The Company New Years Party...

Ziva woke, stretched and felt every tender ache in her happy parts.  “What the hell?”

“I don’t know, but once you figure it out give me an update, huh.” Mistress P climbed out of the sexy sandwich she made with Burgess, Danny and what looked to be the tight, young intern they’d just hired in the fall snuggled in behind.  Thank Lupa she was several years past legal.

“Me too,” Marissa chimed in moving from her place atop her man Mooney.

“Me three.” Reetha was currently pushing Rafe to the side and sitting up.

With a scan of the room, Ziva could see all of the women coming too, while the men were still nearly comatose.  Clothing was askew, but no one was flat out naked which was interesting.  Shifters didn’t give two shakes about nudity, hell, most everyone in town had seen everyone else naked one time or another. 

“Well, clearly, we rang in the new year in some sort of group romp,” Penny said.  “I just can’t remember what happened or how it started.”

“Marissa, could this be magical?”  Ziva asked the resident witch.

“Nope, there’s no magic residue in the air and I don’t have a post magic use sheen on me.  I do, however, have one hell of a hangover and that is very uncommon.  The supernatural part usually burns that off first.”

“Yeah, my head is throbbing a bit as well.”  Reetha said, still sitting.

Ziva moved toward the food table. “So someone spiked the punch?”

“Possibly, but with what?” Penny asked.  “Like Marissa said, liquor is not a problem for shifters.”

“Well, it’s not liquor,” Ziva said, finishing her sniff test of the punch.

“Holy crossed snake eyes,” Lamar groaned, sitting up and holding his hand to his head.  “Who got a hold of the premium weed and why didn’t anyone warn us?”

“What?  Weed?”   Marissa exclaimed.  “No one was toking that I remember.  Plus, marijuana makes me really paranoid and I remember every stinking bit of it, so it couldn’t have been that.”

“Not Maryjane, this is Horny Goat Weed.  I got into a batch of it last year on a slither about and poor Jamie wouldn't come near me for a full month after the effects wore off.”  Lamar shifted around a bit and reached out to stroke his partner’s hair.  “Now I understand why.”

“Horny Goat Weed?  Who would have brought that to the New Year’s work party?”  Ziva started sniffing the rest of the food, looking for something that was off.

“There was something off about last night though,” Lamar murmured. 

“Ya think.”  Reetha barked.

“What I mean is that Horny Goat Weed only affects men, and last night you ladies were the aggressors.  Not that the men said no, but you all came on veeerrry strong.”

“All of the food smells of certain things,” Ziva said.

“Like what,” Marissa asked.

“Well, Nutmeg, clove, and saffron for starters.  And the punch smells slightly of passion flower rather than fruit.”

“There’s Muira Puama in the dip.”  Penny offered up the information slightly abashed. “Burgess brought some back from Brazil.  It’s a delicacy and an aphrodisiac, but it was never that over-powering.”

“No, but all those other things Ziva listed are also aphrodisiacs and include the Horny Goat Weed and we OD’d on sex aiding herbs.”  Marissa smirked.

“So either everyone had the same sexy idea for New Year’s,” Reetha said. “Or everyone’s favorite recipe includes a different sex herb.” 

“I think we’re looking at option number two,” Ziva laughed.  “Next year, we cater.”

Penny stood, “Well let me be the first to say…Happy Fucking New Year!”

