apres moi (1/?)
title: apres moi
genre: drama
rating: pg-13
warnings: potty mouths
a/n: the story is original but it's based on the social network. however, after this chapter (if i ever get around to another chapter... i'll admit it isn't at the top of my list), it won't stick to the movie's storyline at all. also, i know this chapter ends rather abruptly. it's supposed to, but if it's too much or overly confusing, just let me know.
summary: there are many reasons why friends should not work together, or live together, or otherwise be around each other when they don't want to be. but sometimes, when all of the silences locked between them grow restless, anthony allows himself to remember.
Rain beat pounding rhythms into glass panes. Anthony’s eyes traced the latticework of patterns that covered the windows. He’d once been to the Bodies exhibit at the National History Museum in Miami, where human remains preserved like canned vegetables lined the walls of the museum, their muscles and bones cleanly cut and broken to reveal now-useless organs. One body, meant to reveal the inner workings of the circulatory system, had been meticulously cut along the line of each vein and artery in an aging man’s body. They had been long drained of blood, and Anthony had stared down at the dark blue passages lining his arms, glancing back at the rusty brown tubes that lay before him in their lifeless encasing. This man had been robbed of something, something vital. Anthony couldn’t say what it was exactly, but he stood there, surrounded by bodies and bodies that would never decay, that would never change, and felt the swell of righteous injustice tip, kissing the edge of his patience, and slowly rescinded into the depths of his ribcage, as it would never to do the stack of bones and chemicals before him.
The image flickered before him before being doused by the trails of water lining his field of vision, an identical map of the old man’s arteries, only this time they were water and not lumen. Liam’s terse voice invaded Andrew’s mind like clean air, wiping away his smoky musings.
“That’s ridiculous.” He paused for a second. For Liam it was an eternity, but for anyone else it was merely a blip of silence. Andrew wondered what he might have almost said, but mentally shook himself, remembering that it no longer concerned him. Liam jerked forward, like a shark diving dangerously fast into a school of fish it intended to devour. “I am the CEO of this company, and as such I am allowed to make whatever decisions I see fit in order to guide and shape its direction. This entire lawsuit is absurd, and I have more important things to do.”
Before he could think to stop himself, he instinctively reacted to Liam’s usual pretentiousness, wearily leaning down to rub his eyes and resting his elbow on the glass table. Immediately after the electrical pulses reached his brain informing him of his body’s unconscious decision, he attempted to correct it by shooting up in his chair and glaring at whoever might have noticed his momentary lapse in coldness.
He furtively glanced around the room, making sure no one noticed his slip, and it appeared that no one had. But as soon as he spied Liam’s amused and almost-concerned?-stare, he realized that it was hopeless. He was almost grateful for his lawyer’s sharp voice as it fractured the silence between them.
“Mr. Carrington, your actions nearly endangered your entire company, the company my client, the CFO of the company, helped to build. So, while you are correct in asserting your rights as CEO of Imagine, you forget that my client had rights as well, which you have encroached. Mr. Carrington, his lawsuit is not addressing your ability to lead the company effectively; it is addressing your ability to work within the parameters of your duties as CEO, which my client rightfully believes you have not.”
Anthony twirled his pen to avoid seeing Liam’s hurt expression.
****
“Look, I just think that this layout would look a lot cleaner and less… cheap,” Liam dictated, as though Anthony had a choice in the matter.
“And I think that it’s impossible for an internet layout to look cheap. It’s not like we pay for these things, anyways,” Anthony sighed.
Liam rolled his eyes; they flicked silver as they briefly met the fluorescent light of the room. He plopped an M&M into his mouth as he replied, “It’s not about the internet. Look… have you ever been to a rich person’s house? Because I have. My father used to work with a few influential people in his business, and he’d take my mother and me to dinner parties at these peoples’ houses, parading us around as a perfectly quaint and adorable little family, or some shit. Distinguishing between the old money and the nouveau riche was easy, for one reason.”
