Setting up a meeting with Olive Axworthy was proving to be much more of a challenge than Charles had expected. She had rejected all of his phone calls by the third ring, and was ignoring any letters sent by mail. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if she was throwing them out unopened. No one in their right mind would willing turn down working for Dethklok, especially in such close proximity to the members as she would be, so she must not have listened to his voicemails or read any of the invitations for an interview at all.
Her evasion had put a wrench in his plans, any other credible doctor he could have hired and had on the job a week ago.
Charles sighed as another attempted phone call went to voicemail. That settles it then. He'd just have to go in person.
.
It had been a long, hard day for Olive. The coworker scheduled to come in as her replacement had called in, something about his kid having the flu, and there had been a rather large pileup on the interstate leaving quite a few dead, so what should have been a typical 8 hour shift in the morgue had turned into a 14 hour shift as she was the only one there.
To top it off, she had been getting calls from an unidentified phone number at least twice a day for the past week, leaving her voicemails she hadn't got around to listening to, and she was pretty sure the same one responsible for the calls was the one sending her a letter in the mail from an undisclosed address every single day.
And now, she was being followed.
A large, beefy man in all black had been tailing her for the past two days everywhere she went, and it was really starting to piss her off. Couldn't these fuckers get the hint that she wasnt interested in whatever they wanted to use her for?
The next phone call she received, she would answer and give them a piece of her mind.
Organizations, societies, various private interest groups, and wealthy assholes all with questionable agendas frequently sought her out, seeing her as an easy acquisition what with her current employer. They expected her to pounce at the opportunity to work for somewhere "more esteemed" as they liked to put it.
But time and again, she had shot down all offers. Didn't they realize that if she wanted to work for someone like that, she would use the connections she already had?
Idiots, all of them.
They hadn't all taken 'no' as an answer, but none had been quite so persistent as this current pursuer.
With one last glance over her shoulder, she quickly unlocked the door to her building, nearly running face first into her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Baker.
"Whoah there, honey, keep your eyes forward when you walk!"
Olive placed a hand over her racing heart, giving the widow an apologetic smile.
"Sorry, sorry. Just had a long day, thought I saw someone I knew out there," she glanced behind her one more time, but the mysterious stalker was no where to be seen, "Did you remember your key this time, Mrs. Baker?"
The old womans face fell, and she gave Olive a sheepish smile.
"Oh dear..."
This was a daily occurrence with Mrs. Baker, who's memory wasn't the best.
"Its ok, I'll buzz you in when you get back. How long will you be?"
"Oh, I can't imagine being gone more than a half hour, just running to the store!" The old woman put a wrinkled hand on Olive's shoulder. "Thank you, dearie."
"It"s no problem. Be careful, there's creeps out tonight!"
Mrs. Baker's face crinkled as she scrunched her nose, "When is there not?"
They both laughed and parted ways, Olive's boots making the old staircase creak in protest as she tromped her way up the three flights. Yelling and music could be heard coming from her various neighbors as she ascended, as well as the smell of both cigarettes and weed despite the building being No Smoking. It was a typical, lively Friday night, but all she wanted was a fat joint, a frozen pizza, a shower, and to crawl into bed and be dead to the world for the next few hours.
Her body ached, her head was pounding, and she was so hangry she was ready to punch a hole in the wall.
After fighting the lock on her front door(her landlord still hadn't gotten around to getting that replaced), Olive slammed the old wood behind her, clicking all 5 deadbolts into place, as well as the chain lock. She turned the knob on the old oven to preheat for her pizza, and stripped out of her nasty, smelly work clothes on her way to the bathroom for a well needed scrub.
.
The shiny, brand new rental car stuck out like a sore thumb in front of the dingey Brooklyn apartment building, and many passerby were staring at the man in a suit standing next to it. Charles had to double and triple check the adress, as this was not where he had expected someone of her talent and access to wealth to be living. Alas, it was correct, and he turned to the Klokateer who had driven him.
"Stay here, this won't take long."