“Literally!”  The rest of the guests who were awake and starting to wake responded.

~~~

May all of your banquets be catered!

Happy New Year

Serena

Scandalous!

It had to happen eventually, Gil thought. When you’re in politics, scat like this hit the fan as a matter of course. That didn’t stop him from seething.

He knew he could strike Louie and the gang at Rattigan’s off the suspect list. Maybe last year one of them might have done it as a joke, but not now. He had a wife and children now. Louie had backed off from the practical jokes the second Chloe announced her pregnancy, and saw to it everyone else did too. Louie had a cleaver. No, it hadn’t been anyone at Rattigan’s.

Somebody had it in for the Mayor of Talbot’s Peak. He’d have to nip this in the bud. But first he had to deal with the press.

“No,” he told the reporter from the Gazette through gritted teeth. “I didn’t and have never made a sex tape.”

“You’ve seen the tape in question?”

“Oh yes.” Gil smiled. Those in the know would have told the reporter that smile meant it was time to beat feet. “My entire staff made sure I knew about it.”

“And you’d swear in court—”

“Why wait for court? I’ll swear right now. I didn’t make that friggin’ tape. It’s two normal squirrels going at it. As far as I can tell, neither one is a shifter, and neither one is me.”

“So your official comment is ‘No comment’?”

Gil ground his teeth. “You look like a bright boy, even for a reporter. You know my background, right?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with—”

“That film was shot in daylight.”

Gil started counting. He was up to fifteen before the kid worked it out. “Oh … yeah.”

“Yeah. No squirreling around without night and a full moon. How did you even get this job?”

“Don’t yell at me. I’m just an intern. I need this to get into college.”

A-hole U., Gil guessed. “Tell you what, sonny. You pack up your pencil and get out of my office, and I won’t tell Nick what a schmuck you are. Come to think of it, maybe I should have a chat with our illustrious editor anyway.”

# # #

“Mr. Mayor.” Nick bared his teeth at the fuming man who had just barged into his office. “Always a pleasure to see you. Even without an appointment or phone call,” he added pointedly. “What can I do for you?”

“You can tell me who the hell uploaded that idiot video to TalTube, how my name got attached to it, and why you thought it rated news coverage.” Gil stopped just short of banging his fist on the desk. He’d heard Nick was really possessive about his antique desk. “You know which video I’m talking about, right?”

“The sex tape or the Elvis tape?”

Gil winced. “The sex tape. I’m betting you know it’s a fake.”

“Of course it’s a fake. It was shot in daylight. It couldn’t have been you. What’s any of this got to do with me?”

“So you didn’t send some moronic intern over to grill me about it?”

“No.” Nick sat up straighter. “We don’t have any interns, moronic or otherwise. And a thirty-second tape of squirrels humping doesn’t count as news in Talbot’s Peak. What did this ‘intern’ look like?”

Gil gave a precise description, right down to the zits on the kid’s right cheek. By the time he was finished, Nick was practically shooting off steam. “We’ve both been played,” he told Gil. He shoved back from his desk and stood up. “Let’s pay a visit to TalTube HQ.”

# # #

“This is TalTube?” Gil said, staring at the Tudor house at the end of the quiet street. “You sure?”

“That’s TalTube,” Nick corrected. He pointed at a basement window. “I’ve had dealings with the CEO before. He’s a gopher. Runs it out of his parents’ basement.” Nick stalked up to the door and rang the bell. After a moment the door opened. Gil recognized the alleged Gazette reporter who’d grilled him this morning.

“Hey, Rodney,” Nick said. “Got a minute?”

The kid tried to slam the door in Nick’s face. As both a wolf and a journalist, Nick knew how to muscle through a slamming door. He barged in, with Gil right behind him.

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” the kid protested. “I’m protected by the First Amendment.”

“Not from misrepresenting yourself as a reporter,” Nick said. “Or from slandering the Mayor. Those are crimes. Right, Mr. Mayor?”

“Could be,” Gil said. “We’d better lock him up while I check. That could take, I dunno, days.”

“You can’t put me in jail. I have to go to work tonight.”

“You have to go to work right now,” Nick told him. “You’re pulling that ‘sex tape’ off TalTube, and you’re issuing an apology.”

“And you’re going to tell me who uploaded it,” Gil added.

“It wasn’t me. It was Jimmy.” Apparently the First Amendment included freely throwing people under the bus. “We hadn’t gotten any good videos in a while. Jimmy shot the footage in the park, then we, well, we just added that title to spice things up.” He turned to Gil. “That one of you singing in the bar got like a hundred thousand views.”

“So you were hoping lightning would strike twice,” Nick said. “Except you got greedy. You wanted to see your victim’s face in person, hence the reporter scam.” He grabbed the gopher boy by the shoulder and spun him around. “C’mon, sonny. Show Mr. Mayor where the magic happens.”

# # #

The official TalTube studio was a scuffed-up office desk in the corner of the basement, next to the hot water heater. It had a glowing laptop on it. A bobblehead figure of Gandalf the Wizard sat on the desk. The floor was littered with Snickers wrappers.

Gil and Nick stood by while Rodney called up and deleted the offending file. At Gil’s insistence, the Elvis video was also consigned to the trash.

“This is a violation of my Constitutional rights, y’know,” Rodney carped. “You’re supposed to be a journalist, you should know that. You can’t stop free speech.”

Nick looked at Rodney. He looked at Gil. He looked at the laptop. He picked up the bobblehead Gandalf and smashed it repeatedly into the laptop’s screen. The laptop threw off sparks and went dark.

“Oh,” Rodney said. “Crud.”

