Sacrificial Placement Office

Shorts

            “So you want to be a human sacrifice?”

            “No, not me,” I say with a disregarding wave. “Amy here,” I say, pointing to the woman next to me. Dressed in a green sweater and fashionable jeans, she smiles at him, but doesn’t say anything. Thank god. The first thing I told her is not to talk unless spoken to directly.

            “Well,” The man says, looking down at his desk. He’s the local vice-placement chair. We lucked out on that one. Usually, you just get some tired paper pusher. Dressed in a respectable brown suit with a receding hairline that actually manages to add to his professionalism, he looks up at us both, the tiny bone pierced between his nose in no way seeming out of place. “As you know, with it being late winter and all, sacrifices just aren’t in demand at the moment.”

            “We’re aware of that,” I say, fighting to not nervously play with the zipper on my Decepticon racing jacket. “But the thing is, she’s a rare opportunity. She’s a legitimate half-Vietnamese, half-Scottish girl in her mid-twenties with honest-to-goodness fiery red hair.” I pause, like that alone should seal the deal. And damn it, it should. “She’s been in ballet since she was nine” I go on after a beat. “And she was on her high school gymnastics team.”

            The man behind the desk nods, looking over her paperwork. I tense up just the slightest bit. That bit about the gymnastics team is almost a lie. She was on the team, but as a third-string alternate. I doubt this girl could do a cartwheel if her life depended on it. And, well, now that I think about it, it might. Well, the end of her life might.

            The man’s once-worn but now manicured ebony hands flip through her paper work, then looks at Amy. “Do you speak any foreign languages?”

            She looks at me. I motion for her to answer. If she’s asked a question, by all means, answer it. “Um, I speak a bit of Vietnamese. And I know a few words of Spanish.”

            “Hmmm,” The man behind the desk says, going back to the file. I see he gets to the pictures of her.

            “That’s when she was in a high school production of Pippin,” I say, motioning to the largest picture. “She sings too. Second Soprano. No formal training, but she’s pretty good.” I smile at him, adding a bit of a laugh. “Lots of practice singing along to the radio.”

            “No, I understand,” He nods. He turns around, scanning the books on the shelf behind him. On the wall to our left, a doctorate in medicine hangs next to a second masters in public relations. Opposite both achievements, a medicine mask hangs, worn with frequent use. “The problem is,” He says, turning back to us, his Kenyan accent almost impossible to discern from a British accent. “That if she can’t speak Spanish, there could be placement issues. The South Americans are our biggest market for sacrifices right now, them and the Polynesian islands. But the Polys,” He continues with a polite laugh. I laugh too, though at what I have no idea. “They demand black hair.” Something kicked in his mind. “Although,” he muses. He turns to Amy. “Would you be willing to dye your hair blonde?”

            She shrugs. “Yeah, sure. I used to it a lot.”

            “That’s usually their one exception, but they go crazy for it,” He says, scribbling that note down on her file. After writing it, he turns back to us. “The thing is, the South American market’s the biggest market right now. They may not have many volcanoes, but they’re just rife with other sacrificial needs. Sun gods and river gods and the like.” He leans forward. “Did you know that last year, over a hundred girls and thirty men were sacrificed to a crocodile god alone. Just one god.” He sits back in his desk, staring absently at her file.

            This may be her chance. “And you see, she’d be perfect for that,” I say, pointing to her. “She loves reptiles and she’s got a great scream.”

            “It’s true, I love reptiles,” She adds emphatically.

            “Hmmm,” he says again. He begins to unconsciously play with the bone in his nose. That could be either a really good sign or a really bad sign. “Are you a virgin?” He asks.

            Shit.

            “Sort of,” She responds stiffly.

            He sits back. “That will be a problem,” He says. Yeah, he’s not kidding. “The South American market is almost entirely composed of needs for virgins.”

            “He pulled out,” She offers weakly.

            “You say that like it was only one,” I grumble to her.

            “There was only one,” She shoots back under her breath.

            “Only one this month?” I curse at her, turning away.

            “What religion are you?” He asks, going back to the file. Crap, we’ve gone back to the usual interview. Damn it, its shot.

            “I, um, I was raised Catholic,” She offers. She pauses. “I still have the uniform,” She decides to throw in. I cover my face. This is just getting embarrassing now.

            “Raised Catholic,” He asks. “What are you practicing now? Or are you?”

            “She’s a video game nut,” I grumble from my seat. “Put her down as a Jenova’s Witness.”

            He writes some stuff down, then looks at us. “Well, I’m sorry. Given the time of year and your qualifications, it just doesn’t look like we’ll be in the position to match you up with any sacrificial requests in the near future.” He stands up and extends his hand. “But thank you for coming in and filling out an application. We’ll keep it on file for six months, and then you’ll need to come in and renew your information.”

            “Thanks,” She says, shaking his hand.

            “Yeah, thanks a bunch,” I smile, shaking his hand.

            “If I may, I’d recommend dying your hair blonde next time,” He offers with a genuine smile. “And keep up the ballet and the singing. Those are probably going to be your key selling points.”

            “Okay, great,” Amy grins. “I appreciate it.”

            He nods to her, then sits back down at his desk. I open the door for her and we step out into the small hall. A quick few steps out to the waiting room and we see a handful of other girls with their representatives sitting around. Some of them are being coached by their reps, while others sit in quiet contemplation.

            “Well, that didn’t go so well,” She grumbles as we head out into the parking lot.

            “Ah, don’t worry about it,” I say, hitting the auto-unlock on my car. The car’s lights flash at us, as if trying to be supportive. “Nobody gets picked to be a sacrifice on their first time in.”

            She stops walking and turns back to me, the wind coursing through the office park pushing her hair in her face. “Do you really think I can do it?”

            “Absolutely,” I nod. “But I wouldn’t listen to him about the dying the hair. You need to show that you’ve got some will as well. Most sacrifices are supposed to have some feisty spunk in them. Prove that by not doing everything he told you. But the ballet is a good suggestion. Maybe some voice classes, too.”

            “Six months, though,” She sighed as we resumed walking.

            “And you may hear from them before we come back in,” I say. “The Vernal Equinox is right around the corner. That’s a big ceremony season. Maybe not sacrifices, but you never know. I’m sure they’ll be a big rush around then, regardless. And somebody may ask for a red-haired Asian. I’ve heard the weirdoes in Britain are always asking for bizarre stuff.”

            “I hope so,” She mutters.

            I can hear the disenchantment in her voice. I reach my arm around her a hug her supportively. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you sacrificed before too long.”