Post by victoriousscarf on Apr 17, 2011 21:20:39 GMT -8
Martin looked up, his glasses reflecting the light as he looked around the lobby to the main entrance. It was getting late, which meant the Demoniaque was getting busy, despite the increased amounts of hushed whispering and the fear in the air. He was determined to catch the dealer tonight though. He had only been storing up this tidbit of information for the past four and a half months, and his goal was to let it slip on this night in particular, no matter what news the newspapers were running.
Mistoffeeles arrived with some extra time to spare, adjusting his tie as he walked in, glancing around the room without much interest.
Martin’s eyebrows rose, and his tail curled around in something that might have resembled joy, if he had been anyone else. “Mr. Quaxo!” he called out, motioning for the other cat to come over.
Blinking, Misto adjusted his course, recalling everything Coricopat had ever said about the desk clerk--most of it unkind or a warning. Not to mention the times when he himself had actually ever spoken to the grey cat. “Yes, Sir?” he asked cautiously.
Martin adjusted his glasses and considered the other. “I see you have recovered from your injuries satisfactorily.” He looked at Misto’s tail significantly.
“Quite,” Misto said, frowning, not sure what the other really wanted.
Martin glanced down at the papers. “And how is your emotional state today? Are you sure you should be at work?”
Misto blinked rapidly, rolling back on the balls of his feet. “Excuse me?”
“Well,” Martin said, shuffling some papers importantly. “This is the anniversary of your parent’s death is it not? How many years is it now?”
“Nineteen,” Misto said quietly, his tail coming around to wrap around his leg. His ears flickered back, and he was so shocked by the question he barely spared a thought for how Martin knew.
Martin nodded. “Nineteen years. A long time.” He nodded again. “It must be worse this year, with how things stand between you and your uncle.”
A trickle of suspicion slithered down Misto’s spine. Why would Smith of all cats be bringing that up? “Yeah,” he said neutrally.
Martin glanced at him from over the top of his glasses. “Must be so worse to have the only remaining family member after you.”
“Yeah,” Misto said again, rocking back one more time. “Well, if you’ll excuse me I…”
“Must be even worse since your uncle’s the one who killed them.”
Misto froze completely. His tail did not even poof out, he had gone so still. “E-excuse me?” he rasped past a suddenly dry throat.
Martin forced himself to look surprised, when all he really wanted to do was look like the cat with the cream. “You didn’t know?”
A strangled sound escaped him before Misto visibly clamped down on his emotions, though his ears were lying completely flat. “No,” he said. “I had no idea. What exactly are you talking about?”
“Well,” Martin said, sympathy coloring his voice—it almost sounded sincere. “I was looking into the accident a little and it seems that Bustopher Jones actually arranged it to happen. There’s some testimony about it that got thrown out of the court case.”
Misto’s jaw dropped and another strangled sound rose out of his throat. “How did you…?”
“I look into all our employees,” Martin said. “And I am very thorough.”
Misto realized he had no control over his heartbeat anymore, or anything else for that matter. He wanted to move, to run, possibly hide or cry, but he just stood, staring at the desk clerk.
“Are you alright?” Martin asked, injecting his voice with another dose of false sympathy.
A huff of breath escaped and Misto forced himself to nod. “I’ll be fine,” he said in a voice that proved how fully in denial he really was at that moment.
Martin nodded. “Good to hear. Have a good day, and I’m sorry for your loss, even if it is rather late.”
Misto forced himself to nod, the motion far too fast and jerky.
Martin gave him another look over his glasses. “You should probably get to work.”
Misto swallowed hard, feeling like throwing up more so than going and standing for hours and dealing idiots cards. “Of course,” he managed, turning to go. “Thank you for your concern,” he added, and fled.
Martin watched him go, and a cold smile graced his face. The other cat’s emotions were so much fun to play with, since they were oh so obvious. Beside, it was like getting two for one, considering Zimmerman's reactions to the small dealer. It was just too much damn fun.
[THREAD END]
Mistoffeeles arrived with some extra time to spare, adjusting his tie as he walked in, glancing around the room without much interest.
Martin’s eyebrows rose, and his tail curled around in something that might have resembled joy, if he had been anyone else. “Mr. Quaxo!” he called out, motioning for the other cat to come over.
Blinking, Misto adjusted his course, recalling everything Coricopat had ever said about the desk clerk--most of it unkind or a warning. Not to mention the times when he himself had actually ever spoken to the grey cat. “Yes, Sir?” he asked cautiously.
Martin adjusted his glasses and considered the other. “I see you have recovered from your injuries satisfactorily.” He looked at Misto’s tail significantly.
“Quite,” Misto said, frowning, not sure what the other really wanted.
Martin glanced down at the papers. “And how is your emotional state today? Are you sure you should be at work?”
Misto blinked rapidly, rolling back on the balls of his feet. “Excuse me?”
“Well,” Martin said, shuffling some papers importantly. “This is the anniversary of your parent’s death is it not? How many years is it now?”
“Nineteen,” Misto said quietly, his tail coming around to wrap around his leg. His ears flickered back, and he was so shocked by the question he barely spared a thought for how Martin knew.
Martin nodded. “Nineteen years. A long time.” He nodded again. “It must be worse this year, with how things stand between you and your uncle.”
A trickle of suspicion slithered down Misto’s spine. Why would Smith of all cats be bringing that up? “Yeah,” he said neutrally.
Martin glanced at him from over the top of his glasses. “Must be so worse to have the only remaining family member after you.”
“Yeah,” Misto said again, rocking back one more time. “Well, if you’ll excuse me I…”
“Must be even worse since your uncle’s the one who killed them.”
Misto froze completely. His tail did not even poof out, he had gone so still. “E-excuse me?” he rasped past a suddenly dry throat.
Martin forced himself to look surprised, when all he really wanted to do was look like the cat with the cream. “You didn’t know?”
A strangled sound escaped him before Misto visibly clamped down on his emotions, though his ears were lying completely flat. “No,” he said. “I had no idea. What exactly are you talking about?”
“Well,” Martin said, sympathy coloring his voice—it almost sounded sincere. “I was looking into the accident a little and it seems that Bustopher Jones actually arranged it to happen. There’s some testimony about it that got thrown out of the court case.”
Misto’s jaw dropped and another strangled sound rose out of his throat. “How did you…?”
“I look into all our employees,” Martin said. “And I am very thorough.”
Misto realized he had no control over his heartbeat anymore, or anything else for that matter. He wanted to move, to run, possibly hide or cry, but he just stood, staring at the desk clerk.
“Are you alright?” Martin asked, injecting his voice with another dose of false sympathy.
A huff of breath escaped and Misto forced himself to nod. “I’ll be fine,” he said in a voice that proved how fully in denial he really was at that moment.
Martin nodded. “Good to hear. Have a good day, and I’m sorry for your loss, even if it is rather late.”
Misto forced himself to nod, the motion far too fast and jerky.
Martin gave him another look over his glasses. “You should probably get to work.”
Misto swallowed hard, feeling like throwing up more so than going and standing for hours and dealing idiots cards. “Of course,” he managed, turning to go. “Thank you for your concern,” he added, and fled.
Martin watched him go, and a cold smile graced his face. The other cat’s emotions were so much fun to play with, since they were oh so obvious. Beside, it was like getting two for one, considering Zimmerman's reactions to the small dealer. It was just too much damn fun.
[THREAD END]