I'm not a good talker.
Everyone tells me that. The old lady that lives across the way, my own little brother, even this receptionist I had only just met today. They always tell me that I speak like a man afraid of slipping up.
I looked vacantly at her from across the room, she sat behind a reception window, fingering away at a keyboard, coated in a lackadaisical air as she smiled that customer service smile to passers-by as they entered the building.
She was pretty.
Call me shallow, but I'd grown somewhat infatuated with her in the minutes since I'd taken a seat across the room. Her hair was a short, caramel-like brown that hung across the back and sides of her head, perfectly straight all the way down. If I'd had to say, I'd say her face looked nothing special, not in a bad way, just there wasn't anything… defining about it. Her soft green eyes and slightly freckled skin still tugged hard enough at my heartstrings to just about rip it in half, but there was nothing all too unique about it.
Is this really what I should be thinking about right now? The thought popped out of nowhere, knocking me right out of the little half-trance I was in. Eyes now free, they drifted slowly across the room, acknowledging the fact that, since I had came in here, 2 further people had come to rest in the seats next to me.
The first, the one closest to me, dressed like a thug but smiled like a 5 year-old. In spite of his bike-style leather jacket and mangled jeans, he smiled with a childlike innocence beneath obnoxiously dark sunglasses. He cradled a helmet in his arms, coloured a pleasant maroon and topped by a trio of very obviously self-made spikes. He was an odd looking fellow, intimidating to look at, but filled to the brim with childish purity that tickled the maternal instincts. He turned to me suddenly, at least I think he did, I couldn't actually tell where he was looking with his eyes hidden behind the glasses, but alas, it seemed I was right.
'Hiya! My names Charlie! What's yours? You here for the interview too? What's your spe-ghHk!'
He was abruptly cut off by a clenched, wrinkled fist striking him on the backside of the head, revealing the figure of a moderately intimidating but somewhat elderly looking fellow.
'Apologies about my son, lad, he's very excitable.'
'But you're always telling me to make friends!'
'Aye. You make friends by having conversations Charlie, not by battering them with questions.'
'Oh fine.'
Charlie slumped in his feat, arms crossed over his chest as he fell into a childish huff. I felt the urge to laugh a little at the sight but decided against, for no reason other than the fact that Charlie seemed about 2 heads taller than me and about double my weight. But in stark contrast to myself, his father chuckled heartily away to himself, unafraid of his sons imposing stature.
'Apologies once again lad. Names Benny Lavine, don't suppose you've heard of me?'
The man named Benny turned his head as he spoke and I could only shake my head in denial at his question.
'Ah, no shocker there, s'pose I've been out of the spotlight for quite some time now.'
There was a hint of melancholy in his smile, as though he was thinking of fond memories and, while I could hardly deny my curiosity, I deemed it not my place to ask.
Properly looking at Benny, he was as much of a character as his son was. Dressed for some odd reason in a winter parka, despite being sat in the lobby of what felt to be a heated building. Ski goggles and climbing gear hung from a distinctly orange belt at his waist and, tucked into the bag at his feet, the ends of a pair of skis and their accompanying poles poked out. His face was wrinkled slightly but his hair remained to be well kept and slicked-back. Stylish even in silver.
Now satisfied with my careful analysis of the characters to my right, my eyes shifted to directly in front of me where… absolutely nothing of interest was. Unless you happen to have a fetish for nice flooring the rest of the room contained nothing of particular interest. However, conveniently enough, in my moment of boredom as I attempted to divert my eyes from staring at the girl behind the glass once more, a message came through. She spoke from behind the glass.
'A message for a Keto Lausnari?'
I felt weirdly awkward as I approached the desk, to my knowledge, there was nothing embarrassing about it, but I did anyway.
'Umm, that would be me?'
As to why I said it like a question, the answer evades me. Thankfully, she either didn't notice or just didn't care. I personally hoped for the former.
'Your interview will be conducted by Dr Elliot Fellinger, you'll find his office to be the third door along from the stairs on the second floor.'
And with that she turned away from me, briefly flashing a rehearsed smile my way before returning to work she clearly couldn't actually be bothered doing.
I noticed a sign, rather conspicuously pointing to a door and reading 'stairs' as signs tended to do. I followed the part the sign had pointed me down, and funnily enough, came to a set of stairs, which I climbed hesitantly. I never thought a building would intimidate me, but this tower, these pure white halls, gilded handrails and pitch black carpets, was intimidating. I found myself mentally walking through each individual step, lift, forward, down, lift, forward, down and repeat. Repeated on and till there were no more stairs in front of me and I stumbled slightly into the corridor of the second floor.
