the only path to survival. At some point, during our still formative years, the barriers between good and evil break down, and the thin line becomes blurred beyond recognition. 

My name's Poppy Sorenson. I never thought of myself as a particularly bad or evil person before. I never really thought very much about morality at all, in fact. Maybe that's just what happens to some of us when we become grown-ups. We tend to lose the innocence and idealism we were once instilled with. That was what happened to me. I'm in my 30s now, but I lost my inner child when I was 15. 

This is my office. Well, it used to be my office, when I still worked here. At the moment I'm sitting Native American-style on top of my old desk. Up until a while ago, I was employed at the offices of SuCo Industries, occupying the absolutely terrible position of Corporate Killer. In the most basic terms, I fired people for a living. Yep. I was her—that terrifying woman down there in the office of doom, deep down where they send you when you've screwed up just a touch too much. That wicked witch...was yours truly. 

And I loved every damn—oops, 'scuse me; darn—second of it. 

I did. I was a cold-hearted, sadistic devil. I was a snake, a creep, a rat, just you name it. But yet, less believable still, I was completely oblivious to it. That is, until something...happened to me. I know how impossible it is, and all I can say is that I swear it's true. I, swear. It bears repeating. I don't even know how long ago it was, but I remember every detail. At the start of what would be my final week at SuCo Industries, one cold frosty November day, I heartlessly axed a sweet, innocent girl named Suzy. 

C'mon along with me. 

It'll be all right. Promise. 

***** 

Pop Blows The Whistle 

Monday, November 10th, 2008, 12:23 p.m. 

It was the early afternoon of a chilly autumn Monday, in downtown Juniper, Minnesota. The temperature floated just around 40°F, with cold falling leaves and whistling winds, all reigned over by cloudy, precipitating skies. Festive retailers were done with their costumes and candy, having brought out the turkeys and Stove Top, with toys, gifts and wreaths next in line. Children in school and laborers at work carried on with an extra bounce in their step, looking forward to some momentous holiday celebrations. Some of them had the following day off in honor of their American Armed Forces soldiers, some did not. And another week of staggering production was underway at the hardcore business venture known as SuCo Industries. 

SuCo was a thirty-five-year old corporate giant for whom heavy production was a number-one concern. In competition with fierce longstanding rivals, they had to maintain a cutthroat ethic to contend. They were always on the lookout for new qualified personnel. They were known from the outside to take the chance on hiring a wide surplus of individuals, even those having bagged little or no experience. Unfortunately, herein lay the "glitch," so to speak, in their hiring system. While the company could use as many proficient workers as they could find, the SuCo standards of proficiency were less than concrete. And now and then, they might take on just a few too many employees to maintain their precious balance. And so it was survival of the fittest. 

Unproductive laborers—or those so deemed by the company, either via accident or purpose—were treated to a bite of harsh reality. Under scrutinizing superior eyes, only the strongest thrived. While a worker may or may not be aware, stepping into the doors of SuCo Industries was a massive roll of the proverbial dice. There was lots of room and opportunity for growth in the company, and for the truly dedicated and prolific, lavishly rewarding careers could lie in wait. But there were no guarantees either way; the glitch in the hiring system—the exposure of which would give way to undermining SuCo's stature—eradicated job security, for even those who tried their best. The most recent recipient of this smack in the face was on her way down to the office of Miss Poppy Sorenson. 

Suzy Cooper took a few breaths before she turned the knob. She and other entry-level colleagues had heard things about the woman behind this intimidating door, but she couldn't be sure of them until witnessing for herself. She cautiously opened it, and peeked inside to see not one, but two women sitting together behind the desk. The one to her left looked up. 

"Suzy Cooper?" 

The timid girl nodded, slipping inside. She couldn't help but notice that neither of the women in the office appeared to be very welcoming. In fact, they looked like robots. She also observed just how loud and creaky the open door was. Could use a little oiling in the hinges, she thought. The other woman gestured for her to sit in the chair facing them. 

"Shut the door and have a seat, Miss Cooper." 

Well, it's Mrs., actually, thought Suzy, but somehow, she didn't see this mattering a great deal. She did as they said. 

For a bit, no one said anything. Suzy's eyes shifted between the two of them as they stared, looking rather hostile. It seemed to Suzy—unknowingly correctly—they were attempting to make her as uncomfy as possible. Finally, the woman on her left spoke again. 

"...Thank you for coming down, Miss Cooper." 

"Um, I'd prefer Suzy, actually, please," said the girl, feeling this a more tactful choice than correcting them with her married title. 

"Very well; Suzy." 

Suzy nodded, trying to keep her breathing under control. She had an ominous feeling whatever was going on here wasn't good. 

"Now," continued Poppy, her first hostess. She sorted and shifted papers, to give Suzy the illusion that she and the other woman actually had additional things to do. She went on, lowly and slowly, trying to make Suzy sweat. 

"As you may know, here at SuCo Industries, production is our number-one concern. Unfortunately, it has come to our attention..." 

They paused. Oh, dear, the poor girl thought with a gulp. "It has come to our attention..." The six scariest words in the clerical office profession, preceded right by number seven: "Unfortunately." Suzy already knew she would hate this. 

"...That an issue has arisen concerning your performance." 

Suzy's heart accelerated. Perspiration materialized under her bangs. She hoped to heaven she wasn't in trouble, but she was about 90% sure this hope was in vain. She began opening her mouth to answer, but wasn't granted the chance. 

"It seems your total productivity has fallen an average of eight percent, in a single month." 

Suzy felt her eyes reflexively widen, mouth speechlessly ajar. The other woman, Tammy, stepped in. 

"Were you aware of this, Suzy?" 

Suzy vehemently shook her head, trying to convey her sincere obliviousness. 

"Well, I...no, no, I wasn't," she answered meekly. "I...I'm doing the best I can. I-I always have been, since I started here." 

"Now, Suzy, you've had several training sessions with your supervisors, have you not?" asked Poppy. 

"Um...yes..." 

"Supervisors who took the time out of their already busy schedules working with you personally, to boost your progress," Tammy admonished. "And instead of increasing, the quality of your work has since decreased." 

Suzy was genuinely thrown for a loop. "...Well, I...I-I had...I had no idea," she told them. 

"Yes, well, be that as it may, Suzy," Poppy went on, "All of this having been said, as things stand at this point..." 

She sighed. Suzy slowly teemed with trepidation as she felt her fate in fact being sealed. And she was right. 

"...I'm afraid we're going to have to let you go." 

There it was. The confirmation. Suzy's gasp came out just before her face fell. 

"Oh, no, wait, please!" she begged. "There...th-there-there must be something I can do! Give-give me another chance! Please!" 

The two women behind the desk only shook their heads once more. 

"Suzy, I'm afraid you've already had all the chances you'll be getting with us," said Tammy. "I'm sorry; our decision is final." 

Suzy couldn't believe it. "But...I-I-I...I didn't even know!" she exclaimed, her voice starting to crack. "Please, you can't do this to me! I need this job! I'll lose my insurance, and-and my husband's unemployment just ran out! What'll I do??" 

Poppy let out another sigh. "Suzy, don't make this more difficult than it is. Again, we're very sorry. We'll be providing you two weeks' severance pay. You may take all the time you need to clean out your cubicle, and you'll be escorted out." 

Suzy watched through welling eyes as Miss Poppy Sorenson and whoever the other woman was returned to their "paperwork." Not even looking back up at her, Poppy finally announced, "That will be all, Suzy. You're dismissed." 

The crestfallen girl let her head drop. One hand over her mouth, she rose from the chair and started back towards the noisy door. Well, she supposed the things she and her co-workers had heard about the infamous Miss Sorenson were true after all. But she also supposed that if she went back and spread the word to her surviving workmates, Miss Sorenson and her crony here could make things tough on her even past this point. As she had just lamented to the two of them, she couldn't deal with life being any more trying just now. And she didn't want to let emotions get the better of her, but a small, audible weep still escaped her. 

"And Suzy?" she heard one of them say. 

Much as she hated to let them see that they'd made her cry, Suzy somberly turned back around. Her tear-blurred vision made it hard to make out who said the next sentence, but she heard each word loud and clear. 

"Rest assured your future potential employers will be given a favorable reference from us." 

Suzy nodded, looked down, turned back around, sniffled, wiped her nose, and solemnly departed. She'd left their door open, so after a couple of moments Tammy got up from her seat, took a peek outside, shut it, and brought her voice to full volume. 

"In her dreams!" she chuckled, clapping off her hands. 

"Ha ha! And another sucker bites the dust!" Poppy grinned devilishly. 

Tammy returned to her seat. "Yep...and the best part: watching them crawl outta here like worms on their bellies, thinking it's all their fault." She folded her arms behind her head, crossing her legs at the ankles as she threw her feet up onto the desk. "Y'know, maybe just once we should tell one of 'em the truth: that we just need to 'lighten the load' a little." 

Poppy shrugged. "Yeah...but where's the fun in that??" They shared another laugh. "Next victim!" 

The diabolical duo were normally treated to the privilege of axing an individual worker, sending her or him packing every couple hours or so, and more frequently on heavier days. As the company was apt to take employees under its wing by the truckloads, it was just as quick—if not more so—to weed through unsuitables and undesirables and cut them loose. So between callous terminations, they sifted employee documentation to determine what to keep and what to dispose of, did just so with the latter, filed the former in their archives, and sent out E-mails to the terminated workers' departments. This left them still copious extra time, during which Tammy usually met with department heads and supervisors for progress updates, and Poppy stayed in the office, looking after things, taking calls and keeping the computer system up to date. A bit later, Tammy left her alone to go on her next round. 

By herself in the shut office, Poppy took care of a few minor things, and picked up her nameplate to read the fancy serif letters. If met with the question as to why exactly she and Tammy took such delight in telling their colleagues to beat it—or why they purposely kept their door unoiled, thereby keeping victims on edge with its squeaking and creaking—she'd be frankly a bit stymied for an answer. She'd suppose she chalked it up to being a survivor in a cold, cruel world. That as long as SuCo Industries kept bringing folks aboard by the boatloads, she and Tammy would have job security, unlike those on the other side of their desk. Hey, she and Tammy still needed to eat, and needed roofs over their heads as well, she reasoned. And schadenfreude. Lots, and lots of schadenfreude. The heartless—but simple and logical—"better you than me" philosophy. 

Her nameplate bore only thirteen letters with a single space in between (Poppy's middle name bluntly embarrassed her and remained a secret to just about everyone). And so she was embellishing as she read and stated out loud— 

"'Poppy Sorenson'...Corporate Killer." While adding a job title to the nameplate would be even more satisfying, it would also send the premature signal to their victims of what was about to happen to them. And Poppy and Tammy didn't want that; why, it would spoil their fun, of course. She returned the nameplate to its spot on the desk, stretched her arms, closed her eyes, and smiled. 

