The Oncoming Storm

Cecilia Pine

Cecilia was pissed. Her coffee machine stopped working this morning, she was stuck in a traffic jam on her way to work (not that her boss cared enough about anything she did there to bother reprimanding her), she found out that her favorite model, a blonde, Russian bombshell named Natalia Vorona, was taking a 3-month hiatus—but it wasn’t as if she was mad at the model herself, or anything. Cecilia had a thorough appreciation for how hard models have to work. After all, it’s a cutthroat industry, and they always have to be at their best. Then, when she thought she was in the home stretch of her workday as a consultant at her daddy’s golf buddy’s real estate firm (which consisted of writing exactly 2 emails and bemoaning that she’d have less to write about on her blog for the foreseeable future), her boss told her to pack her bags. No, she wasn’t fired or anything, they were sending her as their representative on a business trip to some bed & breakfast out in the boonies, apparently sponsored by a company they’d recently partnered with: HH Property Planning.

It was already dusk by the time she arrived and got out of her car, parking on the shoulder. No way am I walking on gravel in heels. The valet can handle it. Seriously, though—they couldn’t afford to pave the damn parking lot? I guess it’s not surprising, considering how few cars are parked out here, not to mention how old and beat up one of them is. If that’s what the people who stay here drive, I doubt this place was worth sending me to. She checked her appearance in her phone’s front camera, making sure she looked perfect, as always. Her vivid red hair flowed down to between her shoulder blades. Her makeup was still just as she had left it when she touched it up before leaving, but her clothes needed to be adjusted somewhat, slightly askew from the car ride. Today she had chosen a cream-colored sleeveless turtleneck, a burgundy skirt, and black tights and heels. Finished with her adjustments, she turned toward the building.

“Lily Garden, huh? They’d better be keeping them out back, or I’ll be having a talk with Daddy’s lawyers about false advertisement,” she muttered to herself as she made her way into the empty lobby. Impatiently tapping her foot, she waited for a few moments before loudly clearing her throat… then loudly clearing her throat again… it wasn’t until the third attempt that she realized she could hear faint conversation from out in the garden. Checking her watch, she decided that her 94—now 95—second wait was more than long enough.

“Where the hell is everybody!? I don’t have all night! Do you morons have any idea what customer service is!?” The clacking of her heels rang out through the garden as she stormed down the cobblestone path toward a large, well-lit pavilion. She quickly made her way to the group assembled there, before her gaze zeroed in on a familiar face, looking so excited to see her. Her pace slowed as she finished her approach, before smugly crossing her arms as she addressed her prey.

“Oh, Adam, It’s so nice to see you again! What’s it been, 8 years?” Though her words dripped with honey, it was clearly poisonous. “So, sissy boy—are you the one who’s been keeping me waiting in the lobby? Tsk, tsk. Such a poor excuse for service. Tell you what—if you go out and take care of my car and my luggage, and then kiss my feet as you beg for forgiveness, I promise I won’t put in a complaint with your boss. Heck, I’ll even put in a good word for you. So good, in fact, it might even get you promoted.” Her blue eyes gleamed with the predatory hunger of a wolf, ready to pounce on a helpless rabbit.

“I don’t actually work here yet, Cecilia,” Adam replied with a note of exhaustion. Though at this rate, you might get me fired before I even start. He wisely chose not to voice that thought. “And even if you had gotten here after my onboarding, I’m here as IT support, not a valet or a bellhop.”

“HEY! I don’t know who the hell you think you are, and I don’t care! I’m not just gonna sit here and let you talk to my friend like that! You seriously know this bitch, Adam?” Erica leapt to her friend’s defense, having recovered from her shock at the audacity of the woman in front of her.

“You said it, Erica!” Aoba joined in, though remaining seated, as her legs were still unsteady. “It doesn’t matter who you are—nobody deserves to be spoken to like that! Who is this awful woman, Adam?!”

“Oh? Friends? Or is one of them your girlfriend?” Cecilia’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, looking the two other women up and down. “I doubt it’s the tall one—she looks like she just spent the day at a rug-munching convention. So, is it the shrimp with no tits, then?”

“I’LL SHOW YOU RUG-MUNCHING!!”

“She went too far, Adam! LET’S KILL DA HO!!”

