When reception buzzes Tucker to tell him that Wes is in the lobby, he just stares at the intercom on the phone.
And?
He's supposed to do something? What? Interview the guy? Ask questions? Why can't he just hire someone and it be over?
"Uh," Tucker says, fiddling with the button, which creates a feedback loop that screeches between the two phones. "Sorry. Uh. You can send him ba-- actually, I'll come out and greet him. Two seconds."
Because the liability of sending a stranger wandering through the halls, unaccompanied... too crazy. He could get eaten or beheaded or something.
He goes out to the lobby and immediately spots Wes. Because, well, he looks just like Warren. Even moreso in person. It makes Tucker's stomach jump a little, in some kind of schmoopy pavlovian recognition pattern.
Although Warren would NEVER be caught dead in that turtleneck.
Speaking of, Tucker shifts into mage sight as he extends his hand to Wes, and suddenly realizes why the whole soul thing wasn't an issue.
Wes jumps to his feet, because he's eager like that. All: where? And: how high?
Although, less eager now. Lately. Not that it's something someone not previously acquainted with him would realized. His eagerness meter has been lower to approximately 90 percent. That's down from 130, mind you.
"Mr. Wells."
Wes shakes firmly; professionally.
"I really would like to thank you for the opportunity. Your staff has been so gracious."
"Oh, no," Tucker says, totally fascinated with what he was seeing. What *is* Wes? Tucker muses, He's a demon of some sort, but low magic levels, neither dead nor undead, not alive, sentient (and polite!), but almost dependent -
"No, thank YOU for coming in. Here, come on back to my office. I'm still moving in, so... it'll be kind of disheveled, but..."
He leads Wes back, down the winding corridor, until he has to backtrack because he missed his office on first pass. Within a couple of minutes of meeting, they're seated comfortably in Tucker's new digs.
Tucker realizes he has no idea how to do this. He guesses that just talking casually to the guy would be okay. He's actually sort of a good judge of character, aided by the mage sight.
"So..." he starts. "You got fired from your other job? Why?"
"I...I'm afraid I attempted to go over my boss' head on a particular project I was lead to believe wasn't being handled. I should have trusted management rather than an outside source. I've since learned my lesson."
He inches down the neck of his shirt to display his wound. It's still a little oozy. And there doesn't look like there's any possible way someone could have survived it.
"Eeeeeuccch," Tucker cringes, leaning forward to check it out. It is, in fact, still seeping. Tucker hands Wes a tissue. Okay, it's a paper towel. All right, actually, it's an oatmeal paper towel from the men's room. Don't ask. Tucker has some stashed at his desk. "That's nasty. You should pass through the clinic downstairs. They're open to all sorts of injuries - dead, undead, living, mortal, post-expiration, et cetera. They'd check it out for you. At least seal it up."
He sits back and thinks for a second, Mr. Burns-ing his hands. "So... you second-guessed your boss? Is he the one who, you know, did that? And, if so, is he going to continue coming after you?"
Tucker's very appreciative of Warren Wes's honest face. He keeps looking at it intently, trying to spot a difference. Sometime, he was going to have to get Warren to see this guy. He'd flip out. Possibly in a bad way.
"That's good to hear because, as I think I mentioned, the bottom line is: don't sell me out, don't screw me over, don't embarrass me in front of the staff, etc. And 'don't piss in the company pool' but I won't hold you to that. Better to use your own judgement. That was mostly just advice," Tucker taps his fingers on his desk and tries to think of what else to ask. "Uh... so. Are you, uh, a demon? You aren't exactly human, are you? I know a lot about demons, but I've never really seen someone with the kind of readings I'm getting. Who, exactly, did you work for previously? And were you bonded to them in any way?"
Wes' bottom line once included being appreciated and respected. Just a little bit. It may not anymore. He's not sure. The entire foundation of all his beliefs have been shaken to the core. He'll have to play things by ear.
"Yes, I am," Wes admits. "I worked for our dark lord and master, Satan? There was some bonding yes, but they've since been broken."
