(no subject)
He'd taken his time about it. There isn't a real rush, and work had certainly caught up with him as soon as June got home, so it had only been natural to expect he throw all of his time and effort into doing what he does best: that is, whatever his father tells him to do. There's plenty of free reign, but for the most part June follows the guidelines his father sets, because he'll one day have to inherit everything.
Of course, as soon as the lady at the front desk sees him stroll into the building her first thought is to look for the police officers that should be accompanying him. But June is alone, and it's only noon--not a late Saturday night, early Sunday morning with his hands bloodied and his face bruised. So he must have come of his own free will.
The boy makes himself cozy at the desk, with his elbows braced over the top, the same sleek attire as always, just ready to be torn apart and ripped and stained by a fist fight.
"Hello." He smiles at the woman, a preoccupied smirk that fits into the corner of his mouth so he can use his lips to shape the rest of the words, as if the greeting is little more than a secondary gesture. "June Mallory. I'm looking for an employee here, by the name of Luc. He's incredibly rude and not very tall," June holds his hand up to demonstrate at a height a great deal lower than necessary, "but otherwise unremarkable. You see, he borrowed something of mine, and I'm here to pick it up. I'm sure if you mention my name he'll know what you're talking about."
---
The woman looks less and less alarmed for every moment the boy speaks, and once she's understood that he isn't here to stir up trouble for her personally, she thinks a little more clearly and considers exactly what it is that June is saying.
She gets up the nerve to reply, looking genuinely confused but she isn't quite as authentically confused as she sounds, having chosen her words carefully and opting for a polite sort of outward correction that couldn't possibly be called out on.
"There is an employee here by the name of Luc, but I'm afraid that's as far as the description matches, Mr. Mallory. Our Luc is.." she smiles, warmly. "..a very kind and genuine young man. He hasn't said a rude word to anyone on staff, from upper administration to the cleaning crew."
Almost as if it were cued, a few moments after the woman finishes her remark, Luc's voice precedes him before he turns the corner.
"Clara, you really should be careful of what you say out in the open." His tone is so phenomenally different from the way he speaks to June, and the man strides toward the receptionist's desk to slide a small stack of papers toward her, smiling faintly and tilting his head. It sends the sheaf of hair sliding against the bridge of his nose; a gesture that is obviously not lost on most of the female staff, because she begins to sputter, confused, before he adds, "...never know just who's listening. I'm terribly flattered, but I won't be of any use to you or Natalie if it goes to my head, you know." A winning smile, and then he turns to June, sending him that same smile, though it's slightly frozen around the edges and his eyes are like knives. He gestures with his head, guiding the boy toward his office.
As if to punctuate the reason for June's meeting, the tie in question is impeccably wrapped around his throat, with a light grey, short-sleeved button-up shirt that makes him look strangely young, boyish, almost androgynous--and a darker grey vest buttoned over it.
Insultingly, he wears the color phenomenally well. Once they're in his office, however, he slips the tie over his head and lowers his lashes, a self-contained, molasses-sweet smile still lingering on his mouth. "I'd like to say I'm sorry that your attempt to out me for who I am when I'm dealing with barbarians such as yourself didn't work, but it shouldn't be a surprise to you. I don't know what you were thinking."
---
June brow inches high when the woman responds to him, effectively devolving into a mildly contained eye-roll as he looks off toward the wall, waiting for her to finish gushing over this 'alien' she's calling the same name of the man he's looking for.
He hears the voice before he sees the face that accompanies it, mouth curling into a slightly astonished look of humor. He stays quiet while Luc tugs on those strings (very visible, if only to the onlooker) he evidently has wrapped around the staff members here, leveling the man with a flat look of amusement as he's guided away from the lobby.
With the door shut behind them, June's expression doesn't change except when his gaze fastens onto that tie, watching pale fingers unwind the knot with a very dark shadow to his close-lipped smirk. Without asking, he reaches to tug it out of the man's hands.
"I was only telling them the truth. Isn't that right?" When he speaks, his mouth parts just enough to show white teeth and the red flicker of tongue behind it, a whispering background presence in the face of his blunt manner of speaking.
"Clever of you, by the way. I'm only glad I don't have the burden of pretending to be such a nice guy in my line of work," June offers, exhaling the words in one breath. "Did you want your jewelry back, or can I keep it, for all the trouble I took in coming here?"
---
His smile flattens and then stretches a bit wide, something flickering across the horizon of his eyes. Apparently, he's in a strange mood, but it's so unplaceable it would be useless to try identifying.
