Logs:Offerer-of-the-gold: A Poem of Honest Toil

Offerer-of-the-gold: A Poem of Honest Toil
CN: Self Harm
Dramatis Personae Kadar, Lucien
In Absentia Ion	2024-11-20 "Shocking though it is, I think Ion may have undersold your talents."
Location <NYC> Lucien's Office - Le Bonne Entente
One might be forgiven for thinking that Le Carrefour is Lucien's office, with as much business as gets done there. This tiny nook of an office is far less used, tucked away in small side hallway off the far more opulent lobby. It's extremely neat in here, and fairly plain, the only adornments a painting in lush oils of an otherworldly forestscape hanging over the desk and a hanging basket plant by the windows whose spidery leaves and multicolored bell-like flowers ripple in occasionally unsettling motion, given the lack of breeze. Lucien himself is in plain grey, suit well tailored but understated. He's just setting a tray down in front of his guest, a fresh hot coffee and a fresh hot tea from the cafe together with some small puff pastry hand pies -- lamb and harissa, and raclette with rosemary and garlic. He nudges the coffee forward, plucking up the tea for himself before he takes his seat at the desk. "Ion has given me quite an impression of your family." Kadar has been studying the plant with a close curiosity. He pokes a finger lightly against one of the flowers, but straightens quick when Lucien speaks. "Shit, when you helped get us square after Mendeleev I didn't realize you were stacked, this place is next level, man." He's dressed not nearly so sharp, khakis and a pale blue button-down, both quite aged and both slightly ill-fitting. He sits down across from Lucien, a jitter of energy in the tap of his hand against his thigh. Picking up the coffee quiets some of the restlessness -- or transfers it, anyway, hands quieter and leg starting to bounce now. He shoots Lucien a bright grin. "Oh, I bet he has, that man can tell a tale, huh. You friends?" He doesn't sound skeptical of this but the look he's shooting Lucien (and his immaculately tailored suit) has a definite puzzlement to it. Lucien dips his head in a quiet acknowledgment, a small pleased crinkle at the corners of his eyes. "He certainly can." He is glancing at his computer screen, Kadar's resume pulled up there, though he only looks at it very briefly. "I know you've been through a battery of interviews already -- I hope you'll forgive the process, it's just -- the clientele you would be working with here expect a certain level of discretion from us. If you are as skilled as Ion says you are, though, you would be an immense asset to our staff." "The rep you've got here," Kadar says confidently as though he's wise in the ways of New York, as though he's heard this from lots of people On The Street and not just from one very enthusiastic Mongrel, "you gotta be careful, right?" He picks up one of the pastries, taking a big bite and washing it down with a swig of coffee. His hand claps to his face -- then cups there, eyes wide as he half-hides his mouth. "Holy shit this is amazing." He has to finish chewing, run his tongue over his teeth after he's swallowed. "I'm pretty damn good. I'd give you a demo but, like --" He's squinting over at Luci. "You're not, like, hurt." "Our pastry chef is quite excellent, yes." Lucien is sipping his tea, studying Kadar thoughtfully. He plucks a handkerchief from his pocket, folding it in half and laying it atop the desk. He sheds his jacket, unstaying one cufflink so that he can roll the sleeve up to his forearm. He's produced a box cutter from somewhere in the desk, flicking the blade out long. His eyes tighten just a little bit, but aside from that he betrays no further reaction as he digs the blade in deep against the back of his forearm, draws it down to leave a several-inch long gash yawning open. The blood that wells out is falling against the handkerchief as he lays his arm on the desk between them, brows hiked curiously. "Damn!" Kadar's sat up rigid in his seat, broader smile frozen on his face. "You do not fuck around, man, huh?" He's wiping one hand against a napkin before remembering that he has two hands and one of them is not speckled with puff pastry. He drops his hand to Lucien's arm, pinching -- kind of messily, and though oddly painless it does feel like a weird sort of twisting -- at the edges of the cut to crimp them together like some fleshy pie crust -- at first this leaves a somewhat disturbing set of fingerprint riffles protruding up in odd wobbly crest from Lucien's arm, but the bleeding has stopped. He wipes at the leaked blood with an end of the handkerchief and then presses his fingers down over the odd ridge, smoothing it back into place -- save for the lingering bloodsmears, there's no evidence a cut was ever there. His grin has gotten sharper, eyes fixing on Lucien's brighter ones. "Can do organs, too, but that might be a more brutal demo." He takes another bite of his pastry, licks his lips as he settles back in his seat. "Not the half of it, either. New fingerprints, new eyes, new damn face. Y'know. If any of that would come in handy to -- your clientele." Lucien folds the handkerchief another time and sets it aside. He's opening another drawer, getting out a small first aid kid -- not that he needs it, now, but he does retrieve a pair of alcohol wipes so that he can delicately rub off the remaining blood from his arm, then wipe down the blade of the boxcutter. He stows the blade, quirking up one eyebrow. "Shocking though it is, I think Ion may have undersold your talents. Goodness, but that's a handy skill." He is rolling his sleeve neatly back down into place, rebuttoning it and tucking his cufflink back into place. "HR will still have to work up a proper contract for you, but -- welcome aboard." Kadar is cramming the rest of the pastry into his mouth, which puts a delay in his answering. He does give a ready fistpump, but he's got to chug some more of the coffee before he can ask his most pressing new hire question: "-- Do I get a discount at this cafe?"