ella
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Post by ella on Jun 19, 2015 7:50:15 GMT
In the sequel thread, I mentioned that it would nice to read and write little micro-stories told from the perspective of all the random side characters from the books, and how they all seem to be sooooo jealous Christian and Ana's perfect love. muskratthemink suggested it should be it's own thread, so here it is. I'm just going to copy and paste my waitress story to get the ball rolling. It's almost the end of my shift when they walk in. Shelly, the Hostess and I share the quick glance of "ugh" and she quickly turns to face him with a big fake smile. It's that Grey asshole, the one that we all dread seeing come in, because he is every server's worst nightmare. He insists on having the stupidist things; an 8 ounce glass of some kind of fancy imported water with 3 ice cubes in it, so of course we give him some dasani with 3 ice cubes and charge him twice. He never looks at a menu and just orders random shit, usually things that don't really exist, he just strings together some fancy food words to sound like a dish. Last month he ordered kobe chicken tartare with a side of roasted kale infused with truffle oil, unfortunately we couldn't poison him, so the chef had me go to the market and get those perdue precooked chicken strips and he microwaved those up, slopped some boiled spinach on the side, and we charged him $250. Then to top it all off he never tips. At all. Ever. He could be bringing in his business buddies and spend thousands of dollars, and he makes sure to put a big fat zero in the tip portion of the bill. Now you wonder why we overcharge him? Ugh, and he's back again, and with a date no less, it will probably make him more insufferable if he feels he needs to show off how important he is. I drew the short straw and Shelly seats them in my area and gives me a quiet "sorry" as we pass by each other. I take a deep breath, put on the biggest, fakest most painful smile I can and head over to the table. "Good evening! Would you like to see the wine list?" I ask, knowing that he won't bother to look at it. "That won't be necessary, We'll each have a glass of the Pinot Merlot Chardonnay, vintage please, nothing from this century, I have a refined taste." That doesn't even exist, ugh, I hate this guy. His date must be pretty naive because she's just sitting there all smiles and giggles. I try to stiffle back my own laughter at his wine order, and give him some happy waitress platitudes, because even if this piece of shit doesn't tip, we charge him enough to make up and he doesn't seem to care. We may hate him, but his money is still green and we just gotta deal with it. When I come back with their vintage pinot whatever (Costco box wine mixed with grape juice), his date is shooting me the evilest look. Shit! Is she on to me? is she on to us? Did she figure out that we're fleecing this rich guy because he's an asshole? Shit shit shit. I collect myself and ask if they are ready to order. He gives his ridiculous order, today he wants beef done in an impossible way; I guess someone is making a trip to Burger King. Then this douchecanoe orders for her, of course it's a salad for her. Fuck this guy, ugh, he's the worst. Meanwhile she keeps giving me dirty looks and makes a point to put her hands on him and kiss his cheek. Oh man, is she jealous of me? Does she really think this guy is such a fucking catch? Damn, that poor girl, she can keep him and his overblown sense of self importance.I was also thinking of having Olivia the secretary/assistant embezzling, and Chedward not noticing because he thinks all women are too stupid to come up with an idea like that on their own....ladies brains and all, amirite boys.
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ella
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Post by ella on Jun 19, 2015 10:28:40 GMT
Olivia the Assistant:
I was just about to leave for a mani-pedi, when Mr. Grey comes bursting in, deciding that today he "needed" to be in the office. Which means, I've gotta stay and reschedule my appointment. I hate days when he comes in, between his bustling around and barking orders at everyone in here and his overpriced cologne that smells like cat pee and old lady farts; he puts everyone on edge.
"OLIVIA! let me know what that Kavanaugh bint comes in! I'll be in my office wheeling and dealing!"
Bint? Bint? Who the hell says bint? Is this another way of him trying to sound sophisticated by using non American slang? Such an asshat. He stomps into his office and closes the door behind him. Phew, I get a bit of a break from him, so I call up the spa to reschedule my mani-pedi, and check Grey's schedule to find out when to expect Ms. Kavanaugh.
*ping* an email pops up from Mr. High and Mighty
From: Christian G. To: Olivia M. Subject: Kavanaugh
Please don't let her stick around too long, I'm only doing this interview because of her dad and she's been so insistent that she write some story for her college newspaper. So after 5 minutes interrupt us with some kind of emergency, I don't want to spend any more time with this brat than I have to.
Jerk, can't even be bothered to talk to a student for more than five minutes, but the sooner she's out of the office, the sooner he's out, and I can get back to my online shopping.
