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writing_shadows(It's not that everything is all about me, it's just that I'm the only important consideration!)
He stormed through the door, bitterly noting that tracksuit bottoms, whilst practical, just lack any hint of class at all. He had no time to deal with the issue he left behind him, much more pressing matters on his mind. Ignoring the fact that the first member of staff he encountered was too busy weeping to even acknowledge his entrance, and then harshly dismissing the next who came running to him to seek solace. He had no time or interest in grieving, torn though he was by the situation.
He sought the solitude of his office, where he could be apart from the wailing and the human aspects of the loss he suffered the previous night, and where he could focus on what was important.
First, he searched through his rolodex, finding the right card and pulling it harshly out of its bindings. Then searching through further to find another name, before hissing with frustration at it not being there.
He sighed, turning to his laptop and starting to type an email, pausing halfway through to ensure he recalled all the details correctly he realised he had been distracted from the priorities.
He picked up the phone and dialling from memory he listened to the it ring, rummaging through papers as he waited for it to be answered, speaking harshly in a language alien to his tongue to someone who a few decades ago would have been making similar calls to him, he placed an order for new stock, settled a price rapidly and without great consideration.
He scanned through the accounts, running the math through his mind and accurately calculating the currently accumulated earnings of his latest corpse to have been just enough under seven hundred grand that he could call it six, throwing the ledger to the floor in irritation at the loss of a rising star.
Returning to the email, he carefully inserted a few clarifications on the detail he could provide and firmly underlined his interest in a rapid and satisfactory response. As it sent, he busied himself with locating the number for his business manager, leaving him a terse voicemail simply stating there’d been an incident and he needed to attend immediately, not caring that he likely went to sleep hours ago.
Hissing through his teeth in irritation, he settled himself comfortably in his chair, resting his feet upon the desk, before realising that trainers were just plain ugly and putting them back down and under the desk in order to stop reminding himself of the state he was currently in. He contemplated going and changing, but that meant running the gauntlet of weeping and wailing, and he really wasn’t sure he had the tolerance for that just yet, especially as he knew he had the loudest to come.
Deciding to get it over with, he read carefully off the card as he dialled, taking a series of deep false breaths and forcing blood to his eyes... eye. As it started to trickle down his cheek he allowed tiny amounts to trail down his nasal passages. As the phone rang he thought of what to say, and priming himself, was perfectly ready to start the conversation with a racking sob as the phone was answered, which he did. It was beautiful, and if there’d been a camera crew present for his moving dialogue, he’d have won an Oscar. Especially for his heart-torn opening line, resounding of guilt..misery, shame..
“Mrs Blažević? I’m afraid there’s been an incident...”
Once the conversation was ended, he made note on a small pad by the phone that he had agreed if the poor missing girl did turn out to have had something untoward happen, that the schools insurance would pay a very reasonable compensation of two hundred thousand pounds, but would have to have full copies of her paperwork sent directly to his address in order as proof of eligibility. Of course she had wept, all mothers do, but they are considerably easier to deal with than fathers, who get angry and try to get involved.
He looked in disgust at the blood staining down the sleeve of his top, a necessity for a good performance, one just can’t fake a wet snuffle without wet, but a waste none the less. Deciding that he couldn’t yet raise the patience to tolerate the wailing outside, he poured himself a drink in a large brandy glass, sat back, and put the stereo on to drown out the final hints of it through the wall, and finally let himself focus on how deeply he had been wronged.
He stormed through the door, bitterly noting that tracksuit bottoms, whilst practical, just lack any hint of class at all. He had no time to deal with the issue he left behind him, much more pressing matters on his mind. Ignoring the fact that the first member of staff he encountered was too busy weeping to even acknowledge his entrance, and then harshly dismissing the next who came running to him to seek solace. He had no time or interest in grieving, torn though he was by the situation.
He sought the solitude of his office, where he could be apart from the wailing and the human aspects of the loss he suffered the previous night, and where he could focus on what was important.
First, he searched through his rolodex, finding the right card and pulling it harshly out of its bindings. Then searching through further to find another name, before hissing with frustration at it not being there.
He sighed, turning to his laptop and starting to type an email, pausing halfway through to ensure he recalled all the details correctly he realised he had been distracted from the priorities.
He picked up the phone and dialling from memory he listened to the it ring, rummaging through papers as he waited for it to be answered, speaking harshly in a language alien to his tongue to someone who a few decades ago would have been making similar calls to him, he placed an order for new stock, settled a price rapidly and without great consideration.
He scanned through the accounts, running the math through his mind and accurately calculating the currently accumulated earnings of his latest corpse to have been just enough under seven hundred grand that he could call it six, throwing the ledger to the floor in irritation at the loss of a rising star.
Returning to the email, he carefully inserted a few clarifications on the detail he could provide and firmly underlined his interest in a rapid and satisfactory response. As it sent, he busied himself with locating the number for his business manager, leaving him a terse voicemail simply stating there’d been an incident and he needed to attend immediately, not caring that he likely went to sleep hours ago.
Hissing through his teeth in irritation, he settled himself comfortably in his chair, resting his feet upon the desk, before realising that trainers were just plain ugly and putting them back down and under the desk in order to stop reminding himself of the state he was currently in. He contemplated going and changing, but that meant running the gauntlet of weeping and wailing, and he really wasn’t sure he had the tolerance for that just yet, especially as he knew he had the loudest to come.
Deciding to get it over with, he read carefully off the card as he dialled, taking a series of deep false breaths and forcing blood to his eyes... eye. As it started to trickle down his cheek he allowed tiny amounts to trail down his nasal passages. As the phone rang he thought of what to say, and priming himself, was perfectly ready to start the conversation with a racking sob as the phone was answered, which he did. It was beautiful, and if there’d been a camera crew present for his moving dialogue, he’d have won an Oscar. Especially for his heart-torn opening line, resounding of guilt..misery, shame..
“Mrs Blažević? I’m afraid there’s been an incident...”
Once the conversation was ended, he made note on a small pad by the phone that he had agreed if the poor missing girl did turn out to have had something untoward happen, that the schools insurance would pay a very reasonable compensation of two hundred thousand pounds, but would have to have full copies of her paperwork sent directly to his address in order as proof of eligibility. Of course she had wept, all mothers do, but they are considerably easier to deal with than fathers, who get angry and try to get involved.
He looked in disgust at the blood staining down the sleeve of his top, a necessity for a good performance, one just can’t fake a wet snuffle without wet, but a waste none the less. Deciding that he couldn’t yet raise the patience to tolerate the wailing outside, he poured himself a drink in a large brandy glass, sat back, and put the stereo on to drown out the final hints of it through the wall, and finally let himself focus on how deeply he had been wronged.
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no subject
Date: 2010-09-25 09:11 am (UTC)