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You ball your thumbs up in your fists and swallow. Positive thinking. Positive thinking. You haven't done anything wrong— have never done anything wrong. By definition this can't be wrong. Richard was wrong. This is Richard's stupid fault, and it's Management's fault for being a lot of evil jerks, and you're not— you are not going to cry because fake snakes are laughing at you! You're not! "Stop laughing! I am!"
"Is that what <span class="mu-i">it</span> told you? You're not the Herald, dog."
"It learns a few tricks, and it thinks it's the Herald." A different Manager, white-haired. He scoops a knickknack off his desk, stands, and holds it up. He whistles. "Catch, doggie."
He tosses it at you, and you catch it first, regret catching it after. You should've dodged. Too late now: you unfurl your fist and find a figurine in it. It depicts a spiky white lizard-thing with an enormous head. When you shake it, the head wobbles.
"That is the Herald," the Manager in front says, not a little derisively. "You are a pet. We'd like to speak to your master, now, please."
«This is why I told you to leave.»
So he gave you bad advice instead? Thanks a lot. Now you're stuck with this. "He's— he's not here! You have to talk to me. And I am the Herald— I mean, look!" You hold up the bobblehead. "We have matching eyes! I have one good eye, and it has one good eye, and—"
This spawns further snaking back and forth, plus a few intelligible comments: "Wingnut took the doggie's eye out?" "Yowza!" The frontmost Manager crosses one leg over another. "Cause and effect, dog. Were you birthed with one eye?"
You could lie, except you can't. Not with all of them staring. "...No..."
"It was created on you. A clever-enough alteration, but proof of nothing but a correspondent with time on its hands. If it is not here, we will call it here."
"Wait!" You really don't want Richard squished. "I've dreamed about it. The Herald. It shows up in my dreams and— and talks to me about things. Which is definitely a portent! An important one! Do you all know about portents? It's when—"
"Quiet, dog." The frontmost Manager pinches her fingers together, and your lips twist and seal shut. You prod them desperately. "A dream? Before or after you were told of it?"
"mmm-MMM," you say.
She tilts her head and unpinches. "Before!" you clarify. "And multiple dreams, by the way. I didn't know what it was. I just thought it was some dumb dream lizarmmmmh—"
Pinched again. Damnit! The Manager swivels her chair away from you and says something lengthy to the others. Lengthy and controversial, apparently, or thought-provoking, since the rest of them try speaking all at once. There's enough facing your direction that you can't exactly sneak away, though you can stew. Richard, they <span class="mu-i">laughed</span> at you.
«That is their loss.»
(2/3)