"God, I love my job." 

She was just about to return to the computer system and make some updates when something... 

...Very unusual happened. 

Poppy heard something she'd never heard before, something that sounded like...alternating ascending and descending scales of... 

Harp music?? 

It seemed to fade in from one side of the office and fade out towards the other. And then another moment later, it was gone. Poppy looked up in utter bewilderment, eyes darting back and forth. She listened, but heard no more. 

...Ohhh-kay...that was one of the weirder things I've heard lately... 

She checked the time on the computer, subsequently picking up a small voice recorder. 

"Note to self," she spoke into it. "Switch to decaf after twelve." 

The next moment brought an indecipherable knock on her door. Poppy looked up. This couldn't be Tammy; she never knocked, and their next termination victim wasn't due for another while yet. 

"'S open." 

The otherwise noisy door silently flew ajar, and something no less than a flourish swept in. Into the office pirouetted a girl Poppy's age, though her clothes and appearance gave off the impression that she was about twelve. She had long, fluffy hair flowing to her lower back, a light bright top, denim overalls and rainbow-colored sandals. Despite the less than ideal footwear, she proceeded to dance through and around the office for a few moments, finally sticking a tasteful landing with a modest bow. After she stopped moving, Poppy stared at her wordlessly for a few more bemused seconds. Then she picked up the voice recorder again. 

"Cancel that; switch to decaf, period." She stood to greet this bizarre creature who had just ballet'd her way into the office. 

"Yes? May I...eh...help you, ma'am?" 

Her visitor was all smiles and twirls, turning another 360° on one of her rubber soles. It seemed clear she was the polar opposite of Poppy, undeterredly bubbly, bouncy and cheerful. 

"Oh, it is such a beautiful day!" the guest gushed, throwing her arms as if to hug the air. "Isn't it just the most wonderful day??" 

The disinterested and disenchanted Poppy was almost nauseated by such sheer cheer, but remained professional. 

"Uh, yes, it is quite a nice day," she muttered, as a mere throwaway. "Is...there something I can do for you today, Miss...?" 

"Oh!" Poppy was treated to yet another gleeful twirl. "You may call me...Anastasia!" 

"Anastasia"?...For some reason that seemed to ring a bell, but Poppy wasn't sure why. Wasn't that a character in an old fairy tale or something? At any rate, Poppy hadn't the inclination to find out. She sauntered around the desk and offered her hand. 

"Uh-huh...Poppy Sorenson." 

Anastasia forewent the handshake and flung her arms around Poppy, squeezing her extra tight until she just about crushed her circulation. Poppy emitted a low groan, unable to do much anything else with her arms pinned under her visitor's. 

"Yes, I know," said Anastasia, holding on to Poppy's arms and smiling tenderly at her. "Oh, how I've missed you." 

Aha. So the plot thickened. Poppy was taken aback, but now thought she could get some kind of clue what was going on. 

"Um...I'm sorry, have we met?" 

"Oh!" Anastasia brushed a hand through the air. "Time, the sly boots! You knew me...in an era that once was." 

Poppy was about to ask in an era that once was what, but her mind was growing consumed with this weird girl's touchy-feely-ness. 

"You know, Miss, there're pretty strict guidelines about touching and hugging in this offi—" 

"You embraced me in the wondrous wake of birth," Anastasia went on, staring off into what seemed like nothing. "I ran by your side through the fleeting transience of childhood..." She next reached to clasp both of Poppy's hands in her own. 

"...And I held your hands as you embarked upon the tumultuous trek through adolescence." 

Poppy was starting to get just a little freaked out here. She worked up a wry smile, feigning politeness. 

"Oh, really?...Why, how disturbing. Um—" She slipped back around to behind her desk. "Is there, in fact, anything I can actually do for you today, Miss...Anafantasia, or...?" 

Anastasia approached, the desk still between them. Poppy surreptitiously sidled behind her chair as well just to be on the safe side. 

"The innocence of childhood..." Anastasia intoned, arms outstretched, "...Is but a winding corridor, to an eclipse...a portal, dividing the birth that is idealism..." Her voice suddenly lowered and intensified. 

"...And the death that is jaded...indifferent...malice." 

Poppy gazed blankly at her, only blinking, quite frankly ready for her to go away now. She nodded quarter-heartedly. 


On Your Shoulder



"Yes, well, there's the door, eh, Drizella; don't let it smack ya in the ass on your way out." 

Accustomed to giving folks the boot, Poppy now felt satisfied to have a seat, returning to her computer and paperwork. But her guest wasn't ready to go just yet. She stayed put. 

"I see that I shall have to make the purpose of my presence nakedly clear." 

Poppy's eyes remained elsewhere. "Hey, you wanna talk dirty, take it outside." 

"I'm very serious, Poppy," stated Anastasia, staring at her intently. "From this moment on, you shall ignore me no longer." 

Poppy sighed, getting highly exasperated. 

"Look, I'm-I'm very busy here, uh, Anaconda. Why don't you kindly go...fly a kite, or something." 

The mystery visitor refused to give up. "You once turned to me for guidance, Poppy. Whenever in doubt, I helped you. I always turned you in the right direction. It was I, Poppy...who, in your formative years...told you to do the right thing." 

Poppy ceased her office activities midway through this little speech. It seemed an epiphany had struck. She nodded sardonically. 

"...Oh, I see where we're headed with this..." 

Anastasia smiled. "That's right, Poppy..." She flung out her arms to the sides once more and performed her umpteenth twirl. She chirped the three next enigmatic words in the most angelically sweet voice. 

"...I'm your conscience." 

Poppy continued nodding, serving up a saucy grin. She decided to treat this as the joke it so obviously was. 

"Allllll right, I get it..." she smirked. "Okay, where's the camera?" She got up and traversed the office. "Huh?...What'd you do, bring a whole crew in here? Huh?" She opened the door and peeked out. "Yoo-hoo! Hello there! Good one!" Finally, she flung it shut again and whipped back around on Anastasia. "C'mon, what is this, America's Dopiest Home Videos?" 

Anastasia shook her head, the insufferable smile eternally plastered on her face. 

"I jest you not, Poppy." She began to sound like an unsolicited lecturer. "You have shut me out of your life for long enough, and I have returned today..." She began pausing for effect. "...To show you the error...of your ways." 

Poppy scoffed. She was through clowning around now. She was tired of having her time wasted, and was not about to be undercut by some screwball who'd taken it upon herself to start telling her how to live her life. She inched in, mocking Anastasia's tone. 

"Get...lost." 

She started back around to her desk. "I don't know what kinda fantasy world you're living in, but listen up here, kiddo: this ain't La-La Land. Stuff like this doesn't happen. You don't play these kinda games with people in the real world." 

As Poppy watched, Anastasia's smile actually faded. This made Poppy feel powerful and triumphant. 

"That's what I thought. Besides, Poppy Sorenson has no conscience. So, although I've gotta give you points for originality, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to dismiss you...again." 

She pointed to the door, returning to work. But Anastasia still didn't move. 

"You cannot continue running from your virtue forever...Poppy Eve Sorenson." 

Poppy reflexively stood back up, triggered by indignance and defensiveness, before realization took over. 

"Hey, hey, watch that 'Eve' cra—" 

Her eyes narrowed. She quickly and warily came around the desk once again, glaring suspiciously. 

"How'd you know my middle name?" 

Knowing she'd regained the upper hand, as it were, Anastasia's smile came back. She looked back into Poppy's hostile eyes, her own beatific and innocent. For just a minute the two women stared one another down. Then, Poppy pointed a declaratory finger. 

"...You've been through my stuff, haven't you?" 

Anastasia was unfazed. Her response skirted the accusation. 

"Oh, Poppy...sweet, simple Poppy. You just refuse to understand." 

Poppy picked up her pace, veritably storming back to her desk. She grabbed the phone. 

"You're pretty sick, you know that?" she asked, punching buttons. "You need some professional help!" 

She had just about finished dialing when the door opened, and Tammy reentered. Poppy hung up. 

"Oh, good." She gesticulated to their companion. "Tam, you wanna escort this nutjob outta here?" 

Tammy's expression turned downright bamboozled. She shifted her gaze between Poppy, and where she seemed to be pointing. 

"I...beg your pardon, Poppy?" 

Poppy's frustration escalated. What in the hell was going on here? 

"You heard me; I want her gone!" she snapped. "Hey, if you're not gonna do it, I'll just call security. How'zat?" 

"Poppy... 

"What in the name of all that is holy are you talking about?" 

The phone receiver dropped from an incredulous Poppy's hand, clattering to the desk. She couldn't believe she had to do this right now, but she emerged from behind the desk, stamped up behind her conscience, and grabbed her by the arms to show Tammy. 

"Thissss!" she emphasized, violently shaking Anastasia. "I am talking, about, thissss! Do you not see her?!" 

Anastasia, grinning gleefully at Tammy, stuck out her tongue and thumbed her nose. Tammy discreetly shuffled the few feet to where Poppy stood. She examined the empty space between Poppy's clutching hands, and slowed her voice to a patronizing tone. 

"Is this your imaginary friend, Poppy?..." she asked condescendingly, as if talking to a small and not especially bright child. 

Anastasia's expression changed. She glared sourly at Tammy, as her owner's jaw hit the floor behind her. 

"WHAT??!" Poppy screeched. 

Her conscience turned her head to address Poppy and clue her in. "She can't see me, Poppy; only you. You wouldn't expect to be able to see and hear everybody else's consciences, now would you?" 

Poppy had had more than enough. She unhanded Anastasia and dismissively waved her off. 

"Oh, get away from me!" 

Tammy was of course oblivious to whom Poppy was really directing this command. She took a modicum of offense to this broadside. She retorted in the same condescending manner, now with a bit of her own indignance tossed in. 

"As you wish, Poppy..." She about-faced, turned her nose up, and marched back out the door, yanking it closed behind her. 

"Wha—oh, no, no, no, Tammy, th-that w-I-I didn't m—" 

Poppy tried to stop her, but she was too late; slam! Tammy was gone. Poppy followed after her, but lost her energy at the door. She let her head drop against it with a thud. She heard her conscience's voice behind her. 

"Good riddance to bad rubbish, if you ask me," Anastasia shook her head, hands on hips. "I don't know why we put up with her." 

Poppy felt a surge of fury zap through her. She whirled back around on Anastasia with fire in her eyes. 

"You!!" 

She marched, blood now boiling, back on Anastasia, one angry quivering finger pointed at her. 