Now if you're wondering why I keep working for this jacknugget if I hate him so, it's because I can pretty much get away with anything. I want a new coat, I buy one and use the company credit card. I can, on most days, chill in this nice office, browse pintrest, shop online, and have 3 hour Martini lunches if I want...all on Grey's dime. Plus, Maria in IT, Stacy in Finance and I have a nice little, um, "bonus plan" if you catch my drift; and fancy suit dum dum idiot hasn't a clue, he pays no attention to financials at all. The way I figure it, in another two years, Maria and I will be sitting on a private beach in some remote local leaving this place behind. That is unless somehow Grey finds out that Maria and I are married; he seems to have a thing about LGBTA people. Now it's no secret that Maria and I have been together for 7 years, everyone (except for Grey) knows this, but I just think that if Grey ever found out, we'd both be "laid off." Plus, I think Grey has some delusion in his head that I'm in love with him. So I let the jackass think that, while I make mini-deposits into my offshore account and count the days until Maria and I can take "early retirement."
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Post by mydogspa on Jun 19, 2015 13:30:31 GMT
Well, it's not from the point of view of another character, but here is a copy of what I posted on the other thread of the famous 'helicopter' incident where on the one hand Chedward has to be quick-witted & act fast to keep the helicopter from becoming a lawn dart that causes a smoking crater, yet on the other hand must be so completely clueless as to the operations of the mandatory on-board emergency equipment that will 'force' him to walk through the woods after the landing and not just wait for help to arrive.
So let's back up, literally, to 7500 feet in the AS350, registration N124CT, heading 010 degrees magnetic over the forest and mountains with Grey in the pilot's seat, Ros in the passenger seat, all is well and cruising along at 130 kt. (knots. that's about 150 mph or 241 kph. All aviation speeds are referenced to knots --symbol kt. for uniformity in air traffic control centers across the planet) All point-of-view is from C. Grey unless otherwise stated.
Crap, we got a 15 knot headwind. Why did I take such a long cross-country trip with such a slow aircraft? Why didn't we use the Learjet? It would have been faster. I do own one of those. I think. Maybe I should buy another after the Mitchell deal closes. Ooh, my Thor's Hammer swells at the thought of a new air--
The "ENG FIRE" light illuminates on the instrument panel. Oil pressure starts falling. Ros points to the very RED light that I have ignored until now.
Ros says, "What's that?" as she points to the red light.
Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! Engine fire!! In-flight fire checklist: Quick! THINK! Oh yeah: Autorotate, fuel selector to shutoff, boost pumps off, master off. First: initiate autorotation within 2 (TWO!) seconds to maintain rotor speed or we're gonna die--
Ros says, "What's wrong? What is that?"
"Ros, shut up, I'm busy!!!" I yell back at her. Autorotate, first lower collective lever. DOWN. Pull cyclic aft. C'mon, BACK. Push left rudder pedal. Left. Left. LEFT! Establish glide at 65 kt. 65. 65, not 60. Easy big girl. Rotor speed--OK.
Breathe.
Breathe.
Rotor speed is good. Glide--ESTABLISHED. Next-- I turn the fuel selector to SHUTOFF. Switch boost pump OFF. Engine torque drops. The engine is now officially dead. Hmm, I wonder if I should broadcast a 'mayday' on the 121.5 emergency frequency and let someone know we're in trouble and going down?
Nah.
I turn the master battery switch: OFF
All the radios and electrical gear go dark.
Ros says, "What's wrong? Are we going to crash?"
I tell her, "No, idiot, we're in an autorotation glide, but we need to find an open field to land in or things will get messier than the Red Room during an orgy. Look for a meadow."
Ros says, "All I see are trees."
"Trees don't work. I need an open field, parking lot, something."
Ros exclaims, "There! To the left! An open meadow!"
Dang if she wasn't right. A meadow. I wonder if Ana would have found one that fast? Ana? WTF am I thinking about her for now? She ain't my co-pilot and my Thor's Hammer is a very wet noodle at the moment while I need to save my life. Rotor speed OK, glide OK, a bit high. Circle a little, but we can make it just fine. Wind, where's the wind coming from? It was out of the north at altitude, but what's happening at the surface? No wind sock. Trees are coming close, seem to be blowing from that way, so we'll land opposite--
Ros SCREAMS.
"Aagh! What was THAT for?"
Ros belts out, "We're gonna DIE!"
"Ros, BE QUIET!" OK, over the trees, flare. Collective UP. PULL! Flare. FLARE! SHIT!!
My helicopter N124CT SMACKS onto the ground, bobbles a bit, remains upright on the skids, tips a bit on the slightly rocky terrain. The main rotor slows.
CRAP, worst landing EVER! "Ros, are you OK?" She looks stunned, eyes staring. She turns to me suddenly as the main rotor glides to a stop.
Ros says, "We didn't die?"
No, dolt, 'cause I'm an utterly fantastic pilot. "Nope."
Ros says "Now what?"
"Well, I suppose we--"
Ros says "What's that?" as she points to the smoke and flames emanating from the engine bay.
