Mark Johnson hated his suit. Not only didn’t it fit right, but the dull brown color wasn’t his first choice. And he had the sinking feeling that it looked completely ridiculous on him. Still, fussing over the fit and appearance of the suit was less nerve-wracking than thinking about the upcoming job interview.
He had taken the elevator to the fifth floor as he'd been instructed, ignoring the stares from the others in the elevator as he rode. Instead, he concentrated on giving the suit little tugs here and there, trying to adjust the fit at the last moment and, he suspected, only succeeding in making it look more rumpled and awkward than ever.
The doors opened, interrupting his last-minute clothing adjustments. He stepped out and blinked in confusion as he looked around curiously.
His first time in an actual, professional office building wasn’t living up to his expectations. Television had told him to expect stark white cubicles packed end-to-end as far as the eye could see. Instead, once he’d made his way through the open glass doors of the elevator lobby, he found himself in a nicely-appointed reception area. The sand-colored carpet was accented comfortably by the dark wood trim and light brown walls, upon which hung various works of art. Or, he noted critically as he eyed one of the nearest pieces, art-like objects.
The reception area also had several comfortable-looking red cloth chairs, a small coffee table holding some recent magazines, and a large wooden desk that came up almost to his chin. Seated behind the desk was a pretty blond girl, maybe in her mid-twenties, who smiled warmly at him as he entered. To his barely-concealed surprise, she seemed to be perfectly at ease as he walked in.
"You must be Mark," she said. "Please, have a..." and here Mark flinched as she trailed off briefly "...seat."
"Thanks," Mark replied with a nervous smile. "I'll stand, though. More comfortable for me."
"As you like," the receptionist said. "Mr. Welton will be out soon." She then turned back to her computer and began typing.
It was difficult not to begin pacing. This entire place was intimidating beyond anything he'd expected to see, and he could feel himself sweating underneath his suit coat. To distract himself, and to try and seem more relaxed than he felt, he made a show of studying the strange yet bland “art” on the walls.
After a few minutes of examination, he concluded that whoever arranged the art in this building must have a friend who taught art in high school and who sold the students’ art by the pound. It was the one sour note in the otherwise classy reception area.
Shortly after he’d reached this conclusion, a lean, middle-aged man in a dark blue suit came out, blinked in surprise when he saw Mark inspecting the art, and walked up to him.
“Hello,” the man said. “I’m John Welton. And you must be Mark?”
Mr. Welton held out his hand and evidently immediately reconsidered, as he had just begun to awkwardly retract it when Mark reached for it. He recovered smoothly enough, and the two of them shook. “Yes, sir,” Mark said as they shook.
“No ‘sir’ needed, Mark,” Mr. Welton said with an easy laugh. “Just call me John.”
Mark smiled up at him and decided that he would probably like this guy. With his angular face, close-cropped black hair and well-trimmed beard, he looked just a little on the villainous side, but his laugh was genuine and warm. A small amount of the tension Mark had been feeling faded, and he walked after John through a secured door and back into the actual working area of the office. John even held the door open for him in order to make getting through just a bit easier.
"Thanks," Mark said, hurrying past and then stopping to look around. Now, this was more like it. Still not the stark and stale atmosphere you'd see on some television shows, but there were cubicles all over, arranged in rows of four extending back from the main corridor. They still had the nice wood trim, and the interiors were a cloth-covered brown rather than the white he'd been imagining, but it was more of what he'd expected.
Mr. Welton let him rubberneck for a few seconds before taking the lead and bringing them both to a small conference room and closing the door behind them. The table in the room was circular, with six chairs spaced evenly around it. As John sat, Mark considered the wheeled chairs critically, then sighed and pushed one out of the way, sitting on the floor directly across the table from him.
“You wouldn’t like a chair?” John asked. “I mean, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable...”
“I’m fine,” Mark replied. “Trust me, I’m used to it.”
“Are you sure?” the other man asked. “We’re an equal opportunity employer, here. If you take the job, we’ll do everything we can to make you comfortable.”
His heart thrilled at the phrase “if you take the job.” He’d been under the impression that he was here for an interview, but Mr. Welton’s phrasing seemed to indicate that the job was his, if he wanted it.
“That would be nice,” Mark said. “But regular chairs are just a little uncomfortable for me now. I can get you some suggestions, though?”
“For chairs that would suit you?” John asked, and Mark nodded. “Well, that would be—”
The conference door opened and another man walked in, this one in his late twenties, clean-shaven and with sandy brown hair. Unlike John, he wasn’t in a suit, instead wearing a button-up shirt, slacks, and no tie. He was already talking as he strode in.
