SOCK DUTY - PART III

“Congratulations!” 

Meganie, improvised party hat on and bunting taped about the department – made out of nothing but white paper and string – greets me with a level of enthusiasms I’ve only seen her manage for the most expensive lab equipment. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” I bow to my audience of one as if she were a room full, “What am I thanking you for?” 

“Th-the congratulations?” A hint of confusion entering her voice. 

“Oh, yeah… and what are you congratulating me for?” This feels like it’s becoming a comedy routine, neither of us sure who’s meant to be the funny man and who’s playing things straight. 

My supervisor scratches at her head for a moment, struggling to remember what she’s decorated our corner of Sock Duty for. “Hmm… was it for the case yesterday?” 

Has she actually forgotten, or are we still doing stand up?

“Nah, that wasn’t anything special. Just a routine search and rescue.”

Though it is somewhat terrifying to think that finding and returning a novelty pen – lewd when twisted – before it could roll off a ledge inside the mainframe of an, apparently benevolent, galaxy wide A.I. overlord’s neural-network; which would have connected some circuits that’d then cause a genocide of anyone under a G-cup, is normal to me now. 

Meganie nods in agreement at the mundanity of averting intra-galactic catastrophe for the under endowed. “Then it must be your birthday!”

Evidently, she’s the one playing the funny-man, so I gotta go along with it. Even though my birthday was just before all this started. Maybe I'll see my next one if I somehow survive probation- 

“Ah! I got it…” with a little sadness at the prospect of our double act coming to an end, my supervisor shifting from joy at having a birthday celebration to uncertainty with my tone change, “…I’ve completed my training, haven’t I?” 

She smiles about as much as she can, her lips twisting slightly at the tips. 

“Correct,” her voice wavers with barely contained excitement, the ghost of a giggle threatening to break her near perpetual monotone. I’ve been here long enough that she’s finally warming up to me, but I fear I have also created a monster.

I didn’t know Meganie had never had coffee before, and now, well... she flits about the lab, caffeine jitters keeping pace with her anticipation as she reveals the rest of her work.

Did she just do jazz hands?!.

“Ta-da!” A modest strawberry shortcake, a pot of coffee, and a picture perfect present all wrapped up. By which I mean it’s both the neatest work I’ve ever seen – even after working on a gift wrapping counter at a luxury department store – as well as the gift may well be a picture frame, “Made it all myself!” 

Such pride! Hence the buzz she’s already riding... everything’s a lot easier now she’s coming out of her shell.

We settle into our party for two, and I purposefully ignore the present to watch Meganie wind herself up like a spring. The amount of tension in her fit to burst at any moment.

Her eyes track my every movement about the table. Elation filling her face as they hover over the present, only to crumble as I go past to slice the cake instead. Too polite to demand I open it, too wired to think of anything else-

“Open it! Open it! Open it! Open it!”

Guess I was wrong about that.

I acquiesce and it’s… “A certificate?” 

She grins manically and leans in close. The smell of sweet coffee and lab chemicals like a haze around her. “I-it’s not official or anything. B-but… it’s not like they hand out official licenses here anyway. W-we don’t get field badges, because that would be evidence if you got caught on mission. N-not that that happens often, but…”

Caffeine really changes a person when they’ve never had it before, huh?

My now ex-supervisor witters on for a bit longer, and I realise it’s more anxious rambling around whether I like the present, rather than than her just being exuberant and wanting to explain what she did and why.

“I really appreciate it Meganie…” 

She stops dead in her tracks, whatever thought that was in her head completely dematerialises.

Calmer tones tinge her voice and that specter of a smile creeps into her lips, “Good...” but, almost instantly, a sadness follows, “...I-I guess that means you’ll be leaving Sock Duty…” she turns in profile and busies about cleaning her glasses, “...n-no one stays after qualifying.” Then hunches over her work, face slightly hidden.

Ah! That’s what she was worried about…

I think about teasing Meganie a little, suggesting I have my pick of the other departments, but something tells me this isn’t the time for that sort of thing. A little sincerity can go a long way, “No, I’ll be staying. The multiverse is a dangerous place, and besides, who’s gonna keep you company if I leave?”

She freezes, mid wipe of a lens. 

Well aren’t I the charmer.

I leave the statement hanging, nonchalantly sip at my coffee, which turns out to be melange – a strong brew with heavy cream and lots of sugar, the optimal way that Meganie has come to take it – and stab at another piece of shortcake.

No irony. No banter. No barbed tongue or backhanded statement to convolute my meaning. Just time to let it sink in that I am here for her. We’re both in the same boat. Nowhere else to go. 

“Th-thank you, Ken.” 

It’s my turn to turn to stone. 

My heart thumps. One loud bang. 

The resultant rush of blood through my system making me dizzy for a moment. 

Again, I am reminded of Bonny. 

* * *

“I want a giraffe!” 

The muffled cry of the birthday girl barely reaches me inside the safe and increasingly warm mascot suit. It could only be worse if we were in the height of summer, but still… 

God, I’m either gonna sweat to death or die of cringe…

“Oh-ho! A giraffe you say! Hmm…” the clown next to me flops about in her bright and slightly see through tutu, “…well we wouldn’t want a boring brown and beige giraffe would we. How about yellow and orange, or a pink and red one, aye?” 

She honks her shiny red nose, crosses her eyes, and gives a goofy laugh. 

She’s too cute.

I wave my arms about and awkwardly shuffle the bulbous costume around to mimic my co-worker’s exaggerated movements. 

“No!” The 7 year old, still not entirely grown out of that toddler phase, almost screams, “I want an all black one! I want an evil giraffe!” 

Bonny, my clown colleague, is caught off guard, and stumbles over her words, “Oh! Well, err…” 

“Boooooheeeeeee~” 

I cry out to the room and get everyone’s attention. 

