(no subject)
I don't know where it's going? But I seem to be writing this. Ahahahaha. *facepalm*
"Iero!"
Frank drops the camera into the bottom drawer of his desk and tries his best to look like a busy little beaver when his supervisor rounds the corner and looms over his desk.
"Sir?"
Frank's supervisor hates formality, so Frank goes out of his way to be as formal and polite as he can, just to drive the poor bastard crazy.
Frank's supervisor scowls at him, eyes narrowed. He looks as though he thinks Frank's slacking off instead of being a productive employee whose sole purpose in life is to help the company grow and thrive and probably something having to do roots, although Frank kind of skimmed that part of the company manifesto.
"Are you working?"
Frank gives his supervisor an affronted look, like he's deeply offended anyone would dare say otherwise. The hand on his chest over his heart is probably overkill, but his supervisor doesn't call him on it. "Always, sir. You know how much I enjoy being a highly valued member of the team."
There really isn't a team, at least not in the conventional sense of the word. Just Frank, a couple of people Frank's not entirely certain works there, his supervisor, and the creepy guy in the corner who never, ever talks and still manages to hold the job title of receptionist.
Frank's supervisor looks skeptical, so Frank throws in a tiny little pout. He has no shame, and no one he knows outside of work - and therefore respects - will ever know.
Frank's supervisor shakes his head and wanders away to hassle the next peon in line leaving Frank free to be a freaky little guy going through the pictures on someone else's camera. For a good cause. Really.
"Iero!"
Frank drops the camera into the bottom drawer of his desk and tries his best to look like a busy little beaver when his supervisor rounds the corner and looms over his desk.
"Sir?"
Frank's supervisor hates formality, so Frank goes out of his way to be as formal and polite as he can, just to drive the poor bastard crazy.
Frank's supervisor scowls at him, eyes narrowed. He looks as though he thinks Frank's slacking off instead of being a productive employee whose sole purpose in life is to help the company grow and thrive and probably something having to do roots, although Frank kind of skimmed that part of the company manifesto.
"Are you working?"
Frank gives his supervisor an affronted look, like he's deeply offended anyone would dare say otherwise. The hand on his chest over his heart is probably overkill, but his supervisor doesn't call him on it. "Always, sir. You know how much I enjoy being a highly valued member of the team."
There really isn't a team, at least not in the conventional sense of the word. Just Frank, a couple of people Frank's not entirely certain works there, his supervisor, and the creepy guy in the corner who never, ever talks and still manages to hold the job title of receptionist.
Frank's supervisor looks skeptical, so Frank throws in a tiny little pout. He has no shame, and no one he knows outside of work - and therefore respects - will ever know.
Frank's supervisor shakes his head and wanders away to hassle the next peon in line leaving Frank free to be a freaky little guy going through the pictures on someone else's camera. For a good cause. Really.