“Sorry I’m late, John. The Inventory group were in a tizzy because of...”
He trailed off, staring at Mark with wide eyes before suddenly bursting with laughter. Mark blinked at him in confusion as the newcomer said, “Sorry! Sorry!” in between laughs and backed hurriedly out of the room.
The door closed. John and Mark blinked at each other in the awkward silence punctuated by wheezing gasps coming from outside. John broke the silence first.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “I’ll have a word with him.”
Mark pulled a wry smile across his muzzle and said, “It’s no problem. I’m guessing he’s never seen a unicorn in a business suit before?”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The orc looked up from his drink and waved a thick, green-skinned hand to get the bartender’s attention. “Could you turn that up please?” he growled. The growling wasn’t due to anger, but rather due to peculiarities of his new species and partially to the large tusks jutting up from his lower jaw.
“Sure thing,” the bartender replied, pulling a remote from under the bar. The volume increased, and attention was focused on the screen. It was The Interview. The one that tried, and failed, to make sense of the changes that had happened to the world almost exactly a year before.
“It’s what I always wanted, that’s why,” said a young man in midnight-blue robes as he lounged in a chair. Stephen Colbert was seated in a chair opposite him, wearing a dark blue suit and a red tie. Why the self-styled "Mad Wizard" had wanted to give Stephen Colbert the exclusive interview explaining what had happened was answered in the next sentence. “You know, I’ve always wanted to meet you,” he said with a lopsided smile.
“Thanks,” Colbert said, looking both nervous and eager. He wasn’t using his trademark right-wing persona today, instead directing the interview with the caution of a man trying to disarm a bomb while blindfolded and using a manual written in badly translated English. “So, you always wanted magic?”
“Not just magic,” the man who called himself the Mad Wizard said. “A magical world. That’s why I didn’t stop after the second wish, to be the most powerful wizard in the world.”
“So the first wish was to bring magic to the world?” Colbert asked, his eyebrows lowering as he frowned.
“Exactly,” the Wizard said, shifting in his seat. “It took a while, you know. A couple of hours, actually, to explain it to Alien Aladdin.”
“‘Alien Aladdin’?”
“He had a magic box that granted wishes,” the young man said with a shrug. “Alien Aladdin. It’s not quite accurate, since I suppose he was more of a genie than Aladdin, but hey, alliteration, you know?”
“Sure,” Stephen said warily. “And the third wish... that was the one that remade humanity?”
“Well, not all of it, or even most of it, but yeah. I figured I’d give my fellow MMO players a chance to really use magic.” He laughed lightly and shook his head. “Oh, man, that one took forever to explain. I had to make sure Al got it right!”
“So, how did the alien do it?” Colbert asked. “Did it actually alter the laws of physics, or something?”
“I dunno,” said the Mad Wizard with an uncaring shrug. “Does it matter?”
The orc shook his head. Back when this interview had taken place, humanity had yet to discover the crystal spires, dozens of them, orbiting in a ring miles above the earth’s surface. Leading speculation was that these spires were the reason behind the “magic” that existed now on earth, somehow enforcing the rules that the Mad Wizard had demanded of his alien benefactor.
On the television, Colbert shook off his obvious horror at the nonchalance of the man responsible for altering how the entire world worked as he got back to his line of questioning.
“But the wish didn’t just target MMO players,” Colbert pointed out.
“There weren’t enough of ‘em,” the young man said, gazing upwards. “It’s weird, there’s no ceiling here. I figured there’d be a ceiling, but there isn’t.”
“It’s so we can adjust lighting,” Colbert replied. “But getting back to—”
“There weren’t enough gamers in the mix,” the Mad Wizard repeated. The orc watching the interview snorted in irritation and downed his drink, signalling for another. “So, yeah, I picked basically anyone who spent a lot of time pretending to be someone or something else, and I made them into someone else.”
“And the guns?” Colbert asked. “A lot of people were mad about that.”
“Oh, that.” A thin hand was waved dismissively. “That wasn’t a wish, that was one of my first spells. People were rioting, see, and I wanted to stop it. Then I left it, because guns and a fantasy setting don’t go together.”
“So, guns don’t work,” Colbert said. “How did you do it? I mean, gunpowder still goes off, it’s just that guns won’t fire.”