“Erica, you suck at threats. Aoba, calm down. You’re not my Stand, and I’m pretty sure you and I are the only ones here who get that reference.” Adam let out a sigh before continuing. “Erica, Aoba, this is Cecilia Pine. We went to middle school and high school together. If you pay attention to state politics, you might’ve heard of her father, Douglas Pine, a local preacher currently serving in the Missouri Senate,” Adam introduced the redhead, showing as much enthusiasm as she’d shown restraint. “Cecilia, the ‘tall one’ is Erica. We lived next door to each other growing up. The ‘shrimp’ is Aoba. She and I are online friends,” Adam finished the introductions, making sure to use air quotes to show that he was merely borrowing Cecilia’s terms.

“Come now, Adam. After all the time we’ve spent together, I’m still just your classmate? You spent more time telling them about my daddy than you did me.” Cecilia complained, actually appearing saddened by the short introduction. What’s the deal? He’s barely reacting. Dammit, he’s supposed to get flustered and upset. What’s even the point if he’s just gonna there like a dead fish? She pouted as she snuck a glance toward Erica once again. Erica, huh?

“So, I just remembered—what are you doing all the way in Missouri, Aoba? Don’t you live in San Francisco?” Adam turned to Aoba, decidedly ignoring Cecilia.

“Missouri? What are you talking about? We’re in—”

“Stop ignoring me, Adam! We’re not done, yet!” Cecilia stepped closer, attempting to get in Adam’s face.

CLAP! The sound bounced around the floor and pillars of the pavilion, and they all turned to Sera, standing with her palms pressed together.

“Enough, ladies! While I appreciate your enthusiasm, we do have a schedule to keep. Miss Pine, welcome. I am Sera, the manager here. Don’t worry, your car and luggage are already being attended to. I do hope your stay will be a productive one. For now, however, could you please sit down and answer a few questions for our audience.” Managing to remain sounding composed, if a bit vexed, Sera motioned for Cecilia to sit in yet another previously unnoticed chair.

“Audience? Now, hold on just a damn minute; I never gave you permission to film me! Where are those cameras?! I’ll be having a chat with Daddy’s lawyers about thi—wha—AAAH!!” Cecilia’s tirade was cut short as the chair collided with the back of her knees, knocking her off balance and into the seat, before sliding back to its previous position.

“As I was saying, please tell our viewers your name, age, occupation, cup size, and most recent sexual encounter.”

“WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP, PERVERTED, SEXUAL HARASSME—I’m Cecilia Pine, 25 years old. I work as a consultant at a real estate firm owned by one of my daddy’s friends, but I don’t really do anything there. If I were to actually be honest about my profession, it would be amateur fashion blogger. I have C-cups, and my most recent sexual encounter was 2 days ago. I had sex with my boyfriend, but it was really disappointing because he couldn’t keep rhythm if his dick were a metronome, and he only lasted a couple minutes. I kicked him out of my room when he was done, so I could finish the job that he was clearly unqualified for. I don’t even really like him that much—I’m only dating him because he’s my boss’ son. Though, now I’m getting worried because my daddy is pushing me to hurry up and get married, but I don’t wanna get married—They’ll expect me to just stay at home and pop out kids ‘like a good wife,’ but that’s not really me, y’know. Not that I have any problem with the stay-at-home mom lifestyle—I actually really respect parents that devote that much time to taking care of their kids, because mine sure didn’t, and—” Cecilia had been rambling in monotone for an uncomfortable amount of time when Sera finally snapped her fingers, bringing Cecilia out of her trance-induced candor. Oops, went a bit too hard on that one, Sera admonished herself. Dammit, Sera, you're a professional, not some loose cannon like Yuki or—Producers forbid, Azure. Losing composure like that is a one-way ticket to becoming some braindead bimbo, or even worse— an Assistant Host.

“Wait, what was I just—” Cecilia muttered, recovering from the daze left by whatever **** compelled her to answer. She quickly resumed shouting “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME!? I DON’T KNOW WHAT KIND OF **** YOU MANAGED TO SLIP ME, BUT YOU ARE FINISHED!! I WILL SUE YOUR ASS SO FAR INTO THE GROUND YOU’LL BE SHITTING IN CHINA!! I SWEAR TO—" Cecilia’s voice suddenly stopped with a wave of Sera’s hand, not that that stopped her from silently screaming every curse she could think to throw. If one had telepathy, they would have been able to hear the other 3 guests, in chorus: Damn, I don’t know what she did, but I have got to get her to teach me that trick.

“Now that calm has somewhat returned, let us move on. It’s already past time for our next guest to arrive,” Sera sighed as she checked a pocket watch she had pulled from fold in her dress.

“Yes—um, I’ve actually been standing here for the past minute, or so—I just wasn’t sure when it would be appropriate for me to interrupt…” A calm, albeit uncertain, voice drew everyone’s attention to a woman standing at the entrance to the pavilion.