Ducky crackfic!
I am joining the Crack Bunny team! And appropriately, I come bearing crackfic.
Insanity and a Duck
Ducky had always tended to become just a little too enthusiastic about things he found “cool”. He edged over that fine line between enthusiasm and pathological obsession. This was fine, albeit annoying, back when he lived in the twenty-first century in the midst of his closest friends. The problem now was that he was no longer Ducky; he was Specialist Thibodeaux. Specialist Thibodeaux could not regale the entire mess with tales of how “awesome” it was that his great-grandfather, “The Terminator”, was actually younger than he was, and “[did his] grandfather being illegitimate make [Ducky himself] illegitimate? Did illegitimacy get passed down through generations? Because if so, [he] actually felt kind of badass and rage-against-the-machine-ish about the whole thing. And how cool [was] Granddad? Check out the metal arm!”
He was quite fortunate in that Edward Elric, the aforementioned Terminator/Granddad/baby-daddy, was not present in the mess at the time. Those who were present were too terrified to be at ground zero when Ed found out to tell him, no matter how sorely tempted, and Ducky lived on. Damage control via General Mustang centered around a rumor that, while brilliant, poor Specialist Thibodeaux could be (quite harmlessly!) delusional from time to time. It also centered around banning Ducky from the mess for all time.
The occupants of a certain office in Central command had many “least favorites” of Specialist Thibodeaux’s obsessions, varying with exactly how much each one had tormented their lives on a given day. Unfortunately, one of the most enduring of these fixations resided in the very same building:
Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong.
************************************
Reilly would be eternally grateful to many of the Elrics’ military acquaintances for their efforts to help transition to life in this new world. Riza Hawkeye in particular did everything in her power to help. However, Reilly felt there was no doubt that the most openly delighted to (attempt to) contribute to the comfort of The Friends Of The Elrics was Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. Alex seemed to adore the brothers, and being very fond of Ed and Al herself, Reilly understood this to some extent. There was just a certain edge to his affection that that bordered on reverence as he praised Ed’s unparalleled, self-sacrificing, awe-inspiring love for his brother Al that seemed a bit extreme.
Alex’s Elric-mania was immediately expanded to include Ducky after the simplest of explanations that he was somehow related to Ed and Al, and had chosen to leave his own world to be with them. The enormous man seemed to leave the details of the relationship for later and had Ducky snatched into an Elric group-crush to his chest before Ducky had time for anything more than an awe-struck stare. Upon being released he dazedly rubbed his tender ribs, wondering if Arnold Schwarzenegger was that large in person. Probably not.
Reilly could see at the time the dawning of a mutual obsession. Looking between Alex’s dewy eyes as he declaimed about yet another instance of Elric True Familial Love, and Ducky’s thunderstruck expression, she immediately knew she would be hearing lots about this giant of a man in the near future.
A few months passed, injuries healed, the group of newcomers began to settle into various positions as civilian consultants for General Mustang, and Reilly began to understand the dynamics of the members of Mustang’s command. While clearly absolutely trusted by all, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong’s approach invariably resulted in a mad scramble to escape from his path. She could also see exactly why this was the case.
Part of it was the surprise-attack nature of his appearance. One minute, peace and quiet; the next, a booming voice and the entire staff scattering like cockroaches when the porch light turns on. Sometimes hasty excuses were flung over shoulders; some simply bolted. Another part of it was his tendency to claim the smallest of skills “A TECHNIQUE PASSED DOWN THROUGH THE ARMSTRONG FAMILY FOR GENERATIONS” about which he could wax quite emotional. But mostly it was what Lieutenants Havoc and Breda had long ago dubbed the *sparklyFLEX*.
It wasn’t so much the sparkly. It was really the FLEX. The shirt-ripping, muscle-baring, anatomy-defying FLEX.
The pink sparkles just defied all logic and reason, but Reilly was fairly immune to the oddities of this parallel world by now. However, she had never, never needed to see that much of a body that scarily muscled so very, very often. It was blinding. And - although trying her hardest not to take much of a closer look - Reilly was almost certain that some of those muscles didn’t actually exist in the normal human anatomy, unless Alex had some sort of weird herniation. It didn’t bear thinking about. And… it was eye bleeding, please-Goddess-let-it-stop, nomorenonmorenomore, blinding.
