Well. Wasn't this interesting? A real fun fest.
Ricky Roma took stock of the room, no hurry but not missing anything, not if he could help it. Not looking anything beyond self-assured. Hell, he knew what he was about. And you never let your guard down. Especially not with a group like this. What in - What in the hell was this nutjob operation?
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This guy is, what do you say, a real class act, by the looks of him. Roma raises his eyebrows. "You saying you're afraid of a little war? A little competition?"
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"You want to tell me what it is you sell? Or is that top-secret information? One of those 'for privileged eyes only' affairs?"
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Incidentally, somewhere between Dwight's commissioning the business cards and his actual receiving of them, someone had thoughtfully printed his title as "Assistant to the Regional Manager". Dwight had not noticed this yet.
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"Dwight, I think I might be shaking. To imagine what I would have been competing with... The... Assistant to the Regional Manner. God, I'm cold all over."
And paper products. "What I want to know, though, is I want to know why the fuck you think I would give more than two shits about selling paper products? Not that I doubt the vital importance of paper products to our community... Hell, maybe paper products are beyond me. Maybe I just don't understand their, ah, their true beauty."
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Was there anything else to say about a guy like this? Christ, George could have wiped the floor with this prick.
"Oh, oh, Jesus, I didn't realize! Dwight is a fighter! Assistant Regional Manager?" Roma grabbed his side, buckling over in mock pain. "I may very well be dead, you have so wounded me. Ah-hhh, ouch." He stopped, paused, then spoke in a deadpan voice. "Ouch."
Roma let another brief pause go by before he continued, "And, Dwight, I don't care if you're the Prince of fucking Persia. You do not want to go around talking about your 'culture heritage.' This is friendly advice."
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"I take it you're one of those people that doesn't appreciate manditory diversity day," he remarked dryly.
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"Well, you know, it's company policy," was all he said.
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Company policy. Bullshit, was what any of THAT ever was. Roma had flipped the metaphorical (and not-so-metaphorical) bird at company policy more times than he bothered to remember, and Williamson had never been able to do a thing about it. Had stopped trying, mostly, which was one of the only sensible things Williamson had ever done.
((OOC: Errr, yea-eah... Very sorry about the ultra-delay in response, there. Damn and hellfire...))
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"Neither my boss's sexual orientation nor my own are under debate," Dwight said huffily. "Though I'll have you know that my boss is happily engaged." Never mind that Michael's fiance was now popcorn. That was irrelevant to Dwight's larger point, which had been lost somewhere in this conversation.
((No problem. And I would apologize for inflicting you with that link, but... that is Grade A H_H crack.))
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"And engagement means nothing. You think there are queers aren't married to women? Christ, the things I've heard..." Roma shook his head.
((O_o I think... I think part of my brain just died in the best way possible. XD Nice.))
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"Well," he huffed. "I'll leave you to contemplate my sexuality in peadce." A pause. "I'm sure we'll meet again."
And with that, he swept from the room.
((Ha! Glad you liked. I take a perverse amount of pleasure out of linking people to that RP. Also, you're awesome, and you should totally join us in IRC. :D))
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((Crack is always a good plan, and ESPECIALLY crack-tastic crack is pretty much just HELL YEAH. And oh-ho, I had known not of this IRC... may indeed need to be checking it out when am not being bludgeoned by Oliver Goldsmith, as am much intrigued. :D))
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