Board Thread:What Would You Do?/@comment-34263048-20181113171213/@comment-36855838-20181113233129

I sit in the interview room, the rotationally symmetrical crucifix emblazoned in gold on my sea-blue shirt and the large black flag which hangs from the wall.

The symbols glow, and the flag turns transparent as she walks right theough it into the room.

As the illusion is restored, I motion for her to sit in the large armchair across from mine, she sinks into the seat, her massive rear barely fitting in a chair even thw most portly of my colleagues could have slept lying in, and the floor begins to descend until we are both well below the facility.

The lights flicker on, her face cast in the flattering yellow glow, and she gives me an appraising glance before funning her hands through her short-trimmed hair.

Her horns have been sanded and polished to rounded ends, and she wears a suit so crisp it must have been ironed and starched compulsively since it's purchase.

Her bowtie is a bloody shade of red, and an equally red bow is tied around her left horn.

Her knee-length skirt is as black as her suit jacket, and she wears tight black leggings underneath.

"Ms. Smith, you truly are a sight for sore eyes. You must understand how few Ogres have made their way to my office," I lean in, and with a stage whisper say, "none."

I take off my glasses and place them on my large bronze-studded wooden desk, taking out the file folder containing her answers, along with a copy of the interview transcript.

"My greatest ambition, to find a man who will love me as much as I love him."

"My greatest sorrow, that I cannot share my love with all the men I meet."

She begins to tug at her bow.

"Why do you want to enter our country?"

"Because I am lonely, and those who know me will not have me."

"Why will those who know you not have you?"

"Because there are no more men in my ho-"

"Single men," she interjects.

I take note of her outburst, and jot a note in the margins of the transcript, stamping after it with the seal of my office.

"Ms. Smith, I would like to tell you in advance that you have passed your written exams with flying colors."

She pulls out a notepad, flipping through it until seeing something, and then looks back to me with an expression that reeks of joy.

"Thank you! Thank you sir! I was so worried! But you are approval office? Why such Gravitas?"

I notice she's removed the ribbon, loosening her bowtie as well.

"I am not head of approvals, Ms. Smith, I am head of reviews, and deportations."

She begins fiddling with her ribbon again, nearly ripping it to shreds.

"I- I do not understand, this is, this is 'disaster. I-"

"Now, now. No need to fret just yet, Ms. Smith! I'm merely looking over your case an extra time, normally, other people in my department handle it, but they've been letting some bad women get through lately."

She actually tears the ribbon in half, and from the looks of it, it's arachne silk.

"I am NOT bad woman! No, not again!" Please, sir. I have changed, I am not like other Ogres! I am not like my sister says! Please don't send me back! Please, please, please. . ."

She continues to beg, her eyes tearing up. I pull oud a large handkerchief and carry it over to her, placing it in her hand.

Or, attempting to, at least. She continues to cry, unmoving, her muscles stiff, tensing up at my touch, and she scoots far back away from me, into her seat.

I dab gently at her face, and bring her a bottle of water. She happily drinks it, finally calming down some.

I sit down in her lap, allowing her to hold me.

At first, she barely breathes, but then, her arms slowly circle me in a warm embrace, her soft breasts smooshing against my back.

I gently pat her hand, and she lets go, I return to my desk.

"Now then, Ms. Smith. You a-"

"Rebecca."

"Rebecca, you are here because a colleague of minw notified me that you are in fact a risky prospect, I've run some backround checks, your legal record is clean, but there have been some. . .charges."

"What kind of charges?"

"Assault, suing for medical bills."

"Was first boyfriend, told me to push him on swings, wanted to stop too low, I keep pushing, he jumps, his hip breaks, he dumps me."

"And so his paren-"

"His Grandmother died two years before, left his parents very wealthy, they spend on cupcakes, and then sue me two years later for money."

"Cupcakes?"

"Baker on corner, she had friends in high and low places, sold cupcakes with heart-shaped-fruit pulp off-menu for $1000 each."

---

"Very well."

I flip to the next page.

"Robbery."

The ogre tears up again.

"Was in trouble, big trouble. Mother was sick, landlord took last cent. We needed money badly, and so I-"

"Stole a sarcophagus."

