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Jun 27, 2016 16:47:53 GMT
Post by michael on Jun 27, 2016 16:47:53 GMT
 Michael refuses all champagne sent his way, content with the glass of water in his hands. He's a complete lightweight, and he would rather not accidentally give out anyone's social security number. That would be a mistake that he would be willing to resign over, as much as it would kill him to lose six months worth of work.
He watches the people at the meet-and-greet carefully. He's not fascinated by the rich and powerful, he doesn't marathon the Borgias on prime television. But he does regard them in wonder, how anyone could say that they control a tenth of the world economy without feeling like they're about to puke. How anyone could relax when a small nation's welfare resides in the palm of their hand, thousands of miles away. It's staggering to Michael. His palms still sweat when he has to handle accident insurance claims for just ten superheroes in his office.
To be fair, even a single claim could involve tens of thousands of dollars. For a single block.
Michael has a half-suspicion that he's only here because he's the one person in the department who was willing to work overtime on a Saturday night. Not even the superheroes are here. There are no accidents to avoid, no accusations to negotiate. Michael has handed out only two business cards so far, which means that statistically, he's not going to get any new calls within the week.
It's so odd, it's almost as if... he's not expected to be working tonight. While he's being clocked for overtime hours. This can't be right. He looks over at the fondue tower suspiciously.
sheyda
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Post by sheyda on Jul 1, 2016 12:31:28 GMT
Ah, gatherings. There was nothing better than taking the time to allow company employees to unwind and meet all in the same room, without the barrier of department or position. Whilst this particular social did have a purpose - to check up on the protected businesses and buildings, and ensure their continued support - Sheyda felt it prudent to kill two birds with one stone. An efficient increase in the catering budget, rather than having two seperate bills, and the opportunity for their supporters to see the bread and butter employees of the Initiative was too good an opportunity to miss. The board would be kissing his hand for this one.
He glides through the gathering with the grace only an experienced social swan could, effortlessly sliding from conversation to conversation, replacing empty champagne flutes with a beam, recommending particular canapes. He's been thanked more than once for counting this as overtime for the lower paid employees, but he's not having any of it, the fact that he can do something such as this to thank them for their service was all the thanks he needed.
Wandering over to the far side of the room, Sheyda picks up a salmon blini and stands next to a nervous-looking man, giving him one of his best grins.
"Have you tried the salmon? I wasn't expecting it to be better than the last time."
michael
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Post by michael on Jul 1, 2016 16:30:33 GMT
He knows who Sheyda Rostam is, of course he knows who Mr. Rostam is. It's almost as if Michael works at the Initiative or something.
Michael turns around and stiffens his spine immediately upon seeing his boss. He's usually a good listener, but not in the face of the man's overwhelming difference in title. He straightens up, becoming almost a half-inch taller in the process. "S-senior executive -- sir, what do you need? Is there anyone who needs to be diverted?" He's not sure why Mr. Rostam would be talking to him otherwise. Or why he would even be here. Michael imagines that the man must have a considerable load of paperwork waiting at his office. If it were up to him, then Michael would probably be working at the office instead of enjoying a nice canape.
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Post by sheyda on Jul 6, 2016 21:11:51 GMT
The laughter from his lips is instant and jolly, a warm sound that rises from the stomach. He can't think of what required that response, but he thinks it's endearing, and Sheyda is instantly warmed. He takes a moment to pop the blini between his lips and finish his mouthful before he answers beyond his wide smile.
"No, no! Have you eaten any of the... I forget the word, the food? It is quite enjoyable." Sheyda takes a moment to pause a waiter and take two flutes, not as tall as the others, from her tray, giving his thanks as he holds a glass out, gesturing. "This is not for work, this is for pleasure... are you enjoying yourself?"
michael
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Post by michael on Jul 6, 2016 23:32:51 GMT
"A...crepe?" He says it with his horrid Anglo pronounciation. Un-silent E and everything. Hopefully his faux-pas will not pass to Sheyda, who probably sees more French people than Michael the Salaryman does. "I don't know, I really don't eat out." In fact, Michael's idea of lunch are sandwiches. His dinners are boiled noodles, sometimes rice with leftovers. He skips breaksfast entirely.
What a pleb.
Michael realizes that he's essentially rearranged his entire weekend work schedule for nothing. Except he has more social sense to say that, of course.
"We're really here to... talk to people and eat finger foods?" Michael scrunches his brows a little. "Shouldn't one of the heroes be here in my place? If nothing else, they would be good publicity - provided that they're on their best behavior, of course." And he's not managing any at the moment.
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