Hmm, I ought to fix that. I grab the puny fire extinguisher from under my seat, climb out of the cockpit to go back to the engine and in spite of the heat from the fire that makes the access door latches WAY too hot to handle I get the access panel open enough to discharge the small bottle into the engine bay. Luckily the fire goes out, otherwise the entire fuselage of my precious N124CT would burn to the ground and I won't be able to salvage her and rebuild it later.
Ros asks, "Can we call someone?"
"Well, the fire is out but I don't want to turn the master switch on to turn on the radios in case the fire starts again." I look at my phone. No bars. Drat.
Ros asks, "Why not? The fire is out. The fuel to the engine is turned off."
"Because even though I flew this aircraft through a harrowing emergency that required split-second response and knowledge of the flying characteristics of the machine I don't know enough about it to want to turn on the master power switch again."
Ros asks, "What about the emergency beacon?"
"Oh, you mean the "Emergency Locator Transmitter" that sends our GPS position and a distress signal to satellites in orbit and alerts rescue teams to our exact whereabouts in the case of an emergency?"
Ros says, "Yes, that one."
"The actual device that would have triggered itself automatically to send that emergency signal if my landing had, in fact, been any worse?"
Ros says, "Yes, that one."
"You mean the thing where all I have to do is push this little button on the instrument panel to activate it?"
Ros says, "Yes, that one."
"You're asking about the ELT transmitter, located in the tail, where if the instrument panel switch doesn't work I can manually activate it at the ELT unit itself because it has its own battery and is totally and completely independently powered from the main aircraft power?"
Ros says, "Yes, that one."
"Ros, silly girl. We glided to safety and landed OK. Even though the NTSB and FAA both consider in-flight fires a very severe emergency I don't want to make any more of a fuss than we have to. So I don't think we had an emergency worth of activating the ELT. Let's start walking."
Ros says, "But I only have high heels!"
"Cry me a river. Would you rather stay here and wait for rescuers to find a white helicopter in an open meadow surrounded by dark green trees or walk out miles through rough terrain with me in your high heels? I'm leaving now."
Ros says, "Schmuck."
We start walking. I suddenly realize I've actually spent a whole 30 minutes without thinking of my swelling Thor's Hammer. Ros twists her ankle, and not for the first time that day . . . .
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ella
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Post by ella on Jun 20, 2015 10:11:16 GMT
*sorry, I keep having ideas*
Claude Bastille, "Olympic Gold Medalist Kickboxer"
I get paid to kick idiots. Well more specifically, a single idiot, Christian Grey. He runs some big company and pays me very nicely to kick him, repeatedly. I'll never forget the day I met him and he changed my life.
I was working at the Heathman hotel, as a night guard; cruddy pay, shitty hours, night after night of wandering the hallways. Every so often I'd have a little excitement when a businessman would have a little too much and I'd have to pick him off the floor and drag him back to his room. Being that the job itself, save for a few times, is rather boring and routine, after work I will usually go to the gym and work out. One of the perks of working for a fancy hotel is free access to the gym, of course the head honchos prefer us not to mention to the guests that we're workers, rich people get funny if they find out they have to share a space with "the help."
One morning I was working out my frustrations by kicking a punching bag. Ever since I broke my wrist skateboarding, I still have pain when I make a fist or punch something, so I kick things instead. I looked up online how to "properly" kick things so I wouldn't break my ankle, but by no means am I some kind of martial arts expert. Anyway, I was kicking this bag, and this dude comes up to me, and he says "You're very good!" I wasn't sure if he was just trying to be polite, or maybe he was hitting on me, who knows. As a joke, I sarcastically said, "yeah, I've won Olympic Medals for doing this. I'm a reeeaaaal professional."
Right then his eye brows perked up and he asked me if I held classes. What? Dude, seriously? Is he for real? Did he miss my obvious sarcasm? So I decided to keep it going, and told this guy that I only give private trainings.
"I must hire you! Cancel all your other clients and train me exclusively. I'll make it worth your while, I'm Christian Grey, and I want to own you."
The fuck? own me...this dude is weird. Is this how he talks to everyone? Fuck him.
"No, I'm pretty happy doing what I'm doing" I said, trying to find a way out of my lies and his stupidity.
"What is your name?" He asks me, and again, I stumble to find a way out, so I make up the name of Claude Bastille. It sounds like the name of a foreign kickboxing expert that a rich white guy like him would be comfortable with.
"Claude, I will pay $8,000 a session, three sessions a week. I must know how to kickbox like an Olympian"
24 grand a week to kick this guy? I think I can keep up my charade for this moron.
So that is I got the job of being the "Personal Kickboxing Trainer" for the colossally dense Christian Grey.
