![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
Introductory Communication Studies 101
It wasn't like any of the decor on his home planet, which was, served to say, non-existent and in the few cases where it wasn't, almost painfully efficient. 'Decor' was a foreign concept that his home society hadn't found any need for and therefore had quickly and thoughtlessly abandoned. That wasn't to say, however, that the environment was gaudy. There was an understated sense of class and style in the few furnishings that decorated the waiting lobby, noticeable in the fine color and quality of the polished wooden doors, in the understated color of the paneled walls, the low-pile textile covering the floor - not that Calibri could tell.
"My essay was about the volunteer Peace Corp mission I participated in during my senior year of Intermediary Education," said one of the other students awaiting an interview, leaning forward on his plush-cushioned seat. His tone of voice was boastful, proud. He was waving his hands animatedly while the other student listened with an air of forced interest. "It was a third-world planet, you see! They hadn't even settled on a way to collect solar energy, can you imagine?"
How curious, thought Calibri, sliding the toe of his shoe across the wine-colored carpet. What's the purpose of putting something soft under your shoes?
"Nathaniel H. Calibri," intoned the mechanical announcer, tacked to a wall adjacent to the double doors leading to the would-be-benefactor of whoever won the scholarship competition. The doors swung open automatically, wide and synchronized with each other, before the previous interviewee walked dejectedly out, dragging his feet on the carpet.
Calibri stood up as his name was called, neither intimidated nor nervous. (He only briefly wondered if that was the purpose of the plush flooring after all - friction? Maybe the generated heat was recycled and re-purposed elsewhere on the ship.) He bypassed the other students without even a glance of acknowledgement and strode through the entrance into an even more ornate office - brightly lit by glass windows covered with sheer curtains and an entirely inefficient use of space, considering how far apart all the furniture was.
He strode right up to the large desk occupying the center of the room, careful to drag his feet as much as possible as to provide the maximum friction and contribution (he might as well, while he was here). "Present, sir."
"My essay was about the volunteer Peace Corp mission I participated in during my senior year of Intermediary Education," said one of the other students awaiting an interview, leaning forward on his plush-cushioned seat. His tone of voice was boastful, proud. He was waving his hands animatedly while the other student listened with an air of forced interest. "It was a third-world planet, you see! They hadn't even settled on a way to collect solar energy, can you imagine?"
How curious, thought Calibri, sliding the toe of his shoe across the wine-colored carpet. What's the purpose of putting something soft under your shoes?
"Nathaniel H. Calibri," intoned the mechanical announcer, tacked to a wall adjacent to the double doors leading to the would-be-benefactor of whoever won the scholarship competition. The doors swung open automatically, wide and synchronized with each other, before the previous interviewee walked dejectedly out, dragging his feet on the carpet.
Calibri stood up as his name was called, neither intimidated nor nervous. (He only briefly wondered if that was the purpose of the plush flooring after all - friction? Maybe the generated heat was recycled and re-purposed elsewhere on the ship.) He bypassed the other students without even a glance of acknowledgement and strode through the entrance into an even more ornate office - brightly lit by glass windows covered with sheer curtains and an entirely inefficient use of space, considering how far apart all the furniture was.
He strode right up to the large desk occupying the center of the room, careful to drag his feet as much as possible as to provide the maximum friction and contribution (he might as well, while he was here). "Present, sir."
no subject
"Good," He said. "All I need is a signature."
A white packet appeared in front of Calibri. Garamond affixed it with a signature of his own, pushing it like a hockey puck across to Calibri's side of the desk. "Bring that to a bank," Garamond advised. "It's an advance of 5,000.
"Oh, and... you do know you can't bring that back with you on the shuttle," he added, looking pointedly at thr case of poisons.
no subject
"I can't smuggle it?" he asked, looking longingly at the poisons.
please imagine this scenario for yourselves while i casually pass out
no subject
A smile.
"I didn't imagine our little gift would make such an impression on you."
no subject
He had spread the box open again, undoing the metal latches with a swift flick, and was now running a measuring eye over its contents with a thoughtful frown. At length, he picked one or two small vials up, murmuring something quietly to himself about how they could be easily extracted from a living organism even after ingestion, which, all things considered, was not really the best line of thought for a sane person to go down.
"May I borrow a mammalian creature of any kind?"
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Of course all the commotion caused Filet Mignon to jump awake. Instead of being alarmed he began running circles around Danny and wagging his tail. He certainly was an interesting looking dog... He was a cream sable, though there was a small darker tuft of fur on the top of his head that looked rather like a faux hawk and had obviously been dyed auburn. In place of a collar, he wore a rather stylish black bow tie. It was obvious that he was loved by someone.
The Pomeranian almost seemed to smile at Calibri as he barked in his direction. "Yap, yap!!"
My username is so ironic right now
Garamond gave a cool smile, turning back to Calibri. He eyed the box momentarily, trying to reason through to the best way to smuggle the contents onto the shuttle. Yes, shipping the parcel afterwards was the most convenient method, but Calibri's grip on the box was fixed, his hands welded onto its hinges.
"I suppose you could just risk it."
no subject
"Well, you did say you were above the law, sir."
Even if Pomeranians seemed to be a measure above that.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Sure, coercing a child into criminal activity which he may get apprehended for wasn't exactly the noblest of routes Garamond could take, but Calibri had suggested it in the first place, and Garamond was admittedly interested in how far Calibri's cleverness branched out. So, it was a test. One of dubious meaning, but a test none the less.
no subject
no subject
no subject
At length, Calibri straightened, snapping out of his out-of-shape posture like a string pulled taut, sudden and harshly quick. His hands dropped, though only to gather up the metal suitcase to his side, tucking it under one arm like a particularly heavy set of books. The suitcase was heavy, filled with glass and liquids of questionable nature, but he didn't struggle with its ungainly weight or even transfer the burden to both arms. The sixteen-year-old looked perfectly at ease with a box full of heavy poisons in his possession.
"I agree to these terms," he said at last, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. They glinted harshly when they hit the light again, but it only lasted for a second. "If that is all?"
no subject
"You can leave," he added. "Unless you have any questions."
no subject
Calibri shook his head before pausing and slowly raising a hand towards the mostly-uneaten Galaxy burger still lying on the table. "May I keep that?" he asked, directing the answer towards the person who had offered it in the first place - protective little Danny Garamond and his Pomeranian.
no subject
no subject
"Thank you," he said, picking up the Galaxy Burger and holding it gingerly in the hand not occupied with the poisons. He inclined his head with a curt nod. "For the opportunity. And the greasy sandwich."
no subject