clueless to realize the joke is on me; the best part is, the joke is on them all along.
When he returns, he asks what snacks I’d like, and I tell him, rifling off my preferences like a spoiled, flighty slave. “Crackers sound good, but grapes might upset my stomach. A soda would be nice, but not until later. I definitely don’t want any pie.”
While the other guests smirk at my inane preferences, Cash is listening carefully. We’ve coded each guest to a particular food; those I’m “craving” correspond to guests who are amenable to the project, and who are privately invited to join with promises of grand financial returns and publicity. The others are the ones who are given the impression that the project is failing, allowing them to withdraw gracefully and forget the project ever existed. They are always surprised when Cash asks them to join, because they can’t figure out how he knows. I nibble on my crackers and pretend not to be aware of anything.
Torenze remains our top recruit, and by far the hardest to pin down. The man is slimy and evasive, never committing to one ideal or another, and half the time it is difficult to tell whether he’s lying or telling a complete line of bullshit to everyone.
He hints, time and time again, that he’d like to borrow me, inviting Cash over for dinner, asking what he likes to do to me, hinting that he should be allowed to take me into the bathroom for a “sample” of my abilities. It makes me increasingly uncomfortable, and Cash is clearly growing irritated with him as well. At first, the attempts are turned down playfully, insisting that Cash is too fond of me, or that I am not trained well enough, or that Cash just generally doesn’t like to share. Finally, the last time that Torenze hints at it, Cash turns him down, right to his face, even grows a little angry with him. As much as it pleases me to see him turned down, and as much as I’m glad not to be shared with him, I can’t help but think of the repercussions.
I’m even more worried when Cash tells me that we’re desperately in need of his support for the project, and that we’ll be attending another event with him the following week.
The week flies by, since I’m actively trying not to think about it, and before I know it, I’m being dressed up and dragged to the event that I absolutely do not want to attend. I know Torenze will be there, as well as some other key players, and I’m worried about all of them. Hell, I’m worried about the ones who aren’t involved, because it is as important to keep them out of things as it is to get Torenze into it. I assess the guests, taking note of who is here and who isn’t, who is representing which industry and business interest. I know that most of the people here aren’t aware of Cash’s project. They just see him here as an investor, representing his day job, pretending to be an up-and-coming young businessman. Torenze knows, though, he knows too much, and he’s furious at Cash for his earlier refusal to share me. I can tell from the moment he refuses to greet us when we pass by.
We settle in, and I hear Torenze make an off comment about my master to someone, someone who shouldn’t know. It’s a thinly veiled hint about the scandal that my master caused years ago. Torenze glances at us as he does it, and the challenge is evident in his eyes. I poke insistently at Cash’s arm until he attends to it, looking irritated and puzzled by the betrayal his former mentor is threatening.
“Oliver, nobody wants to hear old stories like that,” he tries, the lie coming off as awkward from such a confident man. “Why don’t you—”
“Well, Cashiel, I could always tell them about more recent research instead?” Torenze suggests, his tone far more benign than his intentions.
I feel my blood pressure rise. I don’t know what the fallout of this would be for Cash or for me, and I don’t want to find out. I clutch anxiously at Cash’s arm, because, as a
When he returns, he asks what snacks I’d like, and I tell him, rifling off my preferences like a spoiled, flighty slave. “Crackers sound good, but grapes might upset my stomach. A soda would be nice, but not until later. I definitely don’t want any pie.”
While the other guests smirk at my inane preferences, Cash is listening carefully. We’ve coded each guest to a particular food; those I’m “craving” correspond to guests who are amenable to the project, and who are privately invited to join with promises of grand financial returns and publicity. The others are the ones who are given the impression that the project is failing, allowing them to withdraw gracefully and forget the project ever existed. They are always surprised when Cash asks them to join, because they can’t figure out how he knows. I nibble on my crackers and pretend not to be aware of anything.
Torenze remains our top recruit, and by far the hardest to pin down. The man is slimy and evasive, never committing to one ideal or another, and half the time it is difficult to tell whether he’s lying or telling a complete line of bullshit to everyone.
He hints, time and time again, that he’d like to borrow me, inviting Cash over for dinner, asking what he likes to do to me, hinting that he should be allowed to take me into the bathroom for a “sample” of my abilities. It makes me increasingly uncomfortable, and Cash is clearly growing irritated with him as well. At first, the attempts are turned down playfully, insisting that Cash is too fond of me, or that I am not trained well enough, or that Cash just generally doesn’t like to share. Finally, the last time that Torenze hints at it, Cash turns him down, right to his face, even grows a little angry with him. As much as it pleases me to see him turned down, and as much as I’m glad not to be shared with him, I can’t help but think of the repercussions.
I’m even more worried when Cash tells me that we’re desperately in need of his support for the project, and that we’ll be attending another event with him the following week.
The week flies by, since I’m actively trying not to think about it, and before I know it, I’m being dressed up and dragged to the event that I absolutely do not want to attend. I know Torenze will be there, as well as some other key players, and I’m worried about all of them. Hell, I’m worried about the ones who aren’t involved, because it is as important to keep them out of things as it is to get Torenze into it. I assess the guests, taking note of who is here and who isn’t, who is representing which industry and business interest. I know that most of the people here aren’t aware of Cash’s project. They just see him here as an investor, representing his day job, pretending to be an up-and-coming young businessman. Torenze knows, though, he knows too much, and he’s furious at Cash for his earlier refusal to share me. I can tell from the moment he refuses to greet us when we pass by.
We settle in, and I hear Torenze make an off comment about my master to someone, someone who shouldn’t know. It’s a thinly veiled hint about the scandal that my master caused years ago. Torenze glances at us as he does it, and the challenge is evident in his eyes. I poke insistently at Cash’s arm until he attends to it, looking irritated and puzzled by the betrayal his former mentor is threatening.
“Oliver, nobody wants to hear old stories like that,” he tries, the lie coming off as awkward from such a confident man. “Why don’t you—”
“Well, Cashiel, I could always tell them about more recent research instead?” Torenze suggests, his tone far more benign than his intentions.
I feel my blood pressure rise. I don’t know what the fallout of this would be for Cash or for me, and I don’t want to find out. I clutch anxiously at Cash’s arm, because, as a
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