“It’s an outdated system anyway. Once Mommy and Daddy buy you a new one, you’ll be up and running again. Just see that you run your crap without the added spice. Otherwise … Mr. Mayor?”

“I know who you are now,” Gil said. “And I know a rat with a cleaver.”

Nick smiled. “And I,” he told Rodney, “love hot gopher stew. No more impersonations, and no more irresponsible postings. Are we clear?”

The kid gulped. Hard. “Yes, sir.”

# # #

“He’s not a bad kid,” Nick said as they walked back to his car. “For a gopher. Once he gets a little seasoning … ”

“He’ll make a good stew?”

“He might make a good reporter. You know how gophers love to dig. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him. Maybe I will offer him an internship. Keep him out of trouble.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Gil paused. “One other thing. I’d appreciate it if you’d delete that Elvis file from your personal computer.”

“What makes you think I—” Gil looked at him. What the hell. Ziva and Lamar had copies. Nick shrugged. “Consider it done.”

No Guts, No Glory...

Ziva kept her eyes focused on Penny’s dreamy, cream inducing boots and willed her stomach to return to its rightful place in her body.  Swallowing past the ball of acid had become impossible the closer they got to the door at the end of the hall.

“Penny, I-I don’t think I can do this…”

“Don’t punk out on me now, Z.”  Ziva cringed as Penny looked back and pinned her with what was affectionately called the Mistress eye. “Behind that door is a Texas Longhorn—naked and waiting to be dominated by me, I mean, you, er us.”

“It just doesn’t feel right, dominating someone other than the butt head.”

“How about you think of it as a punishment for Alpha butt head and a present for Ziva.  You know, pecs of stone, flanks all thick and juicy plus as rumor has it he’s hung even more than a horse.”

“Oh Lupa, Penny.”

Penny pulled her to a stop and stepped into her space.  “Think about that, Z.  Back in High School, you and I used to check out the locker room after the polo players had finished a game.  The colts were outstanding and don’t even get me started on the stallions.” 

Ziva smiled as Penny fanned herself at the thought of the well hung horses.  “I remember, but…”

“But nothing.  You were flitting around Nick’s airspace even back then and it didn’t stop you from partaking of what was offered. Don’t get hung up on logistics now, girl. This guy’s supposed to eclipse even the stallions!”

Ziva glanced between Penny and the door, weighing her options.  Eclipsing a stallion…that was tempting.

“Oooh, tongue to lip,” Penny purred.  “Ziva’s in!”

##

“RALPH!” 

Mooney scribbled another line diagonally across the other four and looked over at Ralph.  Five times Nick had bellowed the bears name from his office and Ralph still looked well, like he always looked these days…sleepy, hungry and a little constipated.  He was playing with fire. Mooney knew a cage match between the two would prove to be pretty even, but this close to hibernation time mixed with
Nicks mate troubles gave his brother a decided advantage.  All that rage had to be let out somewhere and Mooney would gladly give someone else a chance to shoulder the pain.

“Frigging Lupa, Ralph, go up there before he comes ou…”  Too late.  An irate Nick stood looking down on them all from the catwalk around the bullpen.

“RALPH!”

“What?” The sleepy bears snorted.

Mooney slunk down in his seat, not wanting Nick to notice him.

“You’re on for Purple Fairy duty.  I want to know who this dumbass is and what his plan is for this Halloween.  Also…”

“No.”

Mooney tried hard to shut his suddenly open mouth and take his eyes off the accident just waiting to happen, but it was impossible.  He’d miss Ralph’s articles.

“What did you say?”  Spittle flew from Nick’s mouth, his eye’s glowed red. 

“No, I’m a movie reviewer, not a stupid news reporter.  Have Ziva do it.”

Silence descended on the pen except from the nervous twittering from a chickadee intern who’d been unable to maintain her human form when Nick bellowed.

“Ziva’s not here!”

“Oh we know.  You’d be in a better mood if she was.”

Goodbye Ralph, been nice knowing you… 

Mooney agreed, but it was never good to poke at an enraged wolf.  Nick might kick his ass, but he wouldn’t kill him.  Ralph however wouldn’t be so lucky.  “Ah, Nick.”

“Stay out of this, Moon.”

Mooney stood and willed himself not to run—at least not yet.  “Here’s the thing, Nick, you do need to get Z back.  Not just because she calms you, but because we all miss her around here.  Hell, she ran the weekly how many rulers does boss man go through this week pool.  Get her back, man.  Especially before she, ah, never mind.”  Mooney sat, kicking himself for tacking on the glitch at the end.  Marissa had told him that in confidence after she’d talked to Penny and Z at the coffee shop.

“Before what?”

“Nothing…”

“BEFORE WHAT, Moon.” 

Decisions, decisions…would breaking his promise be a good thing or a bad in this situation.  Maybe it would get Nick off his ass.  “Penny took Z under her wing and is going to share her new sub.” 

Nick shimmered like he was losing his human form.  Unheard of for an alpha, unless someone was going to die.  “WHO!”

“Ah, that Texas Longhorn who was in the other day looking for work.”

“WHEN!”  Nick’s question was so garbled with canine growling Mooney barely understood.”

“Tonight, at Dante’s, er,” Mooney looked at the local clock, then back to his brother. “About now.”

The wolf won its bid for freedom and raced from the front door of the gazette.  Shattered glass sounded through the building and everyone sat in silence.

“Bummer for Ziva.”  Ralph yawned.

“Bummer for the Texas Longhorn.” Chickadee intern whispered, having finally come back to her human form.

“Nope, bummer for Nick.”  Jamie spoke, still cleaning the F-stop on his camera.  “One look at the Longhorn’s junk and Z will say ta-ta to wolf loving.  You know what they say…everything’s…”

“Bigger in Texas!” Everyone in the bullpen spoke at once then erupted in laughter.  There was nothing better than a job with good time feel and coworkers who were like family.
~~~