“Magic,” the Wizard said with a grin and a shrug. “Nukes don’t work, either. Got tired of that crap, everybody going crazy because North Korea had the bomb, Iran either had or was making a bomb, can’t remember. Doesn’t matter now, they’re all just dead weight.”
“Lots of people are happy about that, but even more are upset. Whole nations have branded you an international criminal. How do you feel about that?”
The Mad Wizard laughed shrilly. “Honestly, Stephen, I couldn’t give two shits,” he said. “I just took away the most powerful weapons in the world with a goddamned magic spell. You think anyone out there can put a hand on me if I don’t let them? If they want to take me out, the only way to do it is the new old-fashioned way. Magic against magic.”
He leaned forward and grinned into the camera. “And, if anyone has the nuts to try something like that, I can only say ‘good luck’. You’ll need it.”
“Bastard,” the orc said, and downed his new drink.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"I hate to say it," John said after about twenty minutes of interviewing, "but your typing speed may be a problem."
"I thought it might be," Mark said with a shrug. He ran a silver-grey hoof through his dark blue mane and smiled wanly. "But I'm getting better, even with hooves. And I'm getting pretty good at levitating things."
"Oh, neat!" the more casually dressed of the two men leaned forward with an eager grin. "Can I see?"
"Sure, Tom," Mark said. His horn lit up with its signature cobalt glow. One of the pens resting on the table started glowing as well, then lifted off of the table.
"Oh, that's awesome!" Tom said. He reached out and poked at the pen, which bobbled in the magical field but remained floating.
"I'll never get used to that," John muttered. He cleared his throat and said in a more jaunty tone, "In any case, your resume looks good, and I like you. Unfortunately, I don't make the final hiring decisions. Burt Gimbal is my boss, he'll make the final call."
"Oh, okay," Mark said, hiding his disappointment behind a smile.
"How long did it take you to get used to walking?" Tom asked.
"Uh. Not too long, I guess? Maybe a week or two?"
"Cool. Is that usual for people that go quadruped?" Tom asked, studying him almost rudely.
"Uh, maybe? I don't know. I know I was an unusual case though." Mark replied.
"Why's that?" John asked.
"I couldn't walk before the Advent of Magic, either." Mark smiled at the look on the two men's faces. "I had cerebral palsy, a pretty bad case. Spent almost my whole life in a wheelchair. I can honestly say that being turned into a unicorn pony is probably the best thing to happen to me."
"Wow, that's—"
Whatever it was that Tom was going to say was interrupted by a peremptory knocking, followed by the door opening. An older man strode in wearing an expensive-looking grey suit. Mark guessed him to be in his sixties, at least. His head was bald except for what Mark liked to call a "Picard ring" around the back of his head, a thin strip of snow-white hair. His watery blue eyes took in the scene in the conference room as John and Tom stood respectfully. Mark imitated them, getting up on his hooves.
"This is our applicant?" the man said, eyes widening. "You're kidding, right?"
"Uh," John said, exchanging a look with Tom. "Burt, maybe we can talk about it outside for a minute?"
The two older men exited and closed the door. Mark could hear them talking as he and Tom sat across from one another in the ensuing awkward silence. The muffled discussion was almost completely inaudible, but Mark's ears twitched on his head as he caught "a good kid" and "a freakin' unicorn" at different times.
Tom offered him an apologetic smile. "Sometimes it sucks waiting for certain people to retire."
Mark smiled weakly back. A moment later, the door opened and a frazzled looking John came back in.
"Mark, I'm... Look, I'll keep your resume, alright?" He sighed and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up. "But, if I were going to be honest, I wouldn't hold your breath. You have an impressive resume and did a great job on the interview, though."
"I get it," Mark said stiffly as he got back up.
"Look," John said. "Why don't you try again after the Supreme Court makes it's decision? It's expected that they'll extend equal employment to the afflicted..."
"I'm not 'afflicted'," Mark replied, more sharply than he'd intended. He shook himself. "Look, I get it, okay? It's fine. I'll just go."
"Mark, I'm sorry," John said. He sounded truly sincere.
"It's okay," Mark replied with a shaky laugh. "I only have the one suit, anyway. It's pretty hard getting things altered for ponies, after all."
A few minutes more of small talk passed. Finally, Mark was led back to the elevators. The pretty girl behind the counter was on the phone, but she gave him a stunning smile. Mark smiled back in spite of himself and waved a hoof. Behind him, the elevator bell dinged.
"Well, that sucked," he muttered to himself as he got on. His horn lit, and the ground floor button depressed itself.