"Yes, sir."
Charles approached the listing and buzzer system on the outside of the brick building, scanning over the names until he found her, pressing her button and hoping she would answer. He knew she was home, he had had her followed to be sure, of course, but with the way she had avoided contact so far, he was skeptical that she would let him in.
The sound of a buzz and the door unlocking after only a few moments wait startled him, and he straightened his tie as he pushed open the squeaky door, making sure it shut fully behind him before making his way up the creaky stairs to the 3rd floor.
.
Olive had just barely had time to shower, change into an oversized Cattle Decapitation tshirt and a pair of yoga shorts, and throw her pizza in the oven when the buzzer ran.
"Oh, Mrs. Baker, what're you going to do when I'm not here anymore?"
With a sigh, she pressed the button to open the front door without a second thought, plopping down on her couch and grabbing her tray from the coffee table, skillfully rolling herself a joint of indica to hopefully help her sleep. She had been having trouble getting a decent night's rest as of late, mind plagued by nightmares she couldn't remember upon waking.
It's probably a good idea to run some diagnostics...
The curt knock at her front door made her jump in alarm, nearly knocking the rolling tray off her lap as she shot up to a standing position, eyeing the door warily. She had not been expecting company.
Shit. The stalker.
Damn, why didn't I use the intercom to check to see if it was really Mrs. Baker?
Socked feet tiptoed silently over to the door, hearing enhanced for any slight sound that could alert her to the person's identify. After all, it could just be Mrs. Baker after all, coming up to ask her something or another, or bring her cookies, or thank her for letting her in.
Yeah, I'm being too paranoid. I'm sure it's just Mrs. Baker...
Despite her attempts to reassure herself, her heart continued to pound as she leaned in to check the peephole.
Thankfully, it wasn't the stalker, at least, but it was no Mrs. Baker, either. Before her door stood a brunette man sporting glasses, a briefcase, and what she could tell was an Armani suit even through the shitty lens.
Oh, great... Better go ahead and get this over with.
.
Charles was a bit surprised at the sound of multiple locks undoing, he hadn't even heard her footsteps approach the door, which seemed impossible with such old, squeaky hardwood flooring. He barely had time to push up his glasses and straighten his tie once more before the door cracked open just enough to allow for a tan face and mass of pink hair to be seen, chain lock still in place.
"Can I help you?"
"Olive Axworthy, yes?"
Dark eyes narrowed, pouty lips turning down into a scowl. "What do you want?"
Charles cleared his throat. This was going to be more difficult than he anticipated.
"My name is Charles Foster Offdensen, CFO and manager of Dethklok. May I come in?"
Her face morphed into one of confusion, but she took his offered business card, he didn't miss the spark of curiosity flash across her eyes, and she closed the door without a word, opening it fully a moment later after removing the chain.
.
"This is a, ah, lovely place you got here."
The man, Charles Foster Offdensen, eyed her apartment with well hidden disdain, despite his attempt at a compliment.
"Sure. So, what exactly are you doing here? Unannounced, at that."
He fixed his eyes on the petite woman before him, even given his own short stature, he still towered over her five-foot-nothing figure.
"Well, I wouldn't have had to come unannounced, if you had answered any of my calls or responded to my invitations. Did you even listen to any of the voicemail I left?"
"No, sorry." Olive's eyes held no remorse despite her words.
The man sighed, "I thought not. This is by no means how I had wanted to conduct your interview, but it will do I suppose."
Her face melted into once of quiet rage and disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
Who the fuck does this guy think he is?
"I, ah, have an offer for you. An employment offer. To be the members of Dethklok's personal physician."
A few moments passed of utter silence as she stared at him in bewilderment.
"Um, sorry, but what? Did I hear you properly? You do know I'm a mortician, right?"
Charles seemed unfazed, happy that the bristly woman hadn't kicked him out of her apartment yet.
"Yes, well, I've looked through your history, and in spite of your current position, I find you to be a perfect candidate for this role. The, ah, only candidate, in fact."
