All things considered, Polly thought her life was going pretty well. It had been a week since she'd kissed Olive. Most evenings, rather than drinking and singing karaoke with Patty and Colleen, or spending a quiet night at home with Shoeshine, she would jump in Sammy and Olive's convertible and spend the evening in their apartment. She had even been getting along well with Sammy ever since their... unfortunate second meeting.
She was a rough-and-tumble woman—Polly often saw her twirling a knife or scratching at some sort of scrape on her shoulder. Polly didn't ask, she didn't care, nor did Olive ever let her get in a word about it.
It had been a lovely week. Olive's apartment became almost as familiar as Polly's own. Olive's hand exploring down Polly's sides and hips became a tradition, her skin almost longed for it when she saw her in public. Not to mention the way Olive always caught Polly's eye across the studio and gave her that smile—it always made Polly stumble over the line she was reading.
A flight of butterflies made its home in Polly's stomach. An arrow of Cupid was lodged between her two ventricles. When she looked at her face, it was always pink, rather than white. She felt like a puppy. Simon's love perfume had nothing on the real deal.
Of course, in her infatuation, she had forgotten all about her Guide to Crookery. Equally, she had forgotten how long it had been since her boss had last checked it.
Polly only realized these things that morning, when she walked into the WTTV studio. As she often did these days, she first glanced around for Olive. Instead, the only person that she spotted was Miss Valentine. She leaned against a desk near the middle of the room and watched Polly expectantly, her tail, like always, twirling.
It was then that Polly felt her heart leap out of her chest. She rushed up to Valentine, the click of her nails on the tile resembled the pounding of her heart.
"I-I'm sorry, ma'am, I—"
Valentine raised her hand to silence her. "You said two or three," she said casually, but her pupils were as thin as a piece of pencil lead. "This time next week," she finished, turning away and padding silently toward her office.
Polly gripped her chest. She felt a hot sweat build up on her skull. All of her affections sharply faded, flowing down to her stomach and striking with a pain so intense that Polly thought she might throw up.
Nothing was meant to stop a good reporter! she growled at herself.
A voice called her name behind her. Polly's growl immediately ceased, quickly placing it as Olive. Despite what had just happened, Polly's heart still fluttered up into her throat the moment she saw her.
Olive came up to her abruptly, a crooked beam painted across her mouth. "Sammy got this bottle of vanilla-apple vodka!" she announced, her curly tail wagging behind her. "Wanna come over tonight and help us drink it?"
"Y—" Polly paused. Her heart lurched, longed. One more evening with Olive, please, she begged herself. But she glanced over her shoulder at the door to Valentine's office. Despite it being closed, she thought she could still feel the heat of her catty gaze on her spine. "I…" she took in a deep breath, "...really shouldn't. Miss Valentine…" she reached up to rub the back of her neck with a damp palm. She felt warm from her shoulders up, across her cheeks, behind her eyes.
Olive blinked silently, but gave her an understanding nod despite the unfinished sentence. "Right. I forgot all about that report you were working on," she moved to Polly's side, elbowing her gently in the ribs. The tips of Polly's fur sizzled with want. "I'll find ya an even better drink once you finish it, alright?"
Polly couldn't help but smile. "Alright," she answered, but her heart fell down to her stomach as Olive walked away, not even sparing a final glance back at her. Polly turned over her shoulder to make sure she was right. It almost made her feel sick.
The rest of Polly's day was normal. As expected, Miss Valentine helpfully suggested that she refrain from any on-scene reporting to work on the Guide. Polly sighed, swallowed back an adderall, and set herself to work.
She seldom left her desk again. Her vision changed precisely to the width of her laptop screen, and if she caught a flash of color walking by her in her darkened peripheral, it was little distraction. What finally snapped her out of her focus was a spot of orange and a hollow knock on her desk. She blinked her dry eyes and looked up to find OJ smiling down at her.
"You're free to go, Sweet," he said simply.
Polly smiled back as he walked away. She saved her document and glanced over it—it seemed, when all was said and done, she had written a solid second draft. She had primarily written more details on those belonging to the Raff Gang, though a good chunk of the "one sentence" criminals had been expanded up to a paragraph. Polly quickly began to pack up her belongings. Each time she blinked, behind her eyes she saw her wordy document, and her fingers itched to continue typing.
Polly took a deep breath in and out as she left the studio. After being stuck in such a creative rut, it was a wonderful feeling. Nary had her mind spared a moment for Olive nor Underdog.
After a quick taxi ride home, Polly entered her apartment with a spring in her step. The first thing she saw was Shoeshine. He was sitting at their kitchen table, shining a pair of black-and-white wingtip dress shoes, with his radio playing quietly beside him.
Polly raised her hand to give him a silent wave as she locked the door and hung up her purse. Shoeshine cut his eyes up at her, his easy smile widening slightly. It made Polly's heart swell, but she had no time to focus on the feeling. Her assignment was waiting.
Polly entered her room and in a whirlwind: shut her door, changed into more comfortable clothes, drew her translucent curtains, and set up her laptop with the same quickness she had packed it. She sat down in her rolly-chair with such force that the plastic creaked and the cushion let out a wheeze.