"I...will...murder...you." 

Her conscience's only reply was to waggle her own index finger and t'sk her. 

"Ah, ah, ah, ah. Now, Poppy, she who kills her spirit so kills her soul." 

"I'll chance it," Poppy growled through clenched teeth, cracking her knuckles. She neared and neared, waiting for just the right moment to literally pounce. When she thought she had it, she made a sudden lunge towards Anastasia. But at the last possible second, Anastasia calmly stepped aside, causing Poppy to belly-dive square into her desk. 

"OOOohff!" 

Anastasia merrily twirled yet again, once more using her sandals as ballet slippers. "Now then..." she began, clasping her hands— 

"Let's go ahead and get started, shall we?" 

A bit intimidated for the first time during this encounter, Poppy Sorenson steadied herself and turned around. 

"You...you...what, you-you brainwashed Tammy now too?" 

"Tammy is immaterial, Poppy. Annoying, but immaterial. More importantly, you fired that sweet lovely girl Suzy as you have dozens of other good, hard-working individuals, with zero just cause whatsoever. You know full well she did nothing wrong, and that she put everything she had into her job. You didn't fire her to increase productivity. You didn't even particularly need to lighten the workload." Anastasia's words slowed at the final statement, telling Poppy precisely what she knew, but would not acknowledge. 

"You fired her solely for your own selfish sport and pleasure." 

Poppy leaned against the desk, starting to breathe uneasy now herself, just as she had the talent to make her victims do. Also for the first time, she wasn't sure whether this was a joke or not. Still suspicious but less accusatory, she asked— 

"You...what, were you listening at the door or something?..." 

"Nobody deserves to be treated that way, Poppy," Anastasia sternly scolded. "No one. I need hardly remind you countless other examples of your renowned ruthlessness. Heaven knows your own family, not to mention the company, fears you." Seeing now that she was beginning to get through to Poppy, Anastasia made her next move. She chuckled. 

"I've been through your stuff?...Sure, Poppy. Your middle name's in your stuff. 

"Perhaps now would be a good time to discuss a few things that aren't." 

Anastasia approached her, smiling again, coy and sweet. Her unassuming benevolence frightened Poppy. She let out a small gasp, backing up to the desk, reached behind her for something to protect herself, and found an object. 

"You stay away from me," she warned. 

Both glanced down at the item Poppy'd nabbed off her desk: a small bottle of liquid paper. They returned their eyes to each other. 

"What are you planning to do, white me out?" 

Poppy scurried back behind the desk again, as if it were her home base. 

"I'm serious. I mean it. You try anything on me, I'm calling security." 

Anastasia folded her hands behind her back. "Mm, good idea," she nodded. "I'm sure they'd love to meet your imaginary friend." 

Poppy stopped and thought a moment. 

"A'right. Okay. Okay," she said. "I'm...I'm willing to negotiate here. Wh-why don't we jus—" 

Her conscience held up a single hand. "Poppy...let's conclude the small talk portion of our program, my friend, shall we? You know every bit as well as I do, we have allllll day." 

Poppy threw out a sigh, almost ready to start pleading. All of a sudden, she was starting to feel pretty threatened here. 

"Look, uh...Antarctica, you've-you've gotta understand. This is a cutthroat company. It feeds on brutality. It's full of evil women. Yes. It is. But, we've gotta be evil to survive! That's how the corporate world works! Have...have you met Ellie in Human Resources? She is an absolute demon. She's a monster! Every single day she—" 

"You're babbling, Poppy. And you're avoiding the issue at hand. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Up to you." 

Poppy let out yet another frustrated sigh. But she was excused for the immediate moment, as the door opened. Tammy called in. 

"Pop-pyyyy??...It's...Tam-myyyy." 

"Oh, for God's sake," Poppy uttered under her breath. 

"Your next vic-tim is here..." Tammy announced. She added that she was still doing rounds and so Poppy'd be handling this one herself, but Poppy didn't hear that part, as her conscience piped up. 

"Ooooh! Front-row seat, front-row seat!" an excited Anastasia cried out, hopping on the corner of the desk. 

"Shut up!" Poppy quietly hissed at her, staring at the floor. 

"Oh, you shut up," said Anastasia, sticking out her tongue, finding this cute. She crossed her legs excitedly and started swinging her feet back and forth. Poppy hadn't time for this nonsense. She looked up, cleared her throat and answered her partner. 

"That-that'll be fine, Tammy; send her in." 

Tammy withdrew as Poppy took her seat and checked the next appointment. She could do this, she thought. It was just a matter of willpower. A moment later, in sauntered a woman named Gwen Culbert. She let herself in, assumed the chair across from Poppy, and crossed her legs. She didn't seem nearly as nervous or anxious as Suzy. 

Poppy was rattled, but launched nonetheless into the standard routine, complete with the idle shuffling of papers and the cold stare. "Good afternoon, Miss Culbert, I'm Poppy Sorenson. Thank you for coming down." 

Gwen shrugged. "No prob'm." 

"A'right, well, let's just get started," said Poppy. "Now, Miss Culbert, as you know, production is our number-one concern." 

As Poppy opened her little spiel, Anastasia decided now was the time for the fun to begin. She waited for Poppy to resume. 

"Now, unfort—" 

Anastasia snapped her fingers. Poppy promptly hiccoughed. Loudly. 

"HIC—!" 

"Hee-hee!" her conscience giggled. "Gotcha!" 

Poppy reflexively whirled on Anastasia, forgetting that Gwen couldn't see or hear her. 

"What do you think you're d—" Snap! "HIC—!" 

Anastasia chortled in merriment. This was fun. She extended her arm and snapped her fingers multiple times in succession. 

"HIC-HIC-HIC-HIC-HIC—!!" 

Finally, she gave her a little break. Poppy caught a breath and cleared her throat. "Um, 'scuse me," she apologized to a somewhat bemused Gwen. "Little tickle there. Constrictive throat muscles. 'S a family problem." 

"T'sk-t'sk-t'sk-t'sk-t'sk," Anastasia chided, shaking her head in disappointment. "Family lives clear across the country, and you don't even have the courtesy to call or write 'em. Ungrateful, that's what." 

Poppy squeezed her eyes tight in frustration. "Will you freaking be quiet, I said!" 

"But, I didn't even say anything yet!" said Gwen, holding out her arms in confusion. 

"Par-er, pardon me, Miss Culbert," said Poppy. "Now, unfortunately, it has come to our attention that—" 

Anastasia reached over to Poppy and poked her forearm. Poppy's voice abruptly shot up three octaves as she spoke, turning into a shrill squeal. The startled Gwen arched her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair at this, as if to brace herself. 

Poppy gave herself a light whap in the sternum, trying to keep her cool and not let Anastasia get to her. She cleared her throat once more. "My goodness, I do apologize," she told Gwen. "Anyway, Miss Culbert, the bottom line is—" 

Anastasia loudly and rapidly clapped her hands twice. "Clap off!" 

At the instant her conscience said the word "off," Poppy's voice and speech went dead silent. She continued moving her lips, but no sound came out. When Poppy realized she was suddenly mute, one hand flew reflexively to her larynx, the other directly over her mouth. She turned on Anastasia, soundlessly and incredulously mouthing some very unpleasant words. 

Her already befuddled guest Gwen was getting seriously weirded out. "A—...are you all right?" she asked. 

Quite literally at a loss for words, Poppy was compelled to think on her toes. She pointed to her throat, as if to indicate to Gwen that she abruptly had laryngitis. This made Anastasia burst into hysterical laughter. 

"W—...what?" Gwen wanted to know. "...I don't understand." 

Anastasia was in stitches. She banged the desk with her fist a couple times, and then playfully punched Poppy in the arm. 

"Nice save, killer! We've having some fun now, huh??" She clapped her hands again. "Okay, clap on!" 

Poppy's voice was back. Her mouthing to Gwen was filled in by the sound. 

"—can't talk. I have laryngitis," she explained. "That's wh—" 

She realized her powers of speech had been restored. She proceeded to fire a glare at her conscience with a desire to kill her multiple times, via the most painful and excruciating methods feasible. Anastasia innocently blew on her nails. 

Gwen was extremely perplexed. "Sh-should I go?" she asked, starting to get up. 

"Oh, no no no, Miss Culbert, sit," Poppy insisted. She shuffled the papers on her desk. "Just, a, um...just a little, eh...a little office difficulty here..." She took a deep breath. "Okay. Here's the deal. You see, the bottom line is..." 

Anastasia seized this moment to clasp Poppy's hand, link their fingers nice and tight, and begin speaking for her. Poppy went on with no break in her explanation, but her conscience made her say some very unintended things. Her voice stayed the same, but her expression and tone changed dramatically. She essentially became Anastasia's puppet. 

"...Even though I may think I do," Poppy told her visitor whom she was supposed to have fired by now, "I have no right whatsoever to judge you, or anyone else. I mean, just look at some of the things I've done in my life! I break people's hearts every single day, sometimes just for the sheer fun of it! That's the sort of person I am; I take pleasure in tormenting people! I cheated on my girlfriend because our relationship got boring! I pawned my Mom's jewelry 'cause I needed the money!" 

Right before "...I needed the money," Anastasia stopped puppeteering Poppy and released her hand. Out from under her conscience's spell, Poppy registered what she'd just said and slapped her hands over her mouth with a shriek. This confession prompted a bout of silence. For a few moments, no one said anything. Gwen looked a bit embarrassed and uncomfortable. 

"...Well, I, uh...that's...that's pretty, eh, unfortunate to hear...I guess..." Gwen commented, not really sure what to say. 

Poppy sighed, straining for words. 

"Yes, well, regardless, Miss Culbert, as much more difficult as it makes this to say..." 

This time, Anastasia did not interfere, but Poppy hesitated on her own. Another several seconds of awkward silence ensued. Her conscience shot her that oh-so innocent smile. 

"Something wrong, Poppy?..." 

"I...uhhh, I-I-I..." Poppy stammered. 

Gwen furrowed one eyebrow and raised the other. "...What are you trying to say?" 

"Yeah!" prodded Anastasia, giving Poppy another impish smack in the arm. "What's the matter, killer?! C'mon! You gonna wimp out on me now? Huh??" She hopped off the desk. "You too much of a goody-two-shoes? Boot the babe! Can the chick! Ditch the doll! Come on already! What're ya waiting for?! Woman up! Grow a pair and kick her sorry butt outta here!!" 

"Gwen, you're fired!" Poppy finally exclaimed. She sharply exhaled in relief, and whirled on her conscience. "HA!" 

