The appointment was going to be upheld this time and Linden was not going to leave until he get some results. The bastard of the Financial Department wasn't going to ignore him this time. The Food Waste Program still have short comings and to ensure that they get everything that they can, he wanted to see if the military would authorize another shipment of food and implement a soup kitchen of sorts.
Those in power or have resources, himself included, can do so much than spend it frivolously and that was ingrained into him and all the others in the family. Sure, it was okay to spend on quality, but we shouldn't get too big for our britches. That while the company is one of the primary resources to keep the Stronghold together in terms of agriculture and animal husbandry, they all took pride in their work.
Clutching the folder in his hand, Linden pretended that he could control the curls on his head and walked into the main office. The blend of military personnel and civilians lined the room with their cubicles with the final destination at the very end where a armed soldiers stood. Linden knew that beyond those doors would be a sitting area with a proper receptionist of sorts where he will be escorted to the Financial Manager's office.
Chewing on his lower lip, Linden made it past all the check points and found himself gripping the folder tighter than imagined. Was he afraid? Hell no. Now, was he holding his breath? Yes. Why? He honestly forgot to breathe.
He didn't remember what the escort said, but Linden helped himself and opened the door like he owned the place. Looking over to the man who was looking over documents and didn't seem to pay him no mind. "Hello, Major Atreides," says Linden as he walked over to the desk and held the folder in front of him. "Thank you for not rescheduling again, but since time is money, please look over my proposal and your signature would be greatly appreciated."
Despite the tortuous symphony of beating hearts and scent of walking blood bags pushing him on edge, the monotony of being in an office and crunching out numbers was undeniably an effective camouflage. Additionally, there was gratification found in the masochistic practice of surrounding himself with humans he could easily pick off yet wouldn’t. It was a different kind of addiction, sorely lacking against the high of feasting on blood itself, but definitely entertaining enough.
Damon had even made every day a game of whether it would be the day he would snap and slaughter them all or not. Not that it would be his loss either way.
And today was – and should be – like any other given day.
If only Love didn’t walk in.
Love was his reprieve. The sweet sunshine that breaks through the dark clouds that had become Damon’s life since deciding to be part of the human world again. Love was supposed to be kept a distance, despite all of his being fraying to become one with him again.
Love wasn’t supposed to be here. At least not yet. Love was unprepared and unable to recognize him in the form that he was now.
”Time is indeed a precious resource,” he hummed, peering at the other over the useless spectacles adorning his nose. Setting the papers he was previously holding aside, he rose, walked around the table and took the folder from the other’s hands. ”One I could say someone in my office does not respect enough,” he grinned darkly as he stood before the other.
This close, he could look down at the other’s warm brown eyes, hear his heart flutter and smell the nervousness off his body. For a brief moment Damon wondered how he would react if he were to reach out and devour him. ”May I interest you in a drink, Mister Arcangeli?”
Posted 01-22-2024, 02:55 AM
Catch 22
