not-that-dillinger

[not-that-dillinger]

Oleander would find very little resistance when they pull Ed; only enough that he doesn't crash into them. It doesn't take much from there for Ed to get the hint that they want to cuddle, but he still moves moves slowly—predictably— as he settles with Oleander.

Unless Oleander gives direction, Ed gently pulls Oleander into his lap so they're facing each other, so Oleander can hide his face in Eds shoulder, and Ed can pull the blanket around their shoulders and over their head if they want it.

Else, Ed let's them direct and position him however is most comfortable.

"No particular reason," Ed admits, taking a deep breath. "It's June, I wanted to make flowers, and thought you might like them."

He gently runs a hand down their back in an attempt to soothe.

"I know things between us are... still rocky, to say the least, and I won't press if you don't want to talk about it, but we can, if you want to."

Ed can certainly understand the situation Oleander is currently in, that breaking down like that in front of him is probably the last thing they want. The only person he trusts to see him vulnerable like that is Doomsday, and he wouldn't be surprised if that lack of trust is something they have in common. Though, Ed wonders if there is anyone they would trust to see them like that.

"That's okay," he says softly. "It's okay to change your mind if you decide otherwise, too."

He watches as they reach out, and slowly scoots closer so he can hold their hand, moving equally slowly to take it so he doesn't startle them, or so they can pull back if they decide the touch is unwanted after all. When he does take hold of their hand, he gives their hand a gentle squeeze in reassurance. His grip afterward is a gentle, even pressure, though Oleander will find there is no resistance if they attempt to pull away, and little resistance if they try to pull Ed closer.

"Just hands?" he asks for confirmation, keeping a careful eye on them, to pick up any queues.

[not-that-dillinger]

There's a long pause while Ed considers his next words. Ideally, he'd rather not be sold to his father (and that was what was happening, whether his abductors realized it or not) but if he was bankrupt, then that meant he was powerless... It would make it much easier for Ed to escape.

What do I get from this?" He asked. "I'll spare you the family drama, but if he can't pay off the judges, that makes my life easier. Probably helps you, too..."

Ed left it at that. If they're curious, they might look into his father's criminal record and see the restraining order. How they would react to that information, he didn't know, though he doubted it would earn him any sympathy from them.

Ed shrugged, rolling over what to say. It's going to be a painful reunion so might as well make it worth it was likely going to get him labeled as a flight risk, or even more of one than they already suspected, and Ed didn't want that, especially when he hadn't decided if he's a flight risk yet.

He turned to watch what glimmer of the coastline he could through the coverings. "Would you believe any answer to that question?" he asked. "Let's just say... I don't see why this situation can't be mutually beneficial."

[not-that-dillinger]

fCon Ed: Headcanons

Just using this as a place to put down thoughts since I have a number of threads for the AU where Ed was never hired by Encom.

CW abuse.

Ed got stuck at fCon because everywhere else he applied rejected him. Though it wasn't exactly told to him, the reasoning essentially boils down to he's a liability. His father is well known for stealing ideas, so they expect him to be the same, and his connection to fCon, straight to the top means he's a liability for corporate espionage... especially at Encom where they know his father wants to destroy the company.

Even though Ed tried to apply elsewhere, he failed at it, and given up. He doesn't have the energy to try again.

His chronic fatigue and carpel tunnel syndrome are worse, because his father keeps pushing him and Ed fears failing him. His father also uses the CFS to scare Ed into staying, because who would take care of him on his worst days if he leaves?

Dillinger Sr. also has implemented rules. While some of them do have practical, questionably justifiable reasons, the point of them is mostly to control Ed. These rules include:

No tea, unless his father explicitly tells him he can have it.

If he needs medicine, even something like headache medicine, he has to get it from his father. Sr. claims this is because he has a history of addiction and suicide/overdose.

He's not allowed to drive, supposedly because of how bad his CFS has gotten, also because he's wrecked at least two (very fancy) vehicles since he started at fCon.

He's not allowed any privacy. He's can't close doors at home, and his phone is subject to daily inspection. Browser history and emails are also regularly inspected.

He's not allowed to tell hi father no, or otherwise try to set boundaries.

Ed's father has essentially weaponized any sort of touch meant to be affectionate. A hug is meant to restrain, a hand on the shoulder a warning. The only thing Sr. won't touch is Ed's hands, because he needs his son to be able to shake hands with fCon's business partners without flinching. Because of this, Ed is very touch-adverse.

