And, my third career was going so well

I sat down at my desk and sipped from my latte. Extra cinnamon! The coffee stand lady is always so nice to me. I was looking forward to my work day, another long set of short meetings to continue contract signings. My last employer and coworkers would scoff and poke fun, no doubt, at the drudgery of this sort of office work. I wondered how many of those madmen even knew of my youth as a barrister, before past indiscretions led to our travels near and far together. The simple fact was that our prior way of life was now obsolete. After the realms of imagination and creation merged, well, changes had to be made.

Many of us were concerned whether we could coexist, but it turned out that the Creators believed in many things that sound statistically unlikely when you say them out loud. All we had to do was assimilate. Follow their rules and laws. And, this fragile truce was working, because it went both ways. For example, my ongoing case load offered legally binding documents, but in exchange for money, a rather valuable thing in both cultures. Given my own history, I tended to get assigned the especially animated clients. The more complicated their history, the better.

You see, the “intellectual property” jargon from my new colleagues was not nuanced enough anymore. If your archetype is in the Creator’s public domain, yet you are still actively published in any form, are you due royalties on the use of your likeness? Many on both sides agreed that should be true early on, thankfully. I sipped from my paper cup again, counting in my head the bump in residuals due in my next deposit, based on my current employer’s recent 70th anniversary disc re-release this very month. I took a moment to reminisce about my first appearance in the pantheon.

I pulled up the morning’s calendar, and was glad that I had swallowed my coffee first. I read the first name again, and hoped there was no smoke coming from my ears. I dialed my assistant, a young Creator. “Brant, is my schedule correct this morning?”

“Yes. I double checked already, believe me.”

“But, but, but, this is still only my first year on this team! Clearly, the board of directors would want a more seasoned contract negotiator in that room.”

“You should see the roster for the third floor meetings scheduled after midnight.”

I tugged at my collar. My necktie felt like it was tightening. “Okay… Do mice eat bagels? We have a half hour. Be a dear, Brant, and pick up a cheese plate from the deli across the street.”

“Sure. They have a few favorites of mine.” Brant meant well, but was more of a consumer at heart.

I read as much background as I could about this case, but it hardly mattered. The CEO himself had left a note in this file to simply offer the standard contract. It was a ridiculous opening move that would surely be rejected outright and trigger larger litigation. Ah, there we are. I was the scapegoat.

I cleaned my half-moon spectacles in the hallway on my way down the hall, verbally greeting Murdock in passing. I felt slightly better, knowing someone of his caliber was on our side. I took a deep breath and opened the conference room door.

The client was standing at the table of catering we offered to all who joined us here. He selected an aged cheddar and popped the cube in his mouth. The client chewed slowly with a thoughtful expression. “Eh!” he exclaimed, wiped his gloves together, then sat down next to his lawyer.

I placed the standard contract in front of the lawyer and sat at the other end of the table. I hoped I wasn’t sweating too badly, but tried to smile and said, “Good morning! It is a pleasure to meet you! Are there any questions?”

The client nodded to his lawyer, folded his arms, and looked off into the middle distance, as if the window blinds were not closed.

The lawyer, a red fox in a more expensive suit than mine, placed his elbows on the table and clasped his hands together. The fox sighed and pushed the contract away. “This is an insult. We were expecting entirely different treatment in the house that He built, especially given your own prior working relationship with my client, Mister –? Sorry, you and I have definitely not met before.”

“No, no, I am the one that should apologize, and I do so profusely. Perhaps you confuse me with my counterpart who worked in the video game industry? He retired to Palm Springs.” I drummed my fingers on the table nervously.

The client calmly reached down and placed an old-fashioned lunch box on the conference room table. It was not one of the bright plastic ones that you could find everywhere with his face on it, but the more iconic plain black metal rectangular box, with a rounded top and single handle.

The fox said, “Ordinarily, I would say this was a waste of time for us all, but we have another reason to be in this building today.” The client wordlessly reached over and undid the clasp on the lunch box.

I gave up and pulled a handkerchief from my pocket. “Oh?” I swiped my brow quickly.

The client turned down the top of the lunchbox and looked inside, speaking for the first time today. “You have to understand, Mister Smee, it is nothing personal. But, make no mistake.” He lifted out a pointed hat made of blue felt, white crescent moon and stars glittering in the fluorescent lighting of the conference room. The hat fit remarkably well on his head, nestled between his big ears. “This is a hostile takeover. Haha!”

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This job was supposed to be my best scoring job of a lifetime, and now it is just a fucking headache. Especially since the government opened a portal to trade with so-called Fantasyworld.

Disney has already not been doing too well in their recent box-office flops, but this may be our largest flop yet. It is difficult to know where to go with this.

Just this morning, I was told by my bosses to draft up a summons for someone singing "I see the light" in a local pub without the proper performance license from the MPAA, It wasn't such a difficult job; after all, we churn about 50 of these a week. But this time it was different, because when I went to serve the notice, I realized that the singer was Rapunzel herself. Technically, this was her own love song wasn't it? Could we really serve summons on the - in another world anyway - creator of the song? Perhaps we could, but that would be weird.

Similarly, we couldn't sue Moana for opening Moana's diner. After all, it was her name!

Really, I am not sure of what will happen to my job in days to come ...