Back at his desk and thoroughly disheartened, Harris began to slip into a funk. The Tenwolde only looked up occasionally, primarily to prove that he could ten-key at such a rate without looking. Things were looking grim.
But out of the back offices came a ray of sunshine, a glimmer of hope in a bleak office world. It was her. She had come, as she did once a week or so, to drop something off or pick something up from the back offices on their floor. Now she came gracefully gliding on heels too high for the office, but not quite high enough to be trampy.
Harris marveled at her glorious blond hair, cut in a stylish bob, a little longer in the front. The highlights and lowlights, all appearing very natural, shimmered and danced despite the drabness of the flourescent lighting. Her petite frame graced the hallway and began the short journey to the nearby elevators, and her sharp almost angular features read a series of greetings and fleeting emotions, a symphony of humanity on porcelein skin.
Harris breathed deep, inhaling the memory of the sight to sustain him during the day, half whispering, "Ah, so much beauty in the world."
But it was too loud a whisper, and the clack of the Tenwolde's ten-key came to a slow halt. He arched an eyebrow at Harris, who quickly tried to regain his composure and not stare at the delicate curves waiting for the elevator.
"Beauty," declared the Tenwolde drily, "is a trick your crotch plays on your brain to perpetuate the species."
"That's really sad," Harris countered foolishly.
"Sad?" queried the Tenwolde with a further exageration of the eyebrow arch, "What's sad is you drooling over a woman with whom you've never spoken, a fantasy in your mind that would no doubt be pathetically shattered if you ever took the time to discover how she, as a person, would be woefully incompatible with you."
Harris glared, terribly upset that the one highlight of his day was being thus ruined, "You're a tragic, petty little man, you know that, don't you?"
The Tenwolde just sneered and called loudly but calmly over his shoulder, "Hey Brittany, my friend here thinks you're drool-worthy gorgeous."
As Harris head plummeted downward on a collision course with his desk he caught a glimpse of her upraised finger and heard her call back, "Drop dead, Tenwolde."
And all Harris could think was, "Destroy. Destroy. Must destroy the Tenwolde. Destroy. Destroy."