He is also very touch-starved, and if anyone can earn his trust and work past his aversion to touch, he's likely to be almost clingy in seeking affection.

He has low self esteem and self confidence, as a result of his father's constant disapproval. The only thing he's reasonably confident in is his programming abilities, and even that, he's not sure if he got his job because of his capability or because he is the CEO's son.

He's constantly anxious, afraid of failing his father and fCon, and rarely sleeps because of it.

When he does sleep he frequently has nightmares.

He is also likely monitored on his computer by a backup version of the MCP from when it was in it's beta and barely more than the chess program it was originally written as.

The MCP may or may not be keeping tabs and listening in on everything he says and is said around him through his phone.

[not-that-dillinger]

Whether Oleander realizes it or not, that 'oh. You..." had been uttered in relief. Relief that it had been... some random person Ed barely knew, and not Cyrus. Or Peter... Or his father, because then he would be in trouble, even though Ed had been doing his damn best to stay awake despite his quickly diminishing spoons. At least Oleander--whose name he only knew from their name badge-- wasn't aware he wasn't allowed to take naps, despite his disability.

He pointedly ignores the scoff, and would have ignored the eye roll as well. He's had worse, and he's too tired to do much about it, anyway.

He gives them a flat stare. "Yeah, well, don't really like being touched. Or people standing over me," Ed responds equally flatly. "If this were to happen again, calling my name should be sufficient to wake me. If not, you can throw pens at me. Or assume I'm dead and it is well above your pay to deal with that."

Technically, Oleander couldn't do anything if Ed went back to sleep, since Ed outranked him, though Ed also was not part of their direct chain of leadership.

"It would be kinda hard for you to fix the printer with me sleeping at the desk, since the printer's under it," he observes.

Ed pushes himself to his feet, and shuffles over to the espresso machine in the corner, and retrieves a mug. For better or for worse, coffee hadn't been forbidden, even if tea was.

"You want espresso?" he asks as he begins to prep the machine.

( @not-that-dillinger - Continued from here!)

Oleander was expecting at least a little flinch when they put a hand on Dillinger Jr. in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber, but they weren't expecting him to flinch... that much. They'd heard from some of the others just how jumpy the big boss' son could be, but this is their first time seeing it firsthand, and holy smokes the others weren't kidding.

It's the "Oh. You..." that elicits a little scoff out of them though, and an eyeroll after they turn their head away so that Dillinger Jr. can't see them do it - he's not likely to, anyway.

"Yeah. Me. The person from IT who's here to fix your printer," they say, biting back the addition of, Remember sending in that ticket and everything? The one you had to fill out by hand? Surely you didn't forget while having your nice little nap just now.

"I apologize for startling you. I thought lightly touching your shoulder would be less startling than saying your name, but I was wrong. Again, sorry about that," they apologize, although there is a dry undercurrent of what is unmistakably sarcasm.

"You can go back to sleep if you like. I'll try to be as quiet as I can while I fix your printer."

Are they being serious? Are they being even more sarcastic? It might be difficult to tell for someone who doesn't know them well, and the way they turn away to immediately begin working on the printer doesn't give much away either.

[not-that-dillinger]

“Oh, my God! Is it supposed to do that? Is that new?“

fCon James to fCon Ed, whatever it is he's joking and attempting to get Ed to loosen up. >>

@the-haunted-office

Ed slowly turned from the program he was in the process of testing his computer screen to the man standing behind him with a scowl. "Yes, it's new.... and no, it's not supposed to do that."

He suppressed a sigh of frustration. One bug fixed, and twelve more pop up in it's place. This program... Andres was supposed to do the initial debugging before sending it to him, though he knows sending the file back would be futile and the debugging would never be done. He'd fire the man if he could for his shitty code and failure to follow procedures, but his father won't let him.

Ed raises an eyebrow at James. "Do you want to take a stab at fixing it?" he asked.

[not-that-dillinger]

[ WAKE ]: sender gently wakes receiver from a nap or otherwise.

fCon Ollie has finally arrived in fCon Ed's office to fix his printer or email or something, only to find he's dozed off!

@the-haunted-office

Ed hasn't so much dozed off as he has passed out, both from a lack of sleep the prior night, and from his chronic issues being chronic issues.