The room I'd been asked to find was hardly difficult to spot. Some metres down the almost disturbingly blank hallway was a door, a very unique door. Coloured a bloody red amid the white, it certainly stood out, and the sign hung loosely from a nail that had been rammed into the wood. 'Dr Elliot Fellinger' it read. This was indeed the place. I placed my hand on the door handle, fingered it's gilded coating for a short while until I'd gotten sick of waiting for the courage to show up.
The room was jarring honestly, in far too many ways to describe in a single lifetime. Everything. From the decorative blood splatters on the floor and ceiling, to the almost cult-like ring of filing cabinets that cornered me on all angles. And the man that sat in the centre. He was almost scarily handsome. The phrase 'if looks could kill' had never been truer. His eyes were sunken and dark, half hidden beneath messy black hair that hung like the curtains of a rebellious teenager. He was dressed remarkably informal, more like a man away on a night out than one conducting an interview. The pinkish leather jacket and maroon jeans he wore reminded me a little of the band you sometimes see doing shows at bars. Certainly flashy enough to leave an impression, but hardly with the skills to match.
'Soooooooo, you're Mr Lausnari, then?'
His tone was lax, contrasting shockingly with his narrowed eyes that stared daggers my way.
'Umm, yes?'
'You sound unsure, it's a yes or no question.'
'Yes. Yes I am.'
'Good… good.'
Their brief exchange dwindled quickly back into silence, and following an odd and slightly terrifying look, I sat in the chair facing him. Dr Fellinger propped himself up, lifting himself from his comfortable slouch so he could look some in the eyes. Personally, I would've rathered if he didn't. With his hands shakily holding his head up by the chin and his elbows resting on the desk, he honestly reminded me a bit of the receptionist downstairs, in the way that neither of them seemed to want to be here.
'Welp… let's make this quick then.'
A sigh followed as he spoke, he ruffled about the papers on his desk, far too messy for someone who seemed to worship those cabinets, until his hand came to rest on a particular sheet of paper.
'Give it a read.'
He slid the paper my way. I glanced down at it, moderately intimidated once again, but, honestly, the thought of going against this fellow here was a much bigger threat.
Immediately, it looked to more of a risk assessment than the contract I had initially expected. It listed the rows upon rows of dangers that lay in the line of work I was chasing. Every little don't and definitely don't of being a Slayer. It even went as far as to give me a description of the ability I possessed in a far greater detail than I possibly could. I skimmed through it, stopping here and there at words that looked particularly interesting until I came just about to the end.
By signing this contract, you, as the reader, acknowledge the potential dangers and and tasks you will have to undertake under the role of a Slayer.
That's what it read, but truthfully I didn't care all that much about that bit, what struck my fancy was what followed.
Upon initially taking in the role of a Slayer, you will receive no fixed salary until you are able to prove yourself worth paying to keep. Until that point, payment will be on commission. Payment will be provided automatically to the recipients bank account and will be based on the magnitude of commission undertaken. Any and all costs of damages or healthcare caused as a result of your actions will be taken directly from your payment.
Fair enough.
I was pretty sure I'd read through it enough at this point. I picked up a pen that had been lain to the papers side and made to sign my name at the pages bottom.
'HOLD IT!'
I jumped in my seat, the pen slipped from the hand and clattered to the floor. With his hands aggressively pressed againts the table and his lax face contorting into one of irritated concern, Dr Fellinger looked me dead in the eyes, more intimidating than ever.
'Are you positive you reas it over properly.'
A nodded my head with only a smidge of hesitation, but he caught even that.
'Look it over again, and again, and again. I want you to understand Keto Lausnari, understand everything.'
I gulped. A very noticeable gulp apparently as he raised an eyebrow at it, but he didn't say anything, instead opting to relax back into his chair, eyes still locked onto me. My eyes lowered back to the sheet of the paper almost subconsciously. I scanned it over once again, eyes pricking at information I'd already seen, warnings I'd already read, fine prints I'd already squinted at, and I found nothing knew, and all I could do was look back at the man in front of me, confused.
'Good.'
He didn't elaborate, so I just tilted my head as a sign of questioning.
'Listen here. You're gonna be fighting for your life and everyone else's out there, so you gotta do whatever it takes to win. It doesn't matter what kind of ability you got, your biggest advantage against those monstrous bastards is the fact that you can think, and they can't.'
He spoke with an impressive intensity for a man still slouched comfortably into his chair. But regardless, I took that advice to heart, he didn't seem a bad fellow, I thought he was a good book with a bad cover. Fellinger was apparently satisfied with me now, as he nodded towards the pen still laying on the desk, apparently indicating for me to pick it up.
And I signed. He looked me in the eyes, dead in the eyes.
'Welcome, Keto Lausnari, to the Winter Court.'