Anastasia arched her brows, a bit surprised Poppy could actually go through with it, even after all that taunting. Miss Gwen Culbert, meanwhile, was foreseeably dumbfounded. 

"What?!" 

Poppy whipped back to Gwen, now out of control. 

"You heard me; you're outta here!" She whacked the desk with her palm on each forthcoming outburst. "Goners! Bounced! Heaved! Dumped! Ousted! Axed! Now beat it! Pack your stuff and hit the bricks!" 

Even for the Corporate Killer of SuCo Industries, this was a wildly inappropriate dismissal. But Poppy didn't care. She was blazing the warpath, and only starting to calm down. She turned back to Anastasia. "Take that, ya guilt-tripping harpy!" 

An even colder, uglier silence followed. Then, Gwen suddenly jumped up from her chair. 

"Well, fine!" she shouted at Poppy. "Whatever, lady! I don't need this job; I have plenty of better offers waiting for me, from people apparently a lot nicer to associate with than you, thanks very much!" 

She marched out and slammed the door. Once she was out, Poppy relinquished all the energy she had left, collapsed in her chair and dropped her head on the desk with a thod! Her conscience now felt a bit sorry for her. She reached underneath and gently culled Poppy's hair out of her eyes. Finally, Poppy slowly looked back up and glowered at Anastasia. 




On Your Shoulder



"You're very good at this, aren't you?" 

Anastasia twirled. "The best." 

Poppy's tone was flat and inflectionless. "Yeah, well, you must be, 'cause all of a sudden, I feel like a scum bag." 

"Aw..." Anastasia gingerly rubbed her back. Her face softened to a hybrid of both genuine and mock sympathy. She was, after all, just doing her job, and deep down, she really did love Poppy—even if the feeling couldn't be less mutual. A short while later— 

Creeeeak. "Next!" Tammy called in. 

Anastasia clapped excitedly. "Oh, goody!" She hopped back on the desk. "Let's see how much fun we can have with this one!" 

Poppy shook her head with a moan. 

"Something tells me this is gonna be a looooong afternoon." 

***** 

(P) Heh! Anastasia practically terrorized me, the whole rest of the day. Not that I didn't deserve it, of course. She didn't miss one single opportunity to sabotage my employee-sacking, or dredge up something I did years ago to make me feel horrible about: losing touch with friends, ducking family obligations, general acts of dishonesty and unkindness...even cheating on my income tax, for heck's sake. Things that so many of us just do day to day, never giving them a second thought. It was just unbearable. By the end of the day she had me feeling so slimy and terrible, I couldn't actually fire my last victim. Simply could not bear to bring myself to do it. Every time I tried, I got a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye. Finally, I just had to send her back to work. After I left, I thought I'd managed to shake her off. I went home and tried to dismiss the day as some sort of aberration. I am now in bed, in my jammies, to bring you to the next flashback, which happened later that night. 

Well, to be precise, this next segment occurred just after midnight. I was talking to Tammy, trying to explain my behavior. It should be noted, I did not have the next day off. At this point in my life, I merely tended, by nature, to undersleep. And so I opted—after I got off the phone with my partner in crime—instead to pleasure myself. Or try. 

Now, after midnight, I thought, for a second, everything was back to normal. I was, of course, wrong. 

So I'm gonna take you into my bedroom now. 

But, eh, just to illustrate the next scene for you. 

***** 

Jillus Interruptus 

Tuesday, November 11th, 2008, 12:09 a.m. 

Poppy sat in bed, chatting with Tammy on the phone. She pawed at both eyes with her free hand as she finished her conversation. 

"...Right, Tam...yeah, I...I know...yeah, well, I, eh...well, things got a little weird there for a while...uh-huh...yeah, well, I'm pretty sure this'll all be straightened out by tomorrow—at least I hope so...right...'kay. Yeah...good night, Tam...sweet dreams. Buh-bye." 

She dropped the phone and her body to the mattress side by side. She closed her eyes nice and tight to soothe them, then blinked. Then she proceeded to stare up into the ceiling for a few moments...and abruptly shook her head. 

"Oh!" she waved a weak hand, slapping the bed with her palm. "It was a dream. That's it. That's all. Had to be. Just had to. A disturbing...vivid...perverse...disenchanting...horrific..." 

She decided to stop thinking of depressing adjectives and begin fantasizing. A dirty yet dreamy smile crossed her face as one hand snaked its way beneath her pajamas and panties, the other under her nightshirt. She started fondling herself. 

Single and unattached at the moment, Poppy thought about different women when she touched herself: celebrities, public strangers, occasionally an office-mate for a spicy workplace scenario. But secretly, while she wouldn't admit it to anyone else, her own personal most beautiful woman, biggest crush and most intense masturbation fantasy in the world was a mere literal work of art. Her parents owned a vinyl copy of the classic rock album "Layla," and the first time Poppy saw it—with the lovely painting "La Fille au Bouquet" on the cover—she fell heels over head in love. As a young teenage girl with only the record, she plucked it out from the shelf and snuck off with it to her room, where she'd listen to it, kiss it, and even take it to bed, sleeping with it like her teddy bear. 

Sometimes her mind wandered back to simpler nostalgic times. Her senior year in high school, Poppy met Gigi Robertson, the young woman who would become her girlfriend the next several years. She was a wonderful girl: sweet, kind, generous, affectionate, upbeat. And then there was the trait which endeared her most to Poppy. She even looked like the beloved "La Fille au Bouquet" painting. Poppy couldn't believe her luck when Gigi liked her back. It was the beginning of what looked like a beautiful relationship. 

Gradually, the exhilarating novelty of their togetherness wore off a bit. Gigi loved doing the things they did on dates: seeing movies, going to restaurants, walking in the park or visiting any other venue of attraction. But her mate was craving a bit of horizon expansion. By the time Poppy's 21st birthday rolled around, she wanted to start doing more exciting things. She wanted to try having adventures. She wanted to go clubbing and sing karaoke. She wanted to go snow and water skiing, rock-climbing and even bungee jumping. Unfortunately, what she found exciting, her girlfriend found scary. Gigi was content to have peaceful times at home with her sweetie. Poppy craved more. Gigi was too frightened to do these things—and deep down, she was frightened for Poppy to go through with them as well—but told Poppy she'd be her biggest supporter on these adventures, and encourage her every step of the way. Poppy, frankly, was a little disconcerted Gigi didn't want to take part in her activities, even if she was just scared. 

One night, Poppy just felt like being by herself. She went to a bar and had a few drinks. She guessed she understood that her honey was intimidated by her adventurous ideas, but...somehow, embarking on such quests didn't seem enjoyable without her girlfriend by her side, chasing the wind with her each step of the way. Poppy supposed she imagined the love of her life willing to go to the ends of the Earth, for or with her, and that together they would conquer the world. Her parents taught her one good relationship tip was to put herself in the other person's shoes now and then, but such techniques never exactly came easy to Poppy. She didn't mean to be egoistic; she just had trouble seeing things in terms of how they affected others. So right now...she just needed a drink. Or six. 

"Hi," said a voice. 

Poppy looked up. 

"I'm Layla." 

The intoxicated Poppy heard this new companion's name, and allowed poor judgment to get the better of her. In her drunken state, she interpreted this woman's approach and first name as a make-believe fantasy come to life—her own personal Layla, in her own mind. Unfortunately, it was not make-believe, and it was not in her mind. Twenty-four dizzy hours later, Poppy had naught to show for her actions but a meaningless one-night stand, a needlessly severed relationship, and a crying ex-girlfriend with a broken heart. To complicate things, when Gigi went her way, she took with her Poppy's will to embark on her adventures. Hypothetically, nothing was really stopping her now from doing these things, except having the wind knocked out from under her sails. 

At the time, Poppy felt pretty heartbroken herself by what she'd done. This Layla she'd met at the bar was interested only in a cheap one-night stand with no further interaction. It was foolish and selfish, and like Layla, Poppy had taken without intent to give. But as she thought and thought and thought some more about it, trying to give of herself had never seemed to do Poppy much good. The world was full of takers, she saw. Cold individuals for whom giving was a foreign feeling and taking was status quo. Grown, and unwilling to allow her inner child to catch up and guide her, Poppy Eve Sorenson made a decision early on in her 20s. If being hard, cold and selfish—if looking out solely for number one was her task for survival in this world...then so be it. 

Over the rest of her 20s, she trained herself out of the instilled guilt and apprehension of stepping on her fellow human being to get more for herself. When SuCo Industries' killer position came along, Poppy saw the perfect opportunity to drain the leftover humanity from herself, in order to become the ultimate survivor. At the age of 27, Poppy decided to put her adventurous aspirations aside, and join the corporate world via SuCo. It was there and then she'd meet Tammy Winkle, her comrade on the firing squad. 

Tammy'd joined the company just a short time before Poppy arrived, and possessed that same ruthless killer instinct. Tammy didn't believe or remember having a conscience either. Poppy and Tammy quickly developed the type of colleague relationship that entailed they trust each other, but virtually no one else. There was also something else Poppy rather liked about her. Tammy boasted an edgy "bad girl" sexiness that tickled Poppy's libido and riled her up. She wasn't girlfriend material, and Poppy knew better than to get involved with a co-worker anyway. But this didn't stop her from conjuring up a juicy Tammy fantasy or two to keep at home. 

One of her favorite fantasies portrayed her as a new employee, with Tammy as evil superior, putting her through a tough physical examination. She cleared the desk, made Poppy take off her clothes and climb on, propping herself up on all fours. She heard the rubber glove snap! on, and felt Tammy proceed to force a cavity search on her. Quite partial to the whole "bad girl" persona, Poppy loved to imagine Tammy emotionlessly and roughly probing her, consumed only with finding suspicious substances, not concerned in the least for Poppy's comfort, safety or best interests. That was the way Poppy liked it. She was a sucker for the rough, sinister stuff. She didn't care for real rape, but she loved the idea of fantasy rape. Depending on her mood, sometimes she might summon the same scenario, but put Tammy on the business end of the cavity search. If she really wanted to spice up the fantasy, she'd imagine Tammy actually found something while searching her. And instead of giving her the boot, Tammy would hold this over her, using it to indefinitely blackmail her however she saw fit. The taboo elements really did ignite Poppy like hellfire. 

And the possibilities branched out limitlessly. She might imagine Tammy or herself mistreating a fellow employee using such methods, or any other which struck her fancy. Now and then she'd fantasize about firing someone together with Tammy, and then forcing any number of sexual trials and tribulations upon their victim, simply to add insult to injury. Sacking an employee and following it up with a vicious, violent sexual coercion of any form was out of bounds in real life. In Poppy's mind, it was a delight. 

