Wayne sat uneasily in his chair. The day was little more than half over and the work was light. There was a good chance, even if a second pile was thrown on his desk, he'd be able to leave on time without worry. His mind wandered and he thought about the small foil box in his pant's pocket. After skimming over the to-do pile again, he made up his mind and left his cubicle.
"Hey, Wayne. Where are you going? It's not lunch time yet", a yellowish male merman warbled.
"Yeah, I know. Just, stepping out for a bit. I'm… well, just taking a smoke break."
"Smoke break? You? I didn't know you smoked. When did you start that?"
"Since yesterday", Wayne replied with raised brows, pulling out and displaying the mostly full box of cigarettes.
"Ah. Things getting rough at home?"
"Rough? No. No, well. No, not any rougher than usual with all the ankle biters and everything. Literal ankle biters, they are."
"Ah. Okay. Thought for a moment there was a little trouble in paradise", the merman replied with a wink.
"Not for several more month, Bert. Not for several more months."
Wayne padded out to the balcony and breathed in the cool, crisp air. If he was younger and far more kid free, he'd be taking in the potpourri of outdoor scents ever floating in the breeze. Now, it was just cold, crisp air. Way he saw it, fouling it up with cigarette smoke was sort of moot at this point. He wasn't going to do it around Wanda and the kids, but there were far worse things to smell like than smoky, unless they were going to be visiting Frank and Eunice.
Yesterday, on a whim, Wayne had opted to hang out with Griffin instead of going straight home. Not his usual thing, but something that he just felt needed to be done to unwind and shake things off during the transition between work and home. It wasn't like he didn't have a reason to want to be home. As much as Wanda tried to hide it, she was now in that prime tangent of dropping all the baby weight of pregnancy and plateauing in her milk production in nursing her newborns. She was on hiatus in dancing for the kids, but was willing to pole dance for her husband. Nothing was more mesmerizing for Wayne than watching her eight puffy pairs of milk-filled mounds bouncing and bopping on each other as she swung and slide up and down and around the privately roomed pole and stage. Sometimes, if she was in the mood, she even gave him a lap dance, letting him feel the fatty domes against his face and chest, and once in a while, she even let him feel and lick them.
Still, even if she was feeling up on letting Wayne have some private time with her, they still had to get the kids taken care of first. Sometimes it was Wayne who gave the not-in-the-mood excuses when the day was over and done with.
"The kids are going to be the death of me, too, Griffin", Wayne sighed after looking over the warning the label on the tinfoil-lined box.
"Uh. No… The way Wanda keeps popping them out, you and your names are going to be the very definition of werewolf, maybe even monster", Griffin replied clicking the shiny lighter closed and then making it disappear again. "You, sir, are probably more immortal than Dracula, especially if your brats end up taking after their parents. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. Grandpuppies everywhere… At least Drac doesn't have to worry about that."
"Did I ever tell you about the day me and Wanda Zinged?", Wayne asked after taking a long drag and then blowing it out slowly.
"I imagine it has something to do with world domination through rampant breeding, but do tell", Griffin replied with amusement as he watched the smoke rise and fade away.
"Wanda was heavily pregnant with her fifth litter and I was working two part-time jobs to support her and her four previous litters. She had become mopey, concerned that she was burdening me. I came home weary from yet another taxing day of thankless work, and she sits me at the table and tells me maybe its best I just find another mate.
"To say the least I don't know what to say, thinking I've done something wrong. I guess she could read what I was thinking, because then she starts whimpering at how I'm the best mate she could ever ask for and she doesn't want to hold me back anymore. She'd go back to her parents. She'd put all the kids into orphanages. I'd be free", Wayne reminisced to the floating glasses.
"Wait. Let me guess. The fact that you and her had more or less five litters before you two Zinged aside, I take it you didn't take her up on offer, thus damning yourself for the rest of your life", Griffin cut in.
Wayne coughed, flicked the cigarette away, and then concluded, "I brushed the tears out of her eyes, took her up in my arms, and told her that I didn't care if she had twenty or a hundred cubs, I'd always love and support her. And we Zinged then and there. I dropped her, but she was too giddy to care. Later that evening, I got a call I'd landed this "big" data processing job. Yeah, the one I'm still in, but it was a big step up at the time and it only added to things feeling like they were falling into place."
"Seriously. You and her zinged over the thought of having a hundred cubs?"
"Yeah… Not only that, first we Zinged, then we started disrobing and heavy petting each other right in that kitchen as if she'd gone into a second heat, and then her water broke. After we got over the awkwardness of the situation, it ended up being a rather giddy trick to the hospital, aside from when she was having contractions of course. She pregnant with sextuplets and having ended up being well into the troughs of labor by the time we even got out of the forest, it was a miracle I got her to the hospital before the first cub entered the world. Anyways… Yeah… At the time… I don't know… Maybe…"
"You two are just a couple of horny animals… one step above… or below, considering the freaks she keeps popping out, your normal wolf brethren… Anyways, congratulations, stud. You're now more than half way there to your Zing-worthy goal. Here's to dealing with the next dozens of non-housetrained rug rats."
"Yeah, thanks."
"You do realize that even if your kids are a small fraction of the rampant breeders you and your wifey are, you're looking at possibly over a thousand grand kids before you and her finally bite the dust."
"It's come to mind, yes, though not many of them are girls, and those are-"
"Yes, yes, as I was saying, a small fraction."
"Right. Yes. I'm aware of that."
"And?"
"And it's best not to think about it too much… believe me… I have nightmares, and daymares."
In response to Wayne's story of his Zinging moment, Griffin presents Wayne with a half-full champagne bottle
Wayne licks it testingly.
"Hmmm, tastes… sweet? Is it a dessert wine? Wanda is fond of dessert wines."
"Yes, I remember you mentioning that. Yes it is, my friend. Antifreeze '96. A very good year."
"You're kidding."
"No. It was definitely a good year", Griffin stated as he then pulled a cigar box out of the bag.
boxes sole contents was a revolver with five silver bullets.
"Oh, now this is mooore… Oh… Are these?"
"Why, yes they are. Only the finest silver for your plague of puppies, my friend."
"You know. You can be such a douche sometimes."
"Yeah, I'll take that as a compliment, 'cause better to be a douche bag, Wayne, than a sperm bank."
Griffin slaps a "Fix me" sign on Wayne's back.
"So, speaking of the need for douche bags, how is miss puppy mill doing anyways?"
Why did he put up with Griffin's brow beating, Wayne asked himself. Maybe it was because he wasn't afraid to speak his mind. His gifts, though ill-humored, were gifts none the less. He was one of the few monsters who even acknowledged him, let alone gave him stuff, though he was pretty sure it was a good likelihood that these gifts were pilfered from some other monster or some human. Wayne was pretty sure Griffin stole stuff for the same reason of causing torment and agony in others.
"Wanda is as sweet and sassy as ever… and our twenty-six kids are… sassy. Still waiting for the sweet one." This would be Winnie.
As Wayne takes a long drag from the cigarette, Griffin tells him it's still not too late to use the revolver. Wayne says he may still keep it in his office desk, along with the silver tipped cleaver, but he'd rather try again at saying no more.
Taking another deep, long drag from the cigarette, the weirdly nicknamed "death sticks", Wayne held it in for a bit as he thought about current and coming events.
It might be time to try quitting the kid-making habit again, cold turkey.