Happy Friday everyone!  So today's flash is veeeery rough.  It was totally a spur of the moment thing which I found loads of fun to write, especially since Nick and Ziva have gone off the rails.

Serena

No Bull

Even in the chaos engendered by deadline day in the newsroom, Penelope knew when a sexy stranger was near. She turned around and with unerring accuracy zeroed in on the man in the crewcut and baggy jeans standing perplexed in the doorway. Virility poured off him like steam. Already the other women in the room were lifting their noses to sniff.

Penelope sauntered toward him to stake her claim. “May I help you, sir?”

He turned a rugged face dominated by mild brown eyes in her direction. “I’m here for a job.”

“I’m sorry”—and she truly was; she didn’t like saying “no” to eyes like that for anything—“but we don’t have any openings at this time.”

“This is a bullpen, ain’t it? Well, I’m a bull. I don’t smell any other bulls in here. Seems to me you need one.”

“It’s not that kind of a bullpen. That’s just a term.”

“So you got a bullpen with no bulls in it? Sounds like false advertising to me. You could get in legal trouble for that.”

Penelope’s lips curved upward. This one had a sharp brain to go with that shirt-straining body and those big brown deep-as-a-dungeon eyes. She could do things with a combo like that. All sorts of things. “What’s your name, cowboy?”

“Colby, ma’am. And it’s bull. Texas longhorn.”

“Ah. They’re the ones with the really big—“

“Horns. Yes, ma’am.”

“What is it you do, Mr. Colby?”

“Well, in my last job, I was kind of a security guard. I hung out with the herd and kept predators and rustlers off ‘em. I been on the rodeo circuit, too. Roping and bull riding.”

“Riding or ridden?”

He winked broadly at her. “I go either way.”

You big, beefy bastard. He’d sized her up and read her right in only a couple of minutes. No way she’d let this one slip the noose. “You realize we’re a newspaper. I don’t suppose you can write? Or know how to run a printing press?”

