“Wow. Sounds like the guy must have a real stick up his ass, huh. Probably too preoccupied with his goddamn Indian ink and his Italian leather to get off his high horse and run his own show,” Matthias chortled into his glass, as if expecting it to refill itself.
When she came around to asking if he needed a hand getting to his seat, he felt a beam of pride shine from his eyes. “I appreciate it, I really do, but my seat found its way to me when that school bus hit me,” he looked down, feigning self-pity. “Stupid kid threw his fucking iPod at the bus driver when she told him that devices aren’t allowed. As if I needed another reason to hate children,” he said, throttling his chair’s spokes. “But yeah, I’ll be alright. Have fun getting whatshisfuckface to carry his own dead weight” Matthias chuckled wryly. “Guy sounds like a parasite to me.” Chucking the peace sign with his fingers, he added “Nice meeting you” before setting off on his merry way.
He figured it was time to be a bit more proactive about getting his answers. Rolling down the aisles, he kept a healthy margin between himself and the soulless husks that sat in the audience to his left. Rounding a corner, he spotted a couple rent-a-cops standing in the hallway. Confidently, he rolled right past them, soliciting an inquisitive gaze before one of them—quite reasonably--piped up.
“Excuse me, sir. This area is off limits.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly why I’m here, actually. I already cleared it with the director.” Stamping his thumb into his breast pocket, he pips “Department of Ecology. We’re two months behind schedule on surveying the toxicity of the antique infrastructure. Leftovers from when they used to drink mercury and snort asbestos. They won’t let us take it out since it prints money like hotcakes, so whattaya do? Yeah, anyhow I’m just gonna skid in, swab some tiles, and roll out. Yeah?” The security detail nods something vaguely affirmative, so he answers himself with another, “Yeeaaah” before turning tail and continuing to roll on his way.
If there’s one thing that self-important pricks like Branwell hate, it’s people who aren’t on their knees, he thought as he coasted down the empty halls, slapping his still knees as he blew past a silent auditorium. As he came up a big metal door, he threw his neck back, popped a wheelie and threw it wide open with the fore of his steel toe boot, revealing an intensely practical, generic concrete hallway. The door splashed into the wall and a snap-hiss washed down the way in its wake, soliciting a gasp from around the corner. He’s probably jacking himself off in some closet rehearsing. Unless he’s got somebody for that. Rounding the corner, he stepped off the wheelchair and took the case in hand, zeroing in on the nearby orientation room where he heard the tap-dancing of papers slapping into a briefcase.
“Excuse me, Mr. Branwell,” he says from beyond the door, putting on his best upstanding young man voice. Stepping into the dark room, he asks “Is everything alright?”
“Yesyes, absolutely. I just had some last-minute business to attend to but I suppose it shall have to wait. Oh, look at the time—the processions should’ve begun by now. Would you mind helping me with my case. Seems we’re a bit beyond the point of being fashionably late,” the geriatric gent said, slapping his pockets and tapping his foot as he frisked himself before spotting his walking stick.
“We haven’t even gotten started yet,” Matthias said with a wry smile, slowly shutting the door while peering into the professor’s eyes.
“Young man, you smell like you’re wearing a jacket made from my anus. I’m not interested. Thank you but no thank you. I absolutely must be on my way.”
In an instant, Matthias snatches the cane. The professor takes a knee. The wall flashes scarlet and eyes go wide. Approaching the bastard, Matthias places his foot on his back before stomping the cane’s rubber bottom onto the hind hem of Branwell’s britches. “Well would you look at that!” Matthias grunts through an audible grin. “I just knew you had a stick up your ass.”
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