Chapter Text
"Boss," Ellen knocked on Lycaon's office door, "Files are all put away, schedule has been updated, and your itinerary for next weeks flight has been etched in very high quality but cost effective stone. Need anything else?" She was wearing what had become her uniform since she started working in this office. A white button up blouse, a black pencil skirt, black stockings and a pair of "spiffy" loafers. She held a light gray cardigan bundled against her stomach as she leaned against the door frame.
"Ellen," Lycaon closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I am so tired I don't think I understood anything you said." His eyes were tired but vigilant, piercing but welcoming, kind but commanding. Ellen found herself thinking about those eyes often.
Ellen chuckled, knocked on the door frame twice, and said, "Night, boss."
"Good night, Ellen," he said with a sigh, "Good work today!"
"You too!" Ellen shouted over her shoulder. Most nights, the elevator would ding and open its doors before Ellen mustered the courage to return to her boss' office. On this night, Ellen wasn't interested in mustering courage. She was lost in her thoughts. She stared at the gap between the elevator doors and sighed to herself.
"Ellen," Lycaon said, appearing in the door way to the firm's office, "The itinerary, you made sure the tickets were for coach, correct?"
"I did you one better," Ellen smiled, "I managed to get you a free upgrade to first class thanks to your decades of being a loyal customer."
"I see," Lycaon smiled back at his assistant, "There wouldn't happen to be any other reason they gave you the upgrade?"
"Nope," Ellen smirked, "Though, your newborn son weighs four and a half pounds and has your wife's eyes. The only day that made you happier was when you married your wife."
"I don't have a ring," Lycaon said, "Or a wife."
"Estranged wife," Ellen explained, "You're hoping that the birth of your son will help her see the man you can become. You're planning to renew your vows once your son is off formula."
"This is quite the backstory," Lycaon admitted with a chuckle.
"Do you want to hear the names you both picked out?" Ellen smirked, "Or do you want to think that up yourself?"
"Good night, Ellen," Lycaon shook his head, appreciative of Ellen's creative but hard work.
"Night, boss," Ellen said, then rested her forehead on the dry wall, "Idiot, you're doing too much."
The elevator dinged and opened its arms to accept Ellen into its warm embrace. She felt consoled by its poorly lit, shaky walls, worn out floor announcer, and janky but somehow functioning metal doors. As the elevator came to a halt on the ground floor, Ellen sighed and walked forlorn and dismayed to her bicycle to ride home.
Lycaon returned to his desk, rubbing the bridge of his nose. It was a bad habit he had developed, a stress reliever that he worried did not actually relieve any stress. Sitting at his computer again, he shook the mouse to awaken the screen.
He read over the words of the contract he had spent all day on and was dismayed that the quality had not improved. "What a bother," Lycaon mumbled. As he scrolled through the several page document, he squinted at one line in particular. It seemed out of place given the contract was about securing a porcelume supply for a local manufacturing company.
Lycaon promises to bend his assistant Ellen over his desk, rip open her tights, push her panties to the side, and take her, feeding the feral beast inside of him that hungered for her, filling her pathetic womb until it overflowed with his seed, impregnating her again and again until either passes out.
He selected the run on sentence and pressed the delete key. He thought for a moment to check the edit history to see who wrote this salacious line of text. But a different thought assured him it was the correct move to delete it and not look back. It said, "On the off chance that was actually your writing, you should not hesitate to delete it."
It was a subject matter that he had no interest in writing. He had always thought of himself as having the potential to be a mystery novel writer. The kinds of stories that sell well in airports and are included in the reading list of a divorced spouse book club. Perhaps there could be mention of a torrid love affair between the suave detective and a former client, but nothing that would take up a whole chapter let alone be a major plot point.
Lycaon leaned back in his office chair, closing his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts and finish this damned contract. He didn't hear the elevator ding, or his assistant enter the firm office again.
Lycaon jumped as Ellen let out a shaky sigh. "Boss?" She asked.
"Ellen," he sat up, rubbing his eyes, "Please tell me I didn't fall asleep here again."
"No," Ellen's lip quivered. She clutched her tail to her chest, like a child would hold a blanket while they waited for the thunder that followed a flash of lightning.
"What is it? What is wrong?" Lycaon asked.
Ellen revealed her bike lock. "Could I get a ride home?" She asked as she failed to hold back the tears that had been building since she found the bike lock in a nearby bush.
"Your bike lock?" Lycaon asked, then connected the dots, "Oh, Ellen, I am sorry. I will call the sheriff, we were contracted by the city not long ago, I can call in a favor and-"
"I appreciate it, but-" she wiped her cheeks dry, "I'd really like to go home."
Lycaon sighed, "Of course, give me a moment to gather my things and I'll... please, take a seat." He motioned to the couch he often held team meetings on. Ellen nodded, and sat down. Stashing her lock in her bag, she buried her face in her hands and quietly sobbed to herself.
She didn't feel particularly attached to the bike. But it was her's nonetheless. Its sudden theft meant that she would need to find a new way to work. She could always walk. Maybe the bus? None of her coworkers liked her let alone recognized her existence. It wasn't that her coworkers were annoying or hard to get along with. It wasn't that she was annoying or hard to get along with. It was simply a side effect of her habit of eating her lunch at her desk instead of fraternizing in the break room.
Lycaon's stomach felt ill as he watched his assistant sob. He wanted to fix it, to make her feel better, but he felt conflicted. In part because of the lewd bit of text he had thankfully discovered before sending the contract to the client. He was unsure whether solving petty theft cases were a part of his duties as Ellen's boss. He imagined they weren't.