He flinched violently at the sensation of hands touching him, expecting to be hauled roughly to a sitting position, and his father to have a word to say to him about slacking off, or at the very least Cyrus. He looks up at Oleander in a panic.

"Oh. You..." Ed says with all the eloquence of someone who just woke up.

[not-that-dillinger]

"It's no trouble at all," Ed lied.

He was going to be in so much trouble when he got back to his room, but... Eve seemed nice. Like the kind of company that took minimal spoons and would hopefully prevent him from having to deal with the people that required more spoons to deal with. And he'd hate for something to happen to her.

"And yes, of course. I'd be glad to walk back with you. The... ah, crowd and the hour has been getting to me, too."

He glanced toward Dymitr, who'd been sucked into a conversation with someone Ed didn't recognize. The last thing he needed was his assistant following and Eve thinking they had a stalker. If they left now they should be able leave without him noticing. He should still probably let him know. Better Dymitr than his father. Though he could do that once they were out.

"We can leave whenever you're ready," he said.

Had an idea for a thread with fCon Ed - or, at least, Ed getting a friend and dragged out of fCon...... whether he realises he needs to get out, or not. Respond if interested :)

Eve peeked around the door of the tech conference's closing gala, eyeing the attendees. She wasn't supposed to be here. Wasn't supposed to be this side of the screen. Definitely wasn't supposed to be attempting to poach employees from rival companies.

But really, was it poaching when it felt more like a rescue?

Future Control Industries... Eve shuddered. She knew exactly what kind of Programs they had as flagships. The Master Control Program that had torn through her home before she was aware enough to understand what was wrong was proof enough.

But their new star programmer...

The child of the owner, named for the same. Intelligent, inventive, driven. A dangerous young man, second only to his father.

At least, according to the media.

Eve thought Edward Dillinger Junior looked... tired. Burnt out. Chained to the man who even now gripped his shoulder so tightly it couldn't be any less than painful.

In need of an Admin - someone to look out for him and help him thrive.

Eve could provide.

She flashed her pass, a gift from Lora Prime - unable to make the conference for health reasons - and stepped in to mingle. Her black dress shimmered pink in the lights, heels high and sharp, eyeliner like tiny knives.

The Legacy Grid had become a battleground not too dissimilar to this one, for all the weapons didn't leave visible wounds. And Eve was an Encom Program - designed, as they all were, to adapt and fight.

Ed always hated tech conferences. It's something he should have looked forward to. There were lots of good talks about the latest innovations, demos of the latest gadgets, lots of fascinating ideas.

It also meant he was stuck in close quarters with his father and no escape.

"Because of his disability," his father rationalized. And maybe that was part of it, but Ed was also aware it was to keep him in line. He had his entire schedule handed to him, every second of his day and a warning not to deviate.

By the time the closing gala arrived, Ed was exhausted. The ballroom was too loud, to bright, and Ed was out of patience for interacting with his father's business partners, or anyone. The only saving grace was the soft silk of his outfit expensive outfit. Ed doubted he could manage any other texture.

He just wanted to go back to the their suit at the hotel and sleep.

Ed snapped at a one of his father's business partners. Someone important, though Ed doesn't remember the man's name, and doesn't particularly care to.

His father squeezed his shoulder in warning.

It's only years of training and discipline that kept Ed from tensing or flinching. He apologized, then excused himself. His father stepped in to smooth things over, and Ed took the opportunity to attempt to disappear into the crowd, though he's aware Dymitr--Ed's "assistant", though Ed was fully aware that the man reported to his father and was truly there to keep him in line-- is following him, not too far behind.

He had been so focused on putting space between him and his father's business partner that he hadn't noticed the woman approaching until she was nearly upon him.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed jumped back, body tense and eyes wide in alarm as the woman nearly crashed into him. "Hey, watch it," he reflexively snapped, the words out of his mouth before he could even process what had happened, or who he was talking to.

A moment later, he processed what he said, the logo on her badge. It took everything to not glance back at Dymitr was watching.

"Uh, sorry, I--" Ed wasn't sure how to justify his behavior, didn't want to have to explain his current state to anyone.

"Can't keep--?" Ed frowned, uncertain if she meant... people grabbing at her, or trying to make off with the latest and coolest gadgets that were still under development.

In the case of the latter, Ed was fully aware of his father's spies prowling the conference. Many of his father's business partners were also unfortunately the type who would do the former.

