The comm shook and buzzed so violently on the table, it skittered from its spot next to Tomika's propped up military-issued boots to the edge of the desk. Tomika's mismatched eyes flickered momentarily from the file that ran methodically over oval nailbeds to the comm, as if deciding whether she cared enough to keep from teetering off onto the floor. The comm droned on, for a couple long moments, before Tomi reached over her elevated legs to take the device. Her gaze peered curiously onto the screen, and when she saw it was her superior officer, she rolled her eyes deeply and shoved the comm in a deep corner of the desk.
The desk was not hers. She was far too low in the totem pole to receive even a chair to sit in, but she wouldn't deign to hang about the locker rooms below, that stunk of unwashed socks and the corpse of a forgotten mouse or two. So, she wandered the office floors above, picking her way between cubicle aisles until she found what she believed an abandoned seat and plopped herself comfortably in it. There, she hid, until her commanding officer found her and reprimanded her in a laughable way that would not earn the wrath of her mother or said officer would not even bother to waste the time.
She was lucky to find an entire room, dark with inoccupancy. She had been kind enough to move the papers and files to the side as she brought her feet up and reclined back into the rolling chair. It was a comfortable seat, and a large, well-furnished space, and told her whoever owned it was rather high up in the hierarchy.
Whatever. It was a closet compared to the Pfieffer home, a tall townhouse that had been half renovated to replicate the neighboring concrete and fiber glass behemoths of corporations, Cypher and the Military. Tomika's room was twice the size of this hovel.
The comm rung again. Though it was muffled this time, banished to the dark retreats of the drawer, the desk vibrated beneath her propped feet. She scoffed, like she were disgusted, and leaned over to retake the comm and probably throw it out the five-story window when the door opened. Tomi froze, and heterochromatic eyes met those of the presumable owner of the seat she occupied.
As a high-ranking officer and a brat with a military pedigree, he should've only been wasting his days away pencil-pushing and bickering with the other Big Wigs that consist of the Military high chain. However, ever the defiant one, Alex would rather choose to eat bullets for years than be stuck within the four corners of his suffocating, yet quite pristine, office. But the only reason he got away with being on the field ninety percent of the time, was that he almost always offer his best buddy Dallas for the Big Wig's slaughterhouse.
However, for some weird and unknown reason, his buddy disappeared on him right before they were supposed to meet up and discuss a weird comm he got. Bummed out and now without anything in his itinerary besides possibly stalking his little sister's whereabouts, Alex dragged his feet over to his office. There was no thought process behind the destination other than it being familiar and preferable to sitting in a huge mansion or pretending to be sociable with a pretty girl in his arm.
Yet, as he approached his office door and found it slightly ajar, the Captain immediately drew his weapon and trained it on the wooden panel. If there was anything anyone could expect from his office, it was that it was always kept close, no matter if either he or Dallas occupied it.
Alex held his breath and then with a shout of "Don't fucking move!", kicked his door down. He was expecting to find someone from the snoopy department to be snooping around and thus to find a patrol officer on his seat had him pause.
"Fucking Pfeiffer I almost shot you!" He growled at the young woman as he put the safety back on his gun and reholstered it. Although he had not officially associated with the young officer, Alex "knew her" as he made it a point to review the recruits' files, a habit he couldn't shake off even after graduating from being a drill instructor.
"You do know trespassing calls for disciplinary action don't you?" Alex grunted as he bent over to try and miserably fail at righting the poor door. After a few frustrating pushes and pulls, it became apparent that it was beyond his abilities to repair, thus with a huge sigh, he left it as it were.
From those eyes, her gaze trailed down to the weapon in his hand. A deep pit of fear gaped in her stomach and she froze, a deer in headlights, that disciplined, ingrained military training as foreign as most other thoughts in the dark face of danger. Instinctively, her hands went up, nail file still cupped in her fingers, as she waited for the relief of recognition flare in his blue eyes.
She felt small, then, under the man's wrathful gaze, and figured she should plant her feet her down and stand up out of his chair. Tomi did just so, though could not still the annoyance in reaction to his anger (as a woman who did not take outbursts of emotion from others well).
"Uhh, duh," Tomi quipped matter-of-factly as she crossed her slender arms at him. "That's why I'm not trespassing." Her manicured finger pointed to the military symbol on the breast of her uniform. She knew perfectly well that her station did not permit her into the upper offices, but playing "dumb" and feigning ignorance was her go-to tactic in situations on conflict. One, after all, could not get fault an airhead for being an airhead.
She watched as the officer struggled to put the door in place, yet made no effort to help, a mixture of not knowing if it were her place and of uncertain fear at what he might do, how he might react, if she approached- a lesser predator stalking up and asking the apex for their forgiveness. So her feet remained planted in place on the beige carpet, rubbing her arm awkwardly as she felt that shell of confidence start to weaken and break in confines of this unfamiliar, unfriendly territory.
"I needed somewhere to hang while I was on break," she lied and wrinkled her nose. "And the locker rooms, they just smell awful... the absolute worst."
Tomi's eyes rested on Alex's as a performative pout pulled down the corners of her painted lips. "And the officers there, they're just so mean to me. You understand that, right? I was only looking for a quiet, peaceful place to think about my.. uh.. training."
Had Alex not been exposed to the saccharine deception of the upper class, he may have dismissed the woman for an innocent, wounded and perhaps even pitiful creature of unfortunate circumstance. But there was a tinge to her voice that suggested an act, that overly-indulgent, entreating whine of beautiful, wealthy women used to getting their way through duplicity. In other words, an all-too well-worn and commonplace act in the upper echelons of Citadel society, one as transparent as the expectancy of forgiveness in her gaze.
Posted 08-23-2021, 07:57 PM
This post was last modified: 08-23-2021, 08:26 PM by Tomika Pfeiffer
is this seat taken?
