Who: Job, Max, and Aaron What: Meeting the Newbie Where: Seattle Times HQ When: Thursday, 4/21 (Backdated so bad.) Warnings: Job and Max are potty mouths. Aaron is ridiculously shiny.
Though Aaron was answering a number of questions and filling out several forms, his brain was on pause. He still couldn’t believe that he had secured the position, even before the official “contest” was over. His luck had been impeccable, and he wasn’t arrogant enough to think it was entirely due to his own skill. He’d been in the right place at the right time, though to his credit, that was aided by a spider-like predisposition for clinging to walls and hiding in dark corners no one bothered to check. In high school, he had often wished for the ability to turn invisible over spider webs, but now he was starting to think that they weren’t too different. Not really.
Jessamyn Jones had been kind enough to walk him through the process, showing him where to sign and what to write. By the time he was done, they’d burned at least an hour of daylight. (Or, in the case of the current weather, rainy cloud light.) And he was an official member of the Seattle Times staff, with his own media clearance and an assignment. He would be working under Maxine Main and Job Arakkis, two writers whose names he recognized immediately.
By the time the elevator opened on the floor where he would meet his two supervisors, Aaron was practically shaking with excitement. This was it. This was real life. He was walking into a real newspaper office, with a real job, and he was getting real coworkers. His Aunt Shelly would be getting a call the second this meeting was done, but in the meantime, he had to be professional and mature. Aaron was conscious of the fact that he could easily pass for a sophomore in high school, a trick he imagined he’d be grateful for when he was thirty. But at eighteen, he found most of his attempts at asserting his adulthood were foiled by the disease known as “babyface.”
He approached the desk space that Ms. Jones had mentioned, following her directions to a t. A man and a woman were sitting there, people he didn’t recognize - but the fact that there was one man and one woman was a good sign in of itself. He stopped a few feet from the desk, smiling brightly, and cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” he said cautiously, trying to shake the apprehension from his voice. “Ms. Main? Mr. Arakkis?” When neither of them looked confused by these names, he continued. “I’m Aaron Abrams, I just got a staff position here as a photographer and Ms. Jones in HR told me to come see you both.” He paused, holding his hand out immediately. Overall, he was dressed professionally - khakis and a collared shirt - with one exception. Both his wrists were covered in an assortment of bracelets that stacked at least two inches deep. “It’s an honor to meet you guys.” Max was sitting on the desktop, stocking’ed legs crossed at the knees, gloves still on her hands from her outing as Corbinian, and she glanced up when the young man said their names. She had all but forgotten about the new photographer with all the turmoil in her own life, and it took her a second to realize who he was. The bracelets drew a smile out of her, though, unconventional as they were, and she glanced up at Job with a smile.
When the kid reached out a hand, she leaned forward and shook it with gloved fingers, not sliding off the desk to do so. He was young, and he was eager, and he had a sort of unsullied earnestness to him that neither she nor Job had. He reminded her of Luke a year earlier, before life had turned his expression hard and his voice distrusting. “Ms. Jones did that?” she asked, the corner of her mouth quirking into a small, entertained smile. “Well, then we better be friendly,” she said, nodding toward Job. “That means you have to be on your best fucking behavior,” she said, teasing.
She grinned, then, a little more honestly, even with how tired she was. “Your photo spread was fantastic,” she said honestly. “Fan of the Bat?” she asked casually, kicking Job’s leg when she asked the question - a preemptive strike against whatever smart-ass thing was about to come out of his mouth. “Whatever-it-is-I-didn’t-do-it,” came the to-be-expected blurt as foot met clothed flesh, and the almost-hurt expression Max received was similarly predictable. Although the movement had probably been for the best anyway; Job been perilously close to dozing off on his feet the minute the shining kid with the helium-filled hopes started his approach, and there were far worse things he could have come up with as an accidental interjection.
Instead of a proper response, or even an attempt to cover up the blunder, he only straightened up, crossing his arms as he evaluated the New Recruit, focusing every bit of his laser-like (to his definition, anyway) attention span on the kid standing before them. Shiny and new, all bright eyes begging to be pulled through the muck. He would have fun breaking this one in, he decided, and the slightly mischievous smirk that suddenly graced his lips in greeting was really more about ideas for the expected Hazing Phase than interest in the meet-and-greet. But he’d be nice. For now. If only to avoid another of Main’s donkey kicks.