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Post by muskratthemink on Jun 20, 2015 13:28:52 GMT
*sorry, I keep having ideas* Claude Bastille, "Olympic Gold Medalist Kickboxer" I get paid to kick idiots. Well more specifically, a single idiot, Christian Grey. He runs some big company and pays me very nicely to kick him, repeatedly. I'll never forget the day I met him and he changed my life.
I was working at the Heathman hotel, as a night guard; cruddy pay, shitty hours, night after night of wandering the hallways. Every so often I'd have a little excitement when a businessman would have a little too much and I'd have to pick him off the floor and drag him back to his room. Being that the job itself, save for a few times, is rather boring and routine, after work I will usually go to the gym and work out. One of the perks of working for a fancy hotel is free access to the gym, of course the head honchos prefer us not to mention to the guests that we're workers, rich people get funny if they find out they have to share a space with "the help."
One morning I was working out my frustrations by kicking a punching bag. Ever since I broke my wrist skateboarding, I still have pain when I make a fist or punch something, so I kick things instead. I looked up online how to "properly" kick things so I wouldn't break my ankle, but by no means am I some kind of martial arts expert. Anyway, I was kicking this bag, and this dude comes up to me, and he says "You're very good!" I wasn't sure if he was just trying to be polite, or maybe he was hitting on me, who knows. As a joke, I sarcastically said, "yeah, I've won Olympic Medals for doing this. I'm a reeeaaaal professional."
Right then his eye brows perked up and he asked me if I held classes. What? Dude, seriously? Is he for real? Did he miss my obvious sarcasm? So I decided to keep it going, and told this guy that I only give private trainings.
"I must hire you! Cancel all your other clients and train me exclusively. I'll make it worth your while, I'm Christian Grey, and I want to own you."
The fuck? own me...this dude is weird. Is this how he talks to everyone? Fuck him.
"No, I'm pretty happy doing what I'm doing" I said, trying to find a way out of my lies and his stupidity.
"What is your name?" He asks me, and again, I stumble to find a way out, so I make up the name of Claude Bastille. It sounds like the name of a foreign kickboxing expert that a rich white guy like him would be comfortable with.
"Claude, I will pay $8,000 a session, three sessions a week. I must know how to kickbox like an Olympian"
24 grand a week to kick this guy? I think I can keep up my charade for this moron.
So that is I got the job of being the "Personal Kickboxing Trainer" for the colossally dense Christian Grey.
I'm rolling right now, you're awesome at this! XD
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Post by glasschmetterling on Jun 20, 2015 13:56:21 GMT
Miss European Pigtails, whose name definitely isn't Gretchen
"Do you need any help with the starters, Gretchen?" I inwardly roll my eyes as I smile at Mrs Grey.
"No thanks, I'm nearly done."
Gretchen. Sometimes I still wonder how I ended up with that particularly ridiculous nickname - and why I agreed to it. Right... I was tired of hearing my name butchered day after day after day by Mr Grey. I shake my head - as someone who's had her share of pronounciation problems, I'll readily admit that Franziska is not a name that lends itself to pronounciation by the average English native speaker, but Mr Grey looked - and sounded - like he was ready to choke every time he tried to call me that. And my last name - Ms Böttcher - is not much better. And he was really really really grateful when I mentioned that my middle name is Grete (after my grandmother) and if that might be better? But really - Gretchen?
Worst part of it is not being called Gretchen - a stupid name for a grown woman - but all those people, asking me if I'm German, because, with that name, you know... I shake my head. Nobody under a hundred and ten is called Gretchen in Germany. And even if they are, that's usually a diminuitive for Grete or Greta, and not a real name. But of course, nobody believes that, because here in the States, everyone thinks that Gretchen is such a typical German name...
I put the plates on the tray and shake off my irritation. Well, it is what it is. And I rather like it here - unless Christian Grey is at home.
I follow Mrs Grey out of the kitchen and stop dead when the first thing I notice is Christian Grey's unrelentless stare. Speaking of the devil... Has nobody ever ever told that guy - that fucking guy! - how creepy it is to stare at people with those cold eyes of his? Of course nobody has. He's Christian Grey, darling of the family, and Mrs Grey is scared that he might break if she scolded him even the tiniest bit. Me, I'm rather more worried about him breaking things, because that seems to be his primary occupation when he's at home. Being angry and breaking things, then leaving the mess for me to clean up. Of course, next on his list is creepily staring at every non-related female in his sight.
I sigh. I'm the one who got lucky - my colleague, well, former colleague, Colleen, quit because he's made... advances towards him, and of course Mrs Grey didn't believe her. He's her darling boy after all, and she suspects he's gay anyway, or at least that's what I accidentally overheard when I went past her study to the kitchen. Ugh... I'll need tons of brain bleach to get that picture out of my head. Him with anyone at all - male or female - is a creepy, creepy, creepy thought.