“The amount of money they had was always inversely proportional to the number of decorations their houses had. The old money knew that they didn’t have to display their wealth; everyone already knew that they could purchase the firstborn children of most American families and then create slave armies out of them without batting an eyelash. The newer money always felt like they had to fill every goddamn inch of their houses with expensive trinkets, like, ‘Hey guys, we’re fucking rich, okay?’”
Anthony tried to take all of this in for a moment, and then decided that it just wasn’t worth it, and that he might as well just ask. “So how exactly is that… cute… little parable supposed to relate to our issue?”
Liam sighed. “My point is: sparse is classy, cluttered is trashy. Calm the layout down a bit… less blinking things. We don’t want to induce seizures.”
“But I really think this layout would attract more-“
“Just do it, Anthony.”
****
“TAXI!”
Streams of yellow cars flowed by in a bright blur, but none stopped. Anthony huddled into his wool coat, irritated at the prospect of stepping out into the whipping winds and drenching rain in order to procure a ride back home. Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced through the rain droplets. Anthony had only ever met one person with the ability to whistle that loudly. He turned around slowly, dreading the awkward one-on-one time that he was now required to engage in, only to find himself faced with the lovely features of Liam’s lawyer’s assistant.
She shot him a small grin and beckoned him toward the cab that she’d managed to get. He smiled back in return, though he felt that somewhere between the neurons in his mind and the receptors in the muscles of his mouth the message smile back had been mangled into something resembling grimace and twitch. The assistant didn’t seem to notice. Her heels clicked against the curb, but he was faster as he darted over to open the door for her. It was an awkward and antiquated gesture, but she appeared to appreciate it as they slid into the musty leather seat.
“Where to?” A balding Italian man with thin lips and drooping eyes drawled.
Anthony waited politely for her to speak first, but her answer buried itself in her eyes, refusing to migrate to her lips. “Where would you like to go?” He inquired quietly.
She glanced up at him, a smirk dancing along the corner of her mouth. “Are you hungry?”
genre: drama
rating: pg-13
warnings: potty mouths
a/n: the story is original but it's based on the social network. however, after this chapter (if i ever get around to another chapter... i'll admit it isn't at the top of my list), it won't stick to the movie's storyline at all. also, i know this chapter ends rather abruptly. it's supposed to, but if it's too much or overly confusing, just let me know.
summary: there are many reasons why friends should not work together, or live together, or otherwise be around each other when they don't want to be. but sometimes, when all of the silences locked between them grow restless, anthony allows himself to remember.
Rain beat pounding rhythms into glass panes. Anthony’s eyes traced the latticework of patterns that covered the windows. He’d once been to the Bodies exhibit at the National History Museum in Miami, where human remains preserved like canned vegetables lined the walls of the museum, their muscles and bones cleanly cut and broken to reveal now-useless organs. One body, meant to reveal the inner workings of the circulatory system, had been meticulously cut along the line of each vein and artery in an aging man’s body. They had been long drained of blood, and Anthony had stared down at the dark blue passages lining his arms, glancing back at the rusty brown tubes that lay before him in their lifeless encasing. This man had been robbed of something, something vital. Anthony couldn’t say what it was exactly, but he stood there, surrounded by bodies and bodies that would never decay, that would never change, and felt the swell of righteous injustice tip, kissing the edge of his patience, and slowly rescinded into the depths of his ribcage, as it would never to do the stack of bones and chemicals before him.
The image flickered before him before being doused by the trails of water lining his field of vision, an identical map of the old man’s arteries, only this time they were water and not lumen. Liam’s terse voice invaded Andrew’s mind like clean air, wiping away his smoky musings.
“That’s ridiculous.” He paused for a second. For Liam it was an eternity, but for anyone else it was merely a blip of silence. Andrew wondered what he might have almost said, but mentally shook himself, remembering that it no longer concerned him. Liam jerked forward, like a shark diving dangerously fast into a school of fish it intended to devour. “I am the CEO of this company, and as such I am allowed to make whatever decisions I see fit in order to guide and shape its direction. This entire lawsuit is absurd, and I have more important things to do.”