And Ducky encouraged it.
“Hi Lieutenant Colonel! I was wondering if you could help me with something…”
ARMSTRONG FAMILY HISTORY declaration: 15 min.
“Hi Lieutenant Colonel! I was wondering, can I call you Dr. B.? See, it refers to this incredibly muscled superhero, and it of course made me think of you…”
*sparklyFLEX* + EXTENDED THANKS + IMPORTANCE OF FITNESS + ARMSTRONG FAMILY TRADITIONAL WORKOUT TECHNIQUE LECTURE: 47 min.
“Say Dr. B., you should stop by the office later! You should see what I’ve been working on! And make suggestions!”
PROMISE TO ATTEND + COMPLETELY GRATUITOUS *sparklyFLEX*: 11 min.
Total time no one present was ever going to see again: 1 hour, 3 minutes.
And that was at precisely 0923 hours.
Mustang’s early attempts to deal with the Ducky-Armstrong problem: order Ducky not to pursue Armstrong; order Ducky not to pursue Armstrong while conspicuously tugging on gloves; order Ducky not to pursue Armstrong while lighting Havoc’s cigarette from across the room.
None succeeded. And such was the situation on The Tuesday When Mustang Had Enough.
Mustang decided he detested Tuesdays. This one in particular had begun with his victimization by a mediocre coffee. Both the stack of paperwork on his desk and the one menacing him from Captain Hawkeye’s (paperwork had a nasty habit of migrating from her desk to his) were far too tall to face on a crap cup of coffee. He decided a walk was in order, both to clear his head and perhaps secure a better cup of coffee. He carefully waited until the Captain was fairly boxed into the cramped corner with the bank of filing cabinets until announcing, “I think I should go check on Thibodeaux’s progress, Captain. I’ll be back shortly,” and bolting from the office. Ha, he thought. Good one, Roy.
It was a lovely day, and he decided to stop by Ducky’s office briefly before heading for a bit of stroll past the coffee vendor outside. Experience had taught him to wait until after stopping by Ducky’s office before purchasing his coffee, as it was occasionally occupied by a crowd of filthy coffee stealers (Edward Elric.) But yes, yes he would get a nice cuppa on the way back to his own office. The sort that he could hide behind when slinking past Riza back to his desk. Funny how you couldn’t meet a person’s eyes while tipping your head very, very far back to take a swallow of coffee.
There was indeed a babble of Elric voices as he walked down the hall. Al as well as Edward.
“-y General Trogdor for Mustang?”
“It’s better than ‘Colonel Shit’, Brother,” came Alphonse’s reproachful voice.
“It’s complimentary!” That was Ducky. “I can’t believe I never got you to watch Strongbad e-mails. Anyway, so they were like these on-line cartoons, and in one of them the main character draws a dragon -“
“Oh, the whole glorified lighter thing.” Roy’s footsteps began to quicken. He hated Ducky’s nicknames.
“When it’s Trogdor, it’s called ‘burnination’!”
“That isn’t a word.”
“It is now. It’s an awesome word. And there’s a song!”
“No, Ducky, you really don’t need to -“
“Trogdor was a MAN -“
“Please, Ducky -“
“I mean he was a DRAGON MAN -‘
Roy was a few yards away from the door.
“But he was still TROGDORRRRRRRR! - you have to think of this with crazy awesome electric guitar accompaniment - TROGDORRRRRRRRR!”
A few feet away. The wailing continued amidst muted protests.
“We get the idea, Ducky -“
“Ducky, I’m going to fucking hurt you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“…burninating the countryside, burninating the peasants, burninating the peoples, aaaaaand their thatch-roofed COTTA-AGE-ESSSSS. THEIR TATCHED-ROOF COTTA-AGE-E-ESSSSSSSSS!!!!”
Quite tone-deaf, that Ducky.
Roy stood in the doorway. Ed and Al were facing the door, while Ducky sat with his back to it and continued caterwauling. Al’s eyes grew wide as only Elric eyes could with a slight cringe, but also a trembling mouth as he struggled very hard not to laugh at the expense of a man who had really done a lot for him and his brother. Ed saw him and began to snicker, and was soon doubled over in laughter. Ducky finally realized something was happening behind him, turned, and choked on mid-wail. “General Trogdor!” he greeted brightly. The sounds of people in the office above banging on the floor and hollering for quiet could now be heard before they broke off with a very clear chorus of “finally”s.