I blush, noticing that I still stare at him, and then turn my eyes away, concentrating on not tripping while his gaze lingers way too long on my neck. Creepy! Creepy creepy creep... what?
Christian's turned away from me, but I still feel that prickling on my skin that indicates someone is staring at me, and only then I notice the thin, pale brunette sitting next to him at the table, who's scowling just as much as he is when he doesn't get his way. If looks could kill, I'd have dropped dead already. And what have I done now? From the expression on her face, I've killed her favorite pet or something! But if I've learned something from dealing with Christian Grey, it's to ignore idiots and just go on with my job and my life, so I serve the dishes, and only look at the brunette when I server her, smiling.
She doesn't smile back, doesn't thank me, only stares at me and puts her hand posessively - and very deliberately - on Christian Grey's arm, obviously trying to stake a claim here. I nearly drop the tray from the sudden urge to laugh. She's jealous! For fuck's sake, I wouldn't want that guy if he were the last man in the world! I mean, yeah, at first glance, he's rather hot, but that creepy stalkerish vibe he's giving off does a real good job of putting me off.
"Thank you, Gretchen", Mrs Grey says gently, and then tells me to leave the tray on the console. I do as she has told me, and escape to the kitchen, where I laugh until my ribs hurt. Jealous! His girlfriend is jealous... I frown at the word "girlfriend". Oh shit, more brain bleach!
***
If the poor girl knew that people are paying money to read the stuff she desperately wants to get out of her head!
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Post by rhiannon on Jun 20, 2015 17:00:38 GMT
Those are all so great. I am not good at stuff like that and can't remember the characters well enough.
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ella
Junior Member
Posts: 78
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Post by ella on Jun 21, 2015 11:50:09 GMT
Paul Clayton: Hardware Store Employee
When my dad hired Ana, I figured she'd just stick around for a month or two before going off to work someplace she'd find more interesting. My dad hired her as a favor to her dad, even though she admittedly knew nothing about "DIY." To her credit, she did learn the basics and is nice to customers, but she just doesn't fit in. Ana's an English major and seems more comfortable talking about "fine literature" as she puts it.
Joanne from the bookstore across the street even offered her a job, thinking that she would be a good fit, with her passion for reading and love of books. However, she turned it down, because in her words, "Joanne knows nothing about Real Literature, stocks her shop with current books that are popular with the masses. A real book store should not be filled with lame stories about vampires. She should have some integrity and sell real books." Well, Joanne is trying to keep her business running by stocking inventory that people actually want to buy, sorry not everyone wants to read War and Peace while as a means to unwind.
This is why people don't really like Ana, she's too stuck up her own notion of class and too wrapped up in her oh so important Literature, that she often comes off as snobbish. Ashleigh, my girlfriend, is an English Major like Ana, but says that Ana doesn't really hang with other English majors, acts like she's somehow above everyone else. We've even tried to invite her to different things, thinking that she just needs to come out of her shell; but she always misinterprets it as me asking her on a date, mumbles something about me not being a literary hero and walks away.
So today, I come out of the stock room, and she's helping some tall, good looking guy pick up some items. I walk past and say hi, and he regards me with this look like I had shit on his shoes and I set fire to his hair. I take a quick glance in his basket, and he's got zip ties, rope and coveralls; not really the makings of a kitchen remodel, and between his items and the way he's staring at her, I'm starting to get seriously creeped out.
So I decide to pretend to do things outside the front of the store, where I have the best view inside and can check for the parking lot for his car and licence plate in case he turns into some psycho killer. I can see her cash him out, and it looks like they talk for bit, and he leaves. As he's walking out, he glares right at me and growls "miiiinee" and tries to stare me down. What the fuck? This guy is seriously fucked up, and it makes me legit worried for Ana, because she may be annoying and a snob, but I don't want anything bad to happen to her. As he leaves, I take note of his license plate, just in case and go back inside.
"So what's the deal with him?" I ask Ana, trying to read her to see if he's upset her or made her uncomfortable.
"Oh that's Christian Grey, he's a business man from Seattle who came in to pick up some things"
"Why would he come from Seattle to here to buy rope?"
"Oh we met yesterday when I interviewed him for the school paper."
"And you don't think it's strange that he's here today buying that weird shit?"
"Well a little, but I think he's just misunderstood. He reminds me someone from my favorite piece of Literature"
Yikes, does she like this guy? oh boy, this is not good. In an effort to change the subject, I ask her if she's going to the poetry reading on campus that Ashleigh's going to participate in.
"Look, Paul, I already told you that we are just friends, I don't want to date you Can't you take a hint?"
"um, well I'm going to see Ashleigh, my girlfriend read some poetry and I thought you'd be interested in going."
"Well I'm not interested. You just aren't my type, definitely not the swashbuckling hero worthy of my attention."
