40,032
I'm not going to ramble cause I want to write some more, but here it is - only 10000 left. And I forgot to add the translations to the last chapter, but those are there now in case you were wondering. Okay. Thank you for the feedback last time, here's another.
40,032 / 50,000
(80.1%)
He throws one fist forward and then the other, punching the bag in a series of rapid throws, his knuckles turning red and swollen inside of his gloves. All of his concentration is tunneled into this one moment, this second, every minute hour day week month year before this completely gone, disappeared except for the breath that he inhales now.
One more punch and he backs off, shaking his hands out and chewing his bottom lip, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, making his breathing hurried and needy. He eyes the punching bag hanging from the wall above him, and throws one last kick at it. His foot impacts half way down and makes the bag swings on its chain, rattling the board that holds it to the ceiling.
…
He presses himself against the side wall in the elevator, stainless steel or something that looks something like it. He fucking hates elevators, absolutely everything about them.
Janice left him downstairs, after following him through the crowd of reporters outside. All he could really do was follow the main security guard from Sicherheit and ignore the microphones being pressed into his face. In some disgusting way, he’s almost getting used to it.
The top floor bell dings and the elevator doors slide open, and suddenly he’s in the middle of the front lobby of Kinnetik, all glass and steel and bright green apples.
Funny he should feel more comfortable here than at the centre.
When Brian phoned him this morning, he said Adeline was out sick (read: hungover) so there would be some temporary replacement at the desk. He isn’t surprised when he peers over the front counter and comes face to face with a woman that looks like Marlon Brando, only not hot Marlon Brando, Marlon Brando circa the Godfather and after that.
“Uh, I’m here to see Brian?” He says, peering over the ledge, forcing a smile as she looks up at him with beady eyes. Justin’s surprised Brian even hired this woman, I mean, usually he’s more into vanity than that.
She wrinkles her forehead at him, somehow raising her eyebrows at the same time. They’re plucked and very, very thin. Finer than pencil lined thin. Justin resists the urge to laugh.
“Do you have an appointment?” She asks, around the same time that Justin notices she’s peeled Adeline’s library of post-it notes off of the computer screen. Vaguely, Justin chants ‘cat fight, cat fight, cat fight’ over and over in his head.
He shakes his head and shrugs, “No, not a real one…”
“Mr. Kinney doesn’t see clients without previous appointments.” She explains to him, talking as though he’s nine years old. Justin squints at her and wonders if she even noticed the reporters outside, wonders if she’s turned on a television set in the last month or so.
Instead he says, “Yeah, but-“
“Can I call a taxi for you?” She interrupts, reaching for the phone, her earrings jangling as one shoulder is lifted up. Justin notices the unfortunate presence of shoulder pads under her floral shirt. Thick ones.
He shakes his head and presses his palms flat against the cold countertop.
“If I could just-“
The angry footsteps coming toward them is the first clue, and the second is the sound of a pile of papers being slapped against the edge of the front desk. Both Justin and the secretary jump, startling at the sudden noise.
“Charlotte!” He exclaims, pointing the papers at the woman. Her eyes widen and she spins around in her chair, looking up at Brian hovering hear the edge of the desk. “What did I say?”
Justin desperately fights the urge to gloat in her general direction.
“About what, Mr. Kinney?” She asks, quite obviously playing dumb.
Brian’s face is all stone and steel like the countertop as he gestures first in the general direction to where Justin is standing, and then back at Charlotte.
“Who’s standing in front of you?” He asks, but Justin notices that it isn’t really a question, more of a statement, like he’s talking to a nine year old child who doesn’t know the difference between orange and blue.
She fumbles for a moment, shuffling through what’s probably the day’s schedule sitting in front of her, her long red fingernails all but combing over the paper. Brian fumes.
“Would you tell her your goddamn name so I can get the fuck back to what I was doing?” He snaps, and for a second Justin doesn’t even realize it’s himself who Brian is talking to. He’s seen the talking to the media face, making fun of Adeline face, trying to help the kid out face, but he’s never ever seen this one.
