"You're new to this, aren't you?" Puck sneers, strolling through the front doors of Xanatos Enterprises with an air of relaxed disdain.
"I'm–no. No," you say, crossing your arms defensively. "I've prepared for this."
Puck flashes a beaming expression at the receptionist, who barely looks up from her computer when you both walk in without impediment. You let out a small sigh of relief. Step one of infinity was over.
"That wasn't my question, though, was it?" Puck murmurs to you through his smile, giving the receptionist a wave of goodbye. "You're new to this, Dionysus. It's obvious. Too obvious. You look like a tiny bird, flitting around so anxiously like that. Target may as well be painted on your back."
You tense and dart your eyes to the businessmen walking around you. Was Puck right? Did any of them suspect you of being a spy? All of them bustle past you with apparent obliviousness, but your skin is prickling with fear anyway, and you can hear your heart pounding like a gong in your ears. Only one person has to notice you don't belong and the whole mission could–
"Hey. Di." Puck grabs your arm and spins you so that you're facing him. "It's alright, okay? The more you think about it the worse it'll get for you. Relax or you'll jeopardize the mission, and more importantly, me. Be normal."
"Of course I'm normal, why wouldn't–" you laugh loudly and awkwardly. "Why wouldn't I be normal? This is normal. This is all normal."
Puck smiles, and despite the gravity of the situation, your brain notes the clear sincerity of it, the obvious mirth shining in his eyes. It's a lopsided smirk, mischievous and devilish and delighted with a hint of condescension. It's far from the perfect smiles he was plastering on his face for the Xanatos employees around you; this was a smiles meant for you and you alone, for the only person in the building he could trust. In just that simple expression, you felt that, at least for the next hour, it was just you and Puck against the world.
"I know it's your first day," Puck says as he starts walking towards the elevators. "But a key part of this job is being laid back because you know you have the power to back it up. You have to be in control as easily as you'd be in your own living room. If there's madness, it has to be your madness, your chaos. Own your chaos. Make the chaos bow to you."
The elevator door dings open and Puck glides in purposefully. You trail in after, wondering at how he makes even simple movements smooth and lively at the same time. Like water and fire. Cool and crackling with energy.
"I'll–keep that in mind," you reply. "You should be a motivational speaker."
Puck waves his hand dismissively. "Nah, I'm not a dealing with other people kind of guy. I work for Children of Oberon, I look out for me. Anyone else gets in the way."
"Really?" The sides of your mouth quirk up. "And what does that make me?"
Puck pulls a paper clip out of his hair and bends it into a straight line of metal, sticking it into the lock next to the button for the top-secret 20th floor.
"An exception," he says casually, focusing intently on jimmying the lock with careful precision.
Before you can respond, the button for the 20th floor turns orange with a ding and the elevator starts moving, carrying you both up to the executives-only offices of Xanatos. Puck steps back from the button panel with an air of smug satisfaction, twirling the paper clip between his fingers jauntily before sticking it behind his ear.
"Here, our fake IDs. We'll need them to blend in among the top dogs." Puck hands a gleaming card to you with a flourish bearing the name Rae Zelmist. Puck slips his own into his pocket, and you catch a glimpse of the name Owen Burnett.
"That's kind of a boring name compared to your real one," you note, sliding your own ID card into your handbag.
Puck raises his eyebrows at you with an incredulous grin. "This whole time I've been calling you by your codename and you really thought I wasn't using one too?"
"No, I knew it was your codename," you sigh in defeat. "I was trying to see if I could trick you into telling me your actual one."
Puck snickers and leans forward playfully. "Fine, I'll respect a fellow trickster, as abysmal as the attempt was. But why exactly do you need to break safety protocol just to know?"
"You don't seem like the type to care about safety protocol!"
"I'm not. But you are." Puck tilts his head. "Why the curiosity, greenie?"
You shrug. Frankly, you don't really know. You're just compelled, for some reason. You understand that both the Manhattan Clan and the Children of Oberon have rules about learning names for their agents' safety and the organizations' traceability, but you've always found it alienating. What was the point of completing team missions without an appropriate sense of camaraderie?
Completing the mission would be the point, you can almost hear Goliath gruffly explain as you recall your pre-assignment briefing, call to mind the stern but fond expression Goliath always reserved for you. Camaraderie would only be a side effect. And given the partner you've been assigned, a dangerous side effect at that.
You remember how scared you were to hear those words, how you instantly conjured the image of a menacing beast of a man with knives for teeth and obsidian for eyes. You look at the actual man standing before you, leaning against the back wall of the elevator with a lazy leer, and think Goliath was both wrong and right, in some ways. Puck, with his nimble frame and impish face, was hardly a hulking, looming threat. But there was something, a shadow hiding in his features, that suggested a formidable danger lurked beneath his jaunty exterior. Looking at him from certain angles, it wasn't that hard to believe his smile could draw blood, that his eyes glinted with the cold ferocity of igneous stone.
Then again, from other angles, he also kind of looked like a total fucking dumbass, honestly. Like, cartoonishly stupid. So who really knew who this man was, deep down?
"We're here," Puck announces, suddenly snapping you out of your reverie.
While you hurriedly try to gather your thoughts, he strides out of the elevator and turns left to avoid the busier section of the floor. You follow his path through the grid of cubicles, furtively absorbing your surroundings as you go. You're slightly cowed by the wealth and quiet efficiency of the environment, the sleek minimalist design of the offices a sharp juxtaposition from the cozy spirit of the Manhattan Clan. Everything was designed to evoke class: the chairs were stiff and backed with leather, the cubicles were spacious but designed from rigid mahogany, there was no decoration to be found even on the personal desks of the frowning businessmen. The closest thing to an adornment was a wall of glass panels overlooking the city skyline. From this height, you can see the tops of skyscrapers with ease, look down on everyone without a care. Goddamn businessmen.
"IDs?" A security guard in a black blazer steps towards them with a furrowed brow. Clear suspicion brimmed in his eyes, though the rest of his face was placid.
Puck plasters his classic fake grin on his face as he whips out his card, and you sheepishly do the same. The guard squints at each of your cards and crosses his arms.
"I ain't ever seen y'all around here before," he says, glaring at you.
"Sir, she's new, I'm showing her around. New recruit, cute little thing, she's so nervous." Puck said, putting a hand on your shoulder and pulling you close in an act of familiarity. Or faux familiarity, perhaps. You can't be sure.
The guard frowns and puts a hand on his chin. You wave at the guard and smile, though you' think it may look more like a wince.
"Fine, Burnett, if you say so." The guard sighs and waves you away. "Don't let her get into any trouble."
"Will do, sir, keep up the absolutely wonderful work," Puck says with a sarcastic salute, hurrying you away rapidly towards the main office space. Your shoes clack on the marble floor as you walk; Puck, with his airy step, moves soundlessly.
"He didn't give you that much trouble," you mutter bitterly under your breath.
"Well, you know how it is with these rich guys," Puck sneers. "Stuck up bastards. I can't wait to take them all down a peg and pop their balloons a bit."
You nod, even though you're not sure you agree. In fact, you're not even sure you buy what Puck's saying. It didn't feel like it made total sense. But then again, that was true of everything about Puck, wasn't it? You decide not to dwell on it too much. You have a job to do. Camaraderie could wait.
You wonder, once again, what Puck's real name is. For a moment, you wonder if he's wondering too.