Disclaimer: It's all Jim Butchers – or maybe David Gerrold. Rating: G
Book or TV verse: TV with a pinch of the book Proven Guilty
Summary: No one likes paperwork

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I hate taxes. I hate paperwork in general but for some reason taxes are worse.

I growled at the mess of paperwork covering my desk and tried to concentrate.

"Dresden?"

I sighed. "yes Bob"

"What is that?" Bob asked, pointing at the furry object nestling against his skull.

"That's a tribble, Bob"

"I can see that Dresden. What is it doing THERE? Where did you get it?" Bob can be so cranky sometimes. Not that I ever goad him or anything.

"You remember that case? The horror convention – chaos, blood, murder, mayhem? The tribble was in the box of files."

Bob just stared at me.

"It's my firm policy to never refuse gifts from gorgeous young women wearing nothing but skimpy chain mail bikinis." I told him.

His eyebrows took flight as he desperately tried to hide a smile.

"Very wise." He intoned.

"Will you let me finish now, Bob?" I asked, reaching to remove the offending tribble from the desktop.

"Oh leave it;" said Bob before he disappeared back into his skull.

I sighed. Peace at last.

"Dresden?"

"What now, Bob?"

"You do realize that you can freely walk around holding a skull if you are at a horror convention?"

"What about it, Bob?"

The ghost rolled his eyes.

"Chicks in chainmail, Harry!"

The man had a point. I remembered something and searched through the convention case folder.

"Aha!" I triumphantly brandished a piece of paper at Bob.

He tried to read while I waved it around.

"What would that be?" Bob asked, slightly exasperated.

"It's a complementary lifetime membership for me to show up as 'Convention Wizard'. The head of convention security gave it to me. "

I put it under the tribble next to Bob's skull.

" I can bring a guest."

"Oh, well done, Harry" Bob was grinning now.

He can look frighteningly predatory sometimes.

"Will you let me finish this in peace now, Bob?"

"As you wish" he disappeared into his skull still grinning. He was probably dreaming of chain mail – or something.

I sighed and wished I could simply burn all the paperwork.