"You can't be serious. I'm sure there's plenty of people more qualified than I am."
At this Charles shook his head, and she rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"Sorry to say, but coming here's been a waste of your time. I'm obviously not who you need, and I'm not even looking for a new job," She turned around at the sound of an oven ding, waving a hand over her shoulder in dismissal.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out, buddy."
Charles was undeterred, standing his ground and making no move for the door.
"I would make it worth your while. The yearly salary would be in the triple digits."
A scoff was his only reply as she grabbed an oven mitt, removing her dinner from the oven as if he wasn't even there.
"At least let me inform you of what the position entails."
She turned back toward him with a roll of her eyes, leaning against the counter and crossing her arms, leveling him with an dull expression.
"Ok, I'll humor you, man. Go ahead and tell me all about how wonderful an opportunity it is, how it's going to change my life and grow my crops and clear my skin and make all my problems evaporate into thin air. But do finish before my pizza gets cold, yeah?"
The man cleared his throat, "Well, I can't promise all of that, but if you're having skin issues, we do employ a wonderful dermatologist who would be at your disposal should you so choose."
Dark eyes widened, blinking owlishly at him as her face morphed into a small smirk.
"You're funny, dude. But I don't have all night."
"Right. Like I said, the position is for a personal physician to Dethklok's members. But this is a bit more advanced than just being an on-call doctor. You would be required to be present at all events, concerts, appearances, as well as living at Mordhaus, free of charge, of course, and stay in close proximity to the band at all times to provide both preventative care and as insurance in case the unexpected were to happen, along with your typical check ups and tests. This includes being present for all band meetings, recording sessions, and any general, ah, excursions the boys might partake in. While living at Mordhaus, you would have access to all amenities there, within reason, of course. And as I said, you would be well compensated for your efforts."
Charles finished his schpiel confidently, staring down the shocked woman who's mouth was agape, body more relaxed and less guarded as she processed the information.
Dethklok. This guy really hand selected her to work with Dethklok. And so closely with them, too! She had to stop her inner fangirl from getting too excited at the prospect, and she hooped it didn't show through to her expression.
"Wait, wait, wait. You're saying you want me to be, like, a body guard, but, like, against health conditions instead of attackers? Did I hear that right?"
"That's one way to put it, I suppose."
"And this is a serious offer? Like, do they really want this?" Olive was understandably in disbelief, after all...
What kind of rich asshats need an ever-present doctor at their disposal?
It was an utterly ridiculous request.
"Well, I wouldn't say the band wants this, per say, but it is in their best interest and they have agreed to give it a shot. Which is what I'm asking of you. Just a two week trial, to see if you're a good fit for the boy's needs."
Charles walked into the kitchenette, setting his Maxwell Scott briefcase down on the counter and popping open the latch, pulling out a stack of paperwork and a gold and black Montblanc pen.
"I've taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for your trial run, give it a read over and sleep on it. I'll be in touch tomorrow."
He handed the papers to the stunned girl, then gathered up his belongings and headed for the door, stopping halfway to turn back to her.
"And do make sure to answer my call this time. I'd rather not have to make another special trip."
With that, he was gone, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he had arrived. Olive glanced to the contract in her hands, skimming over the first page. This seemed legit. What the fuck. This was insane. Absolutely, utterly, comically insane.
But not as insane as the fact that she was seriously considering it.
With a heavy, long suffering groan, she carefully placed the papers on the counter, she needed to eat before she could deal with reading business jargon. Turning back to her untouched pizza, she nearly cried in frustration to find it was cold.
God damn it, what an asshole.
.
Charles, now comfortably back in his office the following day, was pleasantly surprised when Olive answered the phone, and after only two rings at that. Before he had the chance to greet her, he was interrupted, and a smile of satisfaction stole across his face at her words.
"Alright, man, as much as I wish I could turn you down to wipe that shit eating grin off your face that I'm sure you're gonna have after this, I can't. Good job, man, you convinced me. When do I start?"