2007-08-12: Don't Give Him Donuts


Church_icon.gif Giselle_icon.gif

Summary: After years of not seeing the other, two old friends are thrown together by the Company. Agent goings-on are discussed, and a (perhaps foolish!) offer of food is made.

Date It Happened: August 12th, 2007

Don't Give Him Doughnuts

Hartsdale, NY - Primatech - Offices

An average, late afternoon in the heart of the Hartsdale facility is often unexciting, and today is no exception. Sure, there are meetings in adjacent rooms, and there are probably researchers toiling sleepless on projects, but for the most part it is just another day having passed by, and that means it is time for busy work. Lawrence was never one for paperwork. Never really one to sit down at a desk and pour over timetables and reports. In fact, the only reason he is down in this particular wing is to be able to leave it later. One of the temporarily empty offices has been occupied by him in his jetlagged wait; the inside of the office is bare save for a single metal desk and two chairs seated on either side. Loafers propped on the edge of the desk, Church is catnapping in one of those two seats, a newspaper expertly shading his face. He may have been reading it at one point, but now its sole purpose is to keep the lights and noise of Primatech from waking him up. A nonstop trip from Odessa, Texas tired him out from the sheer fact that he had gotten no sleep the night previous. And so, Lawrence has found himself a moment of quiet until the 'new partner'(oh, how he dreads this) shows up to knock him clear out of it.

The agent assigned to meet Mr. Church may have had a slightly closer destination to arrive from this morning, but that doesn’t mean she’s any less tired. Or irritated. Giselle isn’t a paperwork person, either, but she’d spent the entire midday cooped up with cabinets and manila files of it. Supervisor’s special orders. It’s also on orders that she’s here at all now, following the removal of her last partner’s name from their listed pair on the roster (“socially unsuited for working together.” Who would’ve thought?). Though she had received the memo almost when Church had, she’d really had little time in between to prepare for it, mentally. Physically, she is sharply-dressed in a women’s suit of crisp gray and white, cuffs and pants flaring to a slight roundness. Her hair is flat on both shoulders – straightened. Before her heeled feet are even squarely before the appropriate closed door, she pushes it rudely open into the room, though relatively quietly. The newspaper covering Lawrence’s head is a screen against facial recognition, the easiest kind, so she just stands and squints for a second.

The newspaper flutters a bit as a threat to blow away, but it seems to stick to the man's face out of luck. The only thing to make it worse was if he was wearing earbuds under there somewhere. Is he? Well, no. But it takes a few extra seconds for Church to even respond to this breeze and the feeling he is being -watched-. There it is again! Do people just peek in on him? With these thoughts, he is finally awake, but the newspaper doesn't go anywhere yet, nor does he relay his coherence. He wants to see what this person does! Sounded like -heels- this time, man. The hands folded on the lap of his dark slacks don't move, and the pillow of his rolled-up blazer on the back of the seat makes sure he stays free of creaking.

Heels is correct. It is a wimmenz here for Church, and the feminine voice that disturbs the air of the office just a second later confirms it. Something about the bluntness or the edge of the voice might just be very familiar to the male Agent. “Hey. /Hey/-” Sounds like she thinks he’s still asleep, which does not a happy Giselle make. “You the partner I was sent to meet, or what?”

Why yes, that does sound familiar! Lifting his hands to carefully pluck the newspaper off of his person, Lawrence lifts his feet from the edge of the desk to the ground. The sound of the paper jostling fills up the room, the paper itself finding a haphazardly folded spot on the empty desk. "Iiiiii know you. I /think/." Church leans back in his seat again, creasing both eyebrows and tilting his head to the left. This is his thoughtful pose. It certainly looks that way, but that doesn't mean he's thinking. Both hands find themselves back in his lap. "Gimme a hint here, I'm getting old."

If thought is required for recognition to happen, then it may not be only memory that’s getting old. Either that, or there’s something wrong with the thinker. After the initial lightening of her face as surprise touches it, Giselle frowns, for she’d recognized Lawrence as soon as the old face had been revealed beneath the newspaper. Surely, /she/ doesn’t look that different. “Church,” she says in mild consternation, closing the door gently behind her to step completely into the room. “It’s me. Giselle.”

Church seems disturbed by this news at first, or maybe he just remembered who she was two seconds ago. Yep. His brows lift onto his forehead sharply now, tired eyes blinking awake. So maybe he wasn't as alert as he thought he was! That's alright. "Oh, fffuh-/yeah/." There is almost a slip of verbal frustration too, but the older man decides to spring to his feet instead. Instantly, his hand pops outward toward Giselle and the bewildered look that had settled in disappears in favor of a more smiling one. "I still have to learn to think before I open my mouth, don't I? My bad. Just sleep deprived! I'm not -really- getting -old-." Pfft.