He shifts back and forth, and manages to tell her. “Justin…” He trails off and then adds, almost as though it’s an afterthought, “Taylor.”
“And what did I tell you to do if Justin Taylor came in?” Brian asks quickly, slapping the papers against the desk top again. Charlotte begins to blink rapidly, trying to find some form she can recover through.
She isn’t doing a very good job, though.
“I apologize, Mr. Kinney.” She tries. “I thought-“
Brian shakes his head and keeps his eyes level on her face, his voice even.
“What did I tell you to do?”
Charlotte licks her lips nervously, finally raising her head to look up at her temporary boss. Justin watches the entire exchange with his mouth kind of hanging open, barely blinking as Charlotte says, acting like a puppy who’s been punished, “To send him right in.”
For a second Justin thinks Brian is going to continue, the half frown, quarter scowl, and remaining glare still quite evident on his mirror-practiced face. But instead, he glances over at the blond and says, “Justin. Come on.”
Justin hurries around the desk and fights the urge to look back at Charlotte and grin as he follows Brian down the bright halls, halls that he’s walked up and down with Adeline and the lawyer too many times in such a short amount of time.
“Verdammter Mist.” Brian’s muttering under his breath, “Fucking hired help.”
The office door closes behind them and Justin raises his eyebrows, asks, “What’s that mean?”
“What?” Brian asks, a smirk making the corner of his lips twitch as he walks over to his desk. The pile of papers he abused earlier are dropped onto another and forgotten.
Justin starts to pull off his jacket, tries to repeat the words from earlier.
“Verdamned Mist.” He manages, and Brian has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing at the terrible pronunciation. Justin notices and tries not to smile. “I’ve never really heard you speak it before.”
Brian laughs for real this time, and raises his eyebrows.
“It’s surprising that I live in Berlin and know how to speak in German?”
Smiling, Justin shakes his head and sits down in the usual chair, leaning against the back and looking up at Brian, still shuffling around behind his huge desk.
“No, just.” He stops and shrugs. “I’ve just never really heard it.”
Brian rolls his eyes and mutters, “Scheißkerl.”
He doesn’t know what it is -- the sound of the syllables, the way it makes Brian’s mouth move, it doesn’t really matter though, because suddenly, Justin has found a new interest in German culture.
…
“Say something else.”
Brian rolls his eyes and twists his chair around a bit, turning just enough to reach behind him and pull a single piece of paper from the stack behind where he sits as he asks, “What the fuck do you want me to do, recite the alphabet or something?”
“I don’t care!” Justin exclaims, laughing. He leans forward and repeats what he’s been requesting for the majority of the morning, “Just say something.”
An unbelieving stare across the desk for a moment before Brian groans and recites like a child in a preschool play, “Sie sind Fahren ich poppen verrückt.”
…
He pokes between a piece of soggy broccoli and a piece of carrot that’s the size of a dime.
“Zambino finally got himself an attorney.” Brian tells him, peering into his own box of noodles. Justin wonders how much Brian has spent in the stuff over the last few weeks. “It’s a firm fresh out of law school, no experience whatsoever. Nothing to worry about.”
Letting go of his chopsticks, Justin looks from inside the box and across the desk to where Brian is sitting in his chair, white shirt rolled up to his elbows and feet propped up on the table top, right between his computer and the case file.
“Were you worried before?” Justin asks, and he wishes his voice didn’t sound like that, but it does. He frowns.
Brian shakes his head and immediately says, “No.”
“You’re lying.” The blond whispers, pushing himself further back into the chair. Brian looks up from his takeout box and at Justin’s face.
He shakes his head.
“We’re not going to lose, Justin.”
Despite what’s going on inside his of head, Justin manages to nod, and picks up his chopsticks, poking through the carton of food he’s been working on for a while.
“I know.” He says, and his voice is quiet.
