OCtober Day 8: Busma

Waiting in the empty space between heaven and hell, Nirvana and Gehenna, I had thought through the many reasons I’d be called out here specifically. Sitting halfway between the dust and the grass, I read through my message logs again. Upon first arriving here, I’d joined the island’s localised social media, posting on a few job forums to pick up a little cash. Quite soon, I’d been sent a message by a user with a llama for an avatar. Before reading, I had a browse of their profile. The lack of identifying photos was noticeable off the cuff. Mostly, their feed was rife with cutesy memes, animal pics and job requests. Very curious, I thought, very interesting. Upon opening the message, the user in question had apparently written a whole letter’s worth of text. The formatting read somewhere between a formal application, and a high schooler’s chat log. That is to say, lots of formal language interspersed with a plethora of emojis. In summary, the user did not reveal a name, but upon reading my skill-set was quite interested in hiring me as a temporary assistant.

And thus, I was given directions to where I am now. Just before I could fire off another text to ask where they were, I found myself quite suddenly tumbling through the dirt, as something below had jostled me. 

“Oh my word I’m so incredibly sorry! Are you okay!? Here, let me help you” a frantic voice came from where I was. I’d sustained no injuries, and neither had the phone, so I simply sat up and brushed off the dirt.

“I’m alright, don’t worry” I assure the stranger. Looking up, I see…well, I assume this is who I’m supposed to be meeting

Judging from the llama mask, that is.

It’s stylised at least, made a sturdy black material and tailored to fit snugly around the face. It has two cute elongated ears with tinges of reddish orange. The glass covering the eyes are the same colour. In place of the snout-like mouth is a filter. I would assume it’s for breathing, but it also seems to slightly modulate the voice. Aside from that, the figure is dressed in formal business wear. Black dress trousers, matching shoes, matching gloves, a grey button shirt with darker grey suspender and a red tie. The sleeves are rolled up slightly, revealing tanned skin. They extend a hand to help me up, which I accept. Though I can’t see them smiling, this llama faced figure’s arms flail quite expressively as they speak.

“Ah, glad you’re okay. I assume you’re M?” they ask.

“That would be me, yes”

“Delightful, uh...gimme a sec”

They root through their pockets, producing a business card for me. I politely give it a quick look over. The name on the front reads ‘Busma, the Business Llama’, just above the company name of ‘Animal Corp.’ and ‘Pronouns: He/They’. Beside the text is a logo, which is a headshot drawing of the llama mask. On the back are some basic contact details.

“Well then, shall we continue the formalities inside? I’m sure the rest of the crew would love to meet you!” Busma offers, opening up the hatch from which they came. Still processing the absurdity of things, I simply smile and nod, clambering down the ladder behind them.

We descend into an extravagant underground chamber. Busma is quick to give me a tour of the place. Starting from the foyer, they lead me through the kitchen, the control room (off limits to outsiders), the lounge, several bedrooms, the garage, and finally…

“Here we are, the meeting!” Busma exclaims. They politely open the door for me. “Guests first my dear”

I thank them and enter, to find five other people waiting, to which my llama friend bounces around to greet each one with affection. Like them, they’re all wearing animal masks. There’s two young ladies; the Komodo Dragon is pale, small, dressed in cute witchy clothes, and the Cricket has glossy blonde hair in bunches, dressed modern j-fashion. There’s also the Mouse, a tall, dark skinned man with colourful clothes and cyber eyes gleaming through his mask. The last two are more andrognyous is nature. The Gazelle is tall and beautiful, wearing a nurse’s uniform. Last but not least is the Dove, who’s shorter, slender and dressed in a pilot’s uniform.

 

Busma whines a little beside me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask politely. 

“We’re missing one, where’s-”

The door behind us slams open. A pale, thug looking man dressed entirely in black and white enters. His kilt flutters as he strides. The mask on his face is lopsided, but I can tell it’s a panda. Busma bounces over to hug him too.

“Ah, Panda sweetie, you’re late, the person from the job request is here”

“Oh, right, sorry ‘bout that, maybe I can make up for it later” Panda replies in a flirtatious, thick scottish accent.

Then it clicks, and I can’t stop myself from asking.

“Are you...dating all of these people?”

Busma gasps dramatically.

“Not all of them…”

They point at Gazelle.

“We’re just metamours...okay yes I’m dating the rest of them, and there’s some more intermingling in there...okay you know what-”

“Busma no don’t get the chart again” Dove interjects.

“I’m getting the chart” 

Half of the crew groan. The other half laugh at their irritation. Honestly, at this point I’m more curious than anything. Busma pulls up a holographic screen, displaying a little line chart connecting several names. It’s labelled ‘The Animal Polycule’.

Busma also pulls a pointing stick seemingly out of nowhere.

“Okay, so I’m dating everyone here except the Gazelle, who is only dating Dove. This makes Gazelle my metamour. Dove and I also share in dating both Mouse and Cricket. Now Panda and Komodo are both exclusively dating me, making them metamours to the above. Everything clear?”

It’s not the first time I’ve had a polyamorous relationship explained to me, so I managed to follow quite well.

“I follow you, don’t worry”

“Good, that’s good” Busma says, sidling up beside me. “And so you know, there’s always room for more”

I’m sure they’re winking under the mask.

“I don’t think I’ll be around too long, but I’m flattered” I reply. Busma moves back respectfully.

“No worries, I understand. Now, how about we actually start this meeting?”

They switch from the chart, expanding the screen in multiple fragments displaying all sorts of information. I slot myself at the table to listen. It feels quite pleasant, as the meeting carries on more like a friendly chat than one of business. 

I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything too serious from someone who calls themself the Business Llama.