Ed began making peculiar wheezing noises.
“Specialist Thibodeaux. We have discussed the impropriety of nicknames in a workplace setting.”
“Well, it was just Gramps and Uncle Al -“
“And whoever happened to be walking down this corridor or above this corridor or anywhere nearby. Nicknames are not. APPROPRIATE. Particularly when public discussion of them could raise questions about your…origins.” Pause. “Your nose is bleeding, Fullmetal.”
Roy found himself storming back to his own office with a pulsing vein in his temple. His staff glanced up as he entered and quickly bent their heads back over their work. Experience had taught them all that inquiries over “what the matter was” when the General returned from speaking with Specialist Thibodeaux were inadvisable. And bloody hell, he had forgotten all about getting the good coffee. He decided to give the office pot another go. It had been rebrewed since the morning.
The General’s second cup of coffee was also mediocre.
A few hours later, Ducky appeared to give a report Mustang had tried hard to forget was due. Ducky’s current research focused on cataloguing potential titanium deposits based on ores currently being mined throughout Amestris. Reilly and Tom’s jaws had fallen to the floor when Ducky volunteered knowledge of the “Kroll process,” a twentieth century technique for extracting pure titanium far superior to the costly and inefficient process currently in use in Amestris. Apparently his high-school chemistry class had spawned an interest in the “space age metal” and a final project on the chemical reactions used to refine it. Who knew?
Possibly the worst thing about Ducky was the fact he was actually extremely useful.
“Specialist Ducky, reporting as ordered, sir, General Mustang, sir!” with an exaggerated salute.
Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose. “Specialist Thibodeaux,” he began, “Please identify yourself by your proper name and rank. As you will recall, nicknames are not appropriate in a military setting.” Pause. Mustang’s eyes unfortunately fell to the floor.
“What have you done to your boots.” His voice was so flat it came out sounding like more of a statement than a question. Ducky’s boots were somewhat battered, with the now gleaming exception of a smiley face on each toe and what appeared to be lightning bolts down the sides of the left, and DUCKMEISTER on the outside of the right.
“Ah. Well, you know how you suggested I polish my boots…?”
Mustang took a deep breath. “After this meeting, Thibodeaux, you will report to the commissary for a tin of shoe-polish, after which you will apply the polish to the entirety of your boots, after which you will return to work. In the future,” Mustang continued in the tightly contained tone of voice his staff had become to recognize as that reserved particularly for Ducky, “you will maintain your boots in the fashion dictated by military dress code. Now please deliver your results. In a timely manner.”
“Well, sir… I’m actually waiting for my special consultant -“
“Your what?”
“Well, I don’t know much about mining, but I found someone who’s actually kind of an expert when it comes to heavy earth-moving -“
“GENERAL MUSTANG, SIR. YOUNG SPECIALIST THIBODEAUX HAS INFORMED ME I MAY BE ABLE TO BE OF SERVICE TO HIS PROJECT.” Sparkle.
(“Spicy food for lunch.”)
(“Smoke break.”)
(“I need to call my mother.”)
(“Wait for me!”)
“Ah, Lieutenant Colonel. It is very kind of you to be willing to lend your expertise -“
“IT IS MY PLEASURE, SIR.”
“Yes, thank you. However, I think Specialist Thibodeaux -“
“I HAVE BEEN COLLABORATING WITH THE YOUNG MAN AND WE HAVE PREPARED AN EXTENDED REVIEW OF OUR PROGRESS FOR YOU.”
“Ah. Er. That’s wonderful. However, I’d prefer you made it as brief as possible, as my afternoon is rather full…”
“Your schedule is clear until four o’clock, sir. I’ll be spending a few hours at the shooting range until then.”
“Ah. Thank you, Captain.” I hate you, Riza.
“Great! Take it away, Dr. B.!”
“No nicknames.”
************************************
“Huh. No windows.”
“Well, it is in a basement. The quiet will help you concentrate while preparing written reports. You can just drop them in the Headquarters’ interior mail when you finish.”
“I need windows! How can I work in these conditions?”
“Quietly. In private.”
“And it’s so small.”
“Visitors are a distraction.”
“And everyone else is three buildings over!”
