Straight to work.

After throwing a quarter into the Well of Forbidden Wishes you make your way towards the Inn of the Welcoming Wench and see one of your fellow security guards, Rick Alton, staring up at the painted sign of a buxom tavern wench nearly spilling out of her dress above the inn. A foul mouth, but friendly bloke, with a fetish for nicknaming everyone, Rick served in the navy and has worked for the company for years.

“Oh, hey, Army.” Rick greets you without losing focus on the sign. “Do you think the waitresses here will have tits like that? I'm trying to figure out where I'll have lunch.”

“No idea. This fantasy stuff isn't in my wheel house.”

“Copy that. Though I could deal with some hot coeds in chain-mail bikinis.” Rick turns to you and shakes your hand. “Finally got you off training duty? Working full time this summer until college kicks in?”

“G.I. Bill all the way.” You reply, “though I will still work 20 hours when the semester starts.”

Rick takes out a pack of cigarettes, “I heard you even met corporate himself.”

“Yeah, it was a shock, Mr. Diego is a good guy.” You refuse Rick's offer for a smoke. “He set me up with a company scholarship and told me he could help with an aeronautics job once I graduate.”

“Typical army kiss ass.” Rick smiles, “wait until you meet his daughter, our new boss, a Grade A bitch that one.”

“Why would a daughter of the billionaire owner be put in charge of the rent-a-cop division; the smallest and most backwater section of all of Westmooring?”

“Shit detail.” Rick lights a cigarette. “The scuttlebutt is that she pissed him off and now has to earn her way back into the inheritance.”

“Is she really that bad?” You have to ask.

“Worse. She is a hot as fuck privileged princess who is as cold as a witch's cunt trying to be a by-the-book hard-ass. She's got a log so far up her ass she feels obligated to share the pain with everyone.” Spreading his hands out to the sign, as if evoking the wench for some cosmic wisdom, Rick loudly exclaims, “Why are all the hot bitches so evil?”

“I think you answered your own question.” You joke.

“Fuck right.” Rick grins. “Do you know what we call her? 'Double D', not just for the size of her knockers, which I have to admit are amazing, but as the 'Dominican Dyke.' A bitch that cold must not be getting any cock. A good hard fucking might set her right.” Rick hits you on the shoulder. “Maybe you can take a stab at her Army? Pound some sweet brown Dominican ass? Just don't let daddy find out, though. Until the wedding that is.”

The army certainly has accustomed you to such vulgarities, though you can't help but comment, “The Diego's are from Trinidad and Tobago, not the Dominican Republic.”

“Whatever.” Rick takes another puff of his cigarette. “I have to run back to the car. I forgot my walkie-talkie. See you at the tent, Army.” Rick saunters back to the main gate muttering about how “fucking far” the parking lot is.