I think the story behind my entry is best told in the form of... a short story:
"Awwwww but do I have to!?" Stroppy McHorseguy, chief designer of Gryphon Gear, whined, rubbing his face in exasperation at the scribbles of Godzilla on his easel with lots of crosses through it.
"Yes." Was Dan's arms-folded reply. Dan may have looked like a mousey sort, but under that diminutive stature and those rodentious buck teeth were a lady of steel. Even knowing that arms-folded mode meant resistance was futile, Strop decided to try anyway, because he never knew when not to.
"But why? It's a bloat-mobile. We don't build bloat mobiles."
"We're not
building it. We're just engineering the base and you're designing the shell. Or should I say, re-designing. The rear end doesn't look executive enough."
Strop groaned. Precisely the class of car he liked least, what with their (needlessly) luxuriously appointed cabins, with hundreds and hundreds of kilograms of extra weight, sucking in power and fuel and wallowing around the track like a bus. Undeterred by his obvious look of anguish, Dan plowed on: "Besides, you knew this was part of the contract when we agreed to make a bid on the movie stunt car deal. It's business, and damn good business at that. Do you realise we're being paid in percentages, not a single sum for this contract? The potential is huge! If you don't fuck it up, that is."
Just then, a pair of antlers poked their way through the doorframe. "Yeah," Cendeer (or just Cen) chimed in for good measure. "Take the job seriously for once."
Strop flipped the bird at the departing Cen, before pouting and returned to staring at his easel, and dithered with his pen. "Fine. Just email me the specs of the superfluous luxury shit and I'll find a place to stash it. But so help me there better be a damn good Christmas bonus for this."
"You'll get paid," Dan replied, "
If we land the deal. I'll check on your progress tomorrow." And with that, she clattered down the stairs again. How she avoided punching her stiletto heels through the holes in the metal grille was a daily marvel.
Between the potential incentive of money if he did a good job, or the potential disincentive of Dan's stiletto heel up the other half of his ass if he half-assed it, Strop knew which he preferred. It was time to get to work.

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