“Precisely.”
Insanity and a Duck
Ducky had always tended to become just a little too enthusiastic about things he found “cool”. He edged over that fine line between enthusiasm and pathological obsession. This was fine, albeit annoying, back when he lived in the twenty-first century in the midst of his closest friends. The problem now was that he was no longer Ducky; he was Specialist Thibodeaux. Specialist Thibodeaux could not regale the entire mess with tales of how “awesome” it was that his great-grandfather, “The Terminator”, was actually younger than he was, and “[did his] grandfather being illegitimate make [Ducky himself] illegitimate? Did illegitimacy get passed down through generations? Because if so, [he] actually felt kind of badass and rage-against-the-machine-ish about the whole thing. And how cool [was] Granddad? Check out the metal arm!”
He was quite fortunate in that Edward Elric, the aforementioned Terminator/Granddad/baby-daddy, was not present in the mess at the time. Those who were present were too terrified to be at ground zero when Ed found out to tell him, no matter how sorely tempted, and Ducky lived on. Damage control via General Mustang centered around a rumor that, while brilliant, poor Specialist Thibodeaux could be (quite harmlessly!) delusional from time to time. It also centered around banning Ducky from the mess for all time.
The occupants of a certain office in Central command had many “least favorites” of Specialist Thibodeaux’s obsessions, varying with exactly how much each one had tormented their lives on a given day. Unfortunately, one of the most enduring of these fixations resided in the very same building:
Lieutenant Colonel Alex Louis Armstrong.
************************************
Reilly would be eternally grateful to many of the Elrics’ military acquaintances for their efforts to help transition to life in this new world. Riza Hawkeye in particular did everything in her power to help. However, Reilly felt there was no doubt that the most openly delighted to (attempt to) contribute to the comfort of The Friends Of The Elrics was Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. Alex seemed to adore the brothers, and being very fond of Ed and Al herself, Reilly understood this to some extent. There was just a certain edge to his affection that that bordered on reverence as he praised Ed’s unparalleled, self-sacrificing, awe-inspiring love for his brother Al that seemed a bit extreme.
Alex’s Elric-mania was immediately expanded to include Ducky after the simplest of explanations that he was somehow related to Ed and Al, and had chosen to leave his own world to be with them. The enormous man seemed to leave the details of the relationship for later and had Ducky snatched into an Elric group-crush to his chest before Ducky had time for anything more than an awe-struck stare. Upon being released he dazedly rubbed his tender ribs, wondering if Arnold Schwarzenegger was that large in person. Probably not.
Reilly could see at the time the dawning of a mutual obsession. Looking between Alex’s dewy eyes as he declaimed about yet another instance of Elric True Familial Love, and Ducky’s thunderstruck expression, she immediately knew she would be hearing lots about this giant of a man in the near future.
A few months passed, injuries healed, the group of newcomers began to settle into various positions as civilian consultants for General Mustang, and Reilly began to understand the dynamics of the members of Mustang’s command. While clearly absolutely trusted by all, Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong’s approach invariably resulted in a mad scramble to escape from his path. She could also see exactly why this was the case.
Part of it was the surprise-attack nature of his appearance. One minute, peace and quiet; the next, a booming voice and the entire staff scattering like cockroaches when the porch light turns on. Sometimes hasty excuses were flung over shoulders; some simply bolted. Another part of it was his tendency to claim the smallest of skills “A TECHNIQUE PASSED DOWN THROUGH THE ARMSTRONG FAMILY FOR GENERATIONS” about which he could wax quite emotional. But mostly it was what Lieutenants Havoc and Breda had long ago dubbed the *sparklyFLEX*.
It wasn’t so much the sparkly. It was really the FLEX. The shirt-ripping, muscle-baring, anatomy-defying FLEX.
The pink sparkles just defied all logic and reason, but Reilly was fairly immune to the oddities of this parallel world by now. However, she had never, never needed to see that much of a body that scarily muscled so very, very often. It was blinding. And - although trying her hardest not to take much of a closer look - Reilly was almost certain that some of those muscles didn’t actually exist in the normal human anatomy, unless Alex had some sort of weird herniation. It didn’t bear thinking about. And… it was eye bleeding, please-Goddess-let-it-stop, nomorenonmorenomore, blinding.
And Ducky encouraged it.
