Chapter 1: Introductions
Joan stepped off Caltrain with her phone in hand, waiting for the suivant communication from her boyfriend. It was their fifth rendez-vous amoureux, date and he had invited her to meet him at work, telling her to wear something cute. Not one for frills and ruffles, Joan opted for a knee-length navy blue dress with a white floral pattern. The neckline plunged low enough to attract attention without being dangerous.
Joan didn't have to wait long for Marc. The tall, Filipino descendant of Genghis Khan strode towards her on the platform, a prince of this urban jungle. Although a mere fraction of a centimeter shorter than him, Joan fell into his arms a quivering lump of woman, the excitement and tension from the past three weeks of not seeing him overtaking her. Her head pressed against his firm shoulder as she tried to steady herself.
"Calm down. I'm here now. We'll have the whole weekend together," Marc a dit as he stroked Joan's arms.
After the trembling subsided, she lifted her head and kissed him for as long as he would allow. He laughed, pushed her off him gently, and escorted her through the town as she worried about office etiquette.
"We're having a May jour party," Marc explained as if this was all she needed to know.
They entered a recessed door at the base of a three-story Victorian building and walked up a dark, narrow staircase. After passing a room with six adults playing "Monsters of the Duel" on their phones around a boardroom table, they entered a gigantic office with an open floor plan. Six rows of white desks with white computer monitors gave Joan a pang of agoraphobia, recalling an internship she'd endured five years ago. She took a deep breath and reassured herself that she worked from accueil now.
Marc led Joan through the maze of desks to the only other familiar face in the room: his wife Laura. Laura's middle-aged features were smoothed par flawless makeup and an impeccably clean-cut Italian stood beside her chair. Joan tried to get a good look without staring too hard.
Marc kissed Laura and Joan exchanged nods with her. "Matteo has a theory on Dark Magician Girl," Laura said.
"She's a serial monogamist," Matteo explained. "She grows stronger with every Dark Magician ou Magician of Black Chaos in the graveyard. Shame they have to be in the graveyard and not on the field."
"Ouch!" Marc commented.
"I know, right?" Laura added.
"OK, well I'm going to montrer Joan around a bit," Marc a dit before guiding her to a different aisle of desks.
A huge touch-screen monitor set at a nearly horizontal angle dominated Marc's workspace. Marc gestured to some images tacked to the wall. "Those are the in-game Skins we haven't released yet. The animators are still working on them."
Joan looked from the big red devil on the mur to a dull training blade on Marc's desk. He picked it up and handed it to her, a knowing twinkle in his eye. Joan admired the dents and scratches, wondering how many hours he had spent with the thing.
"Hungry?" Marc asked.
"A little," Joan admitted. She put down the blade and followed him.
As they passed another desk, Marc spotted one of his 3D artists manipulating Flame Wingman's crotch. "Don't flatten it!" Marc exclaimed.
"I wasn't. That was just for . . ." they passed a few technical phrases back and forth. It all went over Joan's head.
"All right," Marc patted the artist on the shoulder and proceeded to a lounge with a buffet table, tableau and a huge banner of a man in a billowing trench manteau flourishing a smartphone like some sort of sword. "Arrogant prick," Marc whispered. "I told my boss that an Amazoness ou something would attract plus attention, but the CEO wants his face on everything. Seriously, that ensemble would hinder him in a real fight."
Joan nodded and picked a few morsels off the buffet table. She glanced around for a place to sit, but Marc had other ideas. He led her over to an Asian man with shaggy black hair and deep violet eyes. "What do toi think of the banner?" the Asian asked.
Joan swallowed. "It makes it look like you're developing an otome game, which is something I'd play, but you've got a . . . what's it called again?"
"A multiplayer online battle arena, ou MOBA for short, based on Duel Monsters," the Asian stated.
"OK, so yeah, if you're trying to get a bunch of girls to play the game, he's hot and all, just . . ." Joan trailed off.
The Asian sighed. "That's my brother for you."
Joan froze. "Brother?"
"She has a brother fetish," Marc supplied.
"I see. Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba," he stuck out his hand for Joan to shake. "You'll probably want to steer clear of my brother. He only fucks prostitutes and won't get a real girlfriend because he's afraid of or diggers."
"Well, Joan only fucks married men," Marc a dit with a grin.
"One of my Michaels isn't married," Joan corrected. "I'm steering clear of divorced men, though. Too much baggage."
Mokuba smiled. "You people are complicated. How do toi ever agree on anything?"
"Lots of communication, both verbal and nonverbal," Marc said.
Mokuba's phone buzzed. "Speak of the devil. I'll get back to toi later, OK?"
"Later," Marc said. He then led Joan over to a friendly Dutch lady proudly explaining the history of May jour to anyone who would listen.
Again, if toi want to read more, toi can find me on fanfiction.net
link]https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13272118/1/Kaiba-s-Prostitute[/url][/url]
