T
temporarybreakdown
Guest
Hey! I think y'all know how these work... so have fun! Sorry if the starter is a little "long", but I figured it would give you a good springboard, anyways. =D
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As I reached out my hand to open the door, a vague forewarning from the back of my mind stopped me. Suppose... suppose this was a trap, after all? Suppose that, once I stepped through that door, I was seized and taken away to some place far away, where no one who loved me- or didn't love me- would ever hear from me again. My melodramatic inner dialogue might have been totally unfounded-- but then again, it might not have been-- and in any case, it was making me feel better. I faltered for one moment, then fiercely turned the knob and pushed the door open with a bang. A fat man sat behind a desk, a silencing finger held up to his smiling lips. I was shaking nervously again. Tilting my chin at an upward angle, I stepped inside the room and closed the door behind me. The well-oiled clicking sound it made resounded in my ears like the falling of a judge's gavel after the pronunciation of a death sentence. A wave of Fat Man's hand indicated that I should be seated, and as I sidestepped over to a large chair upholstered in vinyl, I saw another man sitting in the corner of the room. He was very short- probably only an inch or so taller than me- and he was writing furiously on a yellow legal pad, scribbling out every other word. "Please, sit." Came Fat Man's voice, sounding as well oiled as the door. I quickly sat. He and I started at each other for a few lifetime-long moments, and then I blurted out, "Well- I'm here!" "Indeed you are." Fat Man released me from his gaze, sat back in his chair, and smiled. I shot a few furtive glances about my surroundings. My eyes came to rest on a cheap wood-and gold-colored-plastic name plaque on Fat Man's desk. His real name was Anthony P. Martin. Okay... Mr. Martin snapped his fingers, and the short man's head jerked up. "Yes?" "The papers. Please," Martin added as an afterthought. Short Man got up and scurried over to a filing cabinet, and while he was searching through the files, his quick, nimble fingers slipped and he gave himself a paper cut. I didn't see it happen, but I heard his squeak and saw him stick his finger in his mouth as he turned and handed Martin a manila envelope. Martin opened the envelope with a fair deal of ceremony, slowly running his letter opener (also gold-colored-plastic) under the flap and slowly pulling out a stack of papers about a quarter of an inch thick... He set the papers on his desk, tapping them significantly with his finger. "This, Miss Deven, is all the information our corporation has acquired on you." "I surmised as much," I coughed, trying to get rid of the scratchiness in my voice. "You will, of course, appreciate that Tiny and I are the only ones who have seen these papers, and Tiny hasn't even read them." Tiny? He actually called Short Man 'Tiny'? That was funny. "Of course appreciate it!" I snapped, wishing he would come to the point. Martin smiled unpleasantly and his voice became even oilier as he said, very slowly as if to a child, "And you hope to keep it that way. Correct?" "Correct," I coughed again. "Then you will agree to what we ask?" I glared, my nervousness quickly turning into a pounding headache, "Depends on what you ask!" Martin's smile disappeared. It was replaced by a hard line of mouth in a fleshy face- a ridiculous sight. "We will ask of you whatever we need! What we need," he repeated, "In exchange for what you need. And if that doesn't sound fair to you..." Once again, he tapped the papers. I gave in to my emotions, scrunching my eyes shut and burying my face in my hands... "Fine." "You're muttering, dear." I could hear the pleasure of winning in his voice. My head shot up. "I said fine!" I growled at him. Martin made his eyes big and he tsk-tsked at me. "Such a temper for a girl in such a dangerous position. One would think she would be more cooperative..." He stared at me for a while longer, but after receiving no response, he flopped back in his chair, making it creak awfully. He waved his hand, "Take her to meet Cassidy, Tiny, then take her to the hotel." I followed Tiny out of the room. Not through the door through which I entered, but a smaller one on the back wall. We walked through a long, dark hallway that couldn't have been altered since the 1950s. We came to another door, and it opened in to a large conference room, filled with about six large, round tables and big cardboard