Ed may disprove of both but. Well. That was... awkward.

"Uh." Ed tensed. There was no way she didn't know who he was, especially considering she worked for Encom, unless she was that new. Who didn't, at a place like this, especially when his father's reputation cast a long shadow. "Ed Dillinger--ah. Junior."

He paused for a moment. He'd have a talk later from his father, for what he'd said earlier to one of his partners and trying to lose Dymitr, and for what he was about to do, but with luck he could rational the last one as... intelligence gathering, even if with his name any actual attempt at intelligence was bound to fail from initialization.

"Pleased to meet you, too." He shoved his hands in his pockets in lieu of offering a handshake. He probably should have offered, but the thought of being touched even so briefly, was more than he could handle at the moment. "Do... do you need an escort?" he offered.

He doubted she would take him up on the offer, but on the off chance someone was harassing her... Ed would rather offer than hear something happened later. And if it meant he could escape the gala early, that was certainly a bonus.

Had an idea for a thread with fCon Ed - or, at least, Ed getting a friend and dragged out of fCon...... whether he realises he needs to get out, or not. Respond if interested :)

Eve peeked around the door of the tech conference's closing gala, eyeing the attendees. She wasn't supposed to be here. Wasn't supposed to be this side of the screen. Definitely wasn't supposed to be attempting to poach employees from rival companies.

But really, was it poaching when it felt more like a rescue?

Future Control Industries... Eve shuddered. She knew exactly what kind of Programs they had as flagships. The Master Control Program that had torn through her home before she was aware enough to understand what was wrong was proof enough.

But their new star programmer...

The child of the owner, named for the same. Intelligent, inventive, driven. A dangerous young man, second only to his father.

At least, according to the media.

Eve thought Edward Dillinger Junior looked... tired. Burnt out. Chained to the man who even now gripped his shoulder so tightly it couldn't be any less than painful.

In need of an Admin - someone to look out for him and help him thrive.

Eve could provide.

She flashed her pass, a gift from Lora Prime - unable to make the conference for health reasons - and stepped in to mingle. Her black dress shimmered pink in the lights, heels high and sharp, eyeliner like tiny knives.

The Legacy Grid had become a battleground not too dissimilar to this one, for all the weapons didn't leave visible wounds. And Eve was an Encom Program - designed, as they all were, to adapt and fight.

Ed always hated tech conferences. It's something he should have looked forward to. There were lots of good talks about the latest innovations, demos of the latest gadgets, lots of fascinating ideas.

It also meant he was stuck in close quarters with his father and no escape.

"Because of his disability," his father rationalized. And maybe that was part of it, but Ed was also aware it was to keep him in line. He had his entire schedule handed to him, every second of his day and a warning not to deviate.

By the time the closing gala arrived, Ed was exhausted. The ballroom was too loud, to bright, and Ed was out of patience for interacting with his father's business partners, or anyone. The only saving grace was the soft silk of his outfit expensive outfit. Ed doubted he could manage any other texture.

He just wanted to go back to the their suit at the hotel and sleep.

Ed snapped at a one of his father's business partners. Someone important, though Ed doesn't remember the man's name, and doesn't particularly care to.

His father squeezed his shoulder in warning.

It's only years of training and discipline that kept Ed from tensing or flinching. He apologized, then excused himself. His father stepped in to smooth things over, and Ed took the opportunity to attempt to disappear into the crowd, though he's aware Dymitr--Ed's "assistant", though Ed was fully aware that the man reported to his father and was truly there to keep him in line-- is following him, not too far behind.

He had been so focused on putting space between him and his father's business partner that he hadn't noticed the woman approaching until she was nearly upon him.

[not-that-dillinger]

Had an idea for a thread with fCon Ed - or, at least, Ed getting a friend and dragged out of fCon...... whether he realises he needs to get out, or not. Respond if interested :)

Eve peeked around the door of the tech conference's closing gala, eyeing the attendees. She wasn't supposed to be here. Wasn't supposed to be this side of the screen. Definitely wasn't supposed to be attempting to poach employees from rival companies.

But really, was it poaching when it felt more like a rescue?

Future Control Industries... Eve shuddered. She knew exactly what kind of Programs they had as flagships. The Master Control Program that had torn through her home before she was aware enough to understand what was wrong was proof enough.

But their new star programmer...