Before he could think to stop himself, he instinctively reacted to Liam’s usual pretentiousness, wearily leaning down to rub his eyes and resting his elbow on the glass table. Immediately after the electrical pulses reached his brain informing him of his body’s unconscious decision, he attempted to correct it by shooting up in his chair and glaring at whoever might have noticed his momentary lapse in coldness.
He furtively glanced around the room, making sure no one noticed his slip, and it appeared that no one had. But as soon as he spied Liam’s amused and almost-concerned?-stare, he realized that it was hopeless. He was almost grateful for his lawyer’s sharp voice as it fractured the silence between them.
“Mr. Carrington, your actions nearly endangered your entire company, the company my client, the CFO of the company, helped to build. So, while you are correct in asserting your rights as CEO of Imagine, you forget that my client had rights as well, which you have encroached. Mr. Carrington, his lawsuit is not addressing your ability to lead the company effectively; it is addressing your ability to work within the parameters of your duties as CEO, which my client rightfully believes you have not.”
Anthony twirled his pen to avoid seeing Liam’s hurt expression.
****
“Look, I just think that this layout would look a lot cleaner and less… cheap,” Liam dictated, as though Anthony had a choice in the matter.
“And I think that it’s impossible for an internet layout to look cheap. It’s not like we pay for these things, anyways,” Anthony sighed.
Liam rolled his eyes; they flicked silver as they briefly met the fluorescent light of the room. He plopped an M&M into his mouth as he replied, “It’s not about the internet. Look… have you ever been to a rich person’s house? Because I have. My father used to work with a few influential people in his business, and he’d take my mother and me to dinner parties at these peoples’ houses, parading us around as a perfectly quaint and adorable little family, or some shit. Distinguishing between the old money and the nouveau riche was easy, for one reason.”
“The amount of money they had was always inversely proportional to the number of decorations their houses had. The old money knew that they didn’t have to display their wealth; everyone already knew that they could purchase the firstborn children of most American families and then create slave armies out of them without batting an eyelash. The newer money always felt like they had to fill every goddamn inch of their houses with expensive trinkets, like, ‘Hey guys, we’re fucking rich, okay?’”
Anthony tried to take all of this in for a moment, and then decided that it just wasn’t worth it, and that he might as well just ask. “So how exactly is that… cute… little parable supposed to relate to our issue?”
Liam sighed. “My point is: sparse is classy, cluttered is trashy. Calm the layout down a bit… less blinking things. We don’t want to induce seizures.”
“But I really think this layout would attract more-“
“Just do it, Anthony.”
****
“TAXI!”
Streams of yellow cars flowed by in a bright blur, but none stopped. Anthony huddled into his wool coat, irritated at the prospect of stepping out into the whipping winds and drenching rain in order to procure a ride back home. Suddenly a shrill whistle pierced through the rain droplets. Anthony had only ever met one person with the ability to whistle that loudly. He turned around slowly, dreading the awkward one-on-one time that he was now required to engage in, only to find himself faced with the lovely features of Liam’s lawyer’s assistant.
She shot him a small grin and beckoned him toward the cab that she’d managed to get. He smiled back in return, though he felt that somewhere between the neurons in his mind and the receptors in the muscles of his mouth the message smile back had been mangled into something resembling grimace and twitch. The assistant didn’t seem to notice. Her heels clicked against the curb, but he was faster as he darted over to open the door for her. It was an awkward and antiquated gesture, but she appeared to appreciate it as they slid into the musty leather seat.
“Where to?” A balding Italian man with thin lips and drooping eyes drawled.
Anthony waited politely for her to speak first, but her answer buried itself in her eyes, refusing to migrate to her lips. “Where would you like to go?” He inquired quietly.
She glanced up at him, a smirk dancing along the corner of her mouth. “Are you hungry?”