(Fiction) After Hours at the Red Dragon

"Genies are a fucking pain in the ass," said Krosp.

It was after-hours and Krosp and I were unwinding in the Red Dragon. Nursing strong drinks, we compared and commiserated on what a load of crap the day had been.

"You tell ‘em they have to wear a mana-inhibitor and they start making a big scene about racial profiling and shit," clarified Krosp. "I had to call Security twice because of those bastards. I never understood why they wanted to immigrate anyway."

"Have you seen the Middle East lately? It’s not exactly welcoming to the magically inclined, Krosp."

He shrugged. "Whatever."

"Besides, I’d rather deal with genies than fucking werewolves any day of the month."

"Bad one today?"

"Super-bad. Not only did he have stinky dog breath he drooled all over my desk. I went through a whole roll of paper towels trying to clean that yuck up and then Simmons gets on my ass about slowing down the line."

"That bitch," said Krosp. "You know the only reason they gave her the job is because they needed to fill the department’s diversity quota."

"Yeah, I know that and you know that and even Simmons knows it. Why do you think she’s such a bitch to everyone?"

"I heard someone’s already filed a complaint about her with Personnel."

"That was quick."

"Yeah. And restrained. I always thought someone would just hex her and get it over with."

"Ha! Who says they haven’t? You know she has to sit on one of those inflatable donuts."

"Really?" Krosp’s bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. "You think someone’s zapped her?"

I nodded. "That’s the rumor. That someone’s given her a raging case of hemorrhoids."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, well, I can’t feel too much sympathy for her. She brings it on herself."

"Whatever," murmured Krosp. He took a long pull from his beer. "Hey! Did I tell you about my weirdo?"

"No, I don’t think so."

"Guy comes into my cube, sits down and hands me his paperwork. Everything’s in order, but he doesn’t have a disclosure form. So, I tell him he needs to fill one out before we can continue and, guess what?"

"What?"

"Guy doesn’t need a disclosure form. He’s totally human."

"Bullshit."

"No, man! I kid you not! He was a flat zero on the Thaumatic Scale. I checked."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Why would a zero want to immigrate?"

"Religious persecution," said Krosp.

"Bummer."

"Yeah. Plus, he’s Canadian."

"What’s that got to do with anything?"

Krosp just gave me a look. "If you’d ever been to Canada, you wouldn’t have to ask."