How can Tucker not be impressed? Seriously. This guy just said he WORKED FOR THE DEVIL. And not, like, in a "devil went down to georgia" or "tenacious D" way. Tucker hadn't really thought about The Devil, much. God, sure, but not The Devil. In a way, it's ridiculous: he believed in God, but not the Devil. How does that work? Maybe it was spending too much time around dark creatures - to think that they actually had a MASTER was mind boggling.
So, he tries not to gape. Stare. But he's visibily impressed.
"Satan." He looks at Wes, hard. This guy used to work for Satan, and now he wants to work for Tucker. And, really, he wasn't good enough for Satan. But, dammit, he's good enough for Tucker! "Dark lord. Wow."
Something occurs to him, and he quirks an eyebrow, "The fallen angel Lucifer is going by 'Mr. Boyd' now? Or was he just middle management?"
Wes doesn't seem to notice Tucker's awe. The devil is just a company like any other, really. Although evil doesn't tend to pay taxes. They have people to make sure they're exempt.
"It was an honor," Wes says, of his previous employer.
"Mr. Boyd is The Boss' assistant. I...was Mr. Boyd's assistant."
Just assistant. That's clear now. Not friend or confidant, or respected employee, or person, really. Just another piece of office furniture.
Wes' only consolation is that Mr. Boyd now has Terry alone to rely on.
Tucker nods, and when he narrows his eyes knowingly, he looks a little like Andrew. Not that Wes would know.
"Interesting. Well. That's what I need. An assistant," he says, obivously. "I'm not always going to be in the office, and I'd need you to split your time between here and field work. There should be some traveling involved. I need someone to keep track of the paperwork, help me assemble some dossiers, generally keep my life from exploding around me. I'm pretty chill. Not very demanding. I've never needed an assistant until now, so I'd imagine you could probably write your own job description."
He bites his lip and looks out the window. "Do you have any questions? What would you like to have happen? What do you want to spend your time doing?"
Because he always wished that someone would ask him that in an interview.
Wes looks slightly taken aback. No one ever asks what Wes wants.
Wes wants to believe he doesn't want.
"I...would like to work hard in any way that might assist you or the company, and be rewarded for my efforts."
He gazes at Tucker solemnly.
"I understand it's a competitive field, and I don't mind criticism. I believe we learn from it. However, one can't live on that alone. And my job really is my life, Mr. Wells."
"You should call me Tucker. Although I like the 'Mr. Wells' stuff, I probably wouldn't turn around if you called me that in a crowded room. Anyway, that was a good answer. Pretty much ideal. So, that said: what would you have in mind as a reward?" He fights a grin. Don't look at the prospective employee like that. Even if he looks like Bear.
Tucker nods thoughtfully. "Okay, then. Well, you're out of luck on the stalk. Believe it or not, but Wolfram and Hart is a lawfirm and therefore not publicly traded. There's too much money in the upper ranks for them to share with peons like us. And the ranks... they go up pretty high. I'm not sure where your ex-head honcho falls in their ranks, but... most likely he know the Partners. The Senior Partners. I'm their liaision, so it's up to me to disseminate information throughout the ...ranks. Company. Branches. Whatever. Anyway, my point is: don't bet on the stock. But, I can compensate you with other benefits. Positive reinforcement I give out happily, so long as you do what I ask you to. Advancement is limited only to how imaginative you get with your job description. I mean, a few months ago, I was just the head of the lab. And now
( ... )
And?
He's supposed to do something? What? Interview the guy? Ask questions? Why can't he just hire someone and it be over?
"Uh," Tucker says, fiddling with the button, which creates a feedback loop that screeches between the two phones. "Sorry. Uh. You can send him ba-- actually, I'll come out and greet him. Two seconds."
Because the liability of sending a stranger wandering through the halls, unaccompanied... too crazy. He could get eaten or beheaded or something.
He goes out to the lobby and immediately spots Wes. Because, well, he looks just like Warren. Even moreso in person. It makes Tucker's stomach jump a little, in some kind of schmoopy pavlovian recognition pattern.
Although Warren would NEVER be caught dead in that turtleneck.
Speaking of, Tucker shifts into mage sight as he extends his hand to Wes, and suddenly realizes why the whole soul thing wasn't an issue.
"Hey Wes. Tucker Wells," he grins.
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Although, less eager now. Lately. Not that it's something someone not previously acquainted with him would realized. His eagerness meter has been lower to approximately 90 percent. That's down from 130, mind you.
