Wherein I take a band name from Scalzi’s Next Band Name list, and spend no more than 20 minutes writing the story with the band name as a title.

---

“What do you mean every pencil is gone?”

“Well, gone isn’t quite the right term for it,” George replied, looking back at Murphy. “And you don’t need to panic it.”

“I’m not panicking about it,” Murphy answered, glaring a moment at George. “I’m just, uh, concerned at this moment. And what do you mean by gone not being the right term?”

“Well, the pencils are all technically still here, they just don’t have any graphite in them.”

Murphy looked down where George was sitting, not saying anything, his mouth pursed. “So we have a lab full of pencil hollows?”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s the correct term, either…”

“Hollows, blanks, empty pencile cartridges, I don’t care what they’re called, I just want to know what caused this and how this happened.”

George sat looking up at Murphy, before lifting his shoulders and inhaling. In a large exhale, he sighed and started, “Well, you know the focus of Margaret’s latest research is carbon sequestering in simple life forms…”

“Yes, I know that.”

“Well, she had a break through of some sort on Friday…”

“Okay,” Murphy said when George didn’t continue.

“Uh, she fed the latest round one of the pencils when it became apparent they could absorb carbon easily.”

“Okay.”

“It, uh, ate the pencil.”

“The pencil.”

“Well, the graphite in the pencil, and some of the wood, but not as much wood, as it doesn’t seem to like the celluloid structure of the wood, and pencil wood is particularly dense…”

“And what happened,” Murphy cut him off, his hand moving in circles in a universal gesture to hurry up.

“As near as I can tell, Margaret didn’t leave the pencil she stuck in the box actually in the box.” George paused.

Murphy waited for him to continue.

“She put it on her lab table.”

Murphy didn’t say anything.

“Uh, her pencils were all blanks when she came in this morning.”

Murphy’s eyes grew big. “Every single pencil?”

George looked down at the floor, then back up. “Yeah, as near as we can tell.”

“How bad?”

“At least all the labs on this floor.”

“Every single pencil from every lab on this floor.”

“Yes.”

“Has been gutted by a carbon sequestering bacteria that has escaped the confines of its experiment.”

“Yes.”

Murphy continued to look down at George. He was quiet for a bit before saying, “Any idea how bad this is going to get?”

“Sorta.”

“And?”

“The trees just outside the lab are bare now.”

“It’s June.”

“Yes.”

“So, very bad.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Where is Margaret,” Murphy asked.

“Near as I can tell, half way to the desert. She left a note before she took off this morning.”

“Let me guess, written in pen?”

“Yep,” George replied.

Murphy sighed, and turned back to the laboratory door. “Every single pencil,” he was muttering, “every single leaf… Every single pencil…”

Wherein I take a band name from Scalzi’s Next Band Name list, and spend no more than 20 minutes writing the story with the band name as a title.

---

She stretched lazily out on the bed, feeling how delightfully comfortable the sheets were. She had arrived early to change the sheets to these sheets and was, at this moment, happy she had done so. They were so much nicer than the ones normally on the these beds.

Rolling over, she looked over at the young man lying next to her. He had been a lot of fun, but their time was nearing its end, and he was starting to look uncomfortable. She knew the expressions, knew some of the thoughts going through his head, wondered if he’d say anything, and, idly, what questions he would open with.

“So, uh, I was okay?”

Ah.

That one.

“Yes,” she answered, and moved closer to him. She lifted up his arm and snuggled close to him, pretending, but only pretending, that this moment could last longer. “Yes, you were.”

He lay on his back, with her tucked until his arm, his hand absently stroking her hair. Just as she was starting to relax, he shifted. She knew what that meant, and pulled back. He turned, and threw his feet off the bed as he sat up, his back to her.

She looked at the length of his back, the well-formed, lean muscles tightening as he shifted for a bit. She smiled, remembering the last two hours. She was sure the two of them had made enough noise to cause house-keeping concern, but she didn’t mind any longer. They knew her as enough of a regular, knew her “antics” as the front desk called her visits, that they no longer knocked on the door in the middle of her sessions.

“Look,” she started, as she watched him, “I know this is your first time, so, well, we have the room for another hour, why don’t you jump in the shower?” He looked back at her, hesitating, his face full of questions.

“Is that okay?”

“Sure it is, baby.” He cringed a little bit. Maybe “baby” was the wrong term of endearment, she thought. He was young.

“Uh, so, how is the money handled?”

“Ah,” she realized the source of his discomfort. It wasn’t being naked in front of her now that they were done, it was the money. Nearly always the money. She smiled. “It is your first time, I forget these things.” She smiled bigger. “The money is put into the socks afterwards. That way, we can pretend as much as we’d like that this all,” she gestured around the room, the move encompassing the empty glasses, the clothes strewn across the floor, the condom wrappers, “wasn’t a business transaction.”

He looked relieved.

“Oh, okay,” and stood up. He went to the bathroom and closed the door. A few minutes later, she heard the shower start. She continued to lay there as he showered, goosebumps on her bare back from the breeze of the airconditioner, a sheet across her legs and ass. When the water turned off, she moved off the bed and started gathering the items on the floor.

She put his items into a neat pile, arranging them a bit, then gathered all of her items. She’d move her items into the bathroom when he stepped out, and shower after he left. This seemed to work best, she’d determined after a few trials.

He came out of the bathroom, bare chested, towel around his waist. She smiled, and touched him as she walked past him into the bathroom. As she dropped her items next to the sink, she hear him start to dress. She returned to the room to watch him put on his pants, then put on his shirt, then sit down on the bed to put on his socks and shoes.

“Ouch,” he muttered under his breath as his foot hit the roll she had dropped into one of them while arranging his clothes.

“Yeah, the socks are easier to put on if you pull that out first,” she commented, before turning back to the bathroom. “You can let yourself out. Thanks again, honey.”