(no subject)
The following is a brief trial-run for my science fiction idea. I'm just trying to get a feel for the protagonist, and decide if 1st or 3rd person is better for this project. I can't say I'm happy with how this feels right now, and will be (likely) completely re-written in the future. Nonetheless, I promised work here for you all, so voila.
====
"Waiter." A voice with a faint rust to it uttered. The voice belonged to a man of average height and average weight. His skin would have been a nice olive colour if he ever saw the sun. He didn't of course, so instead it was a nice pink. His eyebrows were thick and brown, and so was his hair, though it was cropped rather short. His hazel eyes seemed bored, disinterested. He was cleanshaven: he looked like he had just shaved in fact. An ironed white dress shirt and pressed black dress pants hid underneath a brown, clean overcoat that fell past his knees. "Anachronistic" most would call him. The equivalent of someone walking around in the early 21st century wearing a waistcoat.
The man with the voice sat with his legs crossed in a very plain creaky chair. The type that seemed almost purposely uncomfortable. It wasn't long until he shifted his weight, in fact. As if the chair had actually reached out and poked him in the back. The room was lit by fiercly bright flourescents that nearly blinded him. He squinted across the office, past what he could make of the steel desk towards the narrow, dressed in black man behind it.
The dressed in black man's face was shallow and angular, and with far too many wrinkles to be entirely healthy. His skin seemed jaundiced, almost green even. Maybe it was the lighting in here. His voice seemd almost as shallow as he was. "Marital Status?"
"Divorced," the man replied. He twisted again in his chair. Winced, actually, but he'd never admit it of course.
"Name of the former spouse?" The dressed in black man was sitting there, his hands in his pockets. He didn't move otherwise. Didn't even blink.
"Channon Waters."
"Does she retain your surname?"
Mister Waters twitched again. "No."
"Surname, please."
"What if she remarried and didn't tell me?"
The dressed in black man blinked for a moment, almost mechanically. "Your former spouse will inform us of a change in marital or name change when she registers."
Mr. Waters moved again in his seat, breaking eye contact for a moment with the distended man across from him. "Rossini."
The distended man blinked a few more times. "Our records indicate that you have been making Alimony payments, correct."
"Yeah, I have."
"You shall be refunded the last three payments. You needn't make any more from this point forward."
Mr. Waters stood there in silence for a long moment. Very slowly, his mouth slipped wide. It took a while for his mind to formulate the question, mostly because he was worried that he already knew the answer. "Why?"
"Channon Rossini's profile was updated ninety-six days ago. Her biological status was updated from 'living' to 'deceased.' Your money shall return to your account in 42 to 56 days."
Mr. Waters shifted rapidly in the chair, now. He beant forward, bringing a hand up. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! How did she die?" His heart fell into his stomach. No one seemed to notice. The dressed in black man blinked again.
"That information had been omitted from her records."
"What?!"
"We must continue with the registration, Mr. Waters."
"I want to know what happened to my wife!" His voiced was raised. That was never a good idea. Not in this place. The tone of the man infront of him changed. No one expects these men to be able to sound colder than they normally do.
"Waters, Mark. It is against procedure to threaten or in any way harass the employees of this division. Doing so will result in immediate arrest. We will permit you two minutes to calm yourself, and then we will continue with the registration."
Time passed in morbid silence, as these things often do. Mark wanted a cigarette. Badly. He also wanted to cry and to throw his chair at the distended man across from him. He figured that to be a bad idea, though. He waited for the man to continue.
"Our records indicate that you do not have a registered PonyTailer ID."
"That's right. I don't PonyTail."
The creature blinked a few times more. Mark waited for the next question. It was usually "Are you a registered internet user?" To which he'd reply that "yes, yes I am." Instead all he got was a cold:
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Waters. You may leave now."
Mark blinked for a moment. This was certainly strange. Not a little upsetting, either. It's not every day the registrar tells you your ex-wife is dead and then cuts your re-registration short. He managed to sit there in wonderment long enough the registrar repeated itself.
"Waters, Mark. Please depart."