Okay, I give up. This girl is in her own little world. I just hope I don't see her swashbuckling Christian show up on the news because they found 30 dead women in his basement.
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Post by mydogspa on Jun 22, 2015 14:22:01 GMT
My bright yellow Tychem hazmat suit does its intended job and shoos Gretchen away while I steer my way to the Red Room. I'm completely alone in the apartment now. The suit includes gloves and boots, so as I pass the piano I try middle A and make sure it's just a smidge out of tune where I set it last time I was here. Yup. Dumbshit Grey doesn't even know when his instruments aren't working right. I'd love to see him take a class with JK Simmons' character in "Whiplash" and see him shrink like male genitalia dunked in a bucket of ice water when faced with people who really know what they're doing.
But I digress. I gather the cleaning supplies and enter the forbidden red den. What a slob.
I pick up the jeans carelessly tossed on the floor that should have been thrown away years ago. I check the pockets for used condoms. What is with this fucking guy? He obviously has never heard of the concept of a wastepaper basket?
He keeps telling me to wash out the "bin" but I just nod like I know what he's talking about. Or like the one time he asked me to put some rope into the "boot" of is car and check under the "bonnet." I couldn't figure out why he'd want the rope under the floormats, and really, there was no lace and tulle women's hats anywhere in the car.
I use the tongs to retrieve the spunk-filled sac out of the jeans pocket and transfer it into the bio-waste container. I almost vom, but now that the hard part's over I put the one used crop back in place and tidy up the tie, blindfold, and wrist straps. Only one set of each, as usual, in spite of the many varieties hanging on the wall. No imagination, no variance. Plain vanilla BDSM. Yawn.
I go to my usual spot and stand still for a moment.
I grab the key fob on my keychain and hit the remote button that turns off his security cameras in the room. A quick sideways glance confirms the IR lamps are OFF. I hasten over to the camera DVR and download the night's images onto my USB drive. While that's downloading I go to the armoire full of the clothes he never uses and open the panel where my own DVR is stashed. I make sure the connections to my own micro cameras are still good and pull the solid state drive out and slap another in its place for next week's recording. You'd think it'd be fun watching the rich and famous schtup and spank each other, but it gets really boring plowing through it all. Fortunately I have cams and mikes connected to other parts of the house so I can get vids of the next projects he's working on for my real employer. Those are actually more entertaining.
I button up the armoire, retrieve the USB drive and reset his DVR to its original condition. Then I go back to my spot, stand in place like I did when I shut the system off and turn his DVR back on with the remote. I collect the cleaning supplies and saunter out, knowing the room is far cleaner than it was when I went in.
I doff the Tychem suit, roll it into a ball, and head downstairs. I toss everything into the trunk of my car, pick up the phone and text " C G ^" to my employer to confirm success of the downloads and retrieval of the SSD. At this point who needs blackmail when there's so much more valuable data on the SSD drive about his future projects?
Yup, I had a good day at the office . . .
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ella
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Post by ella on Jun 22, 2015 20:20:02 GMT
mydogspa I love it! Mrs. Jones would be a perfect corporate spy. I bet most of the info she gets is just from being in the room, because he's so dumb he'd talk about "company secrets" in front of just about anyone.
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ella
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Post by ella on Jun 23, 2015 9:04:25 GMT
Maria from IT, Olivia's wife. *This takes place after the end of the last book, and if you want to picture Olivia and Maria as Nomi and Amanita from Sense8 feel free.*
I put on my rubber gloves and enter his office. Maria is off securing the fake passports and getting us plane tickets to our new retirement location. It's been four years since we opened our less than legal retirement plan, and now it's time to cash out. Stacey from Finance cashed out six months ago, and no one really noticed. Grey never comes in here anymore, now that he's got a wife and a couple of kids, so many many many things are going unnoticed. I even wondered if we needed the fake passports, we could probably just skitter off and that would be that. However, Olivia and I have a little going away gift for Mr. Grey, and the fake passports are for our insurance.
Back when Grey started seeing his wife, what was her name? Annie, Ann? Anyway, when he started seeing her, he started spending even less time in the building, which suited us just fine at first. Unfortunately the downside to him not being around and his ego never letting him have a board of directors, is that nothing was getting done. Projects that he wanted to start never took off, people who left never got replaced, segments of his business were tanking and he wasn't around to micromanage all these things.
So I decided to do a little poking around, being IT and all, I have access to just about anything and everything electronic. The first thing were his emails, all his emails to Annie, that of course Livvy and I read with one part enjoyment and one part fear for his dearest wifey. Grey was a dude on the edge and not in a good way, and we both expected to see that little Annie with the mousey hair and dead eyes to be eventually found on the shoreline.