Constantin Sicherheit - Constantin Security
Verdammter Mist - Slang, equal to “Goddamn it”
Scheißkerl - Bastard (Slang, equal to “Motherfucker”)
Sie sind Fahren ich poppen verrückt - “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”
40,032 / 50,000
(80.1%)
He throws one fist forward and then the other, punching the bag in a series of rapid throws, his knuckles turning red and swollen inside of his gloves. All of his concentration is tunneled into this one moment, this second, every minute hour day week month year before this completely gone, disappeared except for the breath that he inhales now.
One more punch and he backs off, shaking his hands out and chewing his bottom lip, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, making his breathing hurried and needy. He eyes the punching bag hanging from the wall above him, and throws one last kick at it. His foot impacts half way down and makes the bag swings on its chain, rattling the board that holds it to the ceiling.
…
He presses himself against the side wall in the elevator, stainless steel or something that looks something like it. He fucking hates elevators, absolutely everything about them.
Janice left him downstairs, after following him through the crowd of reporters outside. All he could really do was follow the main security guard from Sicherheit and ignore the microphones being pressed into his face. In some disgusting way, he’s almost getting used to it.
The top floor bell dings and the elevator doors slide open, and suddenly he’s in the middle of the front lobby of Kinnetik, all glass and steel and bright green apples.
Funny he should feel more comfortable here than at the centre.
When Brian phoned him this morning, he said Adeline was out sick (read: hungover) so there would be some temporary replacement at the desk. He isn’t surprised when he peers over the front counter and comes face to face with a woman that looks like Marlon Brando, only not hot Marlon Brando, Marlon Brando circa the Godfather and after that.
“Uh, I’m here to see Brian?” He says, peering over the ledge, forcing a smile as she looks up at him with beady eyes. Justin’s surprised Brian even hired this woman, I mean, usually he’s more into vanity than that.
She wrinkles her forehead at him, somehow raising her eyebrows at the same time. They’re plucked and very, very thin. Finer than pencil lined thin. Justin resists the urge to laugh.
“Do you have an appointment?” She asks, around the same time that Justin notices she’s peeled Adeline’s library of post-it notes off of the computer screen. Vaguely, Justin chants ‘cat fight, cat fight, cat fight’ over and over in his head.
He shakes his head and shrugs, “No, not a real one…”
“Mr. Kinney doesn’t see clients without previous appointments.” She explains to him, talking as though he’s nine years old. Justin squints at her and wonders if she even noticed the reporters outside, wonders if she’s turned on a television set in the last month or so.
Instead he says, “Yeah, but-“
“Can I call a taxi for you?” She interrupts, reaching for the phone, her earrings jangling as one shoulder is lifted up. Justin notices the unfortunate presence of shoulder pads under her floral shirt. Thick ones.
He shakes his head and presses his palms flat against the cold countertop.
“If I could just-“
The angry footsteps coming toward them is the first clue, and the second is the sound of a pile of papers being slapped against the edge of the front desk. Both Justin and the secretary jump, startling at the sudden noise.
“Charlotte!” He exclaims, pointing the papers at the woman. Her eyes widen and she spins around in her chair, looking up at Brian hovering hear the edge of the desk. “What did I say?”
Justin desperately fights the urge to gloat in her general direction.
“About what, Mr. Kinney?” She asks, quite obviously playing dumb.
Brian’s face is all stone and steel like the countertop as he gestures first in the general direction to where Justin is standing, and then back at Charlotte.
“Who’s standing in front of you?” He asks, but Justin notices that it isn’t really a question, more of a statement, like he’s talking to a nine year old child who doesn’t know the difference between orange and blue.
She fumbles for a moment, shuffling through what’s probably the day’s schedule sitting in front of her, her long red fingernails all but combing over the paper. Brian fumes.
“Would you tell her your goddamn name so I can get the fuck back to what I was doing?” He snaps, and for a second Justin doesn’t even realize it’s himself who Brian is talking to. He’s seen the talking to the media face, making fun of Adeline face, trying to help the kid out face, but he’s never ever seen this one.
He shifts back and forth, and manages to tell her. “Justin…” He trails off and then adds, almost as though it’s an afterthought, “Taylor.”
