Power Microcosm

Chapter 3

Tapping the tip of my pen on my desk, I stare at my inbox to the email account I have. It's a company email which I got on my second day here; which was two days ago.

Looking around my office, strange to think of this place as mine even if I've had an eternity to settle in, I observe the lacking workload.

Azrael has not contacted me for three days now, even though our offices are one yard away. And because I've had nothing to do, most of my time has been spent sitting in here. Staring at the wall of just trying to organize insipid shelves. When the room was not entertaining, I wandered the Garner building. Talked with the security guard and also found the gym three floors below. Levi said I could use it, and he along with another specific somebody is allowed to utilize it.

That somebody, being Azrael. The hoarder of work.

Tapping the pen of mine on the desk more, I look up at a clock I brought in to hang to my right and a little up. My tapping is a tango to the hands of the clock, which ticks along to form a base rhythm. The list that Azrael handed me earlier this week literally is garbage as I haven't accomplished anything . It lays on my desk, idle to the tap of my pen as I stare at it with a pout.

If I'm going to just sit around, and Azrael is not even going to bother giving me things to fulfill the exact things I'm supposed to, then my job seems rather pointless. From my background, I've been raised to do my job. My upbringing has told me that if I surrender myself to an occupation, then I'm going to follow through. Maybe I have chivalry, or maybe it's not that as it seemingly died off long ago. But I know that for now, I am being paid, and I need to reciprocate this reality.

Pushing my chair out, I walk over to my office door before stepping out. Azrael's office door is in my face. I knock on it.

"Come in," replies Azrael, and I enter.

Inside, more papers are scattered around the floor with the desk equally cluttered. On the edge of his desk is an ashtray with a modest pile of ash. I smell the smoke, and one of his fingers is bandaged. It's obvious that he's been puffing. And his shirt collar is askew as one dips lower than the other.

Looking up from his work, it takes him a second to realize who I am before he jumps in his chair and coughs once.

"Ah! Hogarth! Um...what can I assist you with?" he asks as he fixes his collar.

"Well, I think I'm supposed to assist you, in reality," I say as evenly as I can as I walk closer to his desk.
 
   Doing so I notice more of his face is pale and there seems to be bruised-color pockets under his eyes. And his skin looks a different shade of Frankenstein grey from the last time I saw him. Memory isn't the most reliable source of knowledge but can be reliable in instances of succinct necessity. This is one of those moments.

"Um, I...er..." Azrael stutters as he tries to think of something to reply to me.

His eyes dart to the ash tray before at me, then they're back.

"And I'm also supposed to stop you from smoking. Levi told me that much," I also say.

"I," says Azrael as he tries to say something, but then stopping, just slumping in his chair in defeat.

"I have nothing to say," he says as he looks down, not at me, who sits across him at one of the leather chairs.

This setting where I appear to be vituperating my own boss is not normal to say the least. Not to mention how I'm technically hired by his subordinate; Levi. And what makes it almost risible is the fact that Azrael is not resisting this situation and is literally feeling guilty for what he may have done wrong.