The shit he said to his wife was just the start. See he would get all these scatterbrained ideas and only start them, but never finished them. He'd decide to build wells in Africa, open up a "sub company" with 1 million or so dollars, and then nothing. No money went anywhere, no wells were built, nothing happened. There were about five dozen of these sub companies, started with one or two employees and some of his "pocket change" and it would just sit there. At first I thought he was embezzling, but what he was investing in these companies was nothing compared to his actual salary, so that didn't make any sense. So I watched to see what would happen, if the money would transfer out to an off shore account and after about 4 months, it was pretty clear that these were his pet projects that he abandoned once he got bored with them. But the money was still there, sitting there untouched.
Livvy had suggested taking all those millions and funneling it back to the workers. Because the way things were going, his 40,000 employees (does that number seem a little high to you?) were going to need a severance package pretty soon. Something like that would look pretty suspicious, all these shell companies suddenly folding and the monies going back into the company. So I did a little bit of IT Computer magic and gave each employee a special pension fund that would pay out in the event of the whole company collapsing. Of course, I used Grey's money to fund it, I had a better idea for shell companies he set up.
Those shell companies put together were worth about a half a billion dollars. Which was a big enough number to look really hinky if a Fed or the IRS decided to sniff around. I also looked at the last company he bought, a publishing house, with his wife Annie running it. Which seemed really weird because a publishing house doesn't really fit with Grey's overall business plan. My guess is he bought it for her to either keep her happy or keep her under his control, either way it was fishy. Now the publishing company makes no money, since like him, she hasn't done a single thing with it, the employees show up, collect a check for doing who knows what, but they haven't put out a book since the buyout. So it got me thinking, what would the Feds think of him buying a once successful company unrelated to the main corporation only to have it turn into one of his shell companies?
So again, I work my computer magic and make all those shell companies funnel back to publishing house. I turn on his computer and upload the flash drive with the programs and the evidence that he's embezzling money into his wife's company. While I'm doing my computer thing, I notice he's got a picture of Annie on his desk. She has a big smile on her face, but there is such a fear in her eyes, it's unnerving. Why would he have that picture on his desk? Is that how he prefers to see her? With the fear in her eyes. I shudder and try not to look at it while I finish uploading the files.
Livvy comes in and says "Hey come on, we gotta get on out of here. I've sent out Grey's financial books to the local IRS Office, sent his personal emails and those files on those poor women to the police and sent in a tip to the major news sites. This place is going to be swarming within an hour or so."
"I'm almost done, just one more file and we can get out of here. Did you remember to purchase those tickets to Europe in our names?" I said. The Europe tickets were to act as a decoy while we went south. By the time Grey figures it out, it will be far too late, he'll be neck deep in IRS, Feds, Police and the News.
"Yes, I got them, let's get the hell out of here, this place gives me the heebie geebies"
I get my computer work done, and Livvy and I make a quick escape from that horrid office and off to our own happily ever after.
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Post by mydogspa on Jun 30, 2015 14:26:55 GMT
Yitzak Rabinowitz, the man impersonating Christian Grey:
Someone snapped their fingers in front of my face. "Itsy. Itsy! Wake up. You remember everything. They got it. It's gone."
I groggily come to my senses. "Wha? What's gone?" I look up. It's my handler, George Pupopolis. He's upset, worried.
"HUWOK."
"Christ, George, it was there this morning! You and I both saw it. In the safe."
George pointed to the now open, empty safe. The only thing left of HUWOK was the felt outline of its now open storage box, the lid cast aside.
"OK, good," I said. "That narrows it down to someone in the office, someone that Grey trusts. Easy as--" I stopped on George's look. "What?"
"It's not here," said George. "We checked for all traces. Not in the building. Only one person has left the building unscanned since we discovered it was missing."
"Then where-- The girl?!"
George nodded, pissed beyond belief.
"WHAT THE FUCK, GEORGE?! How the hell did you let--"
"WE, Itsy. We let her get it."
"I was under hypnosis and in character as Grey, remember? This entire company was set up as a front by the CIA to trap a master spy! How exactly does a klutzy, mousy, twitiot manage to break into a safe and steal a holographic-projector-assassination-tool while I was watching? She didn't even get near the safe!"
"Obviously an insider took it. Most likely made it look like a normal pencil and planted it on the girl on her way out. So that narrows it down to a few. But she's smart. She'll know you're on to her."
"That's your job. I've got to get HUWOK back before the Shiksa turns it on by accident and kills someone, or worse, the real spy gets it from her and kills her for it."
"And how the hell are you going to do that? What, just march up to her and say 'Hi, I'm looking for a very deadly holographic projector weapon hidden in a pencil the inventors called the Help-Us-Obi-Wan-Kenobi device, or HUWOK for short? It's a top-secret military weapon, so please hand it over?'"
I looked at him.
"Wait, no, you can't seduce her--"
"I'm a rich, handsome guy," I said. "Or at least pretend to be. She's, what, 20? 21? How hard can that be?"