"Uuuh, right." Mark crept out of his seat and headed towards the white door. He was already fumbling for a cigarette within his pockets.
====
"Waiter." A voice with a faint rust to it uttered. The voice belonged to a man of average height and average weight. His skin would have been a nice olive colour if he ever saw the sun. He didn't of course, so instead it was a nice pink. His eyebrows were thick and brown, and so was his hair, though it was cropped rather short. His hazel eyes seemed bored, disinterested. He was cleanshaven: he looked like he had just shaved in fact. An ironed white dress shirt and pressed black dress pants hid underneath a brown, clean overcoat that fell past his knees. "Anachronistic" most would call him. The equivalent of someone walking around in the early 21st century wearing a waistcoat.
The man with the voice sat with his legs crossed in a very plain creaky chair. The type that seemed almost purposely uncomfortable. It wasn't long until he shifted his weight, in fact. As if the chair had actually reached out and poked him in the back. The room was lit by fiercly bright flourescents that nearly blinded him. He squinted across the office, past what he could make of the steel desk towards the narrow, dressed in black man behind it.
The dressed in black man's face was shallow and angular, and with far too many wrinkles to be entirely healthy. His skin seemed jaundiced, almost green even. Maybe it was the lighting in here. His voice seemd almost as shallow as he was. "Marital Status?"
"Divorced," the man replied. He twisted again in his chair. Winced, actually, but he'd never admit it of course.
"Name of the former spouse?" The dressed in black man was sitting there, his hands in his pockets. He didn't move otherwise. Didn't even blink.
"Channon Waters."
"Does she retain your surname?"
Mister Waters twitched again. "No."
"Surname, please."
"What if she remarried and didn't tell me?"
The dressed in black man blinked for a moment, almost mechanically. "Your former spouse will inform us of a change in marital or name change when she registers."
Mr. Waters moved again in his seat, breaking eye contact for a moment with the distended man across from him. "Rossini."
The distended man blinked a few more times. "Our records indicate that you have been making Alimony payments, correct."
"Yeah, I have."
"You shall be refunded the last three payments. You needn't make any more from this point forward."
Mr. Waters stood there in silence for a long moment. Very slowly, his mouth slipped wide. It took a while for his mind to formulate the question, mostly because he was worried that he already knew the answer. "Why?"
"Channon Rossini's profile was updated ninety-six days ago. Her biological status was updated from 'living' to 'deceased.' Your money shall return to your account in 42 to 56 days."
Mr. Waters shifted rapidly in the chair, now. He beant forward, bringing a hand up. "Wait a minute, wait a minute! How did she die?" His heart fell into his stomach. No one seemed to notice. The dressed in black man blinked again.
"That information had been omitted from her records."
"What?!"
"We must continue with the registration, Mr. Waters."
"I want to know what happened to my wife!" His voiced was raised. That was never a good idea. Not in this place. The tone of the man infront of him changed. No one expects these men to be able to sound colder than they normally do.
"Waters, Mark. It is against procedure to threaten or in any way harass the employees of this division. Doing so will result in immediate arrest. We will permit you two minutes to calm yourself, and then we will continue with the registration."
Time passed in morbid silence, as these things often do. Mark wanted a cigarette. Badly. He also wanted to cry and to throw his chair at the distended man across from him. He figured that to be a bad idea, though. He waited for the man to continue.
"Our records indicate that you do not have a registered PonyTailer ID."
"That's right. I don't PonyTail."
The creature blinked a few times more. Mark waited for the next question. It was usually "Are you a registered internet user?" To which he'd reply that "yes, yes I am." Instead all he got was a cold:
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Waters. You may leave now."
Mark blinked for a moment. This was certainly strange. Not a little upsetting, either. It's not every day the registrar tells you your ex-wife is dead and then cuts your re-registration short. He managed to sit there in wonderment long enough the registrar repeated itself.
"Waters, Mark. Please depart."
"Uuuh, right." Mark crept out of his seat and headed towards the white door. He was already fumbling for a cigarette within his pockets.