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Post by TATE OWENS on Apr 19, 2015 3:59:36 GMT
it's monday morning, a little warmer than the last to welcome spring. he's cracked open the window to air out the office, sets down a freshly brewed cup of black coffee on the desk. then tate moves to peruse his employer's appointment book, carefully committing each penciled-in time slot and pertinent detail to memory, as he always does each morning. the routine's like a well-shuffled deck of cards—no small task is haphazard, out of place. like clockwork the quiet click of the door signals the man's arrival. he straightens up. "good morning." |
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Post by CYRIL ASGER on Apr 19, 2015 4:53:28 GMT
Early mornings were his favorite part of the day, next to dusk. Sunrises, sunsets, warmth, that cozy orange glow. He loved it. It all felt so comforting.
A step into his office and a young man was already inside. Of course, Cyril smiled, his eyes squinting with delight behind his frames. "Good morning, Tate," he replied in a friendly manner.
As he walked across the room, he grabbed a chair and sat it on one side of his desk, then walked around and took a seat in his own big, comfy office chair. He crossed a leg, leaned back in his seat, and looked at the other as he motioned towards the other chair. "Please, sit." Afterwards, grabbing his coffee mug and taking a sip.
It was perfect.
"Thank you for keeping everything so orderly," he stated as he flipped through his appointment book. "Any trouble with today's plans?" His green eyes lifted, gaze locking onto the boy that sat across from him.
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Post by TATE OWENS on Apr 24, 2015 1:56:35 GMT
he moves around the wide desk, dutifully sits down in the proffered seat and folds his hands in his lap. the kind remark lifts the corners of his mouth into a minuscule, embarrassed smile. "it's my job, sir." tate shakes his head at the next question, pauses anyways to mentally walk through the day's schedule and double-check. "there shouldn't be any trouble. you have two appointments back to back in the afternoon. i've called ahead and notified the second client of a possible delay." he looks out through the window at downtown's shining high-rises and flat office blocks. diluted by cloud cover and the time of day, sunlight glints only weakly off the glass panels of the neighboring building. the sight is momentarily mesmerizing. every day is a blessing, tate's reminded. energized, comforted, he returns his attention to cyril. "is the coffee to your liking?" |
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Post by CYRIL ASGER on Apr 24, 2015 7:10:37 GMT
What a lovely assistant he's been blessed with and he nods in reply, "That's great news, Tate. Thank you so much for taking the initiative to call the client ahead of time to let them know of possible delays. It's so responsible of you."
The man's compliments are honest, not at all faked or forced just to put on a false sense of trust. No, the man works hard to make that trust real, because fake trust can be seen much easier and cut out. Cyril doesn't want that. Besides, what type of boss would he be if he didn't treat his assistants right? He isn't always a terrible person.
"The coffee is perfect. What type is it? I might have to pick some up at the store on my way home from work," he chuckles softly, trying to get the boy to loosen up a bit.
He can see that Tate is nervous by the way he sits with his hands in his lap, his back overly straight, is legs perfectly positioned with his feet flat on the floor. The boy even gets lost in his thoughts, an easy mechanism to adopt. "You can relax a bit, Tate."
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Post by TATE OWENS on May 9, 2015 1:53:52 GMT
cyril's kindness and gratitude, meant to soothe, does the opposite and winds tate's nerves a little tighter. it's no fault of the employer's own—only that tate's job is made too pleasant, entirely too comfortable. he can't help but dread the other shoe dropping. but tate tries to relax anyways, shifts back in his seat despite growing more and more embarrassed at the high praise. "um, thank you. yes sir." "the coffee is a colombian blend. i can prepare a bag for you before you leave today," he offers. |
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Post by CYRIL ASGER on May 9, 2015 22:04:30 GMT
It was understandable why Tate would feel that way, that his anxiety would rise rather than fall. To be complimented so heavily from the start meant there was less room for mistakes and error. It meant that he would be held to a higher standard and even the smallest flinch wouldn't look all that great on him.
Bummer.
"Oh, is it so fresh that you can have it bagged for me today?" Cyril looked almost shocked, but he was also very pleased to hear that. "Thank you! I would definitely appreciate it!"
Another high standard that Tate has put onto himself. Now Cyril had a source of coffee without having to get pre-filled bags. He could just get Tate to have a fresh bag filled for him. "How much is it going to cost me?" And if it wasn't expensive? Heh...
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Post by TATE OWENS on May 11, 2015 2:46:56 GMT
he eagerly undertakes this line of questioning—the task is small, and welcome, in his mind. tate's already estimating the time it'll take to run the errand, to go to the market and back. he could do it during his lunch break and pick up a sandwich for himself. the arch of his shoulders pulls back into a shallower curve, more confident, more certain. "of course," tate pauses to think back on the price and assure he remembers the digits exactly, "i believe it's $8.60 for eight ounces." the beans veer on expensive, but his employer is a well-off man. he glances at the clock on the wall. "your first appointment is here in thirty minutes with hoffman. are there any documents you'd like to look over beforehand?" |
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May 11, 2015 14:32:52 GMT
Post by CYRIL ASGER on May 11, 2015 14:32:52 GMT
A well-off man Cyril was. $8.60, or whatever it was that Tate said specifically, Cyril wasn't listening all that closely, wasn't even a drop in the bucket and that bucket was pretty large. "Perfect. Once I figure out how quickly I'll go through a bag, do make sure to take note and make it a habit to pick up a replacement? I'll let you know when I've run low so you can make arrangements."
He was writing something as he spoke, his attention turned to paperwork after his surprise of the beans. He glanced up with just his eyes, right over the rims of his glasses, when Tate mentioned the meeting. "Hoffman? Who?"
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May 21, 2015 23:50:16 GMT
Post by TATE OWENS on May 21, 2015 23:50:16 GMT
it turns out there's been a mistake, a misunderstanding—on his part or hoffman's makes little difference because the damage has already been done. like one defective cog in the machinery, somewhere down the line last week's meeting, as the other party understood it, transformed into today's meeting in tate's usually meticulous memory. when thirty, forty minutes, three quarters of an hour pass and hoffman hasn't arrived to anl studios, tate calls to inquire after the delay and learns they had expected it to be last monday. professionally, he re-schedules to a later date and then returns to cyril's office to deliver the news. in explaining the situation, tate feels the weight of impending judgement. his shoulders fold in, imperceptibly, and he mostly manages to keep the quaver out of his voice. "it was likely my mistake. i apologize for the inconvenience," tate finishes, looking as contrite as if he'd harked the end of the world, and lowers his gaze. |
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Post by CYRIL ASGER on May 23, 2015 3:43:12 GMT
When told about the mistake, his feathers got a little ruffled, but he tried not to let that show. As he stood from his seat, he straightened out his clothes, pushing away the wrinkles that weren't really all that there to begin with.
"Come here," he stated calmly as he motioned for the boy to step closer, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "We all... make mistakes. It's what makes us human--you know this, right, Tate?"
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