That was how you reeled them in, after all; play unassuming sheep until they least expected it. And who knew; maybe the kid, for all his green-ness, really was something special underneath it all. Or at least useful. He returned the handshake firmly, straightening up with his smile never wavering. Ms. Main’s teasing comment to Mr. Arakkis made him chuckle slightly. He’d read the man’s article, seen his posts on the forum. He had no doubt that “best behavior” for him meant “passed out on the floor” in some form. Perhaps he should’ve been more nervous, but he found it was hard to fear an unarmed man sitting behind a desk. Especially when it really looked like Ms. Main was the boss here.
The compliment brought a slight redness to his cheeks, prompting him to give a tiny half-bow. “Thanks,” he said. Just as he was about to answer her question, he heard the thunk of shoe against leg, and Mr. Arakkis’ blurt filled in the blanks. He laughed lightly, reaching up to casually touch his fingers to his lips as if to silence himself. “Does the kicking come standard in this workplace?” he asked, glancing between the two writers with a raised brow. “Because that’s fine with me, I’d just like to know if I should invest in a pair of shin guards.”
With a grin, he looked to Ms. Main again. “In response to your question, I don’t think “fan” would really be the right word.” Admirer, maybe? He’d give his left arm to be able to hit like that. “Fans make me think of screaming girls at a Justin Bieber concert. No, I just think what he does, what he commits to, is admirable. He’s taking responsibility for something that no one else is ready to. That means something, I think.” He smiled. “The shin kicks are new,” Max said with a slight smile. “We’ll have to see how they work,” she said. “So, the Chief thinks you’re going to make us outsell every other paper on the stands with you’re shots. Did you have something in mind for Arakkis’ next masterpiece.
Admittedly, Max had very little idea what Arakkis next masterpiece would be, and it might have been a fishing tactic - maybe. No, definitely. “Why don’t you tell us about it?” she asked him, merely leaning her gloved hands on the desk as she awaited his answer. It wasn’t meddling, she told herself. She was just asking her desk partner about his next article. No meddling in that.
To the kid, she shot a welcoming grin. “It does mean something,” she said, voice going soft and fond in a way she wasn’t aware of, something like pride in the sentence. She liked the kid. It was as simple as that. Job’s smirk widened, becoming sharper at the latest attempt to figure out what he was working on. She was consistent, he’d give her that. “Trade secret; if I told you, I’d have to beat you both with a herring. Probably the same one. You’ll find out when it ends up on your desk for perusal, same as last time. ...You cold, or is that just a fashion statement?” The last addition was more cavalier, as if he’d only just noticed, but there was an edge behind it, like he knew what she’d been up to. The gloves hadn’t escaped his notice, and while he didn’t have all the pieces to put it together, that didn’t mean he couldn’t poke around for them; he had his suspicions.
“So.” And now he shifted his attention back to the kid, mentally grasping for the name before continuing. “Abrams. What she said; got a direction you’re looking to go in, or are you more of a ‘how high’ kinda guy?” At Ms. Main’s question, Aaron hesitated. If she knew nothing about Mr. Arakkis’ next piece, he knew even less than nothing. Thankfully, her none-too-subtle probing kept him from being put on the spot, and he was content to stand quietly as the two grown-ups play spy games. Though it did illuminate a good point - if he was supposed to take pictures for either of them, he couldn’t just guess blindly at the subject matter and hope that whatever he came up with matched. Then again, he imagined that a few good pictures of puppies would be able to cover for ignorance in a pinch. People loved puppies.
The fond tone of Ms. Main’s voice coupled with her grin made him relax slightly, his smile growing stronger. It seemed he hadn’t totally bungled this first impression yet, which helped give him a boost of confidence right before Mr. Arakkis’ question. He glanced to the man, shrugging slightly. “I guess I’m the kinda guy that doesn’t know where the ceiling is until I feel it,” he joked, reaching up to pat his own head. “So on my trip to get those shin guards, I’ll make sure to get a helmet, too.” Was it a real answer? Not quite. But he wasn’t sure what else to say. At eighteen, he was still figuring out where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. Math was his love, but you couldn’t “math” for a living. Right now, Spider-Man seemed to absorb most of his free thoughts, and unfortunately that didn’t pay the bills either. It wasn’t a real answer, but it made Max smile regardless. In someone else, someone older and more cutthroat, the response might have worried her. She might have considered it something to watch out for. But not for this boy. “You should meet my so- Thomas’- my friend’s son,” she said, correcting herself as she referred to Luke.