\The hand is taken almost blankly; Giselle is still looking at Church straight over the top of it, searching the man’s face lightly with her eyes. She huffs a slightly bewildered breath of laughter, ignoring the sudden string of speech to interrupt with a question of her own. “I haven’t seen you for—what is it, four years,” she comments, still mildly despite her smiling. “How have you been? What’ve you been doing?”

Church is all sparkles and grins now, face alight with something quite impish. "Four years, and almost a month now. Been good. Could be better. But who can't say that?" The hand she had shaken now motions to the seat across the desk. Sit! Maybe? "I've been doing whatever they want me to do." He pats himself on the chest, smoothing the front of his pale workshirt and plopping back down into his lounging, seated position. "Which, unfortunately for me, means reports and snippy little greenhorns needing babysat. Haven't had a partner in…five years! Guess they decided to change that for me, eh." A moment's pause comes with a thoughtful frown, promptly switching into a curious tilt of his head. Your turn!

Giselle takes the offer gratefully and more gracefully than she normally would, lowering herself experimentally into the seat and crossing one leg, than the other. “We all do whatever the Company wants us to do,” she rejoins once she’s settled with her hands folded across her lap, though not apologetically. “I’ve been settling in nicely since I got here-” Here, she flicks a quick look of implication at Church- but I’ve had my run of idiot partners through the years, too.” Literally. The stories she has to tell.

Church lifts his hand beside him, fingers making a nondescript motion. "I think I heard about one. You got that little terrakinetic not too long ago, right?" At 'little', he makes a 'short' hand flat beside him in the air. They must have briefed him in the Hartsdale history, it sounds like. "Pity that didn't work out. That's one baaadass kinesis." But his is better.

“Claudine,” Giselle answers, adding an eyeroll for measure as one sideways hand is tapped idly against her chin. “I don’t care how it’s supposed to work here. A seventeen-year old full of butterflies and /naïve/ does not belong at the Company.” “Her ability’s wasted on stupid,” she grumbles. Yeah. Pff. Church’s is better.

Church looks like he swallowed a bug. "Seventeen? That isn't even out of -school-. What're we coming to? We're not -that- hardpressed." The older man taps his fingers on the armrests of the chair and shifts the seat on its swivel. "I should catch up. Just to see why we're robbing cradles, now. Bob had his girl in here, but she was a special case." Lawrence squints a little at the air, half of a frown on his face. "Full of butterflies? Did you check?"

“Not literally,” Giselle says almost breezily, but adds a slightly nastier, “But it /really/ might as well be.” The reminder of Elle Bishop puts a tiny frown on her face; she continues tapping. “Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to catch up as we go, Church. It’s been too long since I’ve seen your power in action.”

Church hums thoughtfully. "Be better if she -was- full of butterflies." He says to himself before pushing himself a few inches out of his seat just to sit down again. Fidgeting. "I suppose it has, hasn't it?" Giselle's new partner smiles broadly, showing off his set of pearly whites. "I haven't had many chances to put myself to such use at a deskjob, so it goes for both of us, and it's -my- power." He does seem oddly restless all of a sudden, if just at the prospect of going and actually doing something again.

The fidgets are noticed by Giselle, who is suddenly smiling rather broadly herself. “We have an assignment,” she informs him for a reply, sliding a long, smooth strand of hair behind her ear with two fingers. Yes, already – the Company might not be hardpressed, but there is nearly always something to do. Besides, it also explains the speed with which new partners had been assigned. “We’re supposed to check in with Carter later tonight. I hope you’re not /too/ tired from jetlag?”

"An assignment!" Oh yes. There is a look of almost childlike interest on Lawrence's face now. "What's a couple hours loss? Nothing compared to a nonstop from Sydney, tell you what." In short, no, he's not tired. Grrrrrrraaarawrl. But he sounds hungry. "Could use something to eat, though."

That is a problem that’s easily fixed. “I’ll treat you?” the female Agent offers impulsively, flexing her wrists and sliding her chair back with her legs. This is something that Giselle just might regret later, but. Oh well. “There’s a cute little bakery close by. You won’t be wanting stuff from the coffee machine here, I imagine.”

Church leans back in his chair only to have it appear to spring him to both feet as it rocks forward again. "Last time I tried that, it tasted like mud." And we all know that mud tastes bad, don't we? "Your treat? You got it, honey. Can tell me all about what we're going to be up to, huh?" Giselle has made the mistake of offering him food, for one. Secondly, that food will inevitably have sugar in it or on it. Thirdly, her wallet will drain quite quickly if she doesn't learn from this.

“I don’t know much about it, myself - yet,” Giselle admits, but at this point she’s already halfway to the door, casting only a single glance backwards at Church-in-the-chair. “There’s plenty of time for that tonight, though. Just make sure you get sleep afterwards.” Learn from this or not, there is Work To Do and Food To Be Had. What are we still doing here?

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