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crau2 memshares: blaise #2
"Well, well."
You jump at the sound of the familiar voice and drop the award you were in the process of setting up on the shelf of your new office.
"Huh?" You turn to look at him. "Pops, what are you..."
"Just checking how my idiot son is doing on his first day."
"H-hey..." you protest weakly, and you feel your face get a little hot when you glance toward the open door and see a couple of other prosecutors in the hallway who definitely just heard that. Clearing your throat, you turn your back to the door.
"I mean— everything's great, of course!" You pick up your conductor's baton and hold it up in the air as triumphantly as you can manage. "I already solved the case of the missing coffee creamer in the lounge this morning, and everyone was really impressed with my impertinent logic!"
Your father passes by you to look at all the little awards lined up on the shelf. He picks one up carelessly as if it were a plastic child's toy, gives it an unreadable look, and then sets it back down, slightly askew.
"Is that so..."
"Yup!" You grin proudly, and tap the end of your baton in your palm. "They're already calling me The Best!"
He nods, though seemingly with little interest. "Yes, yes... Good to see you're so energetic." He reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket to take out a metal lighter, and flips the lid open. "At least you've got youth on your side."
The flame flickers on and off, on and off again, as he idly plays around with it. "They assign you to any cases yet?"
"Well..." You hesitate for a second. "No... but that's because they're saving me for the best cases! They said they'd wait and find a special one just for me."
He gives you one of those long, silent looks you've come to dread, and after a moment, picks up one of your new business cards from your desk and holds it up to his lighter's flame, burning it to a crisp and flicking away the ash that's left.
"...Sebastian. You're a good boy... but y'know, you really are such an idiot."
"Wha— I'm not!" You feel indignant tears welling up at this — as much as you hate it, crying is your response to pretty much any strong emotion — and you grip both ends of the baton in your hands, bending it in an arc against its resistance.
...And then your hand slips and the baton bounces back to its proper shape and smacks you hard in the cheek, leaving what's sure to be a bright red mark. The people in the hall stop their chatter and lean in to look in the doorway.
"Now, don't get all bent out of shape. It's not cute, y'see." He reaches out and runs a thumb over the mark on your cheek, and then gives you a rough pat on the shoulder as he turns to leave. "The PIC's got a few investigations going on now. Maybe there'll be a 'special case' for you eventually, hm?"
You jump at the sound of the familiar voice and drop the award you were in the process of setting up on the shelf of your new office.
"Huh?" You turn to look at him. "Pops, what are you..."
"Just checking how my idiot son is doing on his first day."
"H-hey..." you protest weakly, and you feel your face get a little hot when you glance toward the open door and see a couple of other prosecutors in the hallway who definitely just heard that. Clearing your throat, you turn your back to the door.
"I mean— everything's great, of course!" You pick up your conductor's baton and hold it up in the air as triumphantly as you can manage. "I already solved the case of the missing coffee creamer in the lounge this morning, and everyone was really impressed with my impertinent logic!"
Your father passes by you to look at all the little awards lined up on the shelf. He picks one up carelessly as if it were a plastic child's toy, gives it an unreadable look, and then sets it back down, slightly askew.
"Is that so..."
"Yup!" You grin proudly, and tap the end of your baton in your palm. "They're already calling me The Best!"
He nods, though seemingly with little interest. "Yes, yes... Good to see you're so energetic." He reaches into the inner pocket of his leather jacket to take out a metal lighter, and flips the lid open. "At least you've got youth on your side."
The flame flickers on and off, on and off again, as he idly plays around with it. "They assign you to any cases yet?"
"Well..." You hesitate for a second. "No... but that's because they're saving me for the best cases! They said they'd wait and find a special one just for me."
He gives you one of those long, silent looks you've come to dread, and after a moment, picks up one of your new business cards from your desk and holds it up to his lighter's flame, burning it to a crisp and flicking away the ash that's left.
"...Sebastian. You're a good boy... but y'know, you really are such an idiot."
"Wha— I'm not!" You feel indignant tears welling up at this — as much as you hate it, crying is your response to pretty much any strong emotion — and you grip both ends of the baton in your hands, bending it in an arc against its resistance.
...And then your hand slips and the baton bounces back to its proper shape and smacks you hard in the cheek, leaving what's sure to be a bright red mark. The people in the hall stop their chatter and lean in to look in the doorway.
"Now, don't get all bent out of shape. It's not cute, y'see." He reaches out and runs a thumb over the mark on your cheek, and then gives you a rough pat on the shoulder as he turns to leave. "The PIC's got a few investigations going on now. Maybe there'll be a 'special case' for you eventually, hm?"