As she scanned her sex fantasy portfolio this early twilight, trying to decide which file to utilize, she felt her jolly pussy secrete under her jammies and lube itself up. Before the day's mondo bizarro incident she was already putting behind her, they'd fired the girl called Suzy. She was a cute, vulnerable young thing. Poppy smiled, bringing Suzy to her mind's eye, shutting her two indigenous eyes as she slipped her bladed hand between her labia. 

Righty then, Tam, now that we've broken her spirit and made her cry, what do you wanna do to her now? 

Her tiny smile spread into a full-blown ear-to-ear grin as she considered options. 

Then, a surprise dropped in on her which was not part of the fantasy. 

Alternating ascending and descending scales...of harp music. 

Poppy's eyes snapped open as her smile evaporated. 

OH, no. 

She whimpered, suddenly starting to feel like crying. She removed her hand from her cunt, maneuvered her way up to her knees, clasped her paws together and looked to the ceiling. 

"God?...It's Poppy again...I forgot something." 

But there would be no intervention on the part of a supreme being to save her from what was happening. Sure enough, right on cue, the door opened, and in came Anastasia herself, also in her jammies. The only differences were that Poppy's pajamas were solid white, and Anastasia's were light blue, printed with cute little cartoon animals, and had footies. She covered her nose and mouth, yawned, and gave a stretch, twirling in place. 

"Oh!" the conscience announced. "I, am, bushed." 

Poppy fell back down into the mattress, feeling tears coming. "What are you doing in my room??" she demanded. 

Anastasia pretended she didn't hear the question. "You should know a thing or two about that, Pop," she pointed out. "You really should get more shut-eye, you know. Your body is a temple. Treat it right, it'll thank you for it." 

"Good idea. Y'know what? You go to bed, and I'll smother you with a pillow, and then we'll both sleep like babies!" 

Again, Anastasia paid no heed. She merely fluffed up a pillow on the vacant side of the bed. 

"You sure skedaddled from the office in a hurry, my friend," she commented, lifting the comforter and climbing in under it beside Poppy. "I see I'm gonna need to keep a closer eye on you." 

Under the covers, Anastasia settled in get cozy. An incredulous Poppy snatched the pillow from under her and began swatting her with it. "Get the hell out of my bed!" she ordered. 

Anastasia, natch, took this as an invitation to play. 

"Oh, goody! Pillow fight!" she squealed, yanking Poppy's from under her and slinging back. Poppy caught it, swiped it out of Anastasia's hands and flung it backwards across the room. She was suddenly very tired, and could see that jilling off was out of the question for tonight. She was too weary now, and definitely no longer in the mood. 

"Fine. I, am going, to sleep," she over-enunciated, hoping conscience-breath here would take the hint. "Good, night." 

Poppy leaned back, shut her eyes, arched her back and stretched. As she did so, she pulled up her jammie top, exposing a few inches of tummy to the air. Watching this, Anastasia grinned, reached quickly, and dug her fingers into Poppy's bared stomach. 

"GITCHIE-GITCHIE-GITCHIE-GITCHIE-GI—!" 

Poppy shrieked. She reflexively nabbed Anastasia's wrists and death-gripped them. 

"Try that again..." she unamusedly warned, "...And I will turn your hands into stumps, and distribute your fingers amongst all the crevices in your body. Do we understand each other?..." 

She threw Anastasia's grubby little paws back at her, turned over and reached for the lamp on her nightstand. Anastasia put on a hurt puppy face and rubbed her wrists. She was a delicate conscience, and felt a little injured. She did not like rough stuff. 

Click. The light went out. Poppy and Anastasia found themselves in pitch-darkness. 

"Just what are you implying?" 

"Oh, well, why don't you tell me, Jiminy??" 

"...You know something, Poppy, this hostile attitude of yours is becoming increasingly tiresome. You would do well to heed my encouragings, and to follow on the path of true virtue and goodness." 

Poppy stuffed her face in a pillow, placing another on top of her head. "Oh, blahbbity blahbbity blah." 

"Poppy, I still don't think you get it," Anastasia called, leaning down and raising her voice to make herself heard. "I'm not going away. You're not getting rid of me. If I weren't constantly on your shoulder, making you do the right thing, you'd be a rotten, nasty little person, and I'd be unemployed!" 

SIGH. "OH-kay..." That just about tore it. Poppy had had way more than enough now. She ominously and deliberately removed the pillow over her head, whapped it on the mattress with a plsh!, and sat back up. 

"...As much fun as this is, and as amazing I feel my tolerance has held up here, seriously...Anabanana, whatever your name—no kidding: stop it. Knock it the hell off already. Now look, I-I know I've been a jerk, okay, and I'm sorry, a'right? I'm...I'm gonna treat everybody a whoooole lot nicer now, got it? Enough is enough. Now, for the record, after everything I've just said, if you do not get out of my room within the next thirty seconds, I am no longer responsible for my actions." 

Anastasia's voice responded from behind her. "As a matter of fact—clap on!..." 

The lamp went on. Sitting in bed now facing nothing, Poppy felt her eyes stung by the sudden light. She covered them with a yelp. 

"...Pick up the phone. Call Dad." 

Poppy covered and rubbed at her eyes, trying not to listen, but with still open ears. 

"What?" 

"Mm-hm," nodded Anastasia. "He's our Daddy. He misses you. He hasn't gotten a chance to talk to you for a long time now." 

"Ou—..." Poppy blinked, trying to maintain sanity. "...'Our Daddy'??...Wh—...wh-what're you, my sister n—...look. Leaving aside for just a moment the fact that it's after midnight, and that my father goes to bed at nine-freaking-thirty—" 

Anastasia held up a hand. "Oh—not tonight." Her tone turned solemn. "The poor old fella's under the weather, Poppy. He hasn't been able to get to sleep. Mommy stayed up with him as long as she could, but finally, she couldn't hold her eyes open any longer." 

Poppy was finding it hard to believe that these words were penetrating her. "...What?" 

"He's got a fever of a hundred and four." 

Poppy felt something tug at her emotions. Something terrible, dawning and settling upon her. 

"...Oh my God, you...you've-you've gotta be screwing with my mind here, right?" 

The conscience gravely shook her head. 

"Mm-mm. He's been wanting to contact you for a long time now, but he knows how busy you are. He doesn't wanna bother you." 

"...Ohhh...co—..." Sigh. "C'mon, gi—...gimme a break here, will ya?" 

Anastasia sat back down, put an arm around Poppy and rubbed her shoulder. 

"He's just sitting there at home, all alone, trying to nurse himself better...wishing more than anything he could speak to his only child right now, just so he could tell her how much he loves her...maybe even hear her say it back. Even though, deep down inside, he knows it won't really happen." She shook her head once more. "...Poor silly old guy." 

Poppy could almost feel her heart crack. Her eyes pricked. She desperately covered her ears. "Stop it!" 

Anastasia gently pulled her hands from her ears. 

"Poppy Sorenson, do you know how special you are to your Daddy?...Do you have any idea just how much he absolutely adores you, just because you're his daughter?...It would mean the world to him. And it would only take you a minute. One single minute. Sixty seconds to bring a father a lifetime's worth of joy!" 

Poppy, now tearfully, heaved yet another sigh. 

"...'Kay, look...if I do this...will you please leave me alone?? At least for the night?!" 

Anastasia placed a hand on her chin and tapped her cheek, humming a moment as she thought. Finally, she smiled. 

"Why the heck not. You're gonna need some time to get used to this, and besides, no good deed should go unrewarded, after all." 




On Your Shoulder



Poppy weakly surrendered. "...All right. I'll do it." 

Anastasia clapped excitedly. "Yay!!" She grabbed the phone, activating it and punching buttons. "Here, I'll dial for ya!" 

"H-hey, b-no, no, no, wait a minute!" said Poppy. "What'm I gonna say?" 

Anastasia scoffed, tossing her hands, like the answer was "duh"-obvious. "'I love you'!" She gave her the phone. 

Poppy held a dirty scowl on her, snatching it as it began ringing on the other end. "I love you too, ya psycho," she snarled. 

"It's not nice to be mean, Poppy." 

Poppy felt her blood heating up. She paused as the phone rang, gritted her teeth, made a fist with her free hand, and shook it. 

"I'd like to belt you right in th—hi, Dad!" She was forced to abruptly shift her tone as her father picked up. Anastasia's smile grew. 

"...It-it's Poppy...yeah...well, yeah, I mean, I've...um...I've m-missed you too...yeah, it, eh, has been a while...oh, well, uh, thank you...well, I-I'm not really sure, Dad. Y'know, something just told me you might be awake right now...y—...you are?..." Her face turned to disbelief as she gazed at Anastasia. "...'Sick as a dog'?...Well, I'm...I-I'm very sorry to hear that...w—...yes I am, Dad, I am too sad you're sick!..." She took a breath. "...I'm-I'm sorry, I...I shouldn't aggravate you. I...well, th—...the point is, I just, uh..." 

Oh, this was difficult. Poppy was not good at the mushy stuff. She covered her mouth and sighed, trying to bring herself to say it. Her conscience became extra hopeful. 

"...Well, I-I just...I just kinda wanted to tell you that..." Gulp. "...That-that I..." 

Anastasia was wide-eyed. She held her fists to her heart, smiling big, whispering to her. 

"Come on, Poppy, come on! You can do it!" 

Poppy finally gave in, letting her voice go soft and tender. 

"...I lllll—..." Sigh. "I love you, Dad." 

Anastasia bounced on the bed and rasped a silent "YES!!" startling Poppy and almost making her drop the phone. She threw her arms around Poppy and hugged her with an extra loving squeeze for just a second, then let her go. 

"...Yeah, and-and..." Poppy continued, gently trying to push Anastasia off of her. "...I...uh...I just wish I was there right now so I could take care of ya...right, well, y'know, drink your juice, get plenty of rest and all that...and, y'know, you'll...uh..." 

She realized she was about to hit an emotional bump. She tried to fight it back, but she couldn't. Her voice cracked. 

"...Get well soon, Daddy!" she cried, starting to weep. She almost sobbed for half a second, then pulled herself together. 

"...Uh, yeah, well, anyway, get better as soon as possible, Dad; I want you to be healthy...oh, you're...you're welcome...okay...all right, well, I'm...I'm-I'm gonna go now, 'kay?...Yeah, good night, try to sleep well...yeah...I...llllove you too, Dad...bye-bye." 

She hung up, and once more, let her energy go and collapsed. One moment later, she felt her conscience pat her knee. 

"That made me so very happy," praised Anastasia. "I am so proud of you." 

Poppy clutched her head in her hands, trying to ignore her. 

"Dear God, what is happening to me??" 