"You were telling them the truth from your point of view, June." Luc's tone echoes, perfectly, that of the boy's own, with a soft, cold cloud of frost to bolster it and keep his emotion from reaching it entirely. Wherever he picked this up, he picked it up well.
And at the mention of the ankh, Luc tilts his head back, glancing down his nose at June before he picks up his mug and takes a sip of whatever's in it, gazing silently over the rim at the boy.
"I'd like it back, seeing as how I honestly can't imagine you wearing it comfortably out in the open." It's true that the symbol is a little exotic, something that tends to look out of place on European-chic people like June.
---
"I think it'd be obvious to anyone else in my position that you aren't as wholesome as you like to make yourself out to be, here. I'm sure Clara is seeing from a point of view of her own, along with the rest of your coworkers."
He makes the comment with another flat look, finding himself less and less interested in how exactly the man interacts in his work life, especially in comparison with June's occupation--which doesn't have the same kind of surroundings anyway.
Black eyes follow Luc's movements as he lifts the mug, possessed with the urge to knock it out of his hands; a few years ago, he might have lacked the restraint to prevent the impulse, but he stays still now, finding a spot to lean against the wall near the door.
"Really? I thought it might make a good gift for a friend of mine in the future." June fishes the ankh in question from the pocket of his slacks, dangling it between them, wrapping the heavy chain up around his fingers. "What sort of person would you imagine wearing it, if not me or you?"
---
"You're terribly sure of your knowledge when it comes to understanding what people do and don't see, considering how oblivious you seem to be of it in actuality." Luc sets the mug down and drags the flat of his tongue over his upper lip afterward, having said that phrase from behind the mug, still.
The man leans against his desk, crossing his arms.
"I haven't the slightest," is all he says in response, with perhaps the driest tone he's ever used with the boy as of yet. "Because I bought it to wear it, so if you'll forgive me for not giving that ridiculous question any thought, I would like to get back to work." He's straightening up this time, still looking as unruffled as he did with the tie around his neck, and he grips the boy's wrist, wrenching his fingers into the tendons and pulling the ankh away with a startlingly sharp sort of motion.
Very suddenly, he's gone from his amused, strange sort of mood to one that obviously does not involve wanting to fuck around, and he gives June a look so loaded with disdain that even his upper lip curls away from his teeth a little bit.
Yes, something is indeed very off; if anything, he has the attitude of someone who hasn't eaten in days, a sort of edgy irritability that has a foreign, dangerous tint to it.
"I'm sure I'll be seeing you dragged in here in a few nights. Do take care."
Of course, as soon as the lady at the front desk sees him stroll into the building her first thought is to look for the police officers that should be accompanying him. But June is alone, and it's only noon--not a late Saturday night, early Sunday morning with his hands bloodied and his face bruised. So he must have come of his own free will.
The boy makes himself cozy at the desk, with his elbows braced over the top, the same sleek attire as always, just ready to be torn apart and ripped and stained by a fist fight.
"Hello." He smiles at the woman, a preoccupied smirk that fits into the corner of his mouth so he can use his lips to shape the rest of the words, as if the greeting is little more than a secondary gesture. "June Mallory. I'm looking for an employee here, by the name of Luc. He's incredibly rude and not very tall," June holds his hand up to demonstrate at a height a great deal lower than necessary, "but otherwise unremarkable. You see, he borrowed something of mine, and I'm here to pick it up. I'm sure if you mention my name he'll know what you're talking about."
---
The woman looks less and less alarmed for every moment the boy speaks, and once she's understood that he isn't here to stir up trouble for her personally, she thinks a little more clearly and considers exactly what it is that June is saying.
She gets up the nerve to reply, looking genuinely confused but she isn't quite as authentically confused as she sounds, having chosen her words carefully and opting for a polite sort of outward correction that couldn't possibly be called out on.
"There is an employee here by the name of Luc, but I'm afraid that's as far as the description matches, Mr. Mallory. Our Luc is.." she smiles, warmly. "..a very kind and genuine young man. He hasn't said a rude word to anyone on staff, from upper administration to the cleaning crew."
Almost as if it were cued, a few moments after the woman finishes her remark, Luc's voice precedes him before he turns the corner.
"Clara, you really should be careful of what you say out in the open." His tone is so phenomenally different from the way he speaks to June, and the man strides toward the receptionist's desk to slide a small stack of papers toward her, smiling faintly and tilting his head. It sends the sheaf of hair sliding against the bridge of his nose; a gesture that is obviously not lost on most of the female staff, because she begins to sputter, confused, before he adds, "...never know just who's listening. I'm terribly flattered, but I won't be of any use to you or Natalie if it goes to my head, you know." A winning smile, and then he turns to June, sending him that same smile, though it's slightly frozen around the edges and his eyes are like knives. He gestures with his head, guiding the boy toward his office.