She turned toward her desk, careful not to scrape her knees on its wood. She pressed her paws down into the soft carpet with a sigh. Then, she straightened up enough to pop a few of her vertebrae, and extended her arms to do the same to her knuckles.
With a little squeak, Polly relaxed her muscles again. She took a deep breath, then set off again on a typing spree.
When Polly finally returned from her stupor, she found herself hunched over. She had one knee pressed to her chest, both her feet on the seat of her chair, and one hand clutching a boob for dear life. She blinked away the gray floaters in her eyes as she lifted her head from the digital computer screen to the physical ceiling. She took in a deep breath as they disappeared, and her world expanded back to what it had been before she was sucked into her assignment.
Finally, she gazed back at it. Mousing over the scroll-bar, she found that five more pages had been written. Anecdotes and descriptions of Simon Barsinister, Cad, Veronica, Rocky Maninoff, "The Fox"… paragraphs of content on some people Polly wasn't sure she had ever seen more than once in her life.
"Huh," she muttered softly to herself. Then she turned to the clock in the corner of her screen, trying to calculate just how long she had been zoned-out. It read 7:34, but, as she took in the numbers, she realized she hadn't looked at it before her mind had gone. Darn.
Finally, Polly shut her eyes and turned away from the screen. She swiveled out of her desk and slid her legs off the chair, standing up in one swift motion. Next, she stretched her arms above her head, interlocked her hands on her elbows, and staggered her stance. She felt something pop just above her tail. It knocked a squeak out of her, and when she stood up straight again, she was slightly winded.
Then her stomach growled.
Polly groaned, reaching down to hold her stomach. Had she eaten anything for lunch today? She couldn't recall. All that was in her memory was a white screen with thin little black words.
She opened her eyes to glance around her room. Between her sheer fuchsia curtains and the light of the setting sun, everything was illuminated in a soft orange. It was the kind of light that brought her a certain whimsy for autumn—it made her heart swell and her face get warm.
After taking in the real world for another moment, Polly quickly turned on her heel to face her bedroom door. The carpet stung slightly on the bottom of her paw, enough of a pain to distract her stomach for a moment.
Almost immediately after she swung her door open, Polly's nostrils were met with the warm, wonderful scent of duck. Her mouth started to water. She felt the phantom sensation of catching one on her teeth—crushing through its wiry feathers and sinking into its juicy breast.
She quickly followed the scent-trail into her kitchen. There she saw Shoeshine, standing with his back toward the doorway. For a moment, his yellow hoodie looked like the down of a duckling. She licked her lips, but tried to swallow back her instincts as she neared him.
As soon as Polly stepped on the tile, Shoeshine's ear twitched. He turned quickly to look at her, then returned to the stove. He turned off a burner with a click and moved a large pot to one that was already off.
"Hi," he greeted kindly, "I made soup."
Polly sauntered up to him. She acknowledged his words with a nod, biting her tongue so she wouldn't pounce. Her eyes were focused entirely on the pot. She leaned over it as Shoeshine lifted its glass lid. The hot steam made her face even warmer, but her eyes lit up as she saw the concoction.
Inside was a warm brown juice, swirling with chunks and strips of brown, orange, green, and tan.
"Soup," Polly muttered breathlessly. She was so entranced by the scent that she scarcely realized a word had left her mouth.
Shoeshine chuckled. It was just enough sound to tear her away. Polly blinked, staring at him with big eyes. She swallowed back her laugh along with her hunting instinct, but couldn't help the smile that parted her mouth. She took a step back to wipe away a tear that the steam had formed in her eye.
Shoeshine reached forward to give the pot a stir with a big wooden spoon. Then he lifted it along the side of the pot, poured out the soup until the spoon was only a quarter full, and raised it in the direction of Polly's mouth.
"Careful," he said, "It's hot."
Polly licked her lips, eager to eat the duck she believed she had so wonderfully caught. But she yielded to Shoeshine's warning and blew on the hot meal. The broth rippled under the breeze. Then, she lurched forward and chomped like an all-too-eager puppy receiving a treat. If Shoeshine hadn't had a spoon, Polly would've bitten his fingers, the sound of the wood meeting her teeth was audible. She drew back as soon as the soup filled her mouth, smooth umami dancing on her tongue and warm juice coating her parched throat.
She gripped her cheeks and grinned.
Shoeshine blew a raspberry.
Polly opened her eyes to gaze at his expression. He had a small smile, the kind he tended to get when he called something "cute." This time, the heat across her cheeks rose up to her head. She sighed dreamily, but Shoeshine didn't seem to think anything of it, returning the wet lid to the pot.
Polly watched him carefully. In her eromania for Olive, all of her feelings for Shoeshine had fallen to the wayside. Now, with one evening by his side and a home-cooked meal, she suddenly felt them all crashing back upon her. She reached up to rub the back of her neck as she felt her heartbeat kick up a little faster. It felt as if the steam from the soup had started to suffocate the entire kitchen.
