Facetious Felines
"Senpai, I made you dinner." Doug said, setting the plate on his kitchen table. His apartment only had the linoleum tiled kitchen with room for maybe two people, the poorly carpeted living room, and the closet-like bedroom to begin with. He received no reply to the statement, nor any form of acknowledgement whatsoever.
"Senpai." Nothing at all.
"I swear to god, you're gonna notice me before you eat this." Doug glared daggers, and still, he was given the cold shoulder.
The cat laid still on the end of his couch, disinterested as always, like finally showing it knew who kept her fed and healthy would be criminal. He sighed, finding his pet's namesake was still sadly fitting. The animal hadn't given him more than a two-second long, blank stare since he got it as a kitten years past. His daily attempts were in vain; catnip, toys, treats, nothing made Senpai notice him. His girl trouble reminded him of what Coco said earlier that day, before leaving him to his own devices.
The truth was, despite having a penchant for talking down to the students, he wasn't a whole lot older than them. He was just barely twenty-two years of age, as much as his scruff and stress lines made him appear years more than that; otherwise, he couldn't have blended in with the crowd Junior rolled him up with. For the girls of the academy to take an interest wasn't out of the question, but not impossible either, as Coco showed by commenting in the first place –though, as far as he could tell, she had just made an observation about him, not a target out of him. Even then, he still thought she was off the mark, seeing as his recent profession hardly gave him a good image to show the ladies.
Doug had a personal age range he refused to even fathom a person outside of, and this was mostly because of the Malachite twins; being the only girls near his own age that he'd known for long, they had given him a negative impression of girls younger than he. This didn't make him more attracted to older women, though; if anything, his run-ins with Glynda were making him think that steering clear of the opposite sex entirely was the only way to remain safe and pain-free... That was a dangerous train of thought. Doug derailed it immediately.
A quick picture snapped of Glynda's mission planner for first-year students had been sent to Khiver last night, and the reply text had given him the A-OK. That evidence was deleted already, though if anyone ever captured the basket case before he acted upon it, Doug could kiss his ass goodbye. There was no time to worry about the dirt piling around his feet after checking his voice mail, however, having gotten a call back from the Omeghis Corporation about his application. The one he hadn't sent, that is –surely, more work stacked on his desk from his enigmatic employer. RWBY's classified first embarking must have been all he wanted from Beacon for now, which meant a new job to gather new intel. Did he expect him to drop the Janitor gig?
No. He would work both unless Khiver told him directly otherwise... Doug picked up his wrinkled dress shirt, evading the red one that was once worn to appease prior employers. He tore the plastic cover off the pants hanging in the closet, followed by finding the nicest shoes he owned and a necktie. He had an interview to attend, an appearance to spruce up just like Coco had advised, a sales pitch to throw which would convince them they wanted Doug for a position he knew nothing about. The meeting was in about an hour and a half, so he showered, shaved, and made a sandwich.
Keys, wallet, phone, smokes –all check. He had a momentary battle of wills with his cat again, stepping into her line of sight just so she could turn her head and face the wall. "Fine, be that way. Eyes on the house, no crazy parties, you know how it goes. "
Doug exited the apartment and locked his unit, number twenty, passing nineteen through sixteen on his way to the stairs. He lived on the second level of a motor complex that made a U shape around the parking lot, taking a moment to wave to the thousand-someodd-year-old lady that owned the place. She sat in the office, and never changed expression, just offered waves in greeting or parting and asked for rent. For some reason, she was rather intimidating, even though she was half his size.
Doug performed a cop slide over the hood of his cream-colored car, an old Voxwagon that had more miles than he had hairs on his head. The vehicle had seen some rough days and still kept kicking, despite the dents from neglect, a headlight that acted up, and semi-circles of rust loitering by his tires. Fishing out the keys he checked for prior, he turned it in the ignition, getting the customary sputter of rejection that would repeat two to four times before the engine would wake. 'I've still got twenty minutes, not including the drive. I can probably nab a coffee from Jim Nortons.'
Coco sprang to mind again, and he blinked a few realization that she and her team would suggest itself each time he got a cup made him drop his forehead into the top of the steering wheel for a second, and he finally got the motor running on his car with another twist of the wrist. He lit a dart and took a grateful inhale before actually driving out of the lot, curious to see what trouble Khiver wanted him into next...
The Omeghis Corporation's main building was like a gigantic sunflower seed jammed into the earth at the far end of Vale's industrial region, the sheer size being the only reason one would know it were here if they didn't work there; it was fifty storeys high, but as described before, it widened out as it went down, especially at the base where other small buildings sat attached like a planet's ring. Sleek, and looking like the entirety were made of blue glass from how tight-knit the windows were, The doors at the front were actually hard to tell apart from these until one got close. Doug circled for a close parking spot, jumped out and didn't bother to lock up. No one would steal his junk heap from a place like this... polishing off his coffee, Doug thumbed out two breathmints and tried not to look too distressed as he entered through automatic doors.