“Boooooheeeeeee~” 

She looks over her shoulder, in shock for a moment, then relief at the realisation I’ve got her back. “Oh-ho! Bonky knows how to make an evil giraffe! Let’s watch him work, shall we kids?” A chorus of cheers and anticipatory shrieks erupts from the playroom of elementary-schoolers.

Time to put on a show.

I tiptoe up to Bonny’s suitcase of clownery and pick out items at random, holding them up to the crowd to elicit pantomime cries of, “Noooooooo!” every time she asks whether I’ve gotten to the balloons yet.

The call and response goes on until everyone is giggling, then I pick up the box of balloons, and the infants lose their damn minds. “YEEEEEEEEEES!!! THAT’S THE BALLOONS!!! HE GOT THEM!!!” Their cacophony – loud even within my muggy chrysalis – causes Bonny to flinch, then join in with the whooping and hollering. 

I point at the balloons. 

Scratch my foam head. 

Pondering as I stroke my furry chin. 

Prolonging the whole scene to give my co-star a breather from carrying most of the show, and to hopefully tire out the little gremlins, if only a bit.

I give a shrug, tilt my head back, and pour some of the balloons into the costume’s mouth opening – there’s a little pocket with zipper access at the back for me to grab things – then pretend to munch my way through them. 

More screams. 

I put up a hand and hold my tummy like it hurts, crawl back to Bonny’s suitcase, and produce an air pump. The kids are entranced. I stick the end of the pump in my mouth, working it vigorously to blow up the balloon inside the costume, then roll around while forming the requested animal. 

A black series of squeaks in the almost black of my mascot suit. 

Never been sure what kind of anime this thing is meant to be. It’s just a bit of an amorphous blob, with stumpy limbs and a fat head. Tufts of fur for the belly and ears, a bit of an elongated nose, and wide mouth underneath.

It’s not an elephant, a pig, an aardvark, or anything else I can think of, but whatever… children seem to love Bonky, and that’s all that matters. 

This is taking forever…

I give up with the tummy ache charade and lie still on the floor for a moment. It’s way easier with coloured balloons in the dark, but I’ve got to obscure the gauze parts of the face when I flick on the little LED above my head to do tricky stuff. They're there so I can see, but the light lets the little monsters see in, and that's a no no.

Gasps of concern from the crowd. 

“Oh no!” Bonny plays up the suspense, “What’s happened to Bonky?” 

One of the kids toddles over, I assume my co-star sent the birthday girl to investigate, “Are you OK?” The concern in her voice almost makes me forget she’s a terror.

I’ll have to give her a hug later to show everything’s fine, but first I’ve got to play this up. “Booooo…” I pause for dramatic effect, really drawing out the sickly tone to my silly made up animal call, “…heeeeeee~”

The little girl starts rubbing the back of the costume like a caring mother. The kind of thing kids do to each other all the time, because it’s what their parents do when they’re sick.

Finished!

I flick off the lamp, slowly sit up, and lock eyes with the birthday girl. She rubs Bonky’s big droopy nose, “There there! All better!” Offering me a gap toothed grin of encouragement. 

I make the loudest sneeze sound I can, then shove the black balloon giraffe out of the mouth hole and into the mascot’s hands, so it looks like it came out his nose to the children. 

The birthday girl is shocked for a moment, but as soon as I try to clean my non-existent snot on her, she screeches with grossed out joy, grabs the evil giraffe, and runs back to Bonny. I scrabble across the floor to chase after her, ending up between the clown’s legs for one glorious moment, before the room explodes in hysteria. 

I am instantly pinned to the ground by a dozen actually snotty nosed gremlins, all demanding I sneeze balloon animals on them too, while Bonny holds down her tutu and pouts. Blushing through the white face-paint. 

Worth it.

After things wrap up at the party, I always check in to make sure I didn’t do anything too silly.

“Y-you really s-saved me in there, Ken…” Bonny, behind closed doors in the staff changing room, reverts to her far less confident self, “…thank you so m-much!”

She bows her head, still in full clown costume minus the wig, which she clutches to her chest like she's taken off her hat to show the right level sincerity.

“Hey, no worrieth-” I pull Bonky’s head off and smoosh my lips on the way, slurring my speech.

My co-worker giggles. Gets awkward. Then goes back to bowing.

Oh crap! Is that the time?

“If you feel that bad, let me use the showers first. I reek and I’ve gotta get over to the convenience store for my evening shift. Deal?” I’d already pulled off the rest of the mascot suit, shorts and vest sticking to me underneath, and started walking to the wash-room before she could respond, but the sight of me shirtless got a little rise out of her.

“Ah! Oh, err... y-yeah. Sure!” Although her outfit techincally covers everything, and is a hell of a lot more breathable than mine, it's probably still upsetting getting things tugged at and smeared on her.

They were some of the worst behaved kids we’ve ever had to deal with today too, so I’m sure she’s as desperate as I am to shower, but Bonny nods and bears with being uncomfortable just a little longer for me.

“Great. Thanks. I owe you.” My head disappearing round the door-frame, “Feel free to throw me under the bus anytime things get too much. That’s what Bonky’s there for.”

I go to play peek-a-boo at the shower door and drop a flirty line about her being allowed to spy on me as pay back, but end up getting an eye full myself as she'd started pulling down her tutu, tights and all. I meekly apologise, act like I forgot I already had my body-wash, and let us both blush in peace.

We’re the same age, she just went straight to college, while I’m messing about ‘finding myself’ and working. I mean, Bonny’s working too, only part-time, but every time I see her it feels like I’m missing out by not going to university yet.

I could be dating someone like her… Hell, I could be dating her!

If I just made up my mind.