goneawayworld | SHEETCAKE PARTY #1

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SHEETCAKE PARTY #1

SHEET CAKE MEETUP

“Who the fuck is Linda?”

The question pops up every few minutes, a little tack of punctuation above the offensively-inoffensive music being piped in*. The room the hires have been ushered into is clearly just a conference room, with a layout that requires either sitting at awkwardly-spaced intervals around a giant table or milling and scooting around the smaller folding table, where the “big surprise” the corporate officers promised them is on display: a sheet cake.

A sheet cake that that still bears HAPPY BIRTH DAY LINDA in blue icing across the top, although someone has, at least, gone to the effort of writing welcome, to the team new hires in Sharpie on a purple flashcard and used a Popsicle stick and tape to plant it like a dismal flag right in the middle of Linda’s “DAY”. Dedication aside, the cake itself looks pretty suspect too, not as if it were poisoned but more like if it were salvaged. The cake part looks dry, and the frosting seems strangely...sweaty. No one’s eating yet, and yet there’s already a piece missing.

However, there’s no lack of enthusiasm around the room. A projector hooked up to a laptop casts an off-center, warped rectangle of WELCOME TO, THE BEST TEAM. NEW HIRES!! onto a wall. The many paper plates have a festive print, although they all seem to be Christmas themed. The table cloth looks as if it came from both 4th of July and potentially a war, given the scuffs and tears. The shot-glass sized paper cups are inadequate to hold a satisfying amount of sparkling cider, but at least they don’t leak. There are many more plastic knives than forks, which could prompt some hires to give in to their animal instincts and just use their hands, or perhaps start a barter economy for the better utensils.

“I’m so jealous,” a corporate employee keeps saying as she ushers hires into the room. “We haven’t had a good party in this office since Kelly’s baby shower, and that little girl practically has teeth now!”

(An eagle-eyed hire may suspect that the box of donuts next to the sheet cake might have come from said baby shower, on account of the fact that the few stale hunks of donut remaining have Pepto-Bismol pink strawberry icing and that there’s still the paper envelope for a gift card with ITS A GIRL written on it.)

Most of corporate slips out after the hires get set up - this is clearly an event for the hires to do some “team building” and work on “rapport” in addition to filling their bellies with cake that tastes remarkably like sand. There’s a karaoke machine in the corner, but hires are instructed not to touch it because, as an employee points out, last year’s Christmas party demonstrated that karaoke is the worst thing in the entire world for morale (“in any world! even before this one got eaten away by the bombs!”).

There’s an additional big glass jar filled with scraps of paper, which the hires are informed are filled with prompts for ice breakers and activities in case the party needs a pick-me-up. Any hire who investigates will find that most of the ice breaker activities start with three benign questions (“what’s your name?” “where are you from?” “what’s your favorite animal?”) and somehow, always a fourth question that feels a little invasive (“what are your feelings on unions?” “under what circumstances would you kill an innocent person?” “do you use the same passwords for all your accounts?”).

“Please enjoy yourselves and all the desserts Jorgmund has generously supplied you with,” one of the employees says on her way out, “and don’t worry about making a mess, janitorial gets paid too much to sit around as is.”

*All music that can be summarized as ’grocerycore’.

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He's trying not to ogle so she doesn't have to kick him in the shins. And he's trying not to make it weird, which is just kind of funny. Stacia shakes the proffered hand.

"Nice to meet you too, Remus," she says. "Wish it were under better circumstances. Sorry about the state of dress; I broke up a tussle earlier and they won't let me leave to change."

She'd finally just lobbed the wad of bloody napkins into a regular garbage can, since carrying it around had been gross.

He did glance over her when she said that, though kept it mostly to her arms. Because that was enough to give him clues. "I assume the blood is all theirs, then? Though it seems rather counterproductive to not allow you to go and change when things seem to be calm." Remus looks back over his shoulder. "On the other hand, they do seem to be interested mostly in the...mandatory part of things."

He had to be at the party because it was mandatory. Which seemed a waste to him.

Shaking his head, he gave her a smile. "I'd say that the circumstances could always be worse, but I think that's tempting fate and should probably be avoided."

"What? Oh, ew."

Ugh, she hates it when blood dries on her!

"Sorry, I thought I'd gotten it all. No, the blood's mine, Catra's got a wicked set of claws on her. But I heal fast when I shift, so no permanent harm done. Except to my jumpsuit."

She glances in the direction of the guards too, face carefully bland. "They do seem pretty invested in 'mandatory', don't they?"

"I'd offer to help you clean up, but I'm afraid that's not one of the spells that I can do." Which was a pain, because being able to clean up was a lifesaver sometimes.

