#(instead I CAN focus on... 1500 words of something completely unrelated)

[ckret2]

skelien scene 2

Does your executive ever dysfunction so hard that you casually start a novel

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The skeleton wasn't sure how much time had passed between collapsing into the hammock to get lost in a trivial stream of data, and the sound of someone quietly picking the deadbolt lock. Rolling over to swing its gaze from the blank wall to the nearest window rocked the hammock so violently it almost fell out. Still dark. Or dark again. Hard to tell. Head too fuzzy to find a clock to check.

It reached down to grab up a mask off the floor as it called to the would-be intruder at the door, "It's unlocked."

The quiet scratching stopped. The door didn't open.

Fuck's sake. It rolled out of the hammock gracelessly, tripped over a box of old spelunking gear, and managed to stumble to a vertical position as it clattered toward the door. "I said it's unlocked. That's an implicit invitation, see, it means I want you to come in. Why are you less likely to come in when I actually want you to? Is it only satisfying if you know you're not wanted, is that it?"

The skeleton opened the door. The hall was empty.

"Come on," it griped loudly, unconcerned about how many neighbors it was about to annoy. "What are you here for? Were you here to rob me? Rough me up for somebody I hit? You can come back! I'm fine with that! I've got too much shit anyway! Talk to me about your business model, I'm behind the times on the burglary industry! Seriously"—there was an edge of desperation to its voice—"you've got no idea what a favor you'd be doing me. I'm about to starve to death from boredom. I'm not even offended. Come back?"

The hall was silent.

It considered fighting through its mental haze to try to hunt down the almost-intruder—bolt for the fireproof stairwell and jump the railings to race them down to the first floor—but no, it decided tiredly, there were too many ways it could miss the intruder—what if they went up to the roof, what if they lived in the complex and had gone home, what if it was waiting in the lobby while they were already out on the streets or what if they made it down to the lobby slowly while it was already out on the streets searching—and wandering the over-familiar streets in a fever of boredom didn't seem likely to do anything to clear the haze from their mind or chase the itch from their marrow. It might as well stay here where it was comfortable.

It groaned, let its joints go loose, and collapsed backward on the floor. It lifted one foot to press its calcaneus against the edge of the door and shove it closed.

A shadow moved behind it.

It rolled over with a clatter, grabbed the first object its phalanges brushed—a set of binoculars—and hopped to its feet with the binoculars raised in preparation to use them as an impromptu bludgeoning weapon. Under its breath, it muttered, "Thank fuck."

The figure was silhouetted black in the window, their edges smooth and formless—wearing some kind of robe. Their round goggles reflected all the tiny electronic lights in the room, looking like glittering bug eyes or a multicolored starry sky. It could think of several religious orders that called for robes like that, but no groups with a reputation for sneaking into people's apartments, and none that also mandated goggles like that. Not a uniform, then, but some individual's idea of a stealthy outfit. This could be anybody, sent by anybody.

"Are you here to kill me or hire me?" it asked.

The vague shape didn't move or answer.

"Great. A job." Without turning away, it leaned back to click the deadbolt on its door shut. "Let's lay out some ground rules here. First, I don't intimidate easy. I'm nearly as old as god, I've seen it all, I've done it all, and no matter how mysterious you get, I'm not going to forget that you're either just another person with a home life and interior thoughts or else you're a clever machine built by one. Pull the whole silent-and-inscrutable routine, and I have two emotional reactions: curious or bored. I spend more time than you could possibly imagine bored, so if you keep this up long enough that I run out of curiosity, I kick you out of my window, and you're the one who's going to have to recover from a bad first impression if you still want to hire me. We clear?"

The vague shape remained silent.

"Terrific." It hung its binoculars' strap around its neck and started circling around the shape, half heartedly attempting to clean the room to give its guest an easier walking path and perhaps somewhere to sit. The clutter of hobbies past shifted like sand dunes, opening a vague trail toward a desk whose chair was piled high with calligraphy materials. "Second: if you want me to shut up, give me a reason to. Threats don't count. Either give me something more interesting to do than talk or something more interesting than myself to listen to. It's easier than it sounds. You could start by talking." It looked around for somewhere to set its pile of nice paper and pen boxes, used an elbow to shove a toolkit on the edge of the desk closer to the center, and plopped the papers down where the toolkit had been. "Three—this isn't a rule, but I'm going to forget it if I don't say it now—" It plopped down in the desk chair and fixed its guest with a keen look. "I'm very interested in that little trick you pulled—getting past me without me seeing. How did you pull that off?" It realized it had taken the seat it had been clearing off for its guest, hopped up, and gestured invitingly to it. "Some kind of invisibility tech? An accomplice at the door to distract me while you sneak in the window? Are you a little drone in a big cloak that shuffled across the floor like a pile of moving laundry while I was looking down the hall?"

The shape didn't answer; but after a moment, they swept across the floor to claim the empty seat. They cut a smooth path across the cluttered floor, no lurching or zigzagging to dodge the many items underfoot; and the skeleton didn't feel the air stir as they passed.

"A drone," it concluded. "Not wearing laundry, though. A hologram projector?" Guessing, it added, "Shoved in through the keyhole?"

"Clever." The shape's voice emanated from behind its goggles and was slightly tinny, as if coming through a cheap earbud, and sounded just on the masculine side of androgyny. "It's not what we need you for, though."

"That's what you think." The skeleton danced through its clutter like navigating an obstacle course, tripped again over the spelunking supplies, and heaved itself into its hammock. "But go on, you've got my attention. Undivided, even. What's the job, Mr. Googly Eyes?" It tilted its head. "Mister? Miss? Other?"

"Mister is fine," Googly Eyes said. "We believe we've identified a grave threat to our nation's government. We think you're well-qualified to deal with it."

"You sound like a conspiracy nut. That's not a dealbreaker, conspiracy nuts are fun, but I thought you should know," the skeleton said. "You say 'we've identified,' who's 'we'?"

"The government."

"You sound a little less like a conspiracy nut. Can you prove it?"

"Through a hologram messenger in the middle of the night? No."

"Fair. What kind of threat to the government?"

"I can't discuss the details—"

"No no, just a broad overview," the skeleton said. "Just this much: religious or secular?"

Googly Eyes was silent, head turning to the side as if glancing back over his shoulder at the wall. The skeleton could imagine him covering his microphone as he whispered a hasty question to some supervisor.

But after a moment he faced the skeleton again. "Secular."

"All right. I'm in."

Sounding faintly amused, he said, "Only knowing that much?"

"You know how easily bored I get, don't you?"

"It's mentioned in your file, yes."

"Does it mention the kind of things I do when I'm very bored?"

Googly Eyes stayed silent.

The skeleton leaned forward, so far it threatened to tumble out of its hammock. "Right now, I am very bored," it said. "I'm in."