boxes stacked up all around the walls. Tiny lead me through the maze of tables and boxes, stumbling a few times, to a table sequestered in a dark corner. Three men and two women, all in black business suits, sat around it. Tiny approached one of the men and delicately cleared his throat. The man looked up from his papers in a bored way. "Yes, what is it, Harrison?" "Excuse me, sir, Mr. Martin sent me- and the girl-" The man's head jerked around to face me- and I found myself startled enough to gasp. I had been admiring his beautifully grecan-chiseled profile, but it wasn't until I saw him square on that I recognized him. He was the man in the picture. The picture the police had shown me. The man who just might be helpful to us... Cassidy's eyes moved away from mine as he set the papers in his hands down in organized stacks, and I glanced around at the rest of the people at the table. Yes... there was the woman who had been at Cassidy's side in the picture. Nothing was known about her... Somebody put their hand on my shoulder, and I jumped with a little yelp. Cassidy's hazel eyes held amusement. He took his hand off my shoulder and held it out. "Your newest agent," Harrison-- Tiny-- chattered in the background. "I've been dying to meet you," Cassidy's voice matched his face- cool and refined. "Juliana Deven is your name..." There was no questioning tone in his voice. "Yes..." I didn't shake his hand. He must have figured that I could read the name on his ID badge- Gabriel Cassidy- for myself, because he didn't bother to introduce himself. After a moment's pause, Cassidy smoothly put his hand back down at his side. "Are there any papers?" He directed the question towards Harrison, but kept his eyes on me. I gulped. "Yes, sir, but Mr. Martin says you don't need them, sir." "All right, then. Easier to not get bogged down with the trouble of the little people, anyway. Thank-you, Harrison, that will be all." Harrison scuttled away, and I was gently pushed into a chair by Cassidy. "Anything I can get you?" He asked, stopping in the middle of sitting down. "Soda? Water? Tina baked cookies, I believe." For whatever reason, the thought of these people snacking on the job, bringing goodies to work, like any other normal human beings, made me lose whatever appetite I might have had. I shook my head. Cassidy sat down, "All right. Say so if you change your mind."
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As I reached out my hand to open the door, a vague forewarning from the back of my mind stopped me. Suppose... suppose this was a trap, after all? Suppose that, once I stepped through that door, I was seized and taken away to some place far away, where no one who loved me- or didn't love me- would ever hear from me again. My melodramatic inner dialogue might have been totally unfounded-- but then again, it might not have been-- and in any case, it was making me feel better. I faltered for one moment, then fiercely turned the knob and pushed the door open with a bang. A fat man sat behind a desk, a silencing finger held up to his smiling lips. I was shaking nervously again. Tilting my chin at an upward angle, I stepped inside the room and closed the door behind me. The well-oiled clicking sound it made resounded in my ears like the falling of a judge's gavel after the pronunciation of a death sentence. A wave of Fat Man's hand indicated that I should be seated, and as I sidestepped over to a large chair upholstered in vinyl, I saw another man sitting in the corner of the room. He was very short- probably only an inch or so taller than me- and he was writing furiously on a yellow legal pad, scribbling out every other word. "Please, sit." Came Fat Man's voice, sounding as well oiled as the door. I quickly sat. He and I started at each other for a few lifetime-long moments, and then I blurted out, "Well- I'm here!" "Indeed you are." Fat Man released me from his gaze, sat back in his chair, and smiled. I shot a few furtive glances about my surroundings. My eyes came to rest on a cheap wood-and gold-colored-plastic name plaque on Fat Man's desk. His real name was Anthony P. Martin. Okay... Mr. Martin snapped his fingers, and the short man's head jerked up. "Yes?" "The papers. Please," Martin added as an afterthought. Short Man got up and scurried over to a filing cabinet, and while he was searching through the files, his quick, nimble fingers slipped and he gave himself a paper cut. I didn't see it happen, but I heard his squeak and saw him stick his finger in his mouth as he turned and handed Martin a manila envelope. Martin