The rest of it made him pause, frowning at her. "Shift?" He knew why HE used that word and when, but...it was daylight, for one. "And yes, they certainly do. All I wanted was a chance to sleep."

Which he hadn't actually done for two nights in a row. He'd get cranky if he'd gone longer.

Ooh, spells. Something she ought to question him about later though, since he's asked the magic question.

"I'm a werewolf," she says, gesturing to her destroyed jumpsuit. "Bigger, stronger, hairier."

Normally she'd continue talking, to try and not make it weird, but she's got an eye for reactions right now...

And a reaction she gets.

Remus recoils immediately, hand going...for the wand that isn't there. That's going to happen for a while, he thinks. But there's a determination on his face that changes his features from just plain exhausted to, if not alert, at least ready for whatever in only a moment.

He hasn't been out of fighting a war for very long. Habits die hard.

Still. The fact that people here are still alive after she shifted does mean that she doesn't have the same limitations that he does. For one, it's not the full moon. And it's daylight.

And everybody is still alive.

His stance relaxes minutely, eyes still wary as he looks her over, then past her to everybody else. Though his eyes skip over Sirius whenever he sees that head of black hair. Only then does he look back to her with a frown. "How?"

"Whoa, chill," Stacia says, holding up her hands, palms toward him to show they're empty (and unclawed). "If you're a monster hunter, I've already got a 'probably got a threat' rating, I'll point you at the other guy and he can vouch for me."

He'd certainly reached for something. Stacia's just not sure if it's his preferred spell casting tool or a more mundane weapon.

She shrugs. "The short version is that I was born this way. I can shift whenever I want, and I keep my mind when I do. And I don't eat people. Those seem to be the frequently asked questions, I'm happy to answer any other ones you have."

That makes him blink, slowly relaxing a little more. "No. No, I'm...not a monster hunter. Well, not particularly. I know how to deal with some creatures back home that can be dangerous, but..." Remus trails off, shaking his head. "This is all very new to me. I've never...werewolves aren't born back where I'm from. Or...no, I suppose they can be, but you don't hear much about it. But even the ones that are born aren't able to just shift like you apparently can. Or keep their minds during the full moon."

Now that he's not so keyed up, the exhaustion starts creeping back into Remus's face. "I suppose. Well, if you've already admitted it, I suppose I should let you know that I am also a werewolf. Though, apparently, very much not the same kind." Though that would have been nice. Being able to keep his mind while shifted would be good.

It's not often that he's had to actually say the words. Most of the people he left Hogwarts with had never known what he was. Not unless they joined the Order, at least.

This might be the guy Sirius mentioned to her earlier. Not that she intends to bring that up, per his request. Still, they look like they're around the same age, and Remus mentioned 'spells' and Sirius said he was a wizard...

Still, the exhaustion creeping into his face and body language does tug on the heartstrings. Her First Change had been awful, the prospect of losing control every time she shifted...

"Hey, I'm going to be forward and American about this - do you want a hug?"

He looks like he needs one.

There's another moment of indecision before he sighs and nods. "I appreciate the forwardness, honestly. It's kind of refreshing."

These are things that people just don't do in the wizarding world or in the UK. An acquaintance of only a few moments wouldn't normally ask if you need a hug. But he absolutely did need one and the only person he actually knew wasn't somebody he could trust. "I'm afraid it's been rather a long few days for me. Even before arriving here."

Stacia stands up on her toes so she can get a better angle for the hug, sliding her arms between his arms and torso so she can give him a proper hug, one of the ones you can still feel after they've finished. It's not generally a hug shared between two relative strangers, but it's the hug Stacia uses for First Changes and when someone has died. Firm but not crushing, and she's letting Remus decide when it's done.

To be honest, it's...not that far off of the 'when someone has died' need for Remus. It has only been a year for him since everything went to hell in his life and he's mostly been on his own since. The hug is very much needed.

He does hug her back, but lets go after about fifteen seconds. Less than he really needs, maybe, but all he feels he can allow himself at the moment. "Thank you for that," he says, expression a bit lighter. "I really did need that hug. I tend to withdraw when things are rough."

Stacia rewards him with a big, friendly smile. "You're welcome. I think a lot of people need more hugs than they're getting." She glances around the 'party' and wrinkles her nose. "Especially here. And I'm not just talking about those of us who were 'recently hired'."

She doesn't make quotes with her fingers, but they're certainly audible in her voice.

Remus makes a sound of agreement. "Probably. Though I doubt the guards would really allow it." 'Corporate drone' won't mean a lot to him yet. It's only 1982 where he's from and it's not become quite the thing it will later.

