Why the executives organised an end-of-year office party was beyond me, and everyone else with a brain here. All the budget spent on the buffet, the DJ, the dancefloor, the live band and the decorations, it would have been more agreeable to just give us all bonuses. But, corporate's gonna corporate, what can you do about that? Still, the open bar has ensured that everyone is able to get sufficiently wasted to start actually having a good time. But there's only so much that free sambuca can do to distract us from the uncomfortable fact we're dancing in our office clothes, twenty feet away from the computers we were working at just a couple of hours ago. One thing's for sure: nobody's driving themselves home tonight. I resign myself to the fact that the warmth in the air makes me loosen the top button on my shirt. For all the anthros and humans in here, it's going to start getting sweaty if the DJ keeps putting on tune after banging tune. I yell-sing along to 'Bonkers', not doing much justice to Dizzee Rascal's wicked rapping. But in all fairness, he's a human rapper, I'm an hyena anthro who works in graphic design. I slow my exuberant dancing down just a bit, as it occurs to me that if I hadn't packed my sports bra, there would be a very unflattering level of flopping going on. Chuckling to myself, I silently express my gratitude to Mother Nature for blessing me with a back of steel to support my hefty frame. As I'm getting ready to psyche up for the next floor-filling musical number (The Weeknd's 'Blinding Lights'), I catch a glimpse of a disco light reflecting briefly off a watchface across the crowded dancefloor, just for a moment. I see a noticably still presence among the heaving, partying colleagues from the other departments at the agency. It's you, the young fresh face from downstairs. I think you work in the accounts department. Not long started, actually. No wonder you look awkward. I have a great idea. I subtly make eye contact, then flash the strap of my red thong, then hide it away with a coy wink.