The child of the owner, named for the same. Intelligent, inventive, driven. A dangerous young man, second only to his father.

At least, according to the media.

Eve thought Edward Dillinger Junior looked... tired. Burnt out. Chained to the man who even now gripped his shoulder so tightly it couldn't be any less than painful.

In need of an Admin - someone to look out for him and help him thrive.

Eve could provide.

She flashed her pass, a gift from Lora Prime - unable to make the conference for health reasons - and stepped in to mingle. Her black dress shimmered pink in the lights, heels high and sharp, eyeliner like tiny knives.

The Legacy Grid had become a battleground not too dissimilar to this one, for all the weapons didn't leave visible wounds. And Eve was an Encom Program - designed, as they all were, to adapt and fight.

Ed always hated tech conferences. It's something he should have looked forward to. There were lots of good talks about the latest innovations, demos of the latest gadgets, lots of fascinating ideas.

It also meant he was stuck in close quarters with his father and no escape.

"Because of his disability," his father rationalized. And maybe that was part of it, but Ed was also aware it was to keep him in line. He had his entire schedule handed to him, every second of his day and a warning not to deviate.

By the time the closing gala arrived, Ed was exhausted. The ballroom was too loud, to bright, and Ed was out of patience for interacting with his father's business partners, or anyone. The only saving grace was the soft silk of his outfit expensive outfit. Ed doubted he could manage any other texture.

He just wanted to go back to the their suit at the hotel and sleep.

Ed snapped at a one of his father's business partners. Someone important, though Ed doesn't remember the man's name, and doesn't particularly care to.

His father squeezed his shoulder in warning.

It's only years of training and discipline that kept Ed from tensing or flinching. He apologized, then excused himself. His father stepped in to smooth things over, and Ed took the opportunity to attempt to disappear into the crowd, though he's aware Dymitr--Ed's "assistant", though Ed was fully aware that the man reported to his father and was truly there to keep him in line-- is following him, not too far behind.

He had been so focused on putting space between him and his father's business partner that he hadn't noticed the woman approaching until she was nearly upon him.

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed doesn't say anything else to Cyrus, for the rest of the day. Doesn't try anything, either. He doesn't really do anything for the rest of the day, including his work. He's too exhausted and struggling to stay awake but knows his father would have his head if he fell asleep during work hours, is probably going to have his head for slacking off even though Ed is trying his damn best but plainly can't focus...not that he wants to sleep. Not when he knows the recurring nightmare will greet him in his sleep. The last thing he needs is for Cyrus to witness that...

And never mind that he can scarcely breathe... Though he's determined not to let Cyrus see that he's a one wrong move from having a panic attack.

So, Ed stares at the screen for the rest of the day, doing perhaps even less than Cyrus.

The chair does not help. Now not only do his wrists ache, but so does his back and ass, though he resuses to let Cyrus see that as well. He refuses to look at Cyrus, though he finds himself stewing in resentment toward the man. He'd had to fight his father tooth and nail for that chair--the one that Cyrus is now sitting in--because the standard issue desk chair did not give him the proper cushion or support, and it left him with no energy at the end of the day.

That chair had been a compromise. Something more comfortable than the standard, but Ed had to save up every spare cent to afford it, but of course that was the first thing to go, because, what, he wanted a cup of tea to help settle frayed nerves and push back his exhaustion so he can do his work? It's stupid.

Ed only feels dread as the day finally ends, He dreads reporting to his father's office, Cyrus telling the older Dillinger that Ed broke the rules, and then having to admit he'd gotten less than nothing done that day.

Cyrus's words grate like sandpaper against his skin, and the only thing keeping Ed from snapping at Cyrus is that he can't. He fees too tired to try to make his mouth form words, and the thought of opening his mouth, of saying anything makes him feel like he'll spontaneously combust, or maybe just keel over dead on the spot.

...He's not sure if he can get up, or walk to his father's office like he's supposed to, much less to the car, but if he doesn't, his father will leave without him, which means...

Cyrus will probably have to drive him home, since he also isn't allowed to stay overnight at fCon. Ed would like to get away from Cyrus as soon as possible.

Ed puts his hands flat on the desk, and pushes himself to his feet, gritting his feet to suppress a pained groan. His vision swims, as soon as he's on his feet.

He lifts his foot, intent to shuffle past Cyrus, out the door, and to his father's office.