The obviously tweaked receptionist gave him a plastic smile and pushed up her plastic bosom, asking what he might be in for today. "I'm here for an interview."
"Mr. Brightsnap?"
Same alias as before. Good sign that he should keep on with Beacon's grunt work. "Yes."
She forced another smile, "You will be headed down the hall to your left, where there will be a standard procedure search of your person, and from there you will be escorted to Lt. Wyser's office. Please come back the way you came after your business is concluded."
"Thank you." Doug kept it short, passing her by and adjusting his collar. Four armed men stood at what looked like an airport checkpoint, taking his four items he made sure to leave home with and patting him down. They were quickly satisfied that he wasn't sneaking in any weapons or chemicals, so one took him to the elevator close by, rang it down, and pressed the eleventh floor. They waited in silence.
The clearly disinterested escort saw him to the office door, and then spun to march right back the way he came, setting an example of what Doug must have been expected to do. He knocked three times, and heard something muffled from the other side, taking that as his cue to come in.
The office was expectable, though there were a few pleasantries here and there, like a poster bearing an old PSA and similarly droll emplacements. The woman awaiting him had her hair tied into such a tight black bun that he could swear her scalp was ready to tear at the hair line, half-rimmed glasses with a neck chain sitting on her dainty nose. In black and blue blouse and business skirt customary of the establishment, she was probably ten or more years ahead of Glynda Goodwitch in age, and many of those years must have been devoid of laughter judging by the way her face naturally lingered on displeased.
"Welcome, Mr. Brightsnap. Have a seat."
"Call me Doug-..."
Already a fumble at the starting line. He scrambled to fix the mistake; "Dirk. It's Dou-, irk. Dirk. It's Dirk Brightsnap, that's me all right, thank you ma'am, how are you doing?" So this was what it was like to drown in panic.
She took her own seat across from the one he struggled to take with dignity after his opening line, glaring him down. "You seem rather skittish, for someone applying for Night Security."
"I just got felt up by strangers with guns. I can see why you might find that relaxing, but we probably have different tastes." Doug told his mouth it was being bad, and needed to wait for his brain to check the script before delivery.
Much to his surprise, she smirked. "There you are. That's the confidence we want around here, Mr. Brightsnap." She paused, skimming whatever her computer screen said about him right now. They went back and forth with simple questions that he still had to struggle with, since he had no idea how his new identity had been tailored to respond; it was causing him to fall back on his sarcasm, as that had proven effective so far and it was better than stammering. "Why do you want to work here?"
"It's been my dream since childhood, being a minimum-wage rent-a-cop."
"My, you were quite the ambitious one. Why Omeghis Corp.?"
"I thought about trying Schnee Dust, but guarding a pile of rocks sounds even duller than whatever cabinet I'll have eyes on here."
"Why exactly should I choose you over other applicants?"
"I'm occasionally laserproof, truth be told; tried and proven. That ought to be a plus." She gave him a look at that proclamation. "Er, I have my aura opened up. The other day it proved to be a nice little perk at job number two."
Lieutenant Wyser folded her hands. "Go on... What's this other job?"
"Janitor at Beacon Academy. Day shift. I only just started this week, since I wasn't expecting another response to my applications, but I assure you I can double up." She eyed him longer than he thought necessary, moving so little it appeared she stopped breathing.
She lifted a pen now, and rifling through paperwork she spoke without keeping him under that dead man's stare of hers. "Alright, I'll cut you out of weekends. Eleven to six, Monday through Friday, not a moment later. Understood?"
"Loud and clear."
She set a number of sheets with empty spaces for his signature on his end of the desk, along with a punch-in card and copy of the schedule. After the necessary scribbles and pocketing of items he stood, and took the hand she offered to shake. "You come highly recommended to us, Mr. Brightsnap, but you should watch that attitude of yours. If you had been with Lt. Keene, there would still be an open slot on the night crew right now."
"Glad to know I got the Wiser of you two." She cringed at the pun. He almost did too.
"Don't make me fire you, Dirk. Or is it Doug?" He froze for a moment, trying to fight down the panic again.
"Both, actually. My old boss always told me I wasn't sharp enough to be a Dirk, so he just kept calling me Doug instead." The story he pulled out of his ass to justify an identity mix-up seemed just demeaning enough for his new second boss to take at face value, smirking again.
"He must not have known his daggers. You seem plenty sharp to me." She winked. He took a reflexive step toward the door.
'Uh-uh. No. This isn't happening... I can't even get my own cat to notice me, let alone a friggin' cougar! Please please PLEASE-'
Stepping around the desk, Lt. Wyser went to the door and opened it for Doug while he had a meltdown. "I'll see you soon, Dirk. Don't be late."
He shuffled awkwardly past the woman, catching more expressions he couldn't unsee as well as an obvious rub-up against him in the doorway, and soon walked briskly out the building for a cigarette.