[Forsaken] Option 1
Sep. 17th, 2011 01:00 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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writing_shadows“D’ya hunt?”
“Course,” he grinned, jaw out, teeth the right side of goofy, plumy accent coming to the for. “Bally shame they got rid of proper rules, mind. Beasty foxes.”
The older man nodded, perfectly comfortable with the younger man to be at the table. This was exactly what the newcomer wanted; he knew the value of connections in the city, and if that meant claiming an affinity with posh prats who liked to don red coats and trot around with a back of dogs, so be it.
He sunk his teeth into the blue steak on his plate, gobbling it up as savagely as possible while still using the silver service cutlery. He could feel the blood dribble down his chin, feel the taste of the meat slither down his throat.
“More champers?” the third man asked, a bridge between the two ages. The younger man gave his goofiest grin, and wobbled his head a little. The senior management at Raymond Zelinger were generous with the bubbly, especially when one of the bankers did well. And, right now, he was doing rather well.
“Rather,” he said, beaming. He’d pulled off several masterful shorts in the past week, shares that should have gone up. It might have reeked of insider dealing, but Marty Welbeck was known to occasionally pull off these coups. It was why he was given a little leeway.
Wait… why had the conversation jumped from hunting to champagne?
“We know young men need to let off steam,” the older man said.
“Yes, we understand sometimes you need to relax,” the middle man added.
“It’s just that, well, it can’t interfere with the office environment.”
“Costs money, don’t’cha know.”
“Won’t cost you your job this time. But has to be a formal warning.”
“Well, an informal warning. Want to keep you, Welbeck. Going to go far.”
“We just want to know why you did it.”
Marty coughed. “Well, some of the boys and I, we…” he sighed. He couldn’t explain it.
How do you explain that, when you used the fire extinguisher, the entire corridor was a sheet of raging flame, a burning hell of heat and danger. That it had been burning in rage until he’d turned around and the office manager had asked him what the hell he was doing.
You can’t. He couldn’t explain why he’d kicked in the door to one of the toilet cubicles when it had stuck, either. At least they didn’t know about that one.
“Well, goodnight, Welbeck. See you in… ha! A few hours!”
“Night, sirs,” he said, turning off down one of the city walks. A fox scurried out head of him. Then it saw him and ran. He shook his head. The city foxes were poor, thin things with pale coats, living off the bins of the city restaurants. He wasn’t surprised it ran.
But then, these days everything ran from him. Everything except dogs. Maybe he should take up hunting after all.
“Course,” he grinned, jaw out, teeth the right side of goofy, plumy accent coming to the for. “Bally shame they got rid of proper rules, mind. Beasty foxes.”
The older man nodded, perfectly comfortable with the younger man to be at the table. This was exactly what the newcomer wanted; he knew the value of connections in the city, and if that meant claiming an affinity with posh prats who liked to don red coats and trot around with a back of dogs, so be it.
He sunk his teeth into the blue steak on his plate, gobbling it up as savagely as possible while still using the silver service cutlery. He could feel the blood dribble down his chin, feel the taste of the meat slither down his throat.
“More champers?” the third man asked, a bridge between the two ages. The younger man gave his goofiest grin, and wobbled his head a little. The senior management at Raymond Zelinger were generous with the bubbly, especially when one of the bankers did well. And, right now, he was doing rather well.
“Rather,” he said, beaming. He’d pulled off several masterful shorts in the past week, shares that should have gone up. It might have reeked of insider dealing, but Marty Welbeck was known to occasionally pull off these coups. It was why he was given a little leeway.
Wait… why had the conversation jumped from hunting to champagne?
“We know young men need to let off steam,” the older man said.
“Yes, we understand sometimes you need to relax,” the middle man added.
“It’s just that, well, it can’t interfere with the office environment.”
“Costs money, don’t’cha know.”
“Won’t cost you your job this time. But has to be a formal warning.”
“Well, an informal warning. Want to keep you, Welbeck. Going to go far.”
“We just want to know why you did it.”
Marty coughed. “Well, some of the boys and I, we…” he sighed. He couldn’t explain it.
How do you explain that, when you used the fire extinguisher, the entire corridor was a sheet of raging flame, a burning hell of heat and danger. That it had been burning in rage until he’d turned around and the office manager had asked him what the hell he was doing.
You can’t. He couldn’t explain why he’d kicked in the door to one of the toilet cubicles when it had stuck, either. At least they didn’t know about that one.
“Well, goodnight, Welbeck. See you in… ha! A few hours!”
“Night, sirs,” he said, turning off down one of the city walks. A fox scurried out head of him. Then it saw him and ran. He shook his head. The city foxes were poor, thin things with pale coats, living off the bins of the city restaurants. He wasn’t surprised it ran.
But then, these days everything ran from him. Everything except dogs. Maybe he should take up hunting after all.
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