His office suddenly tilts sharply.

The next thing Ed knows, he's on the ground.

Great. The last thing he needs is Cyrus telling him he's being dramatic.

His limbs feel like lead.

...Ed doesn't think he has the energy to haul his body off the floor.

Ed walks back into his office at three minutes and forty three seconds, with almost as though he were a ghost; even the click of his fancy, patent leather shoes on the tile outside is barely audible. He pauses for just a second in the doorway as he takes in the sight of the hard wood chair in his spot and Cyrus in his chair.

Well, there go the rest of his spoons for the day. For the week, more likely. His back is going to be in too much pain to get any proper sleep at night.

Usually, this sort of thing would help with his anxiety. Having some choice over what goes wrong and knowing what the consequences would bring internal and external pressure to equilibrium, and Ed could go about his day.

Except, Ed expected worse. No chair, or... time out in the storage closet, or... he's not sure, and the fact that it isn't as bad as he expected somehow makes his anxiety worse, like something far worse will come later.

It probably would, in the form of Peter and his father, at the end of the day.

Without a word or even a twitch of a muscle in displeasure or glance toward Cyrus, Ed crosses to his side of the desk, takes his seat, and gets back to work.

Or at least he tries to, though even attempting to read the code in front of him feels like a herculean effort, and he can't quite get himself to focus with the building pressure in his chest, and the feeling like he's there's a ticking time bomb in the room, something terrible is going to happen and he's going to die.

[not-that-dillinger]

☕

For Oleander!

@the-haunted-office

Ed presses his lips into a fine line and eyes the mug in front of him in suspicion. It's black with green lines like a circuit board and 'Oleander' printed in a green retro font, like it's been typed out on a an old computer terminal.

"We're seriously doing this again?" he asks. His lips turn downward in displeasure on confirmation. "Let me guess. It's actually oleander. Tea made from the flowers. Which are poisonous."

Ed scowls. "If I die, I will find a way to come back and haunt you."

With that, he picks up the mug, and raises it to his lips to take a sip." his lips immediately pucker up from how bitter it is.

"It tastes like lime juice," he says flatly. "Concentrated lime juice... and salt." He frowns. "Though... there's some after taste. Something sweet. Coconut, maybe?"

It doesn't immediately appear to have any sort of healing power, or if it does, it is very slow. Though, at the same time he hasn't keeled over on the spot from drinking it, so it turns out it wasn't poison.

[not-that-dillinger]

6. how does your muse handle loneliness?

7. what is one of your muse’s greatest fears?

8. what does your muse fear losing the most?

9. does your muse think violence is ever warranted?

For fCon Ed!

@the-haunted-office

6. Loneliness is Ed's constant companion. Though he's constantly surrounded by people, it's either his father, or Peter, or Ed's "assistant", or the people who work under him, and they're all people he can't really connect with. He deals with it by avoidance and distraction, usually with his work.

7. In his main verse, it's being under his father's control again. In the fCon verse, Ed is living that fear. I think his greatest fear truly being alone, and not have anyone to help him survive his worst days. That's what's keeping him at his father's side. His CFS is much worse in this one, as is his overall mental health, and as it is currently, he has nobody else to help him on his worst days. Never mind that his father will make him just push through it and run Ed into the ground.

8. Himself. Or, what little expression that is truly of him that his father hasn't squashed in trying to mold Ed into his image. That is also part of what causes him to act out. He barely knows who he is when he's not defined by his father's shadow.

9. In self defense or in defense of others, yes.

[not-that-dillinger]

[not-that-dillinger]

Creature vaugly similar to a turtle dove

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed walks back into his office at three minutes and forty three seconds, with almost as though he were a ghost; even the click of his fancy, patent leather shoes on the tile outside is barely audible. He pauses for just a second in the doorway as he takes in the sight of the hard wood chair in his spot and Cyrus in his chair.

Well, there go the rest of his spoons for the day. For the week, more likely. His back is going to be in too much pain to get any proper sleep at night.

Usually, this sort of thing would help with his anxiety. Having some choice over what goes wrong and knowing what the consequences would bring internal and external pressure to equilibrium, and Ed could go about his day.

Except, Ed expected worse. No chair, or... time out in the storage closet, or... he's not sure, and the fact that it isn't as bad as he expected somehow makes his anxiety worse, like something far worse will come later.