Her throat became dry again as she tried to swallow. She focused her gaze on his hands, unable to focus on his face any longer. "Where did you get duck?" she asked conversationally.
"I'm pretty sure it was leftovers from that Chinese place," he answered as he reached into the cupboard for a pair of bowls. "I hope you don't mind. I started to get hungry for dinner and saw you were still cooped up. So I came in here to see what we had, and those were starting to look old, and your baby carrots were starting to dry out, so…"
Polly nodded as he trailed off. He looked up at her near the end for confirmation he'd done right. Polly caught his eyes for a moment. Her heart wanted her to turn back away, it felt like it was on the verge of bursting out of her, but… Shoeshine's eyes were as warm as the soup was, and Polly felt like she was getting just as lost in them.
She nodded quickly. "Yeah," she answered.
Finally, Shoeshine grabbed the two bowls he was looking for. He handed one to Polly. She took it graciously, the cool ceramic a needed change of temperature.
"Then let's eat," he smiled up at her. His eyes closed as he did, and he smiled so wide that Polly spotted the gap between his teeth.
She nodded, twirling a lock of fur on her ear. "Let's."
Polly decided to call her project "complete" after three frenzied days. She headed up to the studio that morning with even more of a spring in her step than she had before. She marched right up to Valentine's door, humming a tune with her tail wagging behind her.
In her excitement, she forwent knocking. She flung open the door with so much force that, if she hadn't caught the knob as she took in the scene behind it, it would have left a mark on the wall.
Valentine's office was dark. At such an early hour, there was no light through the curtains. Instead, it was illuminated with a little red table lamp. Miss Valentine was turned directly left, toward the wall her desk didn't touch. Her ears were pinned back, and her hackles rose above the collar of her suit. Her mouth closed as it finished a hiss, and a growl trilled in her throat.
Polly turned to see who she was hissing at. Internally, she sort of suspected OJ. When she saw Olive, her heart skipped a beat.
Olive stared back at Valentine. Her expression was dead and hollow, and her whole body was stiff. She almost looked like a shadow on the wall. Polly saw her pupils gaze Valentine up and down, then her desk left to right. In her analysis, she finally noticed that Polly was there and perked up, as if she hadn't looked so wroth a moment ago.
"Hey, girl!" she greeted cheerfully.
Polly smiled over at her. She felt every little twitch of her face in the strength of the room's awkwardness. Valentine's office chair squeaked as she turned toward the reporter. She steepled her hands in front of her face, placing her elbows on her desk.
"Morning, Polly," her boss greeted coolly, "What is it?"
Polly took a stiff step forward, feeling as if she might trip on a knot in the carpet at any moment. She quickly fished around in her laptop bag, then whipped out a pamphlet. It landed on Valentine's desk with a weighty thump. Then, Polly took a half-step back.
"Here it is, ma'am," Polly introduced as Valentine carefully picked the pamplet up in her dainty paws. "The Guide to Crookery!"
Valentine's eyes cut up at Polly, her ears pinning once more. "We aren't calling it that," she scolded.
Polly felt her own ears go back and her tail collapse to her legs. "O-of course," she stammered, "That's just what I've been calling it in my head."
Valentine hummed noncommittally, but her posture didn't change. She ran her claw against the pages, moving it between her hands. Then, she took in a deep breath. "Well, this is quite the document."
Polly clasped her hands together, her neck shrinking slightly into her shoulders. "Is it good enough?" she asked softly.
Valentine sighed. "I fear it will take me the day to read through it," she said. She glanced up at Polly again, but this time, her eyes were kinder. "I'd hate to keep you here when you have work to do. I'll read through it and check in by tomorrow morning."
Polly nodded rapidly. "Th-thank you, ma'am," she said, her throat dry.
Valentine became silent. Her eyes narrowed to green half-circles, staring at the papers in hand. Polly took that as sign enough to leave. Taking another step back, she saw Olive shift against the wall and turn to follow. Her face had slipped back to that dead, blank expression.
Polly watched her carefully over her shoulder. Olive caught the doorknob as she exited. She closed the door slowly at first, each inch the door shut raised her lip another millimeter. The whites of her teeth were suddenly the brightest thing in the studio. Then, with only a few more inches of space, Olive slammed the door closed. Polly jumped at the sound, squeezing her eyes shut.
She took another step away, shaking the reverb out of her ears and letting out a breath she didn't realize she had taken. When her eyes peeled open again, she turned to see Olive, looking as bright and cheerful as anyone could. Despite everything that had just happened, Polly's heart swelled.
"So you finished it!" she exclaimed. She came up to Polly, flinging an arm around her shoulders. Polly tried not to lean into it too desperately. She hoped her face wasn't red.
"I did!" she giggled, twirling the fur of her ear.
"You should come over tonight to celebrate," Olive invited, shaking her slightly. "I think Sammy and I still have some of that vodka left."
Polly beamed. "I'd love to!"
Olive shook her again, smiling in the mischievous way she did. "It's a date!" she replied.
If Polly's smile could get any bigger, she was sure it did. She felt her hot blood rushing into her cheeks so intensely she thought they might ignite.