Beasts.
Julie is standing in the office kitchenette, making a cup of tea. She takes the office milk out of a largely empty stainless steel fridge the size of a catacomb, and sets it next to the Breville kettle. Terry enters, and frowns.
‘Have you seen the new MD? He’s a fucking minotaur.’
The kettle light glows blue, Julie raises an eyebrow. ‘What, you mean he’s bullish and ancient?’
‘No, I mean he is a literal fucking minotaur. He has the head of a sodding bull!’
‘Fuck - what?’
‘I just saw him. I just sat in on the ArcelorMittal M&A meeting. He was just sitting there, wearing a sodding Thomas Pink shirt, tapping his pen and snorting as Hilda ran through the asset valuation figures!’
‘But - what? Where is he from?’
‘Barclays Capital, apparently - he was a quant but he got headhunted since he made a killing on weather derivatives... never mind that he was an FOQ at Lehman Brothers-that’s how he came to be at Barclays in the first place! People in this industry have shorter memories than fucking goldfish.’
‘But - shit, Lehman? - fuck -but, don’t minotaurs eat people?’
‘I don’t know, that’s what I thought too!’
‘Isn’t that kinda, dangerous?’
‘I honestly don’t think it even crossed the board’s collective mind. As long as he replicates here whatever voodoo shit he was pulling off at Barclays, then I shouldn’t think they give a flying fuck. And anyway, it’s not like there aren’t enough spare interns littering up the place. I’m sure no one would notice if a couple went missing...’
Julie blinks and leans her weight against the counter, digesting this notion. The Breville bubbles violently, and clicks off. She pours the water on to her teabag, Terry is still talking about interns.
‘...tits like mangoes. Put it like this, there are a few low-hanging fruit around here I’m tempted to pick myself.’
‘Right. So, is there anything we have to say or do differently when we talk to him, or do we just act like everything is normal?’
‘Unless you’re told to do otherwise, I’d just act like you haven’t noticed the two-foot fucking horns poking out of his head. I mean, when Janice Rackley was Head of Operations she didn’t much like people touching her, but I’m not sure if that was because she was a manticore, or just a fucking bitch.’
‘Right.’
Julie fishes the bag out of her cup, and puts it in the Brabantia. They go back to their desks.
‘Have you seen the new MD? He’s a fucking minotaur.’
The kettle light glows blue, Julie raises an eyebrow. ‘What, you mean he’s bullish and ancient?’
‘No, I mean he is a literal fucking minotaur. He has the head of a sodding bull!’
‘Fuck - what?’
‘I just saw him. I just sat in on the ArcelorMittal M&A meeting. He was just sitting there, wearing a sodding Thomas Pink shirt, tapping his pen and snorting as Hilda ran through the asset valuation figures!’
‘But - what? Where is he from?’
‘Barclays Capital, apparently - he was a quant but he got headhunted since he made a killing on weather derivatives... never mind that he was an FOQ at Lehman Brothers-that’s how he came to be at Barclays in the first place! People in this industry have shorter memories than fucking goldfish.’
‘But - shit, Lehman? - fuck -but, don’t minotaurs eat people?’
‘I don’t know, that’s what I thought too!’
‘Isn’t that kinda, dangerous?’
‘I honestly don’t think it even crossed the board’s collective mind. As long as he replicates here whatever voodoo shit he was pulling off at Barclays, then I shouldn’t think they give a flying fuck. And anyway, it’s not like there aren’t enough spare interns littering up the place. I’m sure no one would notice if a couple went missing...’
Julie blinks and leans her weight against the counter, digesting this notion. The Breville bubbles violently, and clicks off. She pours the water on to her teabag, Terry is still talking about interns.
‘...tits like mangoes. Put it like this, there are a few low-hanging fruit around here I’m tempted to pick myself.’
‘Right. So, is there anything we have to say or do differently when we talk to him, or do we just act like everything is normal?’
‘Unless you’re told to do otherwise, I’d just act like you haven’t noticed the two-foot fucking horns poking out of his head. I mean, when Janice Rackley was Head of Operations she didn’t much like people touching her, but I’m not sure if that was because she was a manticore, or just a fucking bitch.’
‘Right.’
Julie fishes the bag out of her cup, and puts it in the Brabantia. They go back to their desks.
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