"OK, I'll put you under--"
"No," I interrupted. "I can channel Grey, but don't hypnotize me. I'll have to keep my wits about me."
"But Grey is such a creep."
"And a stalker, and a rapist, yeah I know. But I've got to get the HUWOK back in one piece. Look, all I have to do is get close enough to grab it. After that I project Grey's bad characteristics as a rapist-stalker-control-freak. Show her the contract and the Red-Room-O-Pain. She'll get scared and run away. What sensible modern day woman wouldn't see that coming from miles away and run in the opposite direction as fast as she can?"
George mused. "I dunno. We did a quick background check on her and she doesn't have a Facebook account, Twitter account, or even email."
I stared at him, face scrunched in disbelief. "What, next thing is you're going to tell me she's a virgin, too!?"
"Can't say for sure, Itsy, but you may have to have a Plan B in case that comes up."
"I'm married! I love my wife! I respect her!"
"Right now the country needs you more, buddy."
Oy gevalt, I muttered. What was I getting myself into?
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Post by muskratthemink on Jun 30, 2015 16:52:03 GMT
Yitzak Rabinowitz, the man impersonating Christian Grey:Someone snapped their fingers in front of my face. "Itsy. Itsy! Wake up. You remember everything. They got it. It's gone." I groggily come to my senses. "Wha? What's gone?" I look up. It's my handler, George Pupopolis. He's upset, worried. "HUWOK." "Christ, George, it was there this morning! You and I both saw it. In the safe." George pointed to the now open, empty safe. The only thing left of HUWOK was the felt outline of its now open storage box, the lid cast aside. "OK, good," I said. "That narrows it down to someone in the office, someone that Grey trusts. Easy as--" I stopped on George's look. "What?" "It's not here," said George. "We checked for all traces. Not in the building. Only one person has left the building unscanned since we discovered it was missing." "Then where-- The girl?!" George nodded, pissed beyond belief. "WHAT THE FUCK, GEORGE?! How the hell did you let--" "WE, Itsy. We let her get it." "I was under hypnosis and in character as Grey, remember? This entire company was set up as a front by the CIA to trap a master spy! How exactly does a klutzy, mousy, twitiot manage to break into a safe and steal a holographic-projector-assassination-tool while I was watching? She didn't even get near the safe!" "Obviously an insider took it. Most likely made it look like a normal pencil and planted it on the girl on her way out. So that narrows it down to a few. But she's smart. She'll know you're on to her." "That's your job. I've got to get HUWOK back before the Shiksa turns it on by accident and kills someone, or worse, the real spy gets it from her and kills her for it." "And how the hell are you going to do that? What, just march up to her and say 'Hi, I'm looking for a very deadly holographic projector weapon hidden in a pencil the inventors called the Help-Us-Obi-Wan-Kenobi device, or HUWOK for short? It's a top-secret military weapon, so please hand it over?'" I looked at him. "Wait, no, you can't seduce her--" "I'm a rich, handsome guy," I said. "Or at least pretend to be. She's, what, 20? 21? How hard can that be?" "OK, I'll put you under--" "No," I interrupted. "I can channel Grey, but don't hypnotize me. I'll have to keep my wits about me." "But Grey is such a creep." "And a stalker, and a rapist, yeah I know. But I've got to get the HUWOK back in one piece. Look, all I have to do is get close enough to grab it. After that I project Grey's bad characteristics as a rapist-stalker-control-freak. Show her the contract and the Red-Room-O-Pain. She'll get scared and run away. What sensible modern day woman wouldn't see that coming from miles away and run in the opposite direction as fast as she can?" George mused. "I dunno. We did a quick background check on her and she doesn't have a Facebook account, Twitter account, or even email." I stared at him, face scrunched in disbelief. "What, next thing is you're going to tell me she's a virgin, too!?" "Can't say for sure, Itsy, but you may have to have a Plan B in case that comes up." "I'm married! I love my wife! I respect her!" "Right now the country needs you more, buddy." Oy gevalt, I muttered. What was I getting myself into? This is already more interesting that actual books. I'd like to find out more about Yitzak Rabinowitz. ^.^
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Post by mydogspa on Jul 1, 2015 16:26:21 GMT
Woohoo! I got one fan! Thanks, mink! Made my day. Yes, Yitzak is very special as he has to be smart enough to outwit and entrap the real spy while playing creepy Grey at the same time at the phony CIA front-company.
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Post by muskratthemink on Jul 1, 2015 18:31:30 GMT
Woohoo! I got one fan! Thanks, mink! Made my day. Yes, Yitzak is very special as he has to be smart enough to outwit and entrap the real spy while playing creepy Grey at the same time at the phony CIA front-company. The only thing I'm wondering is who is the master spy?
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