“Hi Lieutenant Colonel! I was wondering if you could help me with something…”
ARMSTRONG FAMILY HISTORY declaration: 15 min.
“Hi Lieutenant Colonel! I was wondering, can I call you Dr. B.? See, it refers to this incredibly muscled superhero, and it of course made me think of you…”
*sparklyFLEX* + EXTENDED THANKS + IMPORTANCE OF FITNESS + ARMSTRONG FAMILY TRADITIONAL WORKOUT TECHNIQUE LECTURE: 47 min.
“Say Dr. B., you should stop by the office later! You should see what I’ve been working on! And make suggestions!”
PROMISE TO ATTEND + COMPLETELY GRATUITOUS *sparklyFLEX*: 11 min.
Total time no one present was ever going to see again: 1 hour, 3 minutes.
And that was at precisely 0923 hours.
Mustang’s early attempts to deal with the Ducky-Armstrong problem: order Ducky not to pursue Armstrong; order Ducky not to pursue Armstrong while conspicuously tugging on gloves; order Ducky not to pursue Armstrong while lighting Havoc’s cigarette from across the room.
None succeeded. And such was the situation on The Tuesday When Mustang Had Enough.
Mustang decided he detested Tuesdays. This one in particular had begun with his victimization by a mediocre coffee. Both the stack of paperwork on his desk and the one menacing him from Captain Hawkeye’s (paperwork had a nasty habit of migrating from her desk to his) were far too tall to face on a crap cup of coffee. He decided a walk was in order, both to clear his head and perhaps secure a better cup of coffee. He carefully waited until the Captain was fairly boxed into the cramped corner with the bank of filing cabinets until announcing, “I think I should go check on Thibodeaux’s progress, Captain. I’ll be back shortly,” and bolting from the office. Ha, he thought. Good one, Roy.
It was a lovely day, and he decided to stop by Ducky’s office briefly before heading for a bit of stroll past the coffee vendor outside. Experience had taught him to wait until after stopping by Ducky’s office before purchasing his coffee, as it was occasionally occupied by a crowd of filthy coffee stealers (Edward Elric.) But yes, yes he would get a nice cuppa on the way back to his own office. The sort that he could hide behind when slinking past Riza back to his desk. Funny how you couldn’t meet a person’s eyes while tipping your head very, very far back to take a swallow of coffee.
There was indeed a babble of Elric voices as he walked down the hall. Al as well as Edward.
“-y General Trogdor for Mustang?”
“It’s better than ‘Colonel Shit’, Brother,” came Alphonse’s reproachful voice.
“It’s complimentary!” That was Ducky. “I can’t believe I never got you to watch Strongbad e-mails. Anyway, so they were like these on-line cartoons, and in one of them the main character draws a dragon -“
“Oh, the whole glorified lighter thing.” Roy’s footsteps began to quicken. He hated Ducky’s nicknames.
“When it’s Trogdor, it’s called ‘burnination’!”
“That isn’t a word.”
“It is now. It’s an awesome word. And there’s a song!”
“No, Ducky, you really don’t need to -“
“Trogdor was a MAN -“
“Please, Ducky -“
“I mean he was a DRAGON MAN -‘
Roy was a few yards away from the door.
“But he was still TROGDORRRRRRRR! - you have to think of this with crazy awesome electric guitar accompaniment - TROGDORRRRRRRRR!”
A few feet away. The wailing continued amidst muted protests.
“We get the idea, Ducky -“
“Ducky, I’m going to fucking hurt you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”
“…burninating the countryside, burninating the peasants, burninating the peoples, aaaaaand their thatch-roofed COTTA-AGE-ESSSSS. THEIR TATCHED-ROOF COTTA-AGE-E-ESSSSSSSSS!!!!”
Quite tone-deaf, that Ducky.
Roy stood in the doorway. Ed and Al were facing the door, while Ducky sat with his back to it and continued caterwauling. Al’s eyes grew wide as only Elric eyes could with a slight cringe, but also a trembling mouth as he struggled very hard not to laugh at the expense of a man who had really done a lot for him and his brother. Ed saw him and began to snicker, and was soon doubled over in laughter. Ducky finally realized something was happening behind him, turned, and choked on mid-wail. “General Trogdor!” he greeted brightly. The sounds of people in the office above banging on the floor and hollering for quiet could now be heard before they broke off with a very clear chorus of “finally”s.
