034.
* VIOLENT ACTION STARTERS — 034. trip my muse
JOVIAL are the tunes hummed by caesar moments before his betrayal. as he bounds through the halls of the palace he built from the ground up, he fantasizes the outcome of the upcoming meeting. would he perhaps make ANOTHER business connection with a famous scientist? would there be talks of funds he could soon pocket and invest in further endeavors? perhaps he would even glow the brightest in the room, drawing everyone’s attention with his new PRISTINE gucci attire, personally styled for him just shy of yesterday. he’s practically sparkling as he drops off a few recently deceased (a shame, really) patient files on a desk and prepares to leave mount massive behind him for the glamour of the real world and not whatever BULLSHIT this over-glorified pencil-pushing was. so focused is he on escaping the bland hospital walls that he notices not the protrusion behind the desk, nor the twist of his ankle.
OR, FOR STARTERS, HOW THE FLOOR SUDDENLY GOT TOO CLOSE TO HIS FACE.
down goliath falls, meek little david looking on with astonishment, for not even he had believed in the prophetic hushes of angelic beings. #1 boss mug shatters, and his face follows suit thereafter. jeremy is on the floor in pure disbelief for several moments before he grinds out a symphony of groans. quickly, he assesses the situation. coffee stains, and hell, coffee stench is imprinted ALL OVER his body. disgusting. and what was that streak of red on his new suit? as jer straightens up, he swipes a hand over the concentration of pain, currently his nose. retracting back, he sighs at the stream of blood painted over his palms. making out with the floor and ceramic bits wasn’t in the memo.
neither was the culprit, waylon park, whom jer was able to identify almost immediately with a scornful glare. the man had a presence, or lack thereof, after all. no one else would be caught still at work when their shift was over on a friday except waylon fucking park. but wait, what was he even DOING, sneaking around this ward in particular? since when did his clearance level get the boost needed in order to access this area? where should he even begin to ADMONISH the techie for his knack at being at the wrong place at the wrong time, ALL THE TIME? deep breaths, blaire. nasal cavities now pinched betwixt two fingers, he manages to calmly point his free hand at the corner of the desk where a tissue box resided. first things first, sort out the nosebleed. maybe he’d still be able to clean up in time and not miss anything pertinent to his career.
“i’m sure this tissue box usually is used to wipe up other nefarious bodily fluids,” he attempts a smile.