He looks around again. "I don't suppose they've provided anything other than the terrible cake?" Since he's still back near the door and it's difficult to see through the press of people.

"It's petty of me, but the amount of joy I'd take in denying each and every one of them hugs for the rest of their lives is positively enormous," Stacia confesses. People who are in anyway involved in 'internal shock collars' do not get hugs.

She makes a face. "There's donuts, but I got the impression that they're left over from a baby shower for a baby who's now teething. I think the only thing that hasn't been inappropriately aged is the sparkling cider, but I honestly haven't wanted to risk the snack table."

"Well, if you can't be petty at people like that, who can you be petty at?" That's...a sentence that probably doesn't make a ton of sense, but he's running on very little sleep.

He looks past her and sighs, shaking his head. "Well, I suppose anything more will just have to wait. Food wise, at least. I'm hungry, but I'm not quite that desperate."

It's a little nonsensical, but it shows that Remus is willing to play along with her, so Stacia laughs anyway.

She wrinkles her nose again. "Yeah, I'm in the same boat. None of the food here is particularly good, but...really yuck."

"I don't mind the cafeteria, but that's at least partly because I'm not good at cooking, myself. That was always..." He trailed off, unconsciously seeking out Sirius's head before looking away again. "Anyway. I was never much of a cook. And given the way that werewolves are treated in my world? Keeping a job can be a bit difficult."

"Of course people are jerks about something you can't even control," Stacia says, half-sympathetic to Remus' plight and half-disgusted that his werewolf problems aren't just limited to shifting.

She'd ask more about that, but the way he glanced around the room offers an opportunity for a different line of questioning.

"You looking for someone?"

"Mmm. Well. People are sometimes right to be worried. After all, if we're not contained during our shifting, the body count can be very high." He sighed, looking back to her. "And there are always those of us who are fine with that." He reached up, a quick touch to the scars on his face before shaking his head.

The question, though, makes him tense up, teeth grinding a bit before he gets the reaction under control. "There's...someone else here from my world. A man who is meant to be in prison for betraying our friends to...basically, wizard Hitler." That would probably take more explanation. "Anyway, his actions have meant that a toddler has been left an orphan, another friend of ours sacrificed his life to try to stop him and a fair number of Muggles died as well." His jaw tightened enough that a muscle jumped. "I am...very, very surprised to see him here. And concerned."

He'd said werewolves weren't usually born, and the way he'd touched the scars on his face...yikes. That had to have been traumatic.

But Stacia's arguments for how jobs should make accommodations for what's effectively a disability are pushed to the wayside by the introduction of new information about one Sirius Orion Black. All things considered 'wizard Hitler' requires less elaboration than 'Muggle', but neither need much explanation for Stacia to get the gist.

And, sadly, the fact that he'd been perfectly nice to Stacia doesn't necessarily mean that Remus is wrong.

"Holy shit," Stacia says. "Yeah, that does sound worrying."

The thing is, Sirius would even agree with Remus. To a point, at least. Just because he didn't do it directly doesn't mean Sirius doesn't blame himself somewhat for what happened.

He nods, looking to her. "If you meet a man named Sirius Black...be careful. His magic has probably been restricted, just as mine has. But I don't know what he's been left with and...magic can do a lot. If you have the right belief and desires behind it, at least."

She already has met a man named Sirius Black, who was deeply concerned about his werewolf friend-who-wasn't-speaking-to-him. But Stacia's not exactly going to tell Remus that.

"Could you give me a physical description so I can keep an eye out for him?" she asks instead, as if they haven't already had a perfectly pleasant chat. "I'd like to get an idea of who I can kick in the shins without feeling bad."

"I can do better than that." Remus's lips thin as he looks directly at Sirius, pointing him out. Because he's always aware of where the other wizard is. "Right there. Tall. Black hair. Grey eyes." He pauses a moment because...it's been a secret for so long. But it's only fair to keep this new-to-him girl safe. "Also, if you see a rather large black dog, one that looks to possibly be a Newfoundland? That would also be him."

It feels like breaking a confidence, honestly. But it's not like he could get in trouble for being an animagus here, right?

Yep, same guy. Though she hadn't exactly expected there to be two wizards here named 'Sirius Black'. But the dog thing explains a lot about Sirius' earlier comment about friends who aren't human.

"He turns into a dog?" she repeats, wrinkling her nose. "Wow, that's pretty rude."

Like, hello friend, I know you turn into a violent canid you can't control, I'm gonna turn into a dog at you. Neener.

SHEETCAKE PARTY #1

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