“Dunno. Never tried. I learn fast, though. All I need is”—he looked her up and down, thoroughly, pointedly—“the right instruction.”

Penelope swayed closer. She leaned in to whisper. “Ever been roped and tied? Or worn a nose ring?”

“Both, ma’am. I can take a whipping, too, or dole one out. Just no branding. I’m not into branding.”

“I think I may have a position for you.” Several, in fact, but she could lead up to those. She plucked a Post-It note from a nearby desk and carefully printed Dante’s name and the address to the Pleasure Club on it. She slapped the note onto Colby’s broad chest with the palm of her hand. “Go talk to this man. He always needs bouncers and security. Someone of your … talents … shouldn’t have trouble landing employment.”

“I’m much obliged, ma’am.”

"That’s ‘Mistress P.’ Mention my name when you talk to Dante. He’ll see that you get into the right department.”

“Yes, Mistress,” Colby said, without the slightest hesitation. He stared over her head at the bustling newsroom. “You could still use a bull in here, to justify the name.”

“Maybe I can get you stringer work from the sports desk, if you don’t mind covering rodeos. You could give an insider’s perspective. I’ll have someone interrogate—excuse me, interview you next week.”

“Interrogation’s fine. I’m looking forward to it.” Colby tipped an imaginary Stetson. “See you around, Mistress. Soon, I hope.”

Penelope watched that fine bull ass work its way toward the exit. Dante would give him work, of that she had no doubt. And so would she. A lengthy workout involving lassoes and hobbles. See if everything she’d heard about the brawny muscle of a big Texas longhorn was true.

And why not share the fun? After her blowup with Nick, Ziva could do with a girls’ night out. Penelope strolled back to her desk. All of a sudden the week was looking up.

Truth In Advertising

Ralph Rates ‘Em
Movie reviews by Ralph Bruin

I was going to review the new Rock movie—he can call himself Dwayne Johnson all he wants, he’ll always be the Rock and I can smell what he’s cooking—but I got a bone to pick with whatever dumbass comes up with film titles. A lot of people pick their flicks based on whether the title sounds good, so that title damn well better describe what the movie’s about. Accurately, I mean. That ain’t always so.

Take last week. I was flipping channels and I see this movie coming up called Night of the Iguana. And I think, hot damn, monster movie, hordes of lizards chomping on stupid humans. I am so down with that. Well, screw me and my expectations, because there weren’t any lizards, giant or otherwise, in the whole damn thing. It was about some douchebag preacher boning the local skank. I don’t want to see that! I want to see dinosaurs knocking buildings over and crushing cars and monkeys running through the streets screaming and wetting their pants. Contest time: two free passes to the Talbot Twin to anybody who can tell me where the goddamn iguana was. Otherwise call it The Preacher’s Randy Prick or something, so the viewer knows what he’s getting into.

Or Cloverfield. Sounds British, don’t it? All la-de-dah, Hugh Grant on some country estate trying to get into Gwineth Paltrow’s pants. Well, guess what? That’s the monster movie. Cloverfield is about this big alien motherfucker ripping up New York and wiping out all the whiny turds who are too stupid to live anyway. Seriously, does the title Cloverfield conjure up pictures of space monsters trashing New York in your head? Mine either. They should of switched those titles. Night of the Iguana for the monster movie and Cloverfield for the skank flick. Makes a helluva lot more sense that way.

Now Terminator, that was a bait and switch. Yeah, it’s got Arnold and guns and people get wasted and shit blows up and stuff. But when Arnie’s not on screen, it turns into a chick flick. The guy’s a wuss who came back through time for Twu Wuv and the chick’s got this annoying voice that makes me just want to claw her face off. She’s better in the sequel, she gets all buff and kick-ass and yeah, I’d do her, but that first one, gimme a break. But at least the title was accurate. For most of the movie Arnie terminates the holy hell out of people. You can always fast forward past the chick flick crap.

