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Furbobo Weekly has been gaining traction as of late. Instead of the sound of shivering whimpers and solemn prayers, whenever he accidentally stirs during mid-day, Ashveil hears the hurried footsteps of the Furbos. Sometimes the pronounced thud as they trip over their own feet, the clicking of cameras and the constant clacking of keyboards toiling away at their desk with new found inspiration and motivation.
He wished he could say the same for him and work, it's been rather slow; business wise.
Must be due to management change. Their former boss did run off with the funds, while the little Imaginae struggled to make ends meet. Not that different from what he did before, narrative wise, at least.
He can't complain much either, Ashveil was profiting off their deadbeat boss' absence. Because said deadbeat boss was also his pushy landlord. The silver lining was her memory a coin toss between remembering all his dues and forgetting everything altogether. It was up to the stars if her smiling face was the first thing he sees when he pries the refrigerator open after his slumber.
He didn't have to worry about her anymore at least. Worse, he had bigger fish to fry. Considering how hardworking and highly productive this new-comer was, raking in more dough than ever before, they would probably come knocking, consistently, at the exact due date for the rent. The rent he didn't have. Yet. Correction; didn't have yet.
"The detective is shrouded in his stress-addled thoughts as he eyes the piling bills. Living in constant fear of the impending knock that would dictate his very fate; if he shall stay or be tossed to the streets. Is this the end of the Ashen Detective Agency?"
"Quit it, Mr. N, you're freaking me out. You're gonna have to find a second job if that does happen." He stopped as he eyed his monkey receptionist slash assistant. What sorta boss would he be, if his sole employee had to get another means of income to support the business like some charity? "Who are you even narrating to…? There isn't a client yet."
A knock cuts off his line of question.
"A knock! A knock sends the detective's heart bounding in the confines of his ribs. He prays to any Aeon that would lend an ear that this was merely his take-out delivery that failed to listen to his request to leave it by the door. He inches forward, hand hesitantly hovering over the button that shields him from his fate."
"Steeling his nerves, he presses the button, bracing for whatever Aeon greets him; the Elation or the Nihility?"
Ashveil blinked at the sight before him. If this was truly the right sight.
"The door opens. Relief washes over the tense detective as the truth is revealed, it was neither the Elation nor the Nihility, but the Trailblaze!"
"Mr. N, stop the voice over, it's just the food delivery." He hushes, ignoring the grumble about why he was being paid anyway. As if overcome by second thoughts, the detective deigns the gray-haired girl a look, searching for confirmation; "The take-out, right?"
He gives himself a pat on the back at her short nod, emphasizing her answer by raising the brown paper baggy in her hands. Such short lived wins were discarded as another brain teaser presents itself to him.
"So… is this like a spur of the moment thing or…?" When he inputted his order into the food delivery app, he didn't expect one of the renowned trailblazers to be the one doing the advertised speedy delivering part of the job. It was basically akin to an international celebrity known for endorsing a cheap fast-food restaurant, someone that you figured doesn't even eat there, suddenly on your door steps with your combo meal.
Ashveil might be familiar of the girl outside of the screens and center of many hearsay, both positive and negative, he has seen first hand the natural shenanigans she brings forth in every situation; "Hey, Stelle, no way the Express has fallen on hard times, right? I'd love to tip, but tipping isn't really acceptable in Planarcadia."
She blinks at him before raising a brow.
"If I was, I'd be having Furbo hot pot." She delivers without a lick of obvious sarcasm, resounding squeals echo as a flurry of Furbos crowd her legs. Worriedly asking her if she was serious and placating her with alternative mean of foods and offering to do more work than regulated in their contract. A tiny smile creeps through her expression at the Imaginae tripping and crowding at her feet, crossing her arms. "Good thing that isn't the case, huh?"
They all slackened, slumping on the floor with united "oomph"s of relief. Ashveil might be a detective, but it didn't take one to figure out this puzzle before him. His worries came back as his mind raced to the conclusion. It wasn't a hard conclusion since the Furbos has been chanting the title of president during their distress, confirming his early worries.
So, all three Aeons did come at his door step…
"Wha— you're the new boss?" Before she could open her mouth, her little loyal henchmen spoke for her.
"The one and only!"
"Hail the Great Raccoon!"
"You're looking at the new and improved president of Furbobo Weekly!" The purple and yellow Furbo piped in ceremonial honor. Before Ashveil could wallow in his mounting grievances, surges of light flashed everywhere! Accompanied by incessant clicks that were pinpointed everywhere.
The sheer magnitude of the brightness wills stars to enter his tired and sore eyes, he was already unused to the well-lit office space of Furbobocom when he had to borrow their toilet during office hours. But this, left stars circling him like vultures over a dying prey. While he recovers, the superstar of the Astral Express seemed unbothered, despite the dilation of her pupils, she wasn't fazed by the brutal treatment of the surprise light therapy. Seems like she was used to it.
Once the fanfare was over and the detective was too busy blinking and rubbing away the dark splotches of black that littered his vision. "In the flesh, here to deliver your order on the clock." She spoke with a proud grin, presenting the brown paper bag housing his first meal of the day.
"A President and a delivery lady, seems like you've got your hands full. Lemme take that off your hands." He quickly grabbed the brown paper from her. Hoping to end this interaction as soon as possible, disregarding the fact, he was actually making conversation earlier. He pressed the button to close the door. "Thanks for the honor, see ya."
A heeled shoe wedges over the door; "Hey, Mr. Ashveil." His heart ceases in his throat.