Job’s question about the gloves made her lift a brow, sensing a lecture coming somewhere along the line. Her movements were nowhere as fluid as they normally were, indicating there was more to it than the gloves, but she wasn’t going to get into that with Aaron present. “So, kid,” she said, “I generally cover homicides. Arakkis generally covers sensational Bats. What do you like covering?” she asked, trying to get an idea of what the kid liked to photograph, since the ceiling question hadn’t really reaped any rewards. A noise of interjection came from the Peanut Gallery, right on schedule. Whereas Max seemed inclined to try to figure out who Aaron was as a person and what he would add, Job just seemed bent on pushing buttons and gauging reactions to get his impression of him that way. “Wrong. I cover whatever the fuck I feel like, which...is lately Bats, but that’s just coincidence. I could move on to...birds if I wanted.” A shot in the dark based on the law of averages, but one calculated to keep her on her toes. It was vaguely mutinous, but only because he couldn’t really argue the point. It wasn’t his fault the Bat was one of the more interesting things about the city. Or that the article had practically fallen into his lap to begin with. But he quieted down again after he’d made his point, waiting for Aaron’s reply, if only out of curiosity. Though Aaron was generally oblivious to things, he did manage to catch Ms. Main’s massive slips. He almost asked about it, but caught himself before he managed to commit a horrible faux pas. Instead, he just smiled at her. “Normally I’d discourage required friends, but I’m new in town, so I’ll take whatever I can get.” He gave a light chuckle, proud of himself that he’d managed to keep his composure this far.
As the mention of specialties came up, he paused, thinking it over. Again, he didn’t have much of a response. This was his first time really trying this out for real, and he didn’t know what he was good at yet. But after one horrid half-answer, he threw himself into giving a real answer this time. “Well I’m still figuring it out,” he prefaced, unable to refrain from at least mentioning the fact that he still wasn’t sure of anything yet. “But I like...actions. A picture isn’t a video at all, but if you catch something in the right moment, you really get your one thousand words.” He paused, realizing this was sounding pretty stupid. “I like movement and activity,” he offered, swinging his arms to the side and leaning in a small demonstration. “Catching things when they’re right in the middle of...whatever they’re doing.” He stilled, smiling sheepishly. “Not as well-defined as homicides or...whatever the fuck you feel like,” he said, gesturing to each reporter as he mentioned their self-proclaimed niche. “But I’ll get my thesaurus for next time.” Max quirked a brow when Job mentioned birds. “Careful. Birds have mean tempers and they’re sure to shit on you if you stick around long enough,” she said, her eyes narrowing in a way that said they could have that discussion later if he wanted to. She raised a hand to her shoulder, and she rubbed it without thinking. “I think you can trail Arakkis on his next lead,” she said, sliding off the desk and resting a hand on Aaron’s shoulder for a minute, her voice going softer. “Welcome aboard, kid. If you find any Masks, let me know. I think I’m due a vigilante story,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at Job. “Arakkis,” she said, by way of goodbye, giving them both a nod and walking out of the room. Job sent a half-hearted salute her way as farewell before turning back to Aaron, disregarding Max’s evident irritation at his words as a matter of course. He would deal with it later. As much as they butted heads, he would be more than a little annoyed if he had to get a replacement; the devil you know, after all. “So. Action shots? Just as long as you don’t try to get artsy and pretentious about it I guess that’s workable. You do any work before this?” There had been an application somewhere, he knew, and he probably should have looked at it, but he hated them and their lines and the fact that they tried to sort everything into neat boxes. You got better information from the source, and more relevant stuff besides. As Ms. Main left, Aaron gave her a wave and a small smile. Oh he had found a Mask, alright. But he was new to Seattle, as was Spidey. Coincidence, maybe, but he didn’t want to chance it. Though he wouldn’t keep Spidey locked in a box, he wasn’t about to go looking for attention. Yet.
