stoneblood (stoneblood) wrote in awoken_rp, @ 2016-08-20 10:12:00 |
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Entry tags: | character: adalyn meade, character: benjamin locke, rating: pg-13, status: in progress, type: private, type: thread |
The Canary Caper: Nothing but Trouble
Date: August 12, 2031
Time: 18:32 PM
Location: Axion Corporation, Upper East Side
Characters: Benjamin Locke, Adalyn Meade
Description: Locke has an uncomfortable meeting with an old “friend”
Status/Rating: PG-13, private, in progress.
He could have killed Crawford. After the morning he’d had, and the afternoon, the agent had claimed other commitments instead of meeting Axion Corporation’s best lobbyist, and the appointment he’d set up had fallen to Locke.
Which was just perfect. Because the last person he wanted to see in New York right now was Adalyn Meade.
Or, if he was honest, the last person he’d wanted to see in New York for the past six years had been Adalyn Meade. Ever since David…
He clamped down his feelings, and banished the old ghosts that haunted his mind, as he entered the lobby of Axion’s headquarters, one of the few tall buildings that remained in good condition this close to Central Park and its wild, untamed magic. He imagined that it had something to do with the fact that the corporation was known to be controlled by Awoken interests.
He could feel the magic even from the doorway, a thin buzzing that seemed to raise the hair on his arms as he passed into one of its citadels. The floor was polished to within an inch of its life, while cascading water on both sides of the lobby reflected off the marble. The reception desks ahead were made of the same material, trimmed with a metal that, if it wasn’t gold, looked damned similar to it.
The place was almost serene, Locke thought, if it weren’t for the fact that this was the beating heart of the enemy.
Oh, sure, Axion Corporation was by all accounts an outstanding corporate citizen of the new United States. But Locke knew that the core was rotten - just like anything touched by magic, it eventually went bad. And Axion had been bad from the start.
He approached the desk, two identikit receptionists with pearly-white teeth and spotless clothing that was too smart to be anything other than a uniform glancing up at his approach, instantly taking in his uniform, his rank pips and his weapon.
“Deputy Chief Locke, DMS,” he barked, handing over his identification, which was politely snapped up and inspected. “Here to see Adalyn Meade.”
Maybe it was his tone of voice, their efficiency, or the receptionists’ desire to get the black-clad symbol of anti-magic authority out of the view of visitors, but he found himself whisked upstairs faster than you could say “corporate image”.
His handlers, both of whom eyeballed his insignia and uniform all of the way, indicated the mahogany doors at the floor they finally arrived at, and told him to go through.
He paused before the door for a moment, preparing himself for a reunion that could have waited decades longer in his mind, before pushing through.