It probably would, in the form of Peter and his father, at the end of the day.

Without a word or even a twitch of a muscle in displeasure or glance toward Cyrus, Ed crosses to his side of the desk, takes his seat, and gets back to work.

Or at least he tries to, though even attempting to read the code in front of him feels like a herculean effort, and he can't quite get himself to focus with the building pressure in his chest, and the feeling like he's there's a ticking time bomb in the room, something terrible is going to happen and he's going to die.

Ed stares at the mug in front of him. He's exhausted. Didn't sleep last night. Couldn't. He's anxious. Has been all day, and could barely focus. His wrists ache from typing and retyping the same twenty-ish lines of code over and over again, unable to figure t where the error is. His head hurts from the fluorescent light in his office and constantly staring at the screen in front of him for hours.

The tea was the only thing he could think of that might help, both stave off the exhaustion and settle his nerves.

It hasn't even finished steeping when his phone rang and Cyrus was bitching about him not being a mindless robot.

He sets the phone down, and considers. He's already going to be in trouble for shirking his work, for being too stupid to see what was likely an obvious error right in front of him. He has four points two seven minutes to do whatever he's going to do.

"Four points two seven minutes, who even talks like that, pretentious prick," he mutters at the mug in lieu of his minder. "Can't you say four minutes and sixteen seconds like a normal person?"

He should probably step into the restroom, while he still has the spoons to walk there and the ability to do so without someone following him like a creep. And if he's going to do that and be back before Cyrus reaches his office...

Four minutes: One to drink the tea, one to get to the bathroom, one to piss and wash his hands, and to get back.

Ed gulps down a sad six ounces of scalding, weak tea, uncaring about burning his tongue and throat. "My ass? Go fuck yourself, Cyrus," he mutters, pushing both hands against his desk to haul himself to his feet.

[not-that-dillinger]

[not-that-dillinger]

Ed reaches over and shuts off the water, sets the kettle on its stand to boil, then wipes his hand on the seat of his pants.

"Song lyrics?" He says, his expression impassive. "Never heard it before," he said. Though, he really hasn't heard much of any music in the decade since he started working here. Another of his father's bullshit rules meant to make his life miserable.

"Who's it by?"

He considers for a moment, wondering if there's any other task he can send her on so he can have a moment of quiet to himself.

"Not at the moment, but if you could send the completed forms to the kind... ah..." he meant to say 'gentleman', though he wasn't sure if that term was accurate to the person from IT he'd spoken to. "...person I had spoken to from IT earlier once I have them completed that would be much appreciated."

He steps over toward where Charlotte making copies, and takes the stack that's already printed. He pulls a pen out of his pocket and sits down at the table to fill out the forms.

He writes slowly, meticulously, and clenches his jaw against ache in his wrist and cramping hand. Despite the pain, his handwriting looks nearly like typewriter print, though if Charlotte were to look closely, she might notice the faint tremmor in his hand.

( @not-that-dillinger - Continued from here!)

This is stupid. Really stupid. People can't make copies of things for themselves anymore? Is that how lazy rich people are now?

Whatever.

At least this is easy, and something not around her boss, James Wolfe. If she could spend all days at this copier making copies of things for this other guy - provided he's not a creep too - then she'd be just fine and dandy with that. Who cares if her skills could be put to better use. At least she wouldn't be harassed.

Still. She can't help but mutter a complaint or two under her breath as the new guy walks by. Rich guy. Nepotism at its finest. Of course he's never had to work for anything a day in his life and he gets plopped right down into his own cushy office and gets his own kitchenette and, what, two assistants now?

Fuck this shit.

But whatever, at least she's getting paid to just stand here and make copies of paper. Mindless. Boring as fuck. But it'll do. It'll do.

She mumbles another complaint as he begins to fill up his little kettle, presumably for tea - didn't his bigshot dad or someone tell him not to drink it or something? whatever, not her business - when suddenly he's addressing her.

Shit shit oh shit, did he hear her complaining just now?!

Her face reddens as she ducks to gather the paper from the output tray.

"Song lyrics," she quickly supplies. Always gotta have a quick reply on the tip of your tongue for these kinds of instances. "Heard it on the way into work this morning. Catchy." And then, to divert from the topic further, lessen any possible anger: "Hey, these are just about done. Just have a few more to copy for you and we'll be outta here. I mean, unless you need anything else?"