Art's Conduct

Art's Conduct: Confidence =4=

= 4 =

A weary pair of guarded eyes assualted the pinched form behind a glossy finish, and those eyes that feasted on the contemptuous delight were none other than a shady figure seated parallel to him. In other words, the shady figure clad in a newly embellished white top to, I don't know, hide the fact that her beige top was ruined by a messy stain of Decaf Midnight Black Coffee? Yeah, I was pretty sure that shady figure was, in fact, me, but switching clothes didn't matter at this point. High surveillance cameras were installed, and it couldn't have bypassed the fact that I was screaming my butt off like a grumpy seventy-year old in a retirement home, yelling bloody murder as if there were no tomorrow.

I double checked. There was a tomorrow in the horizon, and surprisingly, it didn't flash a string of obscenities in the air like layers of stratified epithilial. How skin ever became compared to a display in the air - that would continue to bewilder my mind because, this time, it was neither Mioun nor I who made that up, but Lore. Hand it to her to make an awful monologue and make skin sound like a disease born from a cancerous tumor.

Mr. Brobonski, a middle aged man with a strength to hightail the significance out of a person's singed flesh, had a pen tucked behind his ear and bit his lip in a manner that blood was almost pleading to come out already that in a matter of seconds, I was sure it would explode in a trifle of platelets and red goo, and if I wanted to be more prominent about my evaluation of his comparution, I would say he had a serious case of an anxiety attack with his eyes shifting around like a rabid animal on steriods, and if that wasn't a worse enough evaluation, I would say he secretly had ADD and had forgotten to take his Amphetamine this morning. Speed. Dex. Adderall. Dexamphetamine. Vyvanse. Again, blame it on Lore for this brain induced contusion.

He wrapped his fingers into a tight fist, shaking a little, as he stared down at the papers with squinted eyes, though I remained miffed on the spot, producing tell-tale signs of having no desire to stay in this room more than the man opposite myself desired. I had no idea what was so important about them that made him react this way, but I should have been thankful for the minor diversion because, within a few seconds, he rested his head on the closed hand and peered up at me with tired eyes. 

Okay, maybe he did take his Vyvanse this morning...

I shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, and it took all of my strength not to run out of the room. I would have done it already if Mioun hadn't been outside to barricade my escape. These were the times when I wished he had the IQ of a brainless monkey and had forgotten the fact that he needed this job for the money.

Rubbing a hand across his face, he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it moments later.

For a long moment, I twiddled my fingers together until his voice prodded through the suffocation I felt which was tipping to the point of severe claustrophobia. If it weren't for the ventilation system around here, I wouldn't have been able to survive the staleness of the air.

He rubbed a hand across his face again before clearing his throat to speak.

"Ms. Hickerton," he began.

I was nervous about what he had to say, though I didn't necessarily need this job. I was confident I would find something better, yet I gulped, what might have been a whole year's worth of saliva, fearing for his next words. I already had the money to live on until I got an actual job, but I couldn't leave when Mioun needed me by his side - I only stayed for support, nothing else. If we hadn't been pals, I would have left this place a while ago because Mr. Brobonski and I were not the best of mates.

Yup, that was his name. It sounded Russian, didn't it? But, in actuality, I wasn't quite sure where his last name originated from, just that he was Italian with the minuscule accent - he even had a pasta chain tied into Sojourn, otherwise called, my workplace of hell with a certian dark haired moron as my beacon of light.