Math By Moonlight Archive


Tone needs to be fixed up, conflict is quickly resolved and nothing comes up again.
Depictions of explicitness, such as the creep.

rating: 0+x

"Alright, we're here," Clark's gruff, old Uber driver grunted before looking back at him with a bewildered expression. "Uh, have fun, I guess…"

Clark grimaced, looking out of the van's dirty window to see an old, musty warehouse which looked as if it had been abandoned for years. He hesitantly stepped out, and the Uber driver pulled away, turning around and leaving him stranded in the darkness of the chilly night.

Is this the right place? He thought, reaching into the chest pocket of his blue plaid button-up shirt for the scrap of paper his roommate had given him, comparing it to the image he had plugged into his phone. As he studied the addresses, a small notification popped up, asking him for his rating of the Uber driver. His hand wavered over two stars, but he decided to be nice and give a four and a half. I suppose he was nice… Kind of creepy though. And he brought me to the right place…

Clark sighed, walking up the weed-covered path up to the warehouse's door.

He gulped and reached for the handle, pulling it open. Loud, thrumming music instantly pumped through his ears as he walked in, blazing strobe lights just about blinding him. I don't want to be here…

Taking out his phone, he speed-dialed his roommate, who answered on the second ring. "Hey, um, I followed your directions, is this really the right place? It's like a club or something—"

"Yeah!" His roommate interrupted, raising their voice to be heard over the club's booming music, "You're at the right place! Just ask someone for Victoria Kleiman, you'll be fine."

They hung up, and Clark cursed silently, putting away his phone and looking up. As his eyes adjusted, Clark could finally take a look at the people inside. They all danced— their torn sleeves wavering in the wind as they jammed out to the eardrum-bursting rock music playing all throughout the club. A green neon sign flashed in the distance, directing him to the bar. Perhaps I can get help there, he thought.

Clark jostled through the crowd of smelly ravers, holding his breath as he brushed against a particularly sticky punk, fighting back the ever-growing urge to vomit. He had almost reached the bar when suddenly a sweaty hand was slung around his shoulders, like some sort of side-hug.

"Hey there," The gritty man connected to the hand said. "You don't look like you've been here before."

"Yeah, I—" Clark uncomfortably tried to move away and shove him off, to no avail. The creep's grip around him tightened. "Sir, could you please take your hands off of me?"

"Now, don't be rash, I've only just met you, I think that a little celebration is in order, hmm? Why don't we start by getting you a drink?"

As the creep's hand started to drift down Clark's hip, he started to look around for help. Clark quickly noticed a tall black-haired man in a torn denim jacket exit the nearby bathroom, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Another man was draped across his shoulder, and they immediately separated as they both looked up, making eye contact with Clark's helpless eyes. He silently nodded and started approaching.

"Come on, why aren't you answering me? Do you not like me? I think I can change that!"

"What's the problem here?" the man looked down at the creep with a threatening glare.

The creep looked up at him, nervously stuttering as his hand loosened. "Roman! Ah— W— We were just—"

He was interrupted by a punch directly to the face, sending him sprawling onto the ground. Clark looked back, spotting the black-haired man rubbing his fist, looking down at the creep, who now had a bloody nose.

He bent down and grabbed him by the collar of his stained grey shirt, telling him, "Come on man, we gave you a second chance. You know the rules," before reeling back and hitting him once more, knocking him out. Looking up at the crowd surrounding them, he jerked his head down, and two people stepped out, dragging the unconscious body away as he muttered, "Damned pervert…"

"Thank you, um…"

The man turned around with a beaming smile on his face. "It's Roman. Sorry about that, we try our best to keep our establishment free of folks like him."

Clark's face went red. "Ah, it's alright! I'm Clark, um, a— anyways, thanks for dealing with him."

"No problem, it's my job, Clark." Roman chuckled before curiously asking, "So, what are you here for? Your style is a bit out of place."

"I— Uh, let me just…" Clark fumbled through his pockets, pulling out a small sheet of paper. "I'm looking for a… Miss Kleiman?"

"Ah, Vic! Here, follow me," the dancers parted way as Roman led him through, right into an elevator. He pressed the 'B2' button, and they descended into the basement, with only tiny little beeps breaking the silence.

Clark looked over at Roman, quickly spotting a rather visible white splotch on his shirt, which he pointed at. "You’ve got a little something on your shirt… Is that, uh…?"

Roman looked down at it, then back up at Clark. He winked, and Clark could feel his face turn red.

After what seemed to be an eternity of flusteredness, the elevator's doors opened.

They walked through the dim, quiet hallway, eventually reaching a door, which Roman flung open. "Yo, Vic! I've got another guy here to see you."

"A— alright…" The red-haired woman's head shot up from her desk, which she had been sleeping on. She adjusted her glasses and looked over to a short list, pausing to chug down her cold cup of coffee. Looking down, she muttered to herself, "Alright!" before looking up at Clark. "Clark, right? Take a seat."

Clark nervously walked over to the desk, sitting in a black plastic chair across from it. "So… Why am I here? What even is this place?"

"Cutting to the chase, eh? I like it!" Vic chuckled. "Here at Inevitability Industries we really like that can-do attitude!"

"Right… Wait, so what exactly do you do here? Are you a recording agency or something?"

"Oh, no, we deal almost exclusively in sex."

There was a long period of silence, and Clark's face flushed. "W— I— Why— Uh," He fidgeted uncomfortably. "Then why me? I— I don't know much about sex!"

With a small clap, Vic spoke, "Well, ah, I wouldn't really worry too much about that then. You know that this is an interview to hire an accountant, right? If anything, that's a good trait! Then you won't get off-task like some people," she cleared her throat, glaring at Roman, who mischievously smiled back. "Look, you don't have to be a sex fiend like Roman over there, we don't hire based on how much pussy you wanna get."

Clark considered saying: 'You think I'm a virgin by choice?' but decided against that idea, sighing instead. "Well, that's good… But I'm still confused, why me?"

"Let's see," Vic looked back to her sheet of paper once more. "Your friend down in Project Development told me you graduated with very high marks, you have an accounting degree, and that he's even told you some stuff about the world of the anomalous. Sounds like a pretty great potential employee to me!"

"This is about the anomalous!?" With an eager grin, Clark set aside his conflicted thoughts and leaned forward. "Oh man, they didn't tell me about this! Did you know I also dabbled in mechanical engineering?" He dug into his little brown bookbag and pulled out a graphing calculator, showing it to her. "Put that to good use making this baby! You don't have to worry about all that slow formula crunching when you can just think about a math problem and it'll solve it for you!"

Vic looked down at the calculator, then up at him, clapping her hands together once more, exclaiming, "I'm surprised, Clark! Wait, does it really—"

She looked down, watching as the calculator started running through numerous complex equations automatically. "That's… Pretty impressive, actually. We could probably put you to work in a different department if you'd like."

"Uh…" Clark thought for a moment. "N— no thanks. This is just like… A hobby. Accounting is where I really shine!"

Vic smirked. "Sure thing. Alright, now onto actual questions…"

Just as he got done setting up his office, his new boss knocked on his door, throwing a file of papers onto his desk. "I see you're making yourself comfortable, eh? Anyways, there's your first job! We need more dildos ordered by Saturday, the eleven-inchers are in high demand! Hop to it!"

Clark paused then chuckled, sitting at his desk as he stretched.

Finally, something I know how to do! he thought, whipping out his calculator as he began to calculate the cost of mega-dildos by the thousand.

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