He looked to Mr. Arakkis, keeping the unease he felt out of his face as much as possible. There was something very intimidating about the other man, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. However, he didn’t pause or miss a beat when he was addressed. “I don’t think I know enough about art to be artsy or pretentious,” he admitted, scratching at the nape of his neck. “And nothing professional, no.” He paused. “But I did take some shots for my high school athletics division. They were used for promotional stuff, but it wasn’t a paid gig or anything.” Job broke into a smug grin. “Good. Real Photographers have all these...ideas that get in the way. You we can mold; you’re all shiny and new and pliable still. You can take a picture, that’s all we need. If you can follow directions, that’s even better; I don’t know about Main, but I’ve got no use for somebody who second guesses my every thought. Kind of annoying, not to mention counter-productive. Question the second. How’d you get the ones you brought in?” While he remained casual and unassuming, this was the one he was really curious about; they weren’t the usual ones that came through, they didn’t have the candid, almost-missed feel most of them did. They’d been....if not planned, at least well-executed. The look of subtle confusion that crossed Aaron’s face betrayed his assessment of Job. He was clearly cautious, unsure of what being “molded” by him would mean for his brain and eventual sanity. But a job was a job, and it seemed unlikely that Job would mutilate him in the near future. So he quietly ignored his little tirade on obeying orders in favor of answering the question.
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Just in the right place at the right time, I guess,” he said. “I looked up where the Bat had been sighted before, and figured I’d start there. So I wandered around some, and then...there it was.” He shrugged. “I got lucky. I know that. But I figure if you get lucky enough times, it might mean you have some skill.” He flashed a brilliant grin, unassuming and honest. It was a nice story, and had the benefit of being mostly true. He had gotten lucky, there was no doubt about it. But contributing to his luck had been the ability to wall-crawl and web-sling, allowing him to move quickly and almost silently over rooftops to avoid detection. Whether it was ultimately luck or skill that landed him those photos he couldn’t say, but it was certainly a combination of the two. “Uh-huh.” Job was unconvinced. Granted, he was unconvinced about a lot of things and had a tendency to see connections where there weren’t any, but even so. It had the sound of a canned explanation, something he’d worked out over hours in his head. Probably not a complete lie, as all the best fabrications held some truth, but there was still a piece missing.
But he’d leave it alone for now. Find the perfect time, perfect place, and then launch his assault. Everything was about timing. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m sure we’ll be able to make use of your brand of luck somehow. Maybe throw it at my loathsome, conniving cockroach of a landlady, see what sticks. I know she’s up to something...” He spent a few moments musing along these lines, only to eventually return his attention to the photographer with an accusatory finger, almost as if he hadn’t realized he was still there. “You. Trial run; we’ll see what you’ve got. Tomorrow, Hamartia, 10 AM. Bring your camera and a roulette order from that Thai place down the street. Aaron had the feeling that Mr. Arakkis’ face always had that “not convinced” look about it. But it seemed intensified for just a moment, and he felt his heart flutter in his chest. Thankfully, he didn’t push the subject. He was safe - for now.
He stayed quiet as the other man trailed off into mild jibber-jabber, his eyes widening in concern. Working with Mr. Arakkis was going to be more than met the eye, he just knew it. Transformers taught him everything he needed to know about reality, it seemed. When he found himself with a finger pointing at his chest, he looked down at it with a nervous nod. “Kay,” he said, pausing at the instructions. “Do takeout places open before 10?” he asked with confusion. “Don’t they?” He shrugged. “Not my problem; take that up with them. Consider it your first test.” Because clearly a photographer’s ability to get food before it was actually available was a perfectly adequate measure of his suitability for the position.
Although, in Job’s world, it probably was. He tended to measure the usefulness of the people around him by arbitrary standards, some of which required illegality to reach or were outright impossible to meet. It certainly helped narrow the field of people he was obligated to give a shit about.
In his defense, there was a place. Just one, and it wasn’t exactly easy to find, but it existed. Whether or not Job actually knew it existed was a whole different matter entirely. Awesome. Aaron resisted the urge to say something snide or insubordinate. It was his first day on the job, after all. He’d find a way to make it work. Resisting the urge to sigh, he nodded. “Sure thing,” he said. “Ten am tomorrow, I’ll be there.” He decided to avoid telling Job that he lived there for now. He’d probably figure it out soon, and he’d take all the peace he could for the time being.
With a smile, he backed up towards the door. “So I’ll see you then,” he said somewhat awkwardly. He hesitated again, as if he wanted to say something else, though decided against it. Instead, he smiled again, and quickly made his way for the door. That hadn’t been too bad, he thought. It was the start of something new. And that was good. Right?