Sunlight glinted off the gleaming metal worktops and bare tiled splashback. The drab motif of white and silver gave the room the clinical look of a surgery, softened by random pictures on the walls depicting lush green landscapes and mountain ranges. Not that the patrons could comprehend the starkness of the room, nor appreciate the attempt to cheer it up slightly.
A gentle breeze buffeted the ancient, gnarled oak tree that grew just outside the window. Swaying branches caused light and shadow to dance and frolic across the back wall. A single bead of water hung from the tap spout, catching the sunlight at just the right angle to display the full spectrum of colours across its surface.
Mark admired his handiwork with a satisfied smile. Half an hour with some J-Cloths and Mr Muscle; urged on by the jaunty, upbeat rhythm of Reel Big Fish and a tendency to sing with more passion than skill, and the austere room had recovered from another day in the exciting world of dog grooming.
Thankfully the aroma of wet dog had been replaced by the brisk zesty lemon cleaner, the smell complimenting the beautiful summers day outside and mingling with the fresh fragrance of cut grass that drifted through the open window. Most of the owners commented on the beauty of the day, how great it was to finally get an attempt at summer and how it was a shame he was stuck indoors. A few even hinted how 'nice' it would be if Mark could arrange home visits, with the meaningful wink and subtlety of a serial rapist. Same shit different day as the old adage went.
Mark, however, didn't like Summer. It was far too hot. He sweated like a Sabbat on a school bus (creepy bastards), and everyone else seemed to want it hotter!? Mark's personal thermometer went as high as 24°C. Afterwards, you found the self-explanatory increments such as Hot and Fucking Hot make an unwelcomed appearance. It made him bitchy, and he was already a bit of a bastard at the best of times.
Crossing the room to his laptop; agreeing that everyone was indeed 'an asshole' as he mangled the chorus, Mark turned off the music and glanced at the clock above the door. The numbers 3, 6, 9 and 12 had been replaced with brass paw prints. Why his friends and relatives got the idea that because he worked with dogs, everything in his life had to be dog-related, he didn't know? As thoughtful as they were, sometimes he'd settle for no thought at all and for them to just stop buying him tat he didn't need or want. Thankfully it was subtle and nowhere near as tasteless as some of the gaudy, brash pieces he had seen. Still, he didn't entirely trust the clock. It was a stupid notion, but he felt as if it was watching him.
4:50 pm Quick walk to the shops, grab something for supper; as there was no chance he was cooking tonight, then the rest of the evening was free.
"Better see if Bisgrove wants anything. Probably something carnivorously meaty with hot sauce." Mark mumbled to himself, a characteristic he had developed while working with creatures that couldn't talk and probably didn't care in the first place. He fished out his phone from the depths of his pocket while pitying Bisgrove's digestive system.
"Actually, if Bisgrove could be persuaded to get off his fat arse and do something that didn't involve sitting in front of a computer all night yelling abuse at people, we could go to The Moorings." Mark tapped his phone against his bottom lip while he pondered, still humming the annoyingly catchy song that refused to depart.
"I'd need to offer to buy his meal to prise that gelatinous arse of his out of the heavily strained computer chair, but his lack of self-respect makes for an excellent wingman!" Mark liked that idea. The Moorings had a decent menu for a pub, inclination to only play proper Rock/Metal and Dala, the stereotypical pirate-loving Mereshark that worked behind the bar. Hopefully, she was working tonight. Just the thought of her lewd toothy grin coupled by the immodestly tight and short blouses she wore that only just contained her heaving bosom. A wazzer pair of jugs, if ever he saw!
Mark hadn't forgotten her unsubtle advances from last weekend, even through the dizzying cider haze that had profoundly influenced his judgement. Why did he start; and then continue to participate in, a three-man mosh pit? Well, it was more like rambunctious loitering with intent. This day may be glorious after all! Though he wasn't dressing as a pirate again, even if they did offer 10% off.
Mark started sounding out the message as he typed, delicately tapping his touch screen with a stylus. His fingers had a tendency to mash three letters at once, which in turn would cause him to fall out with his predictive-text.
"I saved all these curse words to your dictionary, useless piece of crap!" Mark flung his head back with a throaty growl in an over-exaggerated show of frustration.
"Why would I want to call someone a fat barstool?"
The front door to reception opened then closed with hushed deliberation. It's strange how attempting to do something subtly seemed to make it more noticeable. Mark's dramatised rant stopped as he frowned, straining to listen. Mark found that frowning made your hearing better. Fact! He was sure he turned the sign from Open to Closed, a familiar ritual that seemed ingrained to anyone that owned an independent business.
Pad, pad, pad.
The sound of soft footsteps? Mark jumped as a petite figure appeared in the doorway leading from reception, too busy listening instead of looking. Luckily, he managed to stifle a girlish cry of surprise and merely grunted. Hopefully, he didn't make too much of an arse of himself, but Humiliation was an old friend. The bastard often turned up out of the blue, crashing on the couch and lingering around for a couple of days before leaving a trail of social destruction in its wake.
With her left arm raised as if to knock, a jovial-looking Kobold smiled at Mark. She hesitated; biting her lip, then lowered her paw as her hazel eyes focussed on his own. That was a dangerously disarming smile on such a cute creature. Mark took her in with a quick glance, taking a deep breath to settle his burst of adrenaline, his heart hammering in his chest. The pounding in his ear like his own personal drumbeat.
She wore a pair of tight, vibrant red sports shorts that cut off mid-thigh; showing off her fluffy knees, a white strappy top that was snug across her modest chest and a loose leather collar with a small silver tag in the shape of a bone. Her coat was the colour of golden wheat, peppered with streaks of black and white, and was shaggy around the knees, elbows, hips and shoulders. The fur poked out haphazardly in places, giving her a somewhat bedraggled appearance. Her floppy ears drooped against her thick mane of hair; a deeper yellow than her fur; which cascaded down her back, halting just above her taut backside which swayed slightly as her fluffy tail swished back and forth. All-in-all, Mark got the distinct impression that she had just gotten out of bed and added a cheeky little charm to her slovenly appearance.
"Uhh, hey!" Mark's voice sounded harsh in the awkward silence, but he felt it was weak and strained. Not one of his best or most confident greetings when faced by a cute girl. It really didn't help that her grin widened like she was privy to some joke that he had missed. Probably the dumb look on his face, followed by the realisation Mr Humiliation was knocking on the door. Excitement sparkled in her eyes. Mark found her beguiling. He also found it bloody unnerving like the capricious nature of a Cheshire Cat but refused to admit it to himself.
The Kobold, displaying all the characteristics of a coiled spring, turned to face him properly. Her right arm was tucked under her breasts, cradled in a sling, the paw hanging limply. How Mark didn't notice was beyond him, though he grudgingly confessed her delicate curves were quite the distraction.
"Um, you do walk-ins?" Her voice was chirpy, and her smile softened when confronted by his discomfort, yet an eagerness still lurked in her posture.