opened the envelope with a fair deal of ceremony, slowly running his letter opener (also gold-colored-plastic) under the flap and slowly pulling out a stack of papers about a quarter of an inch thick... He set the papers on his desk, tapping them significantly with his finger. "This, Miss Deven, is all the information our corporation has acquired on you." "I surmised as much," I coughed, trying to get rid of the scratchiness in my voice. "You will, of course, appreciate that Tiny and I are the only ones who have seen these papers, and Tiny hasn't even read them." Tiny? He actually called Short Man 'Tiny'? That was funny. "Of course appreciate it!" I snapped, wishing he would come to the point. Martin smiled unpleasantly and his voice became even oilier as he said, very slowly as if to a child, "And you hope to keep it that way. Correct?" "Correct," I coughed again. "Then you will agree to what we ask?" I glared, my nervousness quickly turning into a pounding headache, "Depends on what you ask!" Martin's smile disappeared. It was replaced by a hard line of mouth in a fleshy face- a ridiculous sight. "We will ask of you whatever we need! What we need," he repeated, "In exchange for what you need. And if that doesn't sound fair to you..." Once again, he tapped the papers. I gave in to my emotions, scrunching my eyes shut and burying my face in my hands... "Fine." "You're muttering, dear." I could hear the pleasure of winning in his voice. My head shot up. "I said fine!" I growled at him. Martin made his eyes big and he tsk-tsked at me. "Such a temper for a girl in such a dangerous position. One would think she would be more cooperative..." He stared at me for a while longer, but after receiving no response, he flopped back in his chair, making it creak awfully. He waved his hand, "Take her to meet Cassidy, Tiny, then take her to the hotel." I followed Tiny out of the room. Not through the door through which I entered, but a smaller one on the back wall. We walked through a long, dark hallway that couldn't have been altered since the 1950s. We came to another door, and it opened in to a large conference room, filled with about six large, round tables and big cardboard boxes stacked up all around the walls. Tiny lead me through the maze of tables and boxes, stumbling a few times, to a table sequestered in a dark corner. Three men and two women, all in black business suits, sat around it. Tiny approached one of the men and delicately cleared his throat. The man looked up from his papers in a bored way. "Yes, what is it, Harrison?" "Excuse me, sir, Mr. Martin sent me- and the girl-" The man's head jerked around to face me- and I found myself startled enough to gasp. I had been admiring his beautifully grecan-chiseled profile, but it wasn't until I saw him square on that I recognized him. He was the man in the picture. The picture the police had shown me. The man who just might be helpful to us... Cassidy's eyes moved away from mine as he set the papers in his hands down in organized stacks, and I glanced around at the rest of the people at the table. Yes... there was the woman who had been at Cassidy's side in the picture. Nothing was known about her... Somebody put their hand on my shoulder, and I jumped with a little yelp. Cassidy's hazel eyes held amusement. He took his hand off my shoulder and held it out. "Your newest agent," Harrison-- Tiny-- chattered in the background. "I've been dying to meet you," Cassidy's voice matched his face- cool and refined. "Juliana Deven is your name..." There was no questioning tone in his voice. "Yes..." I didn't shake his hand. He must have figured that I could read the name on his ID badge- Gabriel Cassidy- for myself, because he didn't bother to introduce himself. After a moment's pause, Cassidy smoothly put his hand back down at his side. "Are there any papers?" He directed the question towards Harrison, but kept his eyes on me. I gulped. "Yes, sir, but Mr. Martin says you don't need them, sir." "All right, then. Easier to not get bogged down with the trouble of the little people, anyway. Thank-you, Harrison, that will be all." Harrison scuttled away, and I was gently pushed into a chair by Cassidy. "Anything I can get you?" He asked, stopping in the middle of sitting down. "Soda? Water? Tina baked cookies, I believe." For whatever reason, the thought of these people snacking on the job, bringing goodies to work, like any other normal human beings, made me lose whatever appetite I might have had. I shook my head. Cassidy sat down, "All right. Say so if you change your mind."
