Right. Coffee. *punches the elevator button* Seems this Lizzie has, uh - *searches his memory for the words as he steps into the elevator* - she said she has a solution to your situation. I dunno, though. I think she left a fake number. What fraught circumstances?
I took a message, not challenged her to cage fighting. *starts to press 'L'* Whatdaya mean with her - *dawns on him - and he presses the uppermost floor by mistake* Oh.
"It was your button. Be grateful we didn't burst through the roof."
Actually, they haven't yet reached the top floor, which Alan vaguely suspects functions as a mental ward, housing the likes of Edwin Poole. The doors open on floor thirteen and before them stands a blonde in a severely cut suit.
She steps aboard, studies the buttons in confusion. "Are we going up or down?"
*Brad nods at the woman and glances at Alan, bewildered he restrained himself from the innuendo*
"Up." *shrugs* "Sorry." *Brad had caught an unsettling glimpse of the floor. He wondered if Alan saw anything but the woman, then turned to her* "Didn't know there was a thirteenth floor. It looked - . What kind of business operates there?"
She's on the tall side and not entirely comfortable with her height, ducking as she enters the elevator. She carries, rather than a briefcase or a purse, a small collection of papers rolled like scrolls. She stands to the side of the elevator, possibly in order to keep an eye on both her fellow passengers. Her fingers look long and nimble. The nails are painted bright orange.
Brad's asking about the floor?
"Benzaiten Design. We're an architectural drafting firm." Looking from one to the other and not finding them particularly engrossed, she adds matter-of-factly, "I'm Benzaiten."
"The Japanese goddess of eloquence," Alan says, eyebrows raised. "Do I owe you an oath of fealty?"
She laughs, rolls her eyes. "It's a pretentious name. Most people don't catch that." It takes only a glance at Alan and Brad for her to pronounce, "You're lawyers."
Alan leaves Brad to field that. He makes the more convincing attorney.
Brad watches her, then Alan, then her, knowing he was the only one in the elevator representing 'most people'. He nods once. "Correct." Then, because he couldn't let Alan win the room: "The top civil litigation firm in Boston."
The woman barely glanced at him, turning slightly in Alan's direction. This was nothing new - s.o.p. around the firm - but it was an endless source of irritation to Brad. He grinned and gestured:"Whatcha got there?"
"Drafts." Brad pocketed his hands and looked up at the floor indicator, enduring. Waiting for Alan to reel in his catch, sure the release would follow.
Judging by Brad's expression of resolute stoicism, he expects Alan to at any moment begin conversing with the woman in fluent Japanese.
Alan knows precious little Japanese, so instead he says, "Speaking for the top civil litigation firm in Boston, most of us have mastered--"
"I know you," she says, suddenly turning from Alan to Brad. "I saw you on TV. You're the guy...shit...you did something."
"He attacked a priest with an axe," Alan says. "That's why we're headed to the top floor. It's his armory. We also happen to be the top vigilante justice firm in Boston."
Of course, she's (somewhat) interested in a real answer, so she's still looking at Brad.
Brad patiently let Alan run through his stand-up, the priest-chopping having entertained all at the Christmas party, the recent International meeting and assorted clients.
Her look actually made the small room feel hot - or maybe it was him. "No." He directs this to Alan. To the woman: "Mr. Shore sees my action through Wes Craven-colored glasses. There was a little coverage on a boy who was kidnapped. I had something to do with his recovery." She inhaled, about to speak, when the elevator dinged and the doors opened onto an empty floor. Not just empty. Bare. No walls. No fixtures. No color. Alan and Miss Benzaiten followed his gaze, all three momentarily absorbed in their own curiosity. The doors began to slide shut, when Brad held out his hand, restoring their view. "Whatdaya know. Heaven is in Boston."
Forgetting their guest, Alan stares openly. There isn't much to stare at, but leaving an entire floor empty makes no sense. He expects a portal into John Malkovich's head at the very least.
"This is your idea of heaven," he says, not taking his eyes off the distinct lack of anything of interest. "Somehow I'm neither surprised nor impressed."
Reply
Nightly slumber parties. Stop trying to wrangle an invitation.
Have they assembled to defend Christmas?
Reply
I hope you're not taking advantage of Denny's state of mind in order to get your little thrills.
This from the man who prosecuted the United States.
Reply
I'll be sure to convey that concern to him.
The United States was asking for it. Is there coffee in our future?
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
Reply
What the hell - ?
Reply
Actually, they haven't yet reached the top floor, which Alan vaguely suspects functions as a mental ward, housing the likes of Edwin Poole. The doors open on floor thirteen and before them stands a blonde in a severely cut suit.
She steps aboard, studies the buttons in confusion. "Are we going up or down?"
"There was a difference of opinion," Alan says.
Reply
"Up." *shrugs* "Sorry." *Brad had caught an unsettling glimpse of the floor. He wondered if Alan saw anything but the woman, then turned to her* "Didn't know there was a thirteenth floor. It looked - . What kind of business operates there?"
Reply
Brad's asking about the floor?
"Benzaiten Design. We're an architectural drafting firm." Looking from one to the other and not finding them particularly engrossed, she adds matter-of-factly, "I'm Benzaiten."
"The Japanese goddess of eloquence," Alan says, eyebrows raised. "Do I owe you an oath of fealty?"
She laughs, rolls her eyes. "It's a pretentious name. Most people don't catch that." It takes only a glance at Alan and Brad for her to pronounce, "You're lawyers."
Alan leaves Brad to field that. He makes the more convincing attorney.
Reply
The woman barely glanced at him, turning slightly in Alan's direction. This was nothing new - s.o.p. around the firm - but it was an endless source of irritation to Brad. He grinned and gestured:"Whatcha got there?"
"Drafts." Brad pocketed his hands and looked up at the floor indicator, enduring. Waiting for Alan to reel in his catch, sure the release would follow.
Reply
Alan knows precious little Japanese, so instead he says, "Speaking for the top civil litigation firm in Boston, most of us have mastered--"
"I know you," she says, suddenly turning from Alan to Brad. "I saw you on TV. You're the guy...shit...you did something."
"He attacked a priest with an axe," Alan says. "That's why we're headed to the top floor. It's his armory. We also happen to be the top vigilante justice firm in Boston."
Of course, she's (somewhat) interested in a real answer, so she's still looking at Brad.
Reply
Her look actually made the small room feel hot - or maybe it was him. "No." He directs this to Alan. To the woman: "Mr. Shore sees my action through Wes Craven-colored glasses. There was a little coverage on a boy who was kidnapped. I had something to do with his recovery." She inhaled, about to speak, when the elevator dinged and the doors opened onto an empty floor. Not just empty. Bare. No walls. No fixtures. No color. Alan and Miss Benzaiten followed his gaze, all three momentarily absorbed in their own curiosity. The doors began to slide shut, when Brad held out his hand, restoring their view. "Whatdaya know. Heaven is in Boston."
Reply
"This is your idea of heaven," he says, not taking his eyes off the distinct lack of anything of interest. "Somehow I'm neither surprised nor impressed."
Reply
Leave a comment