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No. 5228
"Oh, hey, looks like people are enjoying—"
http://www.tf2chan.net/fanart/res/16252.html
"—(joyous spit-take)"
SDGFLKJHGDHS. WHAT ARE WORDS. HOW AM SPEAK.
Thank you so, so much! I didn't expect this at all! I'm grinning my face off ovah heah! ♥
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Saxton had kept Helen's dainty, bony little arm in his own and led her through the door, laughing loudly when she coolly informed him that she could find the way herself.
"Oh, Helen," he had said, patting her hand, "Helen, Helen, Helen... I'm sure you're quite capable of finding the way out the door, but I highly doubt you could find your way to my private jet!"
Helen had arched an elegant eyebrow, the sharp clack of her high heels on the sidewalk accentuating the sharpness of her look. "You mean the private jet parked directly in front of us, blocking traffic?"
Jerry had waved down from his seat in the cockpit upon spotting them, and Saxton had grinned. "Ah! So it is!" He then made a mental note to schedule an hour of crocodile wrestling the next Saturday and invite Jerry along as he escorted Helen to the jet, unconsciously flexing as they (or perhaps just the jet) drew stares from all the passersby.
"Saxton," Helen's voice had drifted up, like the scent of burnt batter drifts up from waffle irons, "are we taking your jet?"
"Why wouldn't we?" Saxton had asked, smiling winsomely as he placed a foot on the first step.
"The man in front of you seems to have a problem with it, for one thing."
Saxton had looked up and immediately grit his teeth, but forced himself to relax — he didn't want to look so out of sorts in front of Helen; she was a wolf in a shark's skin wearing steel-toed boots.
"Excuse me one moment, please," he'd said, patting her arm. She'd crossed her arms and stood comfortably, a hip cocked out to one side, and taken out a sleek cigarette case from her suit pocket. After lighting a slim cigarette (typical of a woman, but at least it wasn't one of the filtered ones), she'd bared her teeth in what was almost a smile. Saxton had taken that as permission enough and looked back at his visitor, who had been trying, and failing, to get his goat the entire time he'd been watching Helen.
"Do you damned Beats really have to take things this far?" Saxton had demanded, glaring disapprovingly at the skinny 'poet' in front of him. "I'm with a lady, for all's sake!"
"You killed my best friend," the Beat had screamed at him, voice cracking like a prepubescent boy's. "And then you jumped onto my back as I was crying over his body!"
"My boy, I'm going to tell you three things right now: First and foremost, REAL MEN DON'T CRY OVER SILLY THINGS LIKE THAT. Secondly, I'VE NEVER KILLED ANYBODY BUT WHEN I WAS IN SERVICE WITH THE MILITARY; YOU CAN TAKE UP ANY DISPUTES YOU HAVE WITH THAT STATEMENT TO MY LAWYERS. And thirdly—" Saxton had stalked forward, snorted when he noticed the boy's knee knocking, and clapped him hard on the shoulder "—CAN'T YOU SEE I'M WITH A LADY?"
And then he had tossed him off the side of the walkway.
"My spine!"
"You'll live," Saxton had said dismissively before turning back to Helen. "Terribly sorry about that unplanned interruption," he'd said with all the charm of a dingo offering to rock a harried mother's baby, "but you know how these things are."
Helen had laughed, flicking her cigarette over the side of the walkway. ("My eye!") "Yes, I know all about that sort of thing, of course... I deal with it at least four times a year."
"Only four?" Saxton had asked as he'd taken up her arm again, his skin tingling as she pressed down on it with her sharp nails. "Good management."
Helen had scoffed, inspecting one of the nails on her other hand. "Four is five too many, in my opinion. People should be coming to thank TF Industries for all it's done, not coming in to complain about management's flubs."
Saxton's moustache had wiggled with interest. "I take it you're looking to move up and fix things, then." It hadn't been a question, and Helen hadn't played under any false pretenses.
"Yes. Yes, I do." At that, she'd scratched him lightly with her nails as she pulled her arm easily from his grip. "You can expect to see me on top very, very soon."
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Saxton had told Jerry to fly them to the nearest steakhouse.
"Mr. Hale, the nearest steakhouse is literally across the street—"
"Fly us across the street, then!" Saxton had commanded. "And don't grumble about it," he'd added, making a mental note to plan a hiking trip for his staff the next weekend, and if Jerry felt too tired after their crocodile wrestling matches together, well, he'd just have to complain to Mr. Bidwell — and Bidwell didn't take any bullshit, Saxton knew. It had been a requirement for his employment, along with the ability to incapacitate a man with just one hand and the ability to bake a soufflé.
So Jerry had flown forward, made a turn, and flown back down, closer to the opposite side of the street. During all of that, Saxton had complimented Helen on everything from her outfit to her posture, and Helen had tossed him back barbed 'compliments' on his business, his accent, and his exhibitionist tendencies.
"I must admit, Saxton," Helen had said as they got off the plane, "I would expect someone like you to have more chest hair."
Saxton had flashed his perfectly aligned, perfectly white teeth at Helen. "Oh, my dear, this is a story best told by candlelight." He led her past the maître d' confidently, passing by several fruity looking men and women in excessive suits and gowns that, unlike Helen's professional attire, would be completely impossible to adapt into a sudden battle against crazed 'revolutionaries.'
The maître d' had followed them, recognizing, no doubt, Saxton's position as Alpha Male. (In reality, he'd noticed Helen's "TF Industries" ID card sticking slightly out of her suit pocket.)
Saxton had ordered his steak confidently, almost grandiosely: "The Best Steak You've Got, sir, as well as the Château Haut-Brion Pessac."
Helen had simply ordered the filet mignon, reaching out to sip her ice water the moment one of the waiters brought it to their table.
"Well, there's a candle now, but—" she'd brought her lighter out from her pocket and flicked it on, putting it to the untouched wick "—it was unlit." Helen had slipped it back into her suit and grinned like a canary who had scraped the cat's eyes out. "Your story, Saxton?"
"I think it's one you'll like," he had said, the light dancing playfully on his massive pectorals as he leaned forward. "Y'see, it all happened a few days ago, when I was closing a deal in Argentina..."
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Annnd I'll cut it off there. Saxton's story will come in the next part. C:
Also, if anyone's interested, I have a crapjournal account with some of my work up:
http://gnorraciousd.livejournal.com/
It's mostly gay shit, but, y'know, it being TF2chan and all, I figure that's all right.
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