"Poppy, don't you get it?...You're becoming human!" 

Poppy dropped her hands and stared at her. 

"Listen up, pipsqueak, news flash: I am not Pinocchio!" 

"Poppy!..." Anastasia hopped back off the bed. "Can't you see?? For the first time in your adulthood, you allowed yourself to be vulnerable. You let down your guard. It was wonderful! Sure, you tried to be your grown-up, big-girl, tough-as-nails self, but you couldn't stop it; your true colors came shining through! That's why I love you!" 

Poppy made a matter-of-fact statement out loud to no one. 

"I'm being humbled by Cyndi Lauper. My conscious mind is torturing me, and my guardian devil is a goofball pixie from the '80s." 

"Small steps, my friend, small steps." Anastasia gave another stretch. "Well...a promise is a promise." She fetched the pillow Poppy'd flung across the room, fluffed it up, and returned. "Up." 

Poppy lifted her head, and Anastasia slipped the pillow under it. She took the blanket, tucked her in a little snugger, and was off. 

"'Kay then, rest up, killer," she advised. "Got all tomorrow's nice folks to throw overboard!" 

Poppy let her eyes close. "Thanks for the encouragement." 

"Sweet dreams, honey!" 

"Sweet dreams, Satan." 

Anastasia tippy-toed out of the room, ignoring Poppy's japes. Poppy was alone. She had to ask herself if the last half hour actually just really happened. This started to seem all too surreal. She felt so mixed up, she didn't know what to do but go to sleep and hope things somehow resolved themselves. The lamp was still on. She reached to turn it off. Then she stopped and looked around. 

The room was empty. Curiously, she turned back to the lamp. She softly and hesitantly clapped her hands. 

"Clap, off." 

Nothing happened. She tried a little louder. 

"CLAP, off." 

Nothing. Poppy waited just another moment, and let her eyes roll back in her head, realizing just how beyond absurd the situation had become. She reached for the lamp cord to manually turn it off, resting her forehead in her other hand. 

"I am losing...my mind." 

Click. 

***** 

Give A Little Whistle... 

Thursday, November 13th, 2008, 9:04 a.m. 

A lowly humming Tammy Winkle sauntered down to the office of doom, going through her thick folder as she opened the door. 

"A'right, docket's looking pretty meaty this mor—" 

She stopped at the bizarre sound she faintly heard emanating from the desk, and looked up. 

...Snoring? 

She was presented with an equally strange display. Her partner Poppy had her arms folded on top of the desk, face buried in them, sound asleep. Her hair was stringy, unwashed and unkempt. Tammy arched one bewildered eyebrow, approaching. 

"...Poppy?" 

The sleeping beauty draped over the desk kept snoozing. Tammy repeated herself, upping the volume a notch. Still nothing. She placed a hand on Poppy's shoulder and gave her a little shake, which resulted in only a snort. Finally, Tammy leaned down on her. 

"POPpy!!" 

Poppy instantly awoke with a start. 

Gasp. "You're fired! Pack your stuff and get out!" the dizzy Poppy semiconsciously exclaimed. 

Once she sat up, Tammy too noted that Poppy's eyes were red and puffy, and that she hadn't a trace of makeup on. In fact, she really rather looked downright frightening. 

"No...no, no, Poppy, it's me, Tammy." 

Poppy felt a pounding in her forehead. She looked up, trying to get her bearings as her vision focused. 

"Oh, God..." she moaned. Tammy perched across from her, where their victims normally sat. 

"What on Earth is going on with you?? Whole week you're acting like a lunatic, today you look like a damn zombie! What gives?" 

Poppy gave a yawn and rubbed her eyes. Looking around instinctively to make sure no one...else was here, she leaned in. 

"...Tam...listen," she whispered. "Can...can you keep a secret?" 

Tammy leaned in as well, dropping an elbow on the desk. 

"Hey, Poppy, if I couldn't keep a secret, you think anyone except me would know Diane in Accounting had a nose job?" 

Poppy's mouth fell open, letting her jaw crash on the desk between them. 

"Diane in Accounting had a nose job??" 

"You didn't hear it from me. Now what's going on?" 

Poppy's mouth hung open, now indecisively. This seemed to have altered her decision to confide in Tammy. If this was how safe Diane's secret was, would hers be any better kept? Just then came a timid knock on the door. It was victim du jour number one. 

"N-not today! Come back another time, please!" Poppy called. 

The baffled Tammy turned back to her. 

"'Please'?...When did you start saying 'please'?" 

Poppy leaned in yet closer, trying to convey the distress to Tammy in her eyes. 

"Tammy...we can't breach our ethics anymore. They don't, like, that." 

Tammy let an approximate dozen seconds pass, giving Poppy a face among the blankest she'd ever made. Finally, she spoke. 

"AHHHhhhhhh..." she said, her tone paced and patronizing, just like when Anastasia had first appeared on Monday. She rose from her chair, and headed back for the door. "Well. Heaven forbid we err on the side of danger...lest we offend the gods of the loopy." 

Poppy jumped to her feet in frustration, being pulled near the verge of tears again. "Tammy, I'm serious! Please, you have got to believe me! C'mon, help me out here! You're supposed to be my friend! I—" 

In swept the by now dreaded harp music. Poppy looked up in panic. 

"Oh, God, there she is!" she cried. 

Tammy looked all around, more or less as a mere formality, seeing of course nothing. This was getting disturbingly inane. She was supposed to be Poppy's friend, and she...guessed she wanted to help, but first she had to discern what the hell Poppy was on about. 

"Who?! Where?!" she demanded, throwing her arms in the air. 

Poppy snuck to the door herself, quickly opened it, peeked out, made sure no one else was in earshot, shut it and locked it. 

"This doesn't, leave, the office." 

"Fine; what?" 

Poppy took a breath, not sure she wanted to disclose this, but equally unsure what other choice she had. 

"...It's my conscience." 

She waited, allowing Tammy to take it in. 

"...Yeah?..." 

"That's it!" Poppy said. "Tam, my conscience showed up a couple days ago, and she's been haunting me ever since!" 

Tammy gazed at her with a look normally reserved for one of their termination victims, imaginably unable to grasp a word of this. 

"...She...has?" 

"Yes! She's making my life a living hell! She's making me hate myself for everything bad I've ever done!" 

Poppy watched in consternation as the only person she'd trusted for the last three years slowly nodded. 

"...Okay...and the punchline?" 

Poppy suddenly felt as if she were about to blow a gasket. 

"Forget it! If you're not gonna take me seriously, then I don't even wanna talk to you about this." 

"Poppy, I know you," Tammy reasoned, almost accusatorily. "We have been working side by side together for three years! I know when you're putting me on! Besides, you have no conscience! You're every bit as ruthless as I am!" 

Poppy threw out a sigh. "That's what I thought too!" she said, returning to the desk for support. "But, I...she's...she's filled me with so much guilt and shame, I...I-I just...don't think I can do this anymore." 

Her evil partner could not believe what she had just heard. "You're not serious." 

But a locked door wouldn't keep her conscience out. Anastasia suddenly sprang up from behind the desk to greet Poppy, again dressed in her overalls and colorful top and sandals. 

"PEEKABOO!" 

"AAAAAAHH!" Poppy screamed. 

"Ta-dah! Gotcha!" Anastasia teased. 

"What the...what the hell's the matter now?!" Tammy yelled simultaneously, quickly losing patience. 

Poppy groaned, gesturing to where her conscience now stood. "That'd be her, Tam. Get out the butterfly net." 

Tammy naturally saw still nothing. More to less oblivious to Poppy's comments, Anastasia twirled. 

"Good morning, all!" she half-chirped and half-sang, as bright and bubbly as ever. "Is everybody happy??" 

Almost no longer caring that Tammy was even here, Poppy whirled around on her. 

"For freaking crying out loud, Anastasia, do I look happy?!" 

Tammy raised her brows. "You...named...your conscience?" 

Anastasia looked Poppy up and down to see what a fright she was this morning. Overlapping Tammy, she spoke. 

"My goodness, Poppy, you're a mess!" She t'sk'd. Turning to Tammy, she added, "I warned her about that undersleeping. But hey, you know how that is, huh, Dracula?" 

"Oh, shut up, Anastasia!" Poppy burst. "You know it's all because of you!" 

Anastasia grinned nice, big and beautiful. "You're very welcome!" 

"'Anastasia'?" parroted Tammy, as the conscience herself shot her a stink-eye. "Oh, that's cute, Poppy." 

"I DIDN'T NAME HER!" Poppy furiously shrieked. 

"Yeah! Stuff it, blubberbutt!" Anastasia added, sticking out her tongue and razzing Tammy. 

"God's sake..." Poppy muttered at her immaturity. 

Anastasia skipped over to her owner, putting a hand on her shoulder. 

"What's bothering you, Poppy?" 

What was bothering her? "At the moment, this conversation!" Poppy snapped. 

A bit creeped out, Tammy backed to the door. "This...sounds...private," she speculated. "I'll just leave you alone, with...whomever else you may have in there. Be back later." She departed, granting Poppy a tiny morsel of relief. 

Hand still on Poppy's shoulder, Anastasia shouted over hers to Tammy. "Yeah, be careful not to trip over your knuckles on the way out, bone brain!" She scoffed. "Honestly, why do we keep her around??" 

Poppy decided to toss her a hint. "Well, gee, I don't know...maybe she just won't go AWAY!!" 

She resumed her seat behind the desk, lowering her head to the surface and crossing her arms overtop with a whimper. Anastasia hopped up beside her, onto the corner. 

"Tell me what's on your mind, Poppy." 

She watched as Poppy gradually, ominously brought up her head to glare at her, visibly teeming with acidic anger. 

"What's...on...my...mind?... 

"You...want to know...what's on my mind??" 

Anastasia finger-walked a hand across the desk and clasped one of Poppy's, intertwining their fingers. 

"You seem troubled," she tenderly remarked. 

Poppy stared at her. 

"...'Troubled.' 

"...'Troubled'?" 

Her hand and arm seemed to take matters into their own, bypassing the brain entirely. As if conveying to Anastasia the last thing she wanted was a wholesome hand-holding mother figure, Poppy's fingers closed. And began to squeeze. 

"Try 'seventh circle of hell.'" 

At the word "hell," she raised their hands together and mercilessly tightened her grip. Anastasia's expression changed dramatically as crushing pain assaulted her. Her mouth dropped ajar and her face grimaced in agony. Poppy stared off straight ahead, speaking low and solemn, as if delivering a eulogy, as Anastasia tried to free her hostage paw. 

"Nothing in the world of Poppy Sorenson makes sense anymore," she lamented, as her conscience moaned and began writhing on the desk. "Days filled with wracking remorse and shame...nights invaded by endless tears and subconscious monsters..." 