What I’m saying here is, Hollywood, if you want to make money and we all know you do, put a goddamn title on the goddamn movie that tells us what the hell it’s about. None of this artsy, look-how-clever-I-am scat. Look at Alien. Or Snakes on a Plane. Simple and direct. There’s a reason those flicks make money. It’s because we know what we’re spending our seven or eight bucks on. C’mon. A River Runs Through It? Through what? My basement? I don’t want to be exposed to you and your fucking literary pretentions. I just want to watch a good movie.

While you’re at it, make more flicks like The Avengers. That movie was awesome.

Okay. G.I. Joe. I’m giving it five bear claws because the Rock’s in it and because Joe ain’t no chick flick wussy boy. He’s a real American hero. You don’t like it, go watch TV. I’m out of here.

# # #

“You know, Nick,” Ziva said, “I don’t think Ralph’s cut out to be a movie reviewer.”

“But he makes some valid points. You did think Hugh Grant was in Cloverfield.”

“My mistake.” She shuddered at more than the memory. “It’s just that his taste in film is a little … basic.”

“Well, we can’t make him a food critic. He’s been banned from almost every restaurant in town.” Nick slapped his desk. “I’ve got it. We’ll give him an op-ed column. Let him go to town on whatever pisses him off. Like a grizzly bear version of Andy Rooney. Come to think of it, ol’ Andy may have been a grizzly bear. Or some kind of bear. He was always grumpy, like he never got to hibernate long enough."

“I’m still not sure we can trust Ralph with anything in writing.”

“True, but it will get him out of the newsroom.”

Ziva smiled. “Op-ed column it is.”

Dancing With the Stars

CAPRICORN – Stop hitting on the youngsters, you horny old goat. Find somebody in your age range. And not my mom, either. That’s just wrong.

CANCER – You’re crabby, which explains why nobody wants to be around you. Lighten up.

ARIES – You’re hard-headed and tend to ram your way through all obstacles. Your problem is you keep on ramming even after you’ve solved whatever the trouble is. Take a break and give your head a rest.

LEO – Some cat ate my brother’s entire sheep herd. It was you, wasn’t it? I know it was you. Don’t try to tell me it was a dragon. I’m calling the cops.

LIBRA – You’re either a well-balanced individual, constantly on a diet, or scaly. If you’re a snake, we can rule out the other two. Just don’t swallow anything too much bigger than you are.

VIRGO – Nobody’s a Virgo anymore. You’re not fooling anyone.

SAGITTARIUS – We’ve been getting complaints from ranchers about somebody shooting arrows into their barns. What’s the matter, William Tell, targets not good enough for you? We don’t tolerate vandalism around here. Take the hint.

GEMINI – You’re into threesomes, primarily with twins. You’re either a coyote or a mink. And very, very tired.

PISCES – You’re a slippery dude and not to be trusted. Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing in regards to your taxes—don’t.

AQUARIUS – You’re all wet, so you’d better be a surfer or Olympic swimmer or something. Just a word of warning: if you’re dating a Pisces, don’t let him or her do your taxes.

SCORPIO – You make the best damn vodka stingers I’ve ever tasted. Quit wasting your talents on others and open your own bar. Get a Libra to cook for you and you can’t lose.

TAURUS – You’re a bull, and therefore full of—what? What do you mean, I can’t say that in the paper? Fine. You have a lot of muscle mass and should go into competitive bodybuilding. And you’re horny. Go date the Aries. How’s that, better?

# # #

“I don’t think that’s what Nick had in mind when he asked for a weekly horoscope,” Ziva said.

“I don’t give a headless carp,” Ralph snarled. As the runt of his grizzly litter, he was unflaggingly churlish. “Astrology is a ripoff anyway. Make the snake write this scat. He likes making stuff up.”

“Nick’s trying to reach new readership demographics.”

“Who’s he aiming for now, the brain dead? Great. We can stick the Gazette on the checkout racks next to the gossip rags.”

“I predict,” Ziva said sweetly, “if you don’t give the boss what he asks for, you’ll be looking for another job.”

“Okay, okay, whatever.” Ralph deleted his post, scowled at the computer screen, and started over.

CAPRICORN – You have a sensible head on your shoulders and a helluva prong between your legs. The ladies must be lining up around the block for—

“Ralph!”

“All right.” Ralph waited for Ziva to stalk away before he let his head sink to the desk. “My ass is destined for the can,” he groaned.