World of Warcraft®

((I wanted to post after reading Abom's reply in the Grummack thread, but didn't want to risk completely derailing Kyalin's story with AAMS shenanigans, despite the hilarity of the Grummack/Grummak confusion. I pretty much had the same "huh?" reaction as Aeldgyth...))

Cori Sprocketquill, self-styled receptionist extraordinaire and de facto executive assistant, merrily hummed to herself as she climbed into her seat and prepared to get started on a day's work. To her surprise, there were already two memos from Miss Kettlebomb on her desk from just the previous night.

"Oh! Miss Greyson's officially retired?" she exclaimed as she read the first one. "Poor dear, she's been through so much."

She then sighed mournfully as she read the second memo. "And Miss Kezrin's out sick. She's been looking a little green...er."

The gnome then frowned, rereading the notice carefully. Sure, Miss Kettlebomb was going to be busy handling two branches' worth of work, but to cancel all meetings for a week?

Cori waited anxiously for the bossgnome to arrive, skimming through the morning's papers. (Grummak was in Ironforge? Oh, no, no, that was GrummaCk. A sigh of relief.)

At last the white hat appeared in the doorway. "Miss Kettlebomb! A word! Are you quite serious about cancelling everything? You know how upset people will be?"

"Can't be helped," Derscha shook her head sorrowfully. "We're already behind, and we can't enter Winter Veil season struggling to keep up. Half the senior staff's out busy taking care of looking for Miss Sunhawk, or else I'd assign one of them, and we don't have a second manager anymore. Were there any truly important meetings that can't be put off for a week?"

"Uh.... there's the harbormaster, and the inspector from Undercity...."

Derscha tilted her head with a thoughtful frown. "Well, those are pretty routine. They only need someone to show them a few things and sign a few papers. Anyone competent can- ah!"

Derscha's eyes gleamed with amusement. "A solution! I need to find someone competent to be manager, and anyone competent can handle those jobs. So we'll do a little test. If you get anyone applying for manager, have them deal with all of our visitors."

Cori nodded in relief. "Make sense to me."

"Good, good. Now don't bother me unless something truly important comes up."

Cori settled back at her desk, glad to have a solution.

She somewhat pitied whoever was foolish enough to apply for the cursed position.

Abominus arrived at the AAMS offices. He took a number from the kiosk, then sat down in the waiting room.

The Great Maggotini, the 156th Imperial Maggot Orchestra and the Lordaeron Ghostly Opera Company arrived, and began to set up a stage for an impromptu production of Shakebones' magnificent epic, " Hamstring the Living".

The Maggot Lord sent for take out troll cuisine, and removed his binoculars so he and his Maggots of Extreme Eyesight and Mind Numbing Lacrimal Horror could observe the production.

Maggots scurried out of the offices, carrying handbills and posters.

Brae was on her way to the front, having just tucked her own application in Derscha's box, along with the testimonials of at least one witch doctor and six different types of priest that Avanidra Reece had officially left the building- or in this case, Brae's head. She hadn't yet been officially re-instated, but then the persistent staff shortage didn't seem like that was going to make much of a difference.

She was nearly to the waiting room when Cori cleared her throat slightly. "Err, Miss Sunhawk? Did I catch you slipping an application into the boss's inbox?" Brae paused, nodding at the gnome.

"Y-Yes, q-quite. I was h-hoping to di-discuss it w-with her wh-when we t-talk about my c-coming back to work."

"We-ell....lucky day, then!" The gnome rocked on her heels a bit, hands held behind her back, doing her best to look as...optimistically encouraging as possible?

Brae tugged a curl, a hint of amusement curling her lips even while a small knot formed in her stomach. "Is it, th-then?"

Cori nodded vigorously. "Oh, sure! Miss Kettlebomb asked that any applicants handle visitors at the current time. And you just happen to be in the right place at the right time! VIP and everything."

A dark auburn brow lifted and she tugged the curl again. "I s-see. W-Well, I'll s-see wh-what I can d-do." She let the hint of a smile bloom into one of her usual welcoming ones and did her best to smooth the wrinkles in her skirts. No use with the curls, they would continue to spring free from the kerchief she had them pulled back from her face with however they liked. She had no idea what the necromancer had done to smooth them and frankly, no desire to try. "Th-thank you for the update, Miss Sp-Sprocketquill. I'll h-handle th-things from here."

With a deep breath, she straightened her gloves and made her way to the front room, which seemed to have sprouted quite an intriguing population of its own. She turned the smile up another notch of warm greeting and nodded politely to the gentleman sitting amidst the chaos. "G-Good afternoon. My n-name is B-Brae. H-how can the AAMS b-be of s-service today?"

((I wanted to post after reading Abom's reply in the Grummack thread, but didn't want to risk completely derailing Kyalin's story with AAMS shenanigans, despite the hilarity of the Grummack/Grummak confusion. I pretty much had the same "huh?" reaction as Aeldgyth...))

((I suspect that I must have named him after someone who was here before my time or someone I just missed, in either case, its rather embarassing... here I thought I was being original!))

((I suspect that I must have named him after someone who was here before my time or someone I just missed, in either case, its rather embarassing... here I thought I was being original!))

((It's great! Confusions like that happen all the time IRL. Run with it. It's already added some unplanned fun to the plotline.))

"Yesss, we have decided to sssupport Grummak'sss quessst to conquer Ironforge, and have sssecured a coffin in your warehousssesss, the location to be kept confidential, yesss. Our maggotsss are going to need a room to practice their operatic intriguesss, yesss. We trussst the ssstandard ratesss will apply, yesss?"

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( random bits of AAMS related screaming, and Abominus suddenly vanishing into the warehouse at the last possible second before anyone notices)

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A goblin, sweating and bedraggled, staggered into the Booty Bay offices. He carried a large sea trunk on his hunched shoulders. Setting it down with a crash in the lobby, he looked about at all the maggots performing various musical acts.

"Yep, the right place alright," he said. He then stretched his aching back. "I gotta get outta dis business, it's killin' me back, I tells ya." He looks at the receptionist, a young and flustered looking elf. " Hey there, young thing. I gotta a trunk here packed wit' da Maggot Lord's travel accessories. He ordered 'em delivered here ta youse, though why he didn' hire alla youse I don' know in da foist place. Sign here on dis invoice, toots. He said he had a coffin o' his stashed in yer warehouse, secrit like."

The chest, labeled ominously "AAMS Shipment", growled menacingly, a noisome greenish mist slowly seeping from it.