Anastasia's hand was beginning to throb. "Um...Poppy..." she rasped. 

Poppy methodically went on. "...Each waking moment in between a morsel of despair..." 

"POPPY..." 

"...Of fear...doubt...self-hatred..." 

"Pop...if-if you could just please, uh..." 

Poppy finally turned back to acknowledge her once more. 

"...And all because of you." 

On this final accusatory word, Poppy threw down Anastasia's hand and rose from her chair in one rapid motion. Anastasia's poor mangled paw shook with twitching fingers as she tried to soothe it. A distressed Poppy began pacing around the office. 

"Why is this happening??...Why are you doing this to me??" 

"Um, well, Poppy, if it makes you feel any better, you did just get a little even with me. I think you might've broken my ha—" 

"And where did you come from all of a sudden, anyway?" Poppy continued. "I mean, what the actual hell? Consciences don't just...go away, do they? The...the last time I can remember even hearing a peep outta you had to be like..." 

"...Fifteen years ago," Anastasia finished for her. 

"...Fifteen...years ago??... 

"Well, what...what happened? Where'd you go?" 

Anastasia shrugged. "Vacation, mostly: Bermuda, Vegas, Disney World..." 

"What?" 

"Well, Pop, I'm under contract," Anastasia explained. "I belong to Wish Upon A Star Unlimited. Any substantial time on duty's contractual obligation for equal leave compensation." 

Poppy's brows furrowed in skepticism. Suddenly, things began to seem fuzzy and bizarre again. What her conscience had just told her was possibly the strangest, most off-the-wall thing Poppy had ever heard. 

"Well, wh—..." Poppy tried to figure out how to ask the next question that came to mind, but couldn't. "Oh, skip it." 

"Actually, it's okay; I think I know what you wanted to ask me," said Anastasia, feeling a bit of her own remorse creep in. "Why I left you like that when I did?...Why I deserted you that year, and why you've been stranded without my guidance ever since?" 

"I..." Poppy tried to remember. "...I never even noticed." 

"I know. The difference is huge, but the absence is almost unnoticeable. It's so sudden...'s like falling asleep." Anastasia allowed herself for the first time to let some forlorn sadness come through. "And then one day, you wake up to find that your best friend in the whole wide world, your mentor, your own personal guardian angel there on your shoulder... 

"...Has been replaced, by a chip." 

Poppy began to feel bad again. "...Was it me?" 

"It was everything, Poppy. I was forced to take my time off, and you to set out and be on your own. But you were still just a teenager, and your life was getting complicated. I felt it, and you felt it. You built a will, and it became too strong. I was afraid it would happen one day, and it did. The force of your strength shut me out when I tried to come back. And...you outgrew me." 

Poppy began to realize what she was saying. "Just like..." 

Anastasia nodded, finishing the thought out loud with her. 

"...The little old bicycle." 

Her conscience gave a small smile. "You remembered." 

"Oh my God..." Poppy indeed recalled. "I loved that little old bicycle!..." The memory came flourishing back to her, perfectly clear, like a misplaced object she'd just found after decades of being lost. "...Oh my God!" 

Anastasia smiled nostalgically, also fondly remembering. "That's what you always used to call me. Ah, I liked being God." 

"So...I guess that would have been about the time I stopped caring how I behaved..." Poppy mused guiltily. 

Her conscience took her hands. "I never stopped thinking about you while I was away, Poppy," she insisted. "I missed you every moment, knowing I'd be back with you again one day." 

Poppy sheepishly looked down at her shoes. 

"I guess I...haven't exactly been Mother Teresa since." 

"It's my fault. I blame myself. It was my duty and privilege to look after you, but my departure was too abrupt. And I wasn't strong enough to hold on to you. You got lost in turmoil and confusion. You didn't know which way to turn, and...you started acting out..." 

Anastasia hung her head, and for the first time all week, felt as shameful as she'd made Poppy to. 

"...And you got angry. And...I'm sorry, Poppy." Her voice cracked. "I'm so sorry." 

Poppy found herself faced with a host of unplaceable emotions as her conscience literally began to weep before her. She found herself unable to know what to say, do or think. She found herself wanting to go up to Anastasia, and...hug her. 




On Your Shoulder



And for once in her adult life, she found herself wondering what was wrong with a little wholesome affection. For years upon years, her mind had been a rigidly locked cocoon of self-serving avarice, and for the first time in all these ages, she could feel it crack open. And be...cleansed, inside and out. It was an astonishing feeling. Maybe she didn't have to occupy the role of this evil killing machine at SuCo Industries to survive. Maybe she didn't have to treat those around her with such dismissive mockery. 

And maybe, just maybe...she could learn to love instead. 

But this would have to wait for the moment, as the door to the office swung ajar, and Tammy reentered. 

"So, make the voices stop?" she acerbically queried. 

Anastasia's expression altered as she raised her attention to Tammy and glared, trying to burn her with her eyes. Her hands clenched into two angry fists. Poppy wordlessly gaped back at her, finding only stammers in reply. She looked a bit hurt and stung by this. Tammy went on staring at her a moment longer. 

"Don't tell me—conscience got your tongue?" 

Anastasia's blood boiled. "Ooooh, I wish I could kick your butt!" she seethed. Poppy only remained silent. Tammy shrugged, semicircling her to the desk, dropping the docket on it. 

"Well, you better get it together, 'cause we're not waiting one more second to can these sorry-ass clowns." 

Poppy stood inert. She did nothing. After another few seconds, Anastasia became just ired and determined enough to take matters, quite literally, into her own hands. She marched to Poppy's side, faced Tammy with her, and clasped her owner's hand. And just as before, Poppy felt the contact infuse her with that mystical faraway feeling she couldn't quite identify. But whatever it was, with Anastasia holding on to her, she felt her strength returning. Just as she did on Monday, Anastasia telepathically fed Poppy words, and as well channeled her the courage to say them. Letting her conscience be her guide, Poppy abruptly glowered at her partner. 

"No!" 

Tammy paused. Arching her eyebrows, somewhat indignantly, she slowly brought her gaze back up. 

"...Excuse me?" 

"That's right, you heard me; I'm not doing this anymore!" Poppy declared smoothly and evenly, without a trace of hesitation of doubt in her speech. "I won't be party to this spectacle of human carnage any longer. And I don't, give, a flying, fu—" 

"A-hem," said Anastasia. 

"And I don't give a flying fig what you think," Poppy amended, proudly able to censor herself. "I've decided what's right, for me." 

On the word "me," Anastasia confidently, bravely, faithfully let go of Poppy's hand, letting her take the reins. She was no longer guiding Poppy, no longer supporting her with words or courage, but to her satisfaction, Poppy took over beautifully. 

"I have gone along with this humiliation long enough," Poppy said, as her angel slowly, transparently faded into the background. 

"From now on, Tammy Winkle, the dirty work is all yours, once—" She held up a single finger. 

"Once I have severed my final association." 

A barely still visible Anastasia smiled at Poppy with a wink, just before she vanished completely. 

"Poppy Sorenson...has hereby fired..." She made her hand into a fist, whapping it on the desk. 

Anastasia disappeared. 

"...Herself." 

And with that, she merely headed for the door. Tammy's stare followed her incredulously. 

"That—...that's ridiculous! You can't do that." 

Poppy turned around. "Oh, really?..." She stared in no particular direction and intoned— 

"Poppy...I'm fired! 

"No...no, wait. I can't fire me; I quit!" She turned to Tammy matter-of-factly. "Hm. Looks like I can do that!" 

"Poppy...y—...you're nuts! Wh—...what're you gonna do for work? Where're you gonna go? How're you gonna support yourself?" 

"Hey, I'm not entirely without resources in this area," Poppy asserted. "I'm hardly poor. I'll be all right. I'll get back on my feet." She pointed a finger at her. "And you can bet it won't be by ripping anyone else's career outta their hands. Am I right, Anastasia?" 

Abrupt silence filled the room. Poppy noticed with frankly dismayed surprise that Anastasia was no longer in the office with them. 

"An—...Anastasia?" Poppy looked around for her. "Where'd you...?" She opened the door and peered out. "An—?" 

Her conscience was nowhere to be seen. Almost by default, Poppy let a bit of panic ride her, but after a moment realized what must have happened. She guessed Anastasia's work was done. Poppy didn't need her anymore. She now knew and owned what she had to do to follow the right path. She could stand on her own feet. She could be good, and virtuous now. She didn't have to be mean and spiteful. At all. She didn't have to indulge in any form of negative temptation. Her life was her own. 

"She's...gone. 

"Anastasia's gone." 

"Well, congrats, Sybil; good for you," Tammy sneered, unable to care less. 

Poppy suddenly felt a bit disoriented, as if she'd just gotten off a rollercoaster. She was a little confused, a little relieved, and a little giddy all at once. "I...I don't believe it," she said. "I guess I just needed her to...push me, to give me that little extra courage...hm. Well..." Since she didn't honestly have very much left to say to Tammy, Poppy once more approached the door. 

All of a sudden, out of nowhere, Tammy looked straight up. Poppy heard her voice from behind. 

"Wh—...what was that?" 

Poppy turned back to her. "Huh?" 

"...That," Tammy reiterated, sounding weirded-out. "It sounded like a...harp, or something." 

Poppy froze. 

"...You don't say. You...heard a harp?" 

"Don't tell me you didn't hear it." 

Poppy thoughtfully raised her eyebrows, letting a coy smirk paint her lips. 

"Oh, I've...I've heard it a few times..." 

"Well, what the hell was it?" Tammy again wanted to know. 

Poppy was in astonishment. It was Tammy's turn? Amazing...she had to presume that now that she was transformed, or "virtue-ized," as it were, the angels from beyond could focus on Tammy. 

Should I tell her?... 

...Nah. Let her figure it out on her own. She'd never believe me anyway. 

"Oh, I...think someone in the building's taking lessons." 

Poppy cupped her unoccupied hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle, and exited, leaving a befuddled Tammy standing alone. She continued on her way straight out of the offices of SuCo Industries, nary a break in her stride. There were a few belongings of hers still in the office, but no matter; she'd collect them another time, as she submitted her key and resignation. These formalities could wait. Right now, she wanted to go do something nice and enjoyable. Something fun. She could hardly remember the last time she had done anything just plain fun (not counting jilling herself off, that was to say). And it was still morning, barely 11:00. She had the entire day. She wanted to go to the mall and do a little shopping, maybe take in a good movie. She'd saved a handsome bank account; she could afford to treat herself a little. She wanted to sit down and read a good book. She wanted to run through a field and catch a natural high. She wanted to talk to people and make some friends, armed with her new vibrant personality. And she wanted to reach out and make amends to the people she already knew, many of whom she hadn't exactly treated like royalty. 