"What can I do for you, my lady?" He keeps his cool.
"Why exactly do you live in our office's supply closet?" She doesn't know…? That was good, that was better than good, it was great! Before he could put the ol' silver tongue to good use, a dramatic voice pipes from behind him.
"The hero of the Traiblaze is clueless of the story that lies in her office space, soon she will realize that she will that she stands before the Ashen Detective Agency's headquarters!"
"Go have a banana, Mr. N, please."
"We're out of bananas."
"What do you mean we're out, I ate one before I slept."
"Exactly, you ate the last one."
That only seems to confuse her further, so of course, before he could recover from this pit, another voice happily chimes in to fill her in.
"Mr. detective rents out the the supply closet, he's Lady Nihilux's tenant." The purple and yellow Furbo hopped into action, kicking him while he's down.
"I see," Her mind is swimming with questions as she eyed the inside of his combined office and living space. "Well, enjoy your meal, Detective."
"The young trailblazer quiets, with the mention of a meal she is reminded that it is indeed the perfect time for a hearty meal and leisurely break."
"Why are you narrating for her? Are you collecting paychecks from her behind my back?"
"You're right. Hot pot sounds nice…" The crowd of Furbos pause in trepidation, silently sweating as they eye their pondering boss. "let's go, I'll treat you, guys."
The gray haired woman leaves with a bunch of Furbos following her heel with a chorus of happy yips and hurrahs. Amidst their loud exit, they leave behind a silent office space and a messy trail of Polaroid pictures. He sighs, his legs almost moved to follow them, but he had to scrounged up some money first to pay the electricity and utility bills. It was already embarrassing enough to hide from the landlord, but to also to attempt to get a free meal amidst his attempts at hiding away.
He might be strapped for credits, but he wasn't a freeloading bum.
He decides to the Furbos and their reigning Queen a tiny favor, free of charge. The detective knelt down, inspecting the messy scene. Carefully plucking one of the array of abandoned pictures.
Due to the Furbo's natural height limit, they were limited by the angles they can produce without assistance. Such restrictions were all nothing compared to their photography prowess. That's what he hears through their bragging, but Ashveil truly didn't expect they would be this good.
Though to be fair, she wasn't slacking on her part as the model either. If there was a dictionary with pictures for every word, a portrait of her would be adorned right beside the definition of hero. Despite the casual setting and the brief misunderstanding about her being his delivery woman. Her very stance felt heroic, despite her relaxed demeanor.
The angle followed the upward path of her bare leg, following it until the pop of cyan introduces the mute but harmonious colors of black and gray. The fabric of her coat drapes over her like a make-shift clock, forming a unique silhouette. Her white blouse loosely drapes over her form, tucked, yet the casualness of it all didn't feel orchestrated to follow mere fashion trends. Up above, one could see the defined bones that composed the partial curvature of her neck and the sharp line that is her chin.
He didn't notice due to the high-intensity mini flash bangs those little cameras packed. Despite the suddenness of those barrage of flashes, her empty hand held two fingers jotted up to form a peace sign, even though her gaze was affixed elsewhere.
Ashveil couldn't help but shake his head in amusement, still felt the need to pose for the camera, despite candid shots being a rather good look for her.
Ashveil ponders if there's actually a bad picture of her out there in the cosmos. He furrows his brows, frowning at himself at the dawning realization.
He was too old for this…
Nevertheless, he picks another, and then another. Compiling them in his hand, eyes lingering at the different angles and takes the freshly plucked photos bring forth. Somehow she managed to have a totally different pose ready in some of these pictures. He didn't even notice her move around, did those flashes truly render him blind? Either, his sharp eyes have dulled with time or she was that full of energy and speed to make up for it.
Ah, to be young again…
"And so, the great detective is left behind to admire photos of the President next door." His monkey companion teased from behind him, still in the confines of their tiny office space.
"Can it." Ashveil's voice lacked the scathing bite to properly intimidate. Either way, Mr. N hopped next to his crouched form; helping him pick up the pictures of the kindly president.
Ashveil tucked away the photos in his desk and before he knew it, the Furbo came back. Filling the office space with their lively sounds and productive brainstorming for new gossip to oil the machine. What he didn't expect was another knock on his door.
It was Paraprince. The detective allowed himself a look-see, no Stelle in sight. Either she was in the restroom or the merciful boss didn't come back with her army of Furbos.
"What can I do for you, Paraprince?" He leaned on the doorframe, eyeing the Imaginae, it was rare for them to actively seek the other, leaving the other with their own devices and business.
"The Great Raccoon wanted me to give you this." The little Furbo raised a plastic bag for him to take. Ashveil pulled the handles wide; peeking in the contents. His exclamation couldn't be stifled. "It's leftover hotpot and bananas!"
"Holy— Mr. N!" He called, as he eyed the contents of the plastic container, eyeing the vegetables and meat marinating in the still warm broth. Peeking his head towards the monkey with a beaming grin. He was hit by surprise after surprise. "This is the pricey brand!"
"Hail the Great Raccoon, amirite. Hey, please give her my thanks." Right when he was about to close the door, the Furbo jumped like a memory bubble popped in their head.
"Wait!"
"The Great Raccoon also wanted to remind you about this month's rent, it'll be due by the end of the month and I'll be collecting it in her stead!" Very generous, but like most business owners had an eye for money. At least, she wasn't with the IPC. Even the IPC, with all its resources, wouldn't be caught dead handing out leftover hotpot and fresh bananas to their prisoners of debt.