Ed began making peculiar wheezing noises.
“Specialist Thibodeaux. We have discussed the impropriety of nicknames in a workplace setting.”
“Well, it was just Gramps and Uncle Al -“
“And whoever happened to be walking down this corridor or above this corridor or anywhere nearby. Nicknames are not. APPROPRIATE. Particularly when public discussion of them could raise questions about your…origins.” Pause. “Your nose is bleeding, Fullmetal.”
Roy found himself storming back to his own office with a pulsing vein in his temple. His staff glanced up as he entered and quickly bent their heads back over their work. Experience had taught them all that inquiries over “what the matter was” when the General returned from speaking with Specialist Thibodeaux were inadvisable. And bloody hell, he had forgotten all about getting the good coffee. He decided to give the office pot another go. It had been rebrewed since the morning.
The General’s second cup of coffee was also mediocre.
A few hours later, Ducky appeared to give a report Mustang had tried hard to forget was due. Ducky’s current research focused on cataloguing potential titanium deposits based on ores currently being mined throughout Amestris. Reilly and Tom’s jaws had fallen to the floor when Ducky volunteered knowledge of the “Kroll process,” a twentieth century technique for extracting pure titanium far superior to the costly and inefficient process currently in use in Amestris. Apparently his high-school chemistry class had spawned an interest in the “space age metal” and a final project on the chemical reactions used to refine it. Who knew?
Possibly the worst thing about Ducky was the fact he was actually extremely useful.
“Specialist Ducky, reporting as ordered, sir, General Mustang, sir!” with an exaggerated salute.
Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose. “Specialist Thibodeaux,” he began, “Please identify yourself by your proper name and rank. As you will recall, nicknames are not appropriate in a military setting.” Pause. Mustang’s eyes unfortunately fell to the floor.
“What have you done to your boots.” His voice was so flat it came out sounding like more of a statement than a question. Ducky’s boots were somewhat battered, with the now gleaming exception of a smiley face on each toe and what appeared to be lightning bolts down the sides of the left, and DUCKMEISTER on the outside of the right.
“Ah. Well, you know how you suggested I polish my boots…?”
Mustang took a deep breath. “After this meeting, Thibodeaux, you will report to the commissary for a tin of shoe-polish, after which you will apply the polish to the entirety of your boots, after which you will return to work. In the future,” Mustang continued in the tightly contained tone of voice his staff had become to recognize as that reserved particularly for Ducky, “you will maintain your boots in the fashion dictated by military dress code. Now please deliver your results. In a timely manner.”
“Well, sir… I’m actually waiting for my special consultant -“
“Your what?”
“Well, I don’t know much about mining, but I found someone who’s actually kind of an expert when it comes to heavy earth-moving -“
“GENERAL MUSTANG, SIR. YOUNG SPECIALIST THIBODEAUX HAS INFORMED ME I MAY BE ABLE TO BE OF SERVICE TO HIS PROJECT.” Sparkle.
(“Spicy food for lunch.”)
(“Smoke break.”)
(“I need to call my mother.”)
(“Wait for me!”)
“Ah, Lieutenant Colonel. It is very kind of you to be willing to lend your expertise -“
“IT IS MY PLEASURE, SIR.”
“Yes, thank you. However, I think Specialist Thibodeaux -“
“I HAVE BEEN COLLABORATING WITH THE YOUNG MAN AND WE HAVE PREPARED AN EXTENDED REVIEW OF OUR PROGRESS FOR YOU.”
“Ah. Er. That’s wonderful. However, I’d prefer you made it as brief as possible, as my afternoon is rather full…”
“Your schedule is clear until four o’clock, sir. I’ll be spending a few hours at the shooting range until then.”
“Ah. Thank you, Captain.” I hate you, Riza.
“Great! Take it away, Dr. B.!”
“No nicknames.”
************************************
“Huh. No windows.”
“Well, it is in a basement. The quiet will help you concentrate while preparing written reports. You can just drop them in the Headquarters’ interior mail when you finish.”
“I need windows! How can I work in these conditions?”
“Quietly. In private.”
“And it’s so small.”
“Visitors are a distraction.”
“And everyone else is three buildings over!”
“Precisely.”