I'd Like to Make a Complaint

Yoka Sake was well-known among the older inhabitants of the island. An alumni of the academy, Yoka had returned various times in her life to the school halls to take on additional degrees, volunteer her time as a guest speaker for the various business classes, discuss internship opportunities with the students, and...on a few occasions, she'd been here to deliver a stripper-gram. Her reputation at the academy was surprisingly positive, although there were more than a few members of the staff who were reluctant that an Exotic Dance Club was an approved internship site....especially given the more unorthodox shows the Cross Fox put on.

Today, Yoka stepped into the man's office in a conservative, button-up blouse in a deep orange and a black pencil skirt. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and her long legs were covered in stockings that ended in a pair of sharp black heels. She had a clutch tucked beneath one arm.

Deadly Professional.

"You must be Mr. McQueen," Yoka said, stepping into the office and extending her hand to him. Her voice was charming enough, her English tinted with the hint of American accent though her ethnicity was clearly Japanese. "My name is Yoka Sake. I'm told you are the man to see about...ah, some concerns I have?"

She gave him a smile that was as equally seductive as it was apologetic.

Yoka was pleased by the man standing to greet her and equally pleased by her handshake. She’d spent enough time doing business in the states to know the value of a handshake, and when he gestured towards the seat, she sat down easily, crossing her long legs over each other.

“Well, Mr. McQueen,” Yoka began, pursing her plump lips. “I am not sure how much about me you know. I usually interact with the administration through letters and e-mailings, things of that nature. It’s been a considerable amount of time since I’ve come here for….”

Yoka searched for a phrase.

She couldn’t say professional reasons since she’d been wheeled up in a stripper cake only a year or two ago.

“…business of a more directive nature,” she finally settled on. “But I run an approved internship site. I often employ students studying the illusionary and healing arts, as there’s often a need for their services in my business. As an alumni of the academy, I am honored to provide a site for students to apply their powers in a real-world application. However, since these are not only paid positions but involve a certain maturity to handle, I have been very strict with the eighteen-and-up requirement.”

Here, Yoka frowned, and she learned forward, bringing her hand to his desk. Her nails were long and the same shade of scarlet as her lips.

“Can you imagine my surprise, then, when security removed three students from my premise last Friday who claimed they were there to ‘investigate internship opportunities?’ Let me assure, you, Mr.McQuen, that if they were of age, I would be more than happy for their business and their interest. I can also assure you if this was the first time it happened, I would simply turn my cheek but it is…” Yoka pulled her phone out and tapped her password in, pulling up her calendar and checking some dates.

She frowned again and said, “57 times in the last month. Do you have any suggestions for how we might get this resolved?”

Though Yoka was not thrilled about the spittake that drenched her in coffee, it was far from the first time a man had sprayed her with something when she visited him alone in his office. At least this was much easier to remove from a blouse.

"That would be appreciated, thank you," she said in reference to the towel, and she thanked the secretary when she came in. Yoka dabbed at her blouse with the edge of it, trying to blot as much of the liquid as she could.

How long had it been going on?

"Well, I must admit, it's not exactly a new problem," Yoka remarked, now rubbing her face with the towel. She folded it over the arm of the chair when she was finished, then tapped her nail against her lips in thought. "I've dealt with students trying to sneak in since I opened the place over a hundred and fifty years ago."

She returned her gaze to his.

"But the 57 over the last month is a bit extreme. While I would be grateful for the assistance in dissuading them, I'd also hate to see folks sent to the Behavioral Corrections Facility for simply following their, ah, natural and supernatural urges," Yoka said, but she frowned again. "My establishment is not a brothel, though, and I fear some hold that expectation."

Yoka ran the finger that had been on her lips over the edge of his desk in a slow, lazy fashion while she considered what the influx might be correlated to.

"At first I thought it was for Stripper Fight Night," she admitted, then shook her head. 'But that's only the first and third mondays. Need time for the girls to recover. And while hentai nights are always popular, we haven't done anything too extreme this month for such an influx. If I had to take a guess...I wonder if it's because of all the Dragon Maids."

Yoka shrugged.

"Do you have any suggestions for how we could work together to solve this problem?" she pouted. "It's really getting out of hand."

When he asked about what it was that the interns did at her site, Yoka just leaned back in her chair and drummed her fingers against the arm rest for a single moment. She had been asked this many times over.

"It's not an unexpected question," Yoka reassured him, granting him a smile. "The Cross Fox holds a reputation as being a premiere establishment in entertainment for clients and, as it goes for employees, in maintaining privacy. One of the ways we do this is through the varied uses of illusion magic."

Yoka reached out for his coffee cup with her hand and asked, "May I?"

She didn't wait for an answer and simply took it. A small flame danced up from her palm and engulfed the cup, which shimmered and then appeared to be a long-stemmed wine glass once the flames dissolved. She handed it back to him. The contents would look and smell like red wine...but would still taste like coffee.

She snapped her fingers and the illusion faded as quickly as it came.

"As I'm sure you are aware, Mr.McQueen, many of the students had lives beyond the island that they might want to return to one day. Living on the Manta Carlos permanently isn't a viable option for everyone. The internship is designed to hone the skills of students with illusionary magic, adapting them to a wide variety of unusual situations--such as turning a 9 foot tall ogress into a slim, blond-haired cheerleader, for example," Yoka explained.

"At the completion of internship, students will have honed the ability to read a situation, adapt, and camouflage themselves or others to the situation. It teaches control of their powers, too, especially in a ...distracting environment. It's quite practical and has plenty of real-world applications outside of the island," she finished.

That was just the illusionary side. Yoka hired students who were skilled in healing arts, as there were always a variety of injuries or accidents to treat, though Yoka was pleased that there hadn't been a disaster since 1882.

She had to admit, she was equally pleased with how quickly he came up with a solution and agreed to work on the problem....and how quickly that red tint and wrinkled up nose came. Very cute. Yoka licked her lips.

"It's art, Mr. McQueen," she narrowed her amber eyes and gazed up at him through her long lashes. She started to unbutton the top button of her shirt, then the second one. Yoka slipped her hand into her blouse.

She produced a business card from a pocket on the interior of her blouse and then reached across the desk to hand it to the human resources director.

"You should come by," she told him, arching a slender eyebrow. "I'd love to make you my captive audience again."

From there, Yoka folded up the towel and tucked it beneath her arm, planning to hand it to the secretary on the way out.

"I believe I am satisfied--for now," she said. "I will follow up with you in three weeks to report back on the effectiveness of the measures. I thank you for your time, Mr. McQueen. And please...do come visit."

From there, Yoka rose from the chair and prepared to sashay out of the office.

It had been a long day, one that Evander really wished would just have not been. The alchemy department was out and about gathering resources for the upcoming semester, and a few of the lab assistants got… overzealous. About five or six separate times someone came up and plucked a couple feathers each from his wings, and by the end of the ordeal the poor gryphon’s wings looked raggedy and noticeably less voluminous than they had been the night before. Worse, at least two of them decided to take a couple of his flight feathers, leaving him grounded for at least a month…

Evander looked up nervously at the HR secretary as his ears picked up some of the commotion in the office, an inquisitive look across his feathered face. The secretary simply nodded and pointed the diminutive gryphon inside; it was open office hours, evidently.

“Excuse me, sir, would ya happen to have a moment?” the feathered feline creature asked as he walked in, maneuvering around the lady who was just about to walk out of the room. He hopped up on one of the couches before looking at one of his wings with an annoyed stare, gently preening at the feathers left after the alchemy department’s little rampage that morning.