skin.
During leisure unit meetings, favours got to behave in ways they couldn’t any other time. They scratched, picked, prodded, and poked themselves. They burped, sighed, and looked bored. Even light complaining was tolerated. It was glorious. Almost as glorious as watching Slater shake out his bleached hair.
He had this habit of looking deep into her eyes and saying, “Oh, Bright, dude, I love your style.” Just like that. He had never, to her knowledge, said those words to Fon. For that reason, Bright liked him more than anyone else she could think of, save Pinkie.
Bright and Fon had been assigned to leisure unit 7 as soon as they arrived at the House of Gear after graduating from the Party Favour Training Centre, where they’d been in separate classes. The unit met at different houses in the Partytainment District. Favours were supposed to use the time to discuss their purpose and ways to improve their productivity, but meetings were really an opportunity to gossip about clients and new surgeries and Mistresses. Favours were on display at work, in public, and any time they weren’t alone in their rooms. Some of them even slept in glass bedrooms so that sleep lookers could watch. Party favour was one of the most 24/7-365 jobs there was, and they needed their down-but-still-fun-time.
The meeting was being held at the House of Gear this month, in an unoccupied lure dressing room on the second floor. Bright waited for Slater to say that he dug her style. She wanted to tell him about the helmet and the light, about the client who went bizarre after she shone the light on him, about the PS officer who was so strange but also kind of nice, and about the extremely important test she was being given by the House of It. But having too many unusual things happen to you was unattractive.
Slater shook out his blond hair again, closed his eyes, and scratched his abdomen, which, she couldn’t help noticing, wasn’t quite as washboardy as it used to be. His six-pack had turned into more of a four-pack.
A wave of tenderness swept over her and she tamped it down. She snuck a nervous glance at the parachute pack she’d brought to the meeting. Inside it was the pink helmet,which, test device or no, made her uneasy. The pack slouched against the far wall of the silvery room. The mirrors and makeup chairs of a standard dressing room had been removed and replaced with comfy ergochairs and semi-beds for lounging.
“Did you hear about that favour at our house?” asked Jane-Smith, who worked at the House of Office. She unbuttoned her beautifully cut suit jacket and the top of her blouse, then unpinned her bun. Her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders. “One of her clients went all blurgh, and she got released.”
“That’s terrible,” said Bluefoam, from the House of Splash. “A favour in our house drowned three weeks ago.”
Cirque, from the House of Bends, wrapped a leg around her head with one hand and inspected the nails on her other hand.
“Hey, you guys,” said Slater. “Let’s keep discussions positive and productive.” With a sidelong glance at Bright, he adjusted his board, which leaned against his lounger, and grinned to show that he wasn’t being a downer.
Bright thought it must be a challenge for Slater to have to carry a surfboard, skis, or a snowboard everywhere he went. At least at the House of Gear the favours could change into off-duty outfits, like the skydiving outfit she had on. Rumour had it that the House of It favours had only to carry their own hotness around.
“So this favour who drowned,” Bright said. “Was it an accident? Or was she released?”
People who were released came back better than ever.
People who died accidentally were just gone, which was depressing and embarrassing.
Bluefoam shrugged. “They just said she drowned. But it was kind of strange because she was in the pink bubble splash pool, which is only like three inches deep. One of the other favours who was there
During leisure unit meetings, favours got to behave in ways they couldn’t any other time. They scratched, picked, prodded, and poked themselves. They burped, sighed, and looked bored. Even light complaining was tolerated. It was glorious. Almost as glorious as watching Slater shake out his bleached hair.
He had this habit of looking deep into her eyes and saying, “Oh, Bright, dude, I love your style.” Just like that. He had never, to her knowledge, said those words to Fon. For that reason, Bright liked him more than anyone else she could think of, save Pinkie.
Bright and Fon had been assigned to leisure unit 7 as soon as they arrived at the House of Gear after graduating from the Party Favour Training Centre, where they’d been in separate classes. The unit met at different houses in the Partytainment District. Favours were supposed to use the time to discuss their purpose and ways to improve their productivity, but meetings were really an opportunity to gossip about clients and new surgeries and Mistresses. Favours were on display at work, in public, and any time they weren’t alone in their rooms. Some of them even slept in glass bedrooms so that sleep lookers could watch. Party favour was one of the most 24/7-365 jobs there was, and they needed their down-but-still-fun-time.
The meeting was being held at the House of Gear this month, in an unoccupied lure dressing room on the second floor. Bright waited for Slater to say that he dug her style. She wanted to tell him about the helmet and the light, about the client who went bizarre after she shone the light on him, about the PS officer who was so strange but also kind of nice, and about the extremely important test she was being given by the House of It. But having too many unusual things happen to you was unattractive.
Slater shook out his blond hair again, closed his eyes, and scratched his abdomen, which, she couldn’t help noticing, wasn’t quite as washboardy as it used to be. His six-pack had turned into more of a four-pack.
A wave of tenderness swept over her and she tamped it down. She snuck a nervous glance at the parachute pack she’d brought to the meeting. Inside it was the pink helmet,which, test device or no, made her uneasy. The pack slouched against the far wall of the silvery room. The mirrors and makeup chairs of a standard dressing room had been removed and replaced with comfy ergochairs and semi-beds for lounging.
“Did you hear about that favour at our house?” asked Jane-Smith, who worked at the House of Office. She unbuttoned her beautifully cut suit jacket and the top of her blouse, then unpinned her bun. Her dark hair tumbled down her shoulders. “One of her clients went all blurgh, and she got released.”
“That’s terrible,” said Bluefoam, from the House of Splash. “A favour in our house drowned three weeks ago.”
Cirque, from the House of Bends, wrapped a leg around her head with one hand and inspected the nails on her other hand.
“Hey, you guys,” said Slater. “Let’s keep discussions positive and productive.” With a sidelong glance at Bright, he adjusted his board, which leaned against his lounger, and grinned to show that he wasn’t being a downer.
Bright thought it must be a challenge for Slater to have to carry a surfboard, skis, or a snowboard everywhere he went. At least at the House of Gear the favours could change into off-duty outfits, like the skydiving outfit she had on. Rumour had it that the House of It favours had only to carry their own hotness around.
“So this favour who drowned,” Bright said. “Was it an accident? Or was she released?”
People who were released came back better than ever.
People who died accidentally were just gone, which was depressing and embarrassing.
Bluefoam shrugged. “They just said she drowned. But it was kind of strange because she was in the pink bubble splash pool, which is only like three inches deep. One of the other favours who was there
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