“And what did I tell you to do if Justin Taylor came in?” Brian asks quickly, slapping the papers against the desk top again. Charlotte begins to blink rapidly, trying to find some form she can recover through.
She isn’t doing a very good job, though.
“I apologize, Mr. Kinney.” She tries. “I thought-“
Brian shakes his head and keeps his eyes level on her face, his voice even.
“What did I tell you to do?”
Charlotte licks her lips nervously, finally raising her head to look up at her temporary boss. Justin watches the entire exchange with his mouth kind of hanging open, barely blinking as Charlotte says, acting like a puppy who’s been punished, “To send him right in.”
For a second Justin thinks Brian is going to continue, the half frown, quarter scowl, and remaining glare still quite evident on his mirror-practiced face. But instead, he glances over at the blond and says, “Justin. Come on.”
Justin hurries around the desk and fights the urge to look back at Charlotte and grin as he follows Brian down the bright halls, halls that he’s walked up and down with Adeline and the lawyer too many times in such a short amount of time.
“Verdammter Mist.” Brian’s muttering under his breath, “Fucking hired help.”
The office door closes behind them and Justin raises his eyebrows, asks, “What’s that mean?”
“What?” Brian asks, a smirk making the corner of his lips twitch as he walks over to his desk. The pile of papers he abused earlier are dropped onto another and forgotten.
Justin starts to pull off his jacket, tries to repeat the words from earlier.
“Verdamned Mist.” He manages, and Brian has to bite the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing at the terrible pronunciation. Justin notices and tries not to smile. “I’ve never really heard you speak it before.”
Brian laughs for real this time, and raises his eyebrows.
“It’s surprising that I live in Berlin and know how to speak in German?”
Smiling, Justin shakes his head and sits down in the usual chair, leaning against the back and looking up at Brian, still shuffling around behind his huge desk.
“No, just.” He stops and shrugs. “I’ve just never really heard it.”
Brian rolls his eyes and mutters, “Scheißkerl.”
He doesn’t know what it is -- the sound of the syllables, the way it makes Brian’s mouth move, it doesn’t really matter though, because suddenly, Justin has found a new interest in German culture.
…
“Say something else.”
Brian rolls his eyes and twists his chair around a bit, turning just enough to reach behind him and pull a single piece of paper from the stack behind where he sits as he asks, “What the fuck do you want me to do, recite the alphabet or something?”
“I don’t care!” Justin exclaims, laughing. He leans forward and repeats what he’s been requesting for the majority of the morning, “Just say something.”
An unbelieving stare across the desk for a moment before Brian groans and recites like a child in a preschool play, “Sie sind Fahren ich poppen verrückt.”
…
He pokes between a piece of soggy broccoli and a piece of carrot that’s the size of a dime.
“Zambino finally got himself an attorney.” Brian tells him, peering into his own box of noodles. Justin wonders how much Brian has spent in the stuff over the last few weeks. “It’s a firm fresh out of law school, no experience whatsoever. Nothing to worry about.”
Letting go of his chopsticks, Justin looks from inside the box and across the desk to where Brian is sitting in his chair, white shirt rolled up to his elbows and feet propped up on the table top, right between his computer and the case file.
“Were you worried before?” Justin asks, and he wishes his voice didn’t sound like that, but it does. He frowns.
Brian shakes his head and immediately says, “No.”
“You’re lying.” The blond whispers, pushing himself further back into the chair. Brian looks up from his takeout box and at Justin’s face.
He shakes his head.
“We’re not going to lose, Justin.”
Despite what’s going on inside his of head, Justin manages to nod, and picks up his chopsticks, poking through the carton of food he’s been working on for a while.
“I know.” He says, and his voice is quiet.
Constantin Sicherheit - Constantin Security
Verdammter Mist - Slang, equal to “Goddamn it”
Scheißkerl - Bastard (Slang, equal to “Motherfucker”)
Sie sind Fahren ich poppen verrückt - “You’re driving me fucking crazy.”