"Mr. Wells."
Wes shakes firmly; professionally.
"I really would like to thank you for the opportunity. Your staff has been so gracious."
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"No, thank YOU for coming in. Here, come on back to my office. I'm still moving in, so... it'll be kind of disheveled, but..."
He leads Wes back, down the winding corridor, until he has to backtrack because he missed his office on first pass. Within a couple of minutes of meeting, they're seated comfortably in Tucker's new digs.
Tucker realizes he has no idea how to do this. He guesses that just talking casually to the guy would be okay. He's actually sort of a good judge of character, aided by the mage sight.
"So..." he starts. "You got fired from your other job? Why?"
That wasn't very casual. Bad Tucker, bad.
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"Yes. Of course."
He folds his hands daintily on his lap.
"I...I'm afraid I attempted to go over my boss' head on a particular project I was lead to believe wasn't being handled. I should have trusted management rather than an outside source. I've since learned my lesson."
He inches down the neck of his shirt to display his wound. It's still a little oozy. And there doesn't look like there's any possible way someone could have survived it.
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He sits back and thinks for a second, Mr. Burns-ing his hands. "So... you second-guessed your boss? Is he the one who, you know, did that? And, if so, is he going to continue coming after you?"
Because really, Wes isn't THAT dead.
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"No, Mr. Boyd..."
Could have prevented this if he'd cared to. But he hadn't.
"...was uninvolved. There will not be a repeat," Wes insists.
Strangely enough, Wes has an honest face. That's not an easy task to accomplish when it's also Warren's.
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"That's good to hear because, as I think I mentioned, the bottom line is: don't sell me out, don't screw me over, don't embarrass me in front of the staff, etc. And 'don't piss in the company pool' but I won't hold you to that. Better to use your own judgement. That was mostly just advice," Tucker taps his fingers on his desk and tries to think of what else to ask. "Uh... so. Are you, uh, a demon? You aren't exactly human, are you? I know a lot about demons, but I've never really seen someone with the kind of readings I'm getting. Who, exactly, did you work for previously? And were you bonded to them in any way?"
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"Yes, I am," Wes admits. "I worked for our dark lord and master, Satan? There was some bonding yes, but they've since been broken."
Wes very nearly sniffles with sadness.
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So, he tries not to gape. Stare. But he's visibily impressed.
"Satan." He looks at Wes, hard. This guy used to work for Satan, and now he wants to work for Tucker. And, really, he wasn't good enough for Satan. But, dammit, he's good enough for Tucker! "Dark lord. Wow."
Something occurs to him, and he quirks an eyebrow, "The fallen angel Lucifer is going by 'Mr. Boyd' now? Or was he just middle management?"
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"It was an honor," Wes says, of his previous employer.
"Mr. Boyd is The Boss' assistant. I...was Mr. Boyd's assistant."
Just assistant. That's clear now. Not friend or confidant, or respected employee, or person, really. Just another piece of office furniture.
Wes' only consolation is that Mr. Boyd now has Terry alone to rely on.
Terry will surely be dead by the week's end.
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"Interesting. Well. That's what I need. An assistant," he says, obivously. "I'm not always going to be in the office, and I'd need you to split your time between here and field work. There should be some traveling involved. I need someone to keep track of the paperwork, help me assemble some dossiers, generally keep my life from exploding around me. I'm pretty chill. Not very demanding. I've never needed an assistant until now, so I'd imagine you could probably write your own job description."
He bites his lip and looks out the window. "Do you have any questions? What would you like to have happen? What do you want to spend your time doing?"
Because he always wished that someone would ask him that in an interview.
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Wes wants to believe he doesn't want.
"I...would like to work hard in any way that might assist you or the company, and be rewarded for my efforts."
He gazes at Tucker solemnly.
"I understand it's a competitive field, and I don't mind criticism. I believe we learn from it. However, one can't live on that alone. And my job really is my life, Mr. Wells."
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Just... don't.
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"Positive reinforcement. Advancement within the company. Stock," Wes suggests.
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"Yes of course."
He holds out a hand.
"I believe I will enjoy working for you Mr. ...Tucker Wells."
He'll work on the name thing.
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