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.
"Likewise, Wes. Do you... uh, have a last name? Because I'll have to get a contract written up and get your background check done. But, as far as I can tell, we're golden. You're exactly what I'm looking for."
Wakka-wakka-wakka.
He shakes hands on it, noticing that Wes's hand really is quite cool (and looks JUST like Warren's), and stands up. "So, drop your information by HR and seriously, take advantage of the clinic. They'll fix you up. Just tell them you're a contractor and don't have an employee number yet."
Wes, don't exude so fast. Tucker smiles at how ...oddly perky Wes is.
"Not yet, Wes. Thanks for asking, though. Really, you shouldn't do anything work-related until they create a file on you and get your an employee number. So, get that rolling, get your neck fixed up, I'll sign off, and then I'll see you in here. Sound good? Great."
Tucker walks him out, again. Because, even though it doesn't look like anything short of a beheading will knock this guy completely down, it still would be a liability before he's covered by the building insurance.
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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Wakka-wakka-wakka.
He shakes hands on it, noticing that Wes's hand really is quite cool (and looks JUST like Warren's), and stands up. "So, drop your information by HR and seriously, take advantage of the clinic. They'll fix you up. Just tell them you're a contractor and don't have an employee number yet."
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Like Cher.
Wes stands.
"I'll get right on that, sir."
Wes exudes efficiency as he takes out an electronic organizer.
"Is there anything else you'd like me to get started on in the meantime?"
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"Not yet, Wes. Thanks for asking, though. Really, you shouldn't do anything work-related until they create a file on you and get your an employee number. So, get that rolling, get your neck fixed up, I'll sign off, and then I'll see you in here. Sound good? Great."
Tucker walks him out, again. Because, even though it doesn't look like anything short of a beheading will knock this guy completely down, it still would be a liability before he's covered by the building insurance.
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Wes can laugh at himself. See?
Even if he has no idea what's so funny.
"Thank you again," he says, on is way out the door.
To where ever Weses go when not in an office.
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