Cassandra's Destiny (mycassandra) wrote in nejiten,
Cassandra's Destiny

Today's Advice

It hasn't been a year -- I swear. Maybe I was one or two days short of making it an entire 365 before I updated this story. And I'm sorry. It has been extremely difficult getting the continuity in check in my head after such a long time, and now I know it's not a good idea to keep it idle like that: readers might need to reread everything, and even I had to reread everything. I wanted the feeling back; thank heavens I eventually did.

Now, here's the plan: Update quickly. Strike while the iron is hot!

Title: Today's Advice
Author: Cassandra's Destiny
Rating: Fiction Rated T
Status: In-progress
Summary: Tenten has a fine job and a fine lover, but today's advice is don't lie. Okay, so her job isn't all that, and she lied about the lover part too. But that doesn't mean she has to take orders from a hot bastard who calls himself executive director, right?
Updated: Chapter 6

The walk to her office desk felt like the longest she has taken her entire life. She scanned the halls from left to right every so often, and scanned the rooms from left to right every two steps. The bathroom break she took after coming down from the top floor was meant for her to collect her thoughts, and straighten out her disheveled look from five minutes ago. Her stay inside the office comfort room, however, had to be over in two minutes tops. She only had time to fix her hair, retouch her light make-up and conceal the nasty scratch marks on her black skirt. At the faintest hint of another person wanting to use the comfort room, she had to rush out the door. Had she forced her right to a five-minute bathroom break, at the very least, her long walk would have been a walk of shame for various reasons.

First, her office mates might start talking and go back to a habit from their pre-school years.

She pooted! She pooted! Teacher, she pooted!”

Tenten wasn’t even sure if pooted was in the dictionary, or if the word only existed to torture little kids who spent more time in the comfort room than an average four-year old.

Second, should she show any sign of dizziness, the girls in the room might turn their heads and go back to the times when they first heard about menstruation.

Oh my goodness, you barfed, didn’t you? That means you’re pregnant!”

Pregnant? But I’m not married!”

Mommy says when you get the brownish red thing coming out onto your panties, you can get pregnant!”

It was fourth grade, she thought, when girls her age first heard about what menstruation was. Most of them felt a mixture of excitement and fear, actually. Excitement because they can no longer be considered babies in their households, and fear because if they get raped, they can possibly conceive a rapist’s baby.

“Kids,” she muttered under her breath.

Third, the high school curiosity about smoking might resurface.

You took an awful long time in the bathroom… Can I borrow a lighter? I won’t tell the principal if you won’t.”

It was probably one of those phases every teenager goes through – the curiosity, that is. She did not know anyone from her high school days who actually held a cigarette in between his or her fingers and made it a habit. She knew Shikamaru smokes, but it was something that caught on to him only after they graduated.

Tenten sighed. Who knew the amount of time spent in the comfort room may have various implications?

If she had not, though, an idea far worse than her excreting, throwing up or smoking in the comfort room might come around. Like hell, if she hadn’t the decency of fixing herself up after that little episode upstairs, there might be replicas of that sick and twisted writer from a while ago, dwelling in their sick and twisted worlds, thinking she was some sick and twisted skank who had a sick and twisted sexual encounter with the Executive Director.

Scanning her new team’s work room, she made her race to her desk more subtle than it was in the empty halls. The last thing she wanted – getting asked about her meeting with Hyuuga Neji being a close second – was for anyone to suspect something was up. Or down. Or whatever.

That was why she very much against the heavy sigh that escaped her lips as she collapsed into her seat, although still very thankful for the slight privacy her cubicle walls offered her.

She straightened up her posture and closed her eyes in an attempt to normalize her breathing. She had to think of happy thoughts, and nothing but happy thoughts.

The deep baritone voice, his rippling muscles, his ecru button down shirt, his silver cuff links…

Start with chapter one

Proceed to chapter six

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