She'd get around to it all eventually. There was no rush. She had all the time she wanted now. She got outside, took a big, deep breath, and got into her car. For once this week, there was no nagging little voice eating away at her, righteously terrorizing her mind, telling her what to do next. Finally, at long last, she could make these decisions for herself. 

All she had to decide now which activity she wanted to do first. 

***** 

Tantrilizer 

Friday, November 14th, 2008, 12:33 a.m. 

Even being her night-owl self, Poppy was pooped after the day she'd chosen. She'd done several of the fun things that first came to mind, and spent the meantime coming up with more. By her front door sat some shopping bags underneath her purse and keys, followed by a trail of clothes leading to her bedroom. She lay naked under the comforter, passing her palms softly over herself, trying to decide if she had the stamina left to get herself off before catching a truckload of 'z's. 

As she touched a familiarly sensitive spot, a memory was triggered. Gigi. Poppy remembered the way Gigi Robertson once kissed her in just this spot. It was a form of declared love on her part, her way to saying that she wanted to do anything that would make Poppy happy. She exhaled wistfully as she regretted how she'd regarded Gigi. She was a wonderful, sweet girl, whose only shortcoming was sensible apprehension over precarious acts which Poppy thought at the time she wanted to try. Gigi had been right in her feelings, Poppy now thought. These things may have been exciting, but they remained dangerous. And even if Poppy did again work up the guts to take them on one day, she didn't need anyone by her side who was uncomfortable being there. 

She blinked mournfully, realizing just how much she suddenly missed Gigi. Maybe she should try to find and contact her. If Gigi could still have any interest in hearing from her, that was. Poppy reminded herself that she never knew if Gigi forgave her infidelity. Moreover, Gigi could be involved with someone else now. She could be married. A mother. Perhaps more. Who knew? 

Well, thought Poppy, I suppose there isn't any real harm in just trying to find her, and apologizing. Worst-case scenario: she doesn't accept my apology, in which case I'll be disheartened, but at least I'll have closure. 

She gazed to the ceiling, letting her eyes flutter closed. A faint harp jingle kissed her ear. 

Gasp. She opened her eyes and sat up. Her heart and body filled with warmth. There she was. 

"Anastasia?" 

The translucent spirit was shrouded in white. She seemed to be glowing, standing there in the room with her. Poppy was surprised she didn't have wings and a halo. She spoke in a tender whisper. 

"I'm proud of you, Poppy." 

"Oh my gosh!" Poppy gushed in elation. "Anastasia, I'm-I'm so happy to see you, but...but, um..." 

"What am I doing here?" Anastasia finished for her, taking a step forward. She slowly became opaque, right before Poppy's eyes. "I'm so glad you asked. Poppy, the moment wasn't appropriate in the office to tell you this, but I just needed to let you know, that I'll never abandon you again. Not even if the union forces me to go on vacation. If they make me take time off, then I wanna spend it with you. I wanna be there for you anytime you need me. I want you to be able to call my name and have me come running with open arms. I never want you to be alone again. You're my best friend in the world, Poppy. And your happiness is still my law." 

Poppy blinked a couple of tears from her eyes. "I thought it was your privilege," she kidded, keeping the mood light. 

"Well, that too. Okay, dolly, I guess I'll be on my way now, unless there's anything else you wanted?" 

"Oh! Yes! Yes, actually," said Poppy. She patted the mattress beside her, indicating that she now wanted Anastasia in bed with her. 

"I was thinking about this a lot today," confided Poppy as her companion obliged her and slipped in. "And, well, you know for almost three entire years I basically just fired people. And y'know, everybody's situation's a little different. Some took it in stride, some didn't. And who knows how many of them have jobs even better by now. But the economy's still in bad shape, and SuCo's not the only place letting people go. So...I wanna give back. I wanna reverse it. I wanna start my own employment agency." 

"What a lovely idea!" said a pleased Anastasia. "Tell me how I can help, and I'll do whatever I can." 

"Well, we can talk about it later till the cows come home," Poppy chuckled. "I'm a little too tired now. But, eh..." 

She slipped her arms around Anastasia and settled down onto the mattress with her. 

"...You know what else I was thinking today..." 

"Oh...oh, my," commented Anastasia, letting out a small frisky giggle. 

"All those times this week when you either forced a hug on me and I pushed you away, or tried to hug me and I wouldn't let you," Poppy went on. "I think I'd like to try and make it for that." 

"Oh, now, Poppy, that's really not necessary." 

"Oh, yes, it is." 

Poppy proceeded to give Anastasia a taste of her own proverbial medicine, snaking arms and legs around her and squeezing lovingly. Anastasia let out an excited squeak as the overwhelming cuddles enfolded her. 

"Oh, goodness! Why, Poppy, that...oh...that...that feels good." 

Poppy smiled, kissing Anastasia's pink blushing cheek...just before a look of abrupt surprise washed over her face. 

"Wow, you know something?..." said Poppy. "I never noticed this, but up close, you..." 

Poppy gasped as she realized just how amazingly true what she said and thought was. 

"...You look like Gigi!" 

Anastasia shyly turned away. 

"Guilty. Yeah, that was a little touch I added when I decided I was coming back to you," she admitted. "Thought that'd be a nice little something to throw in for ya, but I wanted to make it subtle. I didn't wanna lay it on too thick. So I didn't make myself a carbon copy of her. Just enough to spark a little recognition." 

Wasting not another moment, Poppy kissed her. Anastasia gasped through the first moment, then let herself melt into the rest. She threw her arms around Poppy as well, wanting these snuggles and liplocks never to end. Sensing Poppy thought she'd looked like an angel tonight when she appeared, she could swear she did grow wings, and that this magical kiss made them flutter. As their velvety lips parted and brushed one another, Poppy uttered her next devoted declaration. 

"I love you, Anastasia...I've always loved you. And I know you've always loved me. You truly are my guardian angel. I need you to be with me. I need to feel your love within me. I...I..." 

She ran out of words, but Anastasia knew precisely where she was headed. 

"...You cannot bear waiting another second to make spiritual love to me." 

Poppy nodded vigorously. "YES! So much, yes!" 

Anastasia nuzzled her and murmured a sweet affirmation. 

"Your command is my wish." 

"Oh, yes, and...one other little thing, if I may?" Poppy requested. "Just for tonight... 

"...Could we pretend your name's actually Gigi...and that your middle name's Layla?" 

And so Poppy shut her eyes and fell half asleep, and Anastasia's physical form morphed into a celestial replicant of herself, swirling with sparkles and moonglow. The bedroom vanished and transformed into a limitless scape of space and starlight. Fluid but tangible, Anastasia melted in waves over Poppy's quivering body. Only half-conscious, Poppy floated in limbo between sleep and awake, feeling the most sublime, exquisite sensations. Each part of her reacted as tantric serenity enveloped her. 

She felt herself elevated to the higher spiritual planes, felt her chakras brought to shimmering, mystical life. She couldn't form transitive or lucid thoughts in her semiconscious state, but she could feel enough to discern that her tantric dreams were coming true here in the subspace of twilight. She felt Anastasia's divine touches at each turn, every nook and cranny, escalating her higher and higher still. It was the ultimate happy place, which had never been clearer before. It was heaven, her utopian eden, but somehow, even yet more ethereal. Sort of like the outer, greater suburb of heaven which no one was granted the privilege of visiting— 

No one this second, except Poppy Eve Sorenson. 

Her mind spun as divinity radiated her. She saw, heard and felt everything as in a real, intensified dream. Now that her mind, spirit, heart and chakras were at full throttle, her physical body awoke with a newfound surge of passion unlike anything she'd known before. Her limbs flexed and withdrew. Her senses heightened. Her breasts swelled with their stiffening, twitching nipples. Her paws groped blindly. Her belly and feet tickled from the inside. Her whipping head tossed hair over her face, some of it sticking with sweat. Her fingers and toes balled up tight. 

Finally, even only half awake, she needed to take care of her love-craving pussy. Her hand fumbled under the cover until it found its way, and she commenced to masturbating in her sleep. Her happy place turned to fluorescent technicolor, and morphed through a hundred chromatic combinations. With limited faculties, she groped and grabbed at herself as best she could, but she knew her hand's path would be guided for her, as once more, Anastasia's joined her own. 

Anastasia's spirit hand lapped itself over Poppy's, giving her an exponentially multiplied boost. She screamed—silently on the inside, but audibly on the outside—as her nerves and synapses began going off like crazy. It was the most surreal and magnificent experience she could recount to date, in ages of either childhood, adolescence or adulthood. Her pussy burned red-hot under the comforter. Her clit bulged and throbbed, massaged almost intolerably by the heel of her hand. Her muscles held their flex until the strain began to wear on her. She groaned and whined for release. 

Somewhere over the horizon of Poppy's happy place, the wild, hurricanic storm of passion swept through, finding Poppy balanced atop the tantric minaret, and rocking her world. Despite the unforeseen turbulence, her happy place became much happier. She shouted and moaned, plunging in slumber like mad, and at last culling out frothy hot lava from her volcanic cunt. While she could no longer be sure, she thought she felt Anastasia kiss her...her hair, her arm, her nose, her torso, her nipple, her foot, her tummy... 

She couldn't take another second. It had to happen, and it had to happen now. The tantric element had definitely added a new and literally awesome air to the act, and Poppy could wait no longer to find out how it would enhance her orgasm. She jilled and drilled, feeling it coming. Just a matter of seconds. An approximate countdown. Finally, at long last, and not an instant too soon... 

Fireworks. 

Explosions. 

Shooting stars. Cloudbursts. Moondust and starshine. Dimension shift. She experienced it all. Poppy felt herself zipped back through each and every level and plateau on her path as she came. The pleasure was so dynamic, so paramount, so wondrously breathtaking, she was allowed to focus on nothing else. But had she, she would have noticed that everything happened in reverse, in a dizzy, distorted blur. The storm unravaged her happy place. She tumbled down from the tantric minaret. Anastasia floated up off of her. And her state of consciousness altered once more, but Poppy did not wake back up. Left alone, back in her own normal bed, she fell to peaceful, inevitable sleep, and enjoyed ten of the most tranquil hours she'd ever had. 

***** 

(A) Well, that's pretty much the whole story. Just like when we were little, once I determined Poppy could be on her own, it was time for me to let her. I don't need to be on her shoulder full-time anymore, but I'll always be there if she needs a little guidance, support, or just plain good old-fashioned love...as you saw, I'm good.