"Come on," Lycaon said, shutting off his computer, "The car is this way."
Ellen nodded and collected herself as best she could. Despite her efforts, her breathing was shaky through out the elevator ride down to the garage. Lycaon clicked the fob on his keys. A large black SUV with illegally tinted windows flashed its lights. Ellen chuckled, "Kind of stereotypical, don't you think?"
"How so?" Lycaon asked, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on the hanger in the back seat.
"You know, business guy with a mysterious past, giant SUV, what do you have a 42 in the glove compartment?" Ellen teased.
"Nothing so uncivilized," Lycaon smirked, "I don't need such a ghastly thing to protect myself." Ellen thought about making a joke about his muscular arms or his well fitted suits, but they were all cheesy and unbecoming of her position. "Besides," Lycaon grew serious, "I've got all the protection I need right here." He smacked his bicep as he flexed it.
Ellen chuckled, perhaps more than she needed to.
"You humor me," Lycaon said. Ellen followed as he led her to the passenger side and opened the door for her.
Ellen smiled, tossing her bag into the foot well. "You know as far as bosses go, you're pretty good."
"I appreciate it," Lycaon said, carefully closing the door and moving to the driver side, "I'd appreciate it more if you didn't make a comment on my music taste."
"Well that depends on-" Ellen paused as crushing distorted bass and high pitched repeated melodies that danced feverishly over the line of 'pleasant to the ears' and 'involuntarily blood letting through the ear canal', began blasting through the speakers in the car doors. Lycaon turned the music down until it was barely audible.
"Apologies," he said, "It helps me get into a good mindset."
"What mindset is that?" Ellen chuckled, "Being deaf?"
"I see it wasn't to your liking," Lycaon smirked.
"Sorry, I know you said you prefer if I 'didn't make a comment'," Ellen teased, "But I never expected it to be dubstep."
"You expected a specific genre?" Lycaon asked, "Interesting."
"Well, no offense, you give off a vibe," Ellen said, punching her address into Lycaon's GPS. Lycaon wondered if it was beneficial to "give off a vibe" or if that meant he was doing something deplorable. "I figured you listened to jazz or at least the news," Ellen answered.
"Ah, you take my demure attitude and sophisticated way of speaking to mean I prefer the finer things in life," Lycaon interpreted, "While I do, I am afraid jazz, for all its cultural significance, has never impacted me the same way the sound of two garbage trucks slamming together has."
"A succinct summation of the genre," Ellen joked.
"If you want to put something on that was more your style," Lycaon gestures to the radio dial.
"No, no, it's fine," Ellen says, then smirking continues, "At this volume it is almost palatable."
While quiet melodies, crunchy bass, and pop culture references distorted beyond recognition played in the background, Lycaon and Ellen took this moment to get to know one another better. It wasn't a long drive by car, so they weren't able to delve past the surface layer minutia of favorite movies and albums.
"You'll be needing a ride in the morning, yes?" Lycaon offers.
"Oh no," Ellen insists, "I will probably just walk." When Lycaon looks like he is about to insist, she snatches her bag and bounces out of the SUV. "Well anyways, good night!" She says with a smile before closing the truck door.
"Of course," Lycaon says shaking his head, "Good night."
Ellen woke as she did every morning in the summertime, with a grumble complaining about the sun in her face. In the winter, the axis of the Earth ensured the suns rays wouldn't shine in her eyes. As they came closer to the summer solstice, the sun woke her up earlier and earlier.
"This blows," Ellen complains, remembering that her bike was stolen the night before. It had a red steel frame, black handle bars, a noise maker in between the spokes, and even had a small bell she could ding to let people know she was behind them. It was cute, and it was her's. Not anymore though.
She proceeded to follow her regular morning routine, reading the weather report for the day, brushing her teeth, checking her tail for any scales that needed to be plucked after shedding, making a haphazard breakfast in as neat a manner as she could muster. She rounded out her routine by picking a different black pencil skirt and white button up from her closet and headed out of her apartment, bringing her trusty umbrella as the weather report suggested.
As she came out the stairwell and entered the lobby to her apartment building, she spotted a familiar black SUV with a friendly, if intimidating, wolf thiren man standing guard. "Good morning, Ellen," Lycaon said, handing her a paper cup filled with coffee.
"I thought I said I didn't need a ride," Ellen replied, accepting the coffee, "What are you doing here? Just bringing me coffee?"
"No, I was going to take you to work," Lycaon insisted, "I know you declined last night, but the weather report this morning called for rain and lots of humidity."
"I know," Ellen chuckled, "That's why I brought my umbrella." She flaunts her red and white polka dot umbrella.
"Ellen, Please," Lycaon said firmly, "Get in the car."
"Fine," Ellen said, pulling open the passenger side door. As she sat down and got her tail into a comfortable configuration, she realized how awful she sounded. Not wanting to come off as a spoiled brat, she apologized as Lycaon opened the driver side door. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful," she said, "But, not for nothing, boss, people could make a lot of assumptions after seeing a boss and his assistant roll up to work together."
"Roll up?" Lycaon asked.
"Yeah, you know, a young woman arriving to work in her boss' car, with coffee her boss paid for, after staying late finishing 'work'," Ellen accented with air quotes.
Lycaon was still confused by what Ellen meant by 'roll up'. "If anyone makes such an assumption," he says, "Send them to me and I will clear things up."
Ellen sighed, "I think that might be worse."