My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World



"So," Jamie sat down behind his desk. His swivel chair, washed and flattened through years of sitting and swiveling emitted a harsh stifled squeak. "Rudy outside was saying you're looking for some work here?" 

Up above, the ceiling fan wobbled about as it spun around, creaking every half second, one blade crooked at an angle and another forcibly stuck back in place by a hefty layering of the strongest tape one of the maintenance guys a couple of months back had at the time. 

For a better part of the year, He told himself more times than there were days in said year that he oughta get around to replacing that fan. He never got around to it though. 

Every now and then though, it'd make a louder screech than usual, wasting costly few seconds as his gaze flew, distracted, wondering if today was the day, like every other day, that he'd finally be decapitated for his negligence. 

Right then, it was twice already that gale of death groaned at him ominously. 

"Yes, I am," said the man seated across from him, his voice low and gruff, smothering out any signs of forebodings. "Provided I am compensated fairly. That's all I ask." 

Jamie pushed back in his seat, wriggling his bushy 'stache, staring over his coffee-rim-stained patterned desk, brimming with all sorts of trinkets, invoices, stamps, loose screws, and a calendar he realized was a bit behind on the times.

As far as the world was concerned, December 31st, 1986, was a whole day ago and counting.

"You lost your job?" Jamie asked, as he pulled open a drawer, jangling about with rusted bits of metal and broken scrap, piling on the outdated calendar into his collection, before sliding it back close. "The new year starting out a little sour for you, huh?

"No job," the man responded. "I've only started looking for one recently."

"Excuse you?" 

"I never had a job." 

"No job? You've never been employed?" Jamie wriggled his mustache again. "How old are you anyway?" 

"Old enough," was all he said in response. 

"And what brings you here?" 

The man raised his hand, holding up a crumpled flier, clenched in his grip. 

"You were hiring."

"No, I mean -  what do you want this job for?" 

"Money." 

The ceiling fan churned out its loudest squeak yet, but Jamie heard none of it - his focus, usually so easily strayed, was far too occupied assessing what, or who exactly he was interviewing. 

"Don't think I caught your name," He muttered. 

The man grunted. "Michael." 

"Michael," Jamie briefly began rifling through the assortment of paper on his desk, ultimately finding nothing through all the disarray. "Uh, mmm, funny… can't seem to find your resume anywhere." 

"Resume…" the man named Michael, finally shifted his stone-faced expression, forming a subtle frown. "Everyone keeps asking me that. How do I get one?" 

Jamie swept a hand through his bald head. He didn't know whether to laugh, or to be annoyed; maybe Rudy was setting him up, wasting his time. The view from out his office window briefly caught his eye, and immediately his heart sink, and he remembered again why exactly he had put himself in this predicament to begin with. 

Scattered patches of oil puddles made the floor more liquid than actually solid. Here and there, boxes of ordered parts remained unopened and unsorted to their rightful place for at least a week and counting. Somewhere to the side, piles of discarded mufflers, worn tires, and shattered windshields continued mounting at a concerning rate. 

Rudy does his best, but more often than not, things around here tend to be way over a scrawny kid's average body mass. Charles couldn't at all be bothered lugging around shit. Matt was pushing sixty; handed in his two-week notice a week and a half ago.

Something needed to be done… preferably before his premises wound up more spare parts than actual customer cars. Therefore, he needed someone, and at this point, literally anyone. 

And seemingly, sitting before him, his prayers were answered. Jamie looked toward Michael again, amazed how even when seated, he had to incline his gaze just to meet him eye-to-eye. His flyer was still tight in the man's grip, a grip that could easily swallow his own twice over. And no matter where his eyes darted, he always seemed to find a new bump, a new hard ridge over his clothing Jamie didn't even realize existed in the male anatomy. 

He could almost see it now. His shop, floor sparkling white, tools in their rightful place, service running at peak efficiency with the ease of access to everything. Best of all, in his dream come true, the ceiling fan creaked no longer. 

Yes, that sounded nice.

"No experience, no resume," Jamie propped his arms atop his desk, heaving in deep. "Okay, Michael, say I do take you in… despite all that… tell me something about yourself, for instance - how fast of a learner are you?" 

"It entirely depends on the type of tutoring I am given," Michael said right away. "If I am taught incompetently, I will do things incompetently. It's as simple as that." 

"Matt's alright," Jamie remarked, wondering aloud to himself. "He'll get you up to speed on things good enough. When do you think you're able to start?" 

In a split-second's silence, he noticed Michael shifting his gaze, his stare suddenly considerably lighter. 

"Does this mean I have the job?" 

Jamie snorted, shrugged. "Ah - why the hell not? Everyone deserves a chance, I always say. You can ask Rudy, he'll vouch for me."

"Does this mean you'll be paying me money now?" 

At that, Jamie went into full-blown laughter, his mustache accentuating a hearty smile. 

"One thing at a time first, alright?" He said. "Yeah, so - of course, at first, you'll get basic. It won't be much, given your… unusual conditions. But hey, give it a month or two, we'll see where we can go from there, okay?" 

Michael fell quiet for a moment. His eyes both glazed and strained - he almost seemed confused. 

"Understood," He finally said, nodding once. "I shall accept your terms. I am available whenever you may need me." 

Jamie beamed again, standing up from his seat and offered up an open hand. 

"Then I shall see you first thing tomorrow morning," He said. "We start opening up the shutters by nine, alright?" 

Michael reached over, and shook his hand. And as Jamie felt Michael's firm grip engulf his, he found his suspicions proven exactly as he thought. Yep, that's his entire hand just gone right there. 

Stung a bit too. 

"Oh, one more thing," Jamie said as Michael began to turn away. Hastily, he searched his desk, finding a pan and a blank sheet of paper that he promptly slid over. "Telephone number. Can just scribble it right there. In case I need to reach out."

"Telephone…" Michael slowly turned back, displaying his blankest gaze yet. "Number…?"

"You… you don't have one?" 

Jamie held back his reaction, vacating his voice of any kind of tone. He didn't know this man, he didn't know his story. True, Michael was the strangest fellow he met all year, but there were many perfectly valid reasons why things were the way they were. it'd be only useless to jump to baseless assumptions.

"That's - that's fine, no problem," He said. "Just write out your home address. 'Least then I'll know where I can find you." 

"Ah," Michael blinked at him, giving again that same strained gaze. "Address?"