As if to punctuate the reason for June's meeting, the tie in question is impeccably wrapped around his throat, with a light grey, short-sleeved button-up shirt that makes him look strangely young, boyish, almost androgynous--and a darker grey vest buttoned over it.
Insultingly, he wears the color phenomenally well. Once they're in his office, however, he slips the tie over his head and lowers his lashes, a self-contained, molasses-sweet smile still lingering on his mouth. "I'd like to say I'm sorry that your attempt to out me for who I am when I'm dealing with barbarians such as yourself didn't work, but it shouldn't be a surprise to you. I don't know what you were thinking."
---
June brow inches high when the woman responds to him, effectively devolving into a mildly contained eye-roll as he looks off toward the wall, waiting for her to finish gushing over this 'alien' she's calling the same name of the man he's looking for.
He hears the voice before he sees the face that accompanies it, mouth curling into a slightly astonished look of humor. He stays quiet while Luc tugs on those strings (very visible, if only to the onlooker) he evidently has wrapped around the staff members here, leveling the man with a flat look of amusement as he's guided away from the lobby.
With the door shut behind them, June's expression doesn't change except when his gaze fastens onto that tie, watching pale fingers unwind the knot with a very dark shadow to his close-lipped smirk. Without asking, he reaches to tug it out of the man's hands.
"I was only telling them the truth. Isn't that right?" When he speaks, his mouth parts just enough to show white teeth and the red flicker of tongue behind it, a whispering background presence in the face of his blunt manner of speaking.
"Clever of you, by the way. I'm only glad I don't have the burden of pretending to be such a nice guy in my line of work," June offers, exhaling the words in one breath. "Did you want your jewelry back, or can I keep it, for all the trouble I took in coming here?"
---
His smile flattens and then stretches a bit wide, something flickering across the horizon of his eyes. Apparently, he's in a strange mood, but it's so unplaceable it would be useless to try identifying.
"You were telling them the truth from your point of view, June." Luc's tone echoes, perfectly, that of the boy's own, with a soft, cold cloud of frost to bolster it and keep his emotion from reaching it entirely. Wherever he picked this up, he picked it up well.
And at the mention of the ankh, Luc tilts his head back, glancing down his nose at June before he picks up his mug and takes a sip of whatever's in it, gazing silently over the rim at the boy.
"I'd like it back, seeing as how I honestly can't imagine you wearing it comfortably out in the open." It's true that the symbol is a little exotic, something that tends to look out of place on European-chic people like June.
---
"I think it'd be obvious to anyone else in my position that you aren't as wholesome as you like to make yourself out to be, here. I'm sure Clara is seeing from a point of view of her own, along with the rest of your coworkers."
He makes the comment with another flat look, finding himself less and less interested in how exactly the man interacts in his work life, especially in comparison with June's occupation--which doesn't have the same kind of surroundings anyway.
Black eyes follow Luc's movements as he lifts the mug, possessed with the urge to knock it out of his hands; a few years ago, he might have lacked the restraint to prevent the impulse, but he stays still now, finding a spot to lean against the wall near the door.
"Really? I thought it might make a good gift for a friend of mine in the future." June fishes the ankh in question from the pocket of his slacks, dangling it between them, wrapping the heavy chain up around his fingers. "What sort of person would you imagine wearing it, if not me or you?"
---
"You're terribly sure of your knowledge when it comes to understanding what people do and don't see, considering how oblivious you seem to be of it in actuality." Luc sets the mug down and drags the flat of his tongue over his upper lip afterward, having said that phrase from behind the mug, still.
The man leans against his desk, crossing his arms.
"I haven't the slightest," is all he says in response, with perhaps the driest tone he's ever used with the boy as of yet. "Because I bought it to wear it, so if you'll forgive me for not giving that ridiculous question any thought, I would like to get back to work." He's straightening up this time, still looking as unruffled as he did with the tie around his neck, and he grips the boy's wrist, wrenching his fingers into the tendons and pulling the ankh away with a startlingly sharp sort of motion.
Very suddenly, he's gone from his amused, strange sort of mood to one that obviously does not involve wanting to fuck around, and he gives June a look so loaded with disdain that even his upper lip curls away from his teeth a little bit.
Yes, something is indeed very off; if anything, he has the attitude of someone who hasn't eaten in days, a sort of edgy irritability that has a foreign, dangerous tint to it.
"I'm sure I'll be seeing you dragged in here in a few nights. Do take care."