She rubbed at the back of her neck.

"And much assorted jewelry, museum never missed them, and I could pay for mother's hospital."

"And, so-"

"They only notice sarcophagus, that is why I take it, draw attention so they are missing little things."

I set down the paperwork.

"You won't be doing this in our country, will you Ms. Smith?"

She pulls out her wallet.

"I am not penniless, Mother died not three weeks later, and I was left with half of thieving money. I start a business, gyros sell better than hotcakes! Fries and hot dogs don't sell half bad either. I make back every cent and more, open restaraunt chain, repay museum tenfold, then keep donating. They have Smith exhibit now, and whole research team I fund exclusively."

"Impressive."

I check lower in her file, I don't know the exchange rate, but her net worth sure has a lot of zeros.

"Ms. Smith, I'm sure you could get a man, even if it's through less. . .legal means."

She spat on the metal floor.

"I would never buy into such awful things, Men are treasures sought, not bought."

Her forehead veains are bulging, as if absolutely livid, and ready to burst.

And a circular patch of skin turns white as her forehead strains.

I press a button under my desk.

"Ms. Smith, you are aware that you have a husband already, yes?"

"Of course! I have forgotten him, I must find him, Where is he?!"

Still suggestible, definitely a mindflayer.

I speak loud and clear, still holding the button.

"Get me Dolores, from Entry Interviews, I want an armed security detail, and I want them to be Newbies. Instruct them to remain helmeted at all times."

This explains how all those freaks got past.

I keep hold of the button.

Ms. Smith is clawing desperately at the walls, sometimes pounding, it shakes the whole room.

"Rebecca, darling!"

She wheels around, staring at me.

"Husband?"

"I'm hurt you could forget me Rebecca, how we first met at the beach, how you treated me so kindly, how you protected me from danger."

She looks confused for a bit, and then seems to accept this nonsense.

"Yes, I am sorry, Husband! I have forgotten you, it will not happen again."

"Switch the chairs Rebecca, It's been too long, and I'd likke to sit in your sexy lap again."

She blushes, and complies.

Moments later, Dolores gets chucked into the pit, the mindflayer lands with a satisfying splat, before quickly standing up and straightening her pink sweater.

"What is the meaning of this outrageous abduction! I should have you fired, why this is-"

"Shut the fuck up Dolores, and take a seat before your big mouth loses you your job."

She continues to fume silently in her chair, as Rebecca hums a quiet tune while gently combing her fingers through my scalp.

"I'd like for you to explain why I'm retroactively married to the worlds largest ogre, Dolores. But I already know the answer."

She gives me a smug smirk.

"And what's worse for you, you've made me job a hell of a lot herder, I've had to do mountains of paperwork, and the deportation interview with that Jinko neaely cost me my esophagus."

I pull aside my collar, revealing the scars from the once deep claw marks in my shoulder.

"I'd never seen a Mamono so angry, and I'd never seen one so viloent. There was madness in her eyes, Dolores."

The smirk was gone.

"She had been uncharacteristically sweet, passed all the tests, and even got herself a husband. Then she murdered the milkwoman in cold blood, we deemed her too risky, and shipped her off."

"Do you know what it's like, Dolores? Having to tell people that their daughter died because you fucked up?"

She was beginning to cower.

"Sit up you lousy scrap of Calamari! You have no Idea how many sleepless nights I've had, how I've poured my heart and soul into fixing things."

"I'll ask you plainly, Dolores, do you have a permit?"

She stands.

"Of course I do, I've never failed my work as a mindflayer, your wife is testament to that."

"When was it issued?"

She flinches.

"Hand it over, Dolores."

She pulls out her wallet and hands over her mental alterations permit.

---

This document certifies that Dolores Appleton is sufficiently competent and responsible to alter the minds of troubled individuals who pose a threat to society, this form was requested with an occupation in border admissions in mind, and is granted in fullest confidence.

Signed, Cynthia Schatten

Iss. Oct. 1 1773      Exp. Oct. 1 1774

---

The Fuhrer herself?

"It's 1785, Dolores, is there a renewal form in your possession?"

---

Will finish later.