2007-02-07: Fire, Ice And Omens

Starring:

Anders_icon.gif

Guest Starring: Rainer

Summary: At the Company office building in New York City, Anders gets some orders and Rainer contemplates art.

Date It Happened: February 7th, 2007

Fire, Ice and Omens


Building in Kirby Plaza, Midtown, New York

This slick black building is one of many levels and offices in those levels, each with a different purpose, a different owner. It's not a bustling place in the least. In fact, the halls tend to be eerily still, silence interrupted only when the elevator occasionally slides up to a floor to let one of the persons who work in this building, situated in Kirby Plaza, out. One office is occupied by a frowning, stately man in a dark brown two-piece suit. The room is large, but not overly so; its furnishings are warm wood, and yet the office has very little warmth… not figuratively or literally. But it does have flames, which the man is staring at as we speak: fire painted on a canvas propped up on the arms of a chair. It shows a wide hallway being devoured by a destructive fire and silhouette in the foreground. Rainer Madson has one thumb pressed to his chin as he glares down darkly at this violent work of art, consumed by thought, consumed by flames.

Having been summoned by a superior, Anders has made the effort to dress the part. In a well cut dark blue suit, he could be any businessman getting called for a chewing out, really. Nevertheless, the man brushes himself down, standing just in front of the door, before reaching out to rap softly on it.

Rainer takes a slow, purposeful step toward the artwork and takes the protective white sheet from behind it, draping it over the canvas. One corner still shows the wicked orange and red paint, but when the door sounds, its observer pauses and looks toward it. "Come in, Anders." It's an order, not a welcoming invite. "Shut the door behind you."

"Yes, Sir," Anders mumbles, stepping through the door and adopting something similar to a military "at-ease" posture, "Good morning, Sir." he ventures, unsure of how he’s managed to screw the pooch this month.

"Relax, Anders. You're not here to get demoted." That too - /relax/ - is an order. Somehow, it's not likely to sound reassuring, especially considering the way Rainer regards the Norwegian with his intensely dark eyes, critically, over some thought that's not mentioned. Yet. He turns away from the man and brushes his hand over the white sheet on the canvas, obscuring the last remaining hint of colour. Folding his arms and still facing away from Anders, his deep voice strikes the room again. "You're going to have to spend most of your time at our facility upstate for awhile."

The relief the man feels at being so forcefully reassured (and, to be honest, a little at the fire, even just a depiction of it, being covered) evaporates quickly, his stance following suit as his arms drop by his sides, "Upstate, Sir?" Anders asks, frowning slightly before he catches himself, "May I ask why, Sir?"

"It's a precaution. Nothing you have to worry about. You'll be served best there. In and around the hospital." You know when someone is purposefully leaving something out… and it happens to be the crucial element to the story? That is what Rainer is doing now, and as he turns around once more, he fixes Anders with a thinly veiled look of threat. In other words: don't ask questions. He does, however, offer: "Your particular skills may be an asset. But like I said. It's only a precaution. Minor."

Though not the sharpest knife in the drawer by any means, Anders does manage to catch on and nod, "Yes Sir, the hospital," the man replies, picking up on the threat more than anything else, "My apologies for my lack of professionalism, Sir." The comment about his skills causes a smile to ghost across his face, barely there for a moment before it is gone, "With all due respect, Sir, do I have a brief or a contact there?"

"There will be plenty of familiar faces. You know Mr. Bishop. Dr. Aldric. People who have helped you get to where you are today." Rainer takes a few steps toward his desk, turns, and paces back. Slow, steady. "By no means are we sanctioning you to Hartland. We'd still like you to be eyes for us if need be." He eyes Anders calmly, then speaks firmly (more than he has been this whole time, which is saying something), "If you see her talking to that woman again, you WILL let me know immediately so that further measures can be taken. Leave no room for coincidence."

"Yes Sir," Anders says, the picture of Military correctness as his superior starts to pace, eyes level and straight forward, "I entered a report, Sir, when I returned to my vehicle, as protocol. It included the woman with the napkin talking with the subject, as well as the helpful negro, Sir." Political correctness is an entirely different beast, however, "I will report to the Hospital forthwith."

"Mm." That's all Rainer says in response. He can be terse sometimes. "Go on, Anders. Ah - should anyone need your assistance in controlling the patients at the Company's hospital, that is not out of line. There are some… temperamental patients scheduled to arrive shortly. Just make sure there are no unfortunate accidents. We want them in one piece. And above room temperature."

"Yes, Sir," Anders nods, "Above twenty five celsius, understood. Am I dismissed, sir?" sometimes the only way to argue is to be coldly literal, after all.

"Go on, Anders," the man repeats evenly, leading a glance from Anders to the door.

After Anders leaves, Rainer strolls to his desk and lifts an abandoned thermos from amidst one corner. He uncovers the painting once more, only halfway, leaving just the swath of artwork that depicts the silhouette. He takes a sip of coffee. "Don't make us regret you."

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