power play .
orxnoel:
It wasnât control that drove him, nor the satisfaction of seeing those under him writhe, seeing them submit to his power. It was a simple need to ensure that everything ran smoothly, from the imports down to the stores themselves. There was no use in crafting a beautiful flower if its roots were corrupted, broken easily. And perhaps it wasnât his job nor his place, but Noel enjoyed the role of gardener, pruning his familyâs business to near perfection. His hands were nimble and his fingers were deftâthey had to be. Often people took advantage of the empty role of a leader; a boss was something abstract, now, the person who sent money for pay. Noel took it upon himself to make that role more immediate, heavier.
That was how he found himself there, in front of the store, already trying to peer inside with thinned eyes, pursed his lips. His features had twisted around the frown on his lips, as though unhappiness were a maskâone he wore so often that it had remained, become natural. Even the delicate lines that sprouted were growing more casual, forming with subtle tugs and pulls, remaining time after his expression had softened. The store in particular was one he often overlookedâit wasnât under their immediate control. His presence there, to inspect the process and the store and the interactions with customers, was a formality.
His entrance was anything but formal. There was still that lingering elegance that clung to his limbs, that made each movement and stroke clean, cut with class; though his steps were broad and thick with power. The way his body moved was loud, boisterous, even if he hadnât even begun to talk. Then he heard it, a faint, bored introduction slithering into his ears only to be cut short with realization; it tapered and Noelâs lips tilted into a grin. It was a wonderful feeling to be known, respected; the gesture, exaggerated by his ego, fell over him in waves of warmth, as though sunshine had gathered around him, coated him in a pleasant light, a delicate temperature. âGreat, indeed.â he tossed back, moved forward, let himself inspect the store. Standards were high and patience was thin; it wasnât long before he was frowning again, repulsed at the status of the place. Anything less than immaculate was unacceptable, and with a worn, blank expression, Noel turned to the single employee. âWhy are you just standing there? Why is this place so messyânobody wants to buy dirty jewelry. You should be cleaning at all times.â his voice ran on and on, fading only when he turned back, eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled. He would have to talk to his father about this, or perhaps he could take the reigns, fire his own quick set of discipline. He had always enjoyed that part as well, the yelling, the pointing, shaming, and punishing.
She could feel her insides curling with the undeniable urge to rip that stupid pretentious grin off of that obnoxiously pretty face, but such an urge translated into nothing tangible save for the subtle way the muscles in her hands tensed behind the glass of a lavishly arranged display case. To avoid temptation, she fiddled with one of the nearby displays, adjusting and readjusting an elaborate peridot and emerald headdress on a mannequin as Noel inspected the store, pacing with the same atmosphere she imagined lions circling their prey exuded. It made her uneasy, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, made her want to retreat somewhere where she couldnât leap over a block of glass and get slender fingers around the teenagers pale neck in one swift move because there was no one around to hold her back if such an impulse took over suddenly. One glance pulled away from her unmotivated tweaking of the gaudy display and sent toward the boy was enough to tell her his checklist of criticisms would be a mile long, and she would be the one who would have to suffer the brunt of is evaluation.
âIâm sorry?â She scoffed in disbelief, clearly not âsorryâ in the slightest. Cleaning wasnât her job, they had custodial staff for such a task, not to mention the fact that one glance around the store revealed gleaming plexiglass, dazzling jewels, and a shining, striking floor the color of pale cream, all surfaces that were so bright and so glimmering and so apparently spotless, the way they caught the light was enough to make her frequent migraines that much worse. As far as she was concerned, the only blemish on the storefront she could see was the one standing in the middle of the shop and jabbering away with the look of a squashed-face purebred cat on his face.
âWith all due respect,â which, as her tone indicated, was no respect whatsoever as far as she was concerned, âThe jewelry is perfectly clean. Iâd even go so far as to call it immaculate. Certainly, it must be up to your standards. Maybe you should check again.â
