For DaHob, a ficlet of Tír na Cali.
🔒
“So… you’re pretty normal?”
As far as come-on lines went, Barty had definitely heard worse. He’d heard better a couple times, sure, but while he was okay-looking, he wasn’t usually the hottest guy in the bar and definitely wasn’t the richest in any room.
Maybe that’s why he hadn’t been careful. Maybe it had been the way she clicked her hair over a bare shoulder. Maybe it had been the way she smiled like he was very, very important to her.
Whatever it had been, it had gotten him in her bed, and that had been, well. Barty wasn’t the sort to say things like “mind-blowing,” but… his mind was pretty blown.
And now, now he was sitting on bleachers with fifty other Americans, wearing collars and sweats and all of them feeling a little uncomfortable.
“The purpose of this mission is to acquaint Californian agents with American customs. To that end, every one of you is going to have a house, a job, and several assignments. You are going to have two weeks to settle in, and then you will be shadowed by Californian agents. Do you understand?”
The woman speaking was tall, a valkyrie, and she looked deadly. Standing to one side of her was the girl Barty had gone home with.
Looking at her, he had to admit he’d probably go home with her again.
Someone else’s hand rose. Someone shouted out a question.
“Why should we help you?”
“Well. Because the options are to take this service, which has a certain amount of leeway, or, considering the qualities for which you were acquired—”
So… you’re pretty normal?
“–will likely end up being field work.”
Barty sighed. Sometimes, he’d fantasized about being kidnapped by a beautiful Californian woman. He looked down at his little book of assignments. He hadn’t imagined it would end up with him being an accountant.
At least they’d given him a promotion.
