There was a new face at the Smith, Stone, and King staff meeting that Monday morning. He sat on the East side of the long boardroom table absently tracing an ebony triangular portion of the table's inlaid design. He wasn't watching what he was doing, but rather was staring at the office manager, an icy woman he had been told was named Mavis. He and Mavis had locked eyes across the span of the table. She was glaring, and he had his head cocked slightly to one side and wore a smile that was either amused or suggestive. It was up to Mavis to decide for herself, but he was aware of how infuriating that smile could be which was why he always used it when he met new people. It paid to advertise. Mavis narrowed her eyes and flexed her jaw as though she were chewing her own tooth-enamel. This was his golden opportunity. He tilted his head the other way, parted his lips quite innocently and resumed the smile. Mavis blinked and looked away.
Several people had watched the exchange and had to suppress amusement. Mavis, as the new man had guessed, was rarely pleasant and often used her stare to unseat people who tried to argue with her. Sig Smith, one of three Senior Partners, adjusted his papers to distract himself from what he had just witnessed, afraid he would burst out laughing, and stood at the head of the table between Alex King and Mal Stone. He was easily the largest man most people had ever seen, and everyone wondered at one point or another why the man had chosen the pursuit of law over professional sports as he was the kind of man who could clear a playing field by cracking his knuckles in a threatening manner. He raised hands easily the size of dinner plates and an instant hush fell. The room was still and silent except for the new man who continued to trace the triangle and turned that horrible smile on Smith, who wanted to laugh, but did not. He had decided he was going to like the guy the moment he walked into the office for an interview. He was the kind of bastard Sig liked to have working for him rather than against him.
"All right. Good morning everyone. As many of you have noticed, we have hired a new attorney. I'd like you all to meet Charles Joustkonsudt. He will be joining me in the litigation department. Charles? How about you share that smile, there, with everyone else?" Smith gestured to the people farther down the table and crowded by the door.
Charles flicked up an eyebrow at Smith, who shook his head, and swiveled his chair to aim it at everyone else. He could hear Senior Partner King snicker into his notebook. One down, two to go. "Hello," Charles said calmly. "I wish to be addressed by my obscenely long last name at all times. It makes me feel powerful and inflates my ego nicely. Or maybe ..." he looked up at the ceiling in feigned reflection. "Since most of us look like such a fun crowd? Charles will do fine. Why make such pretty people choke on a nasty name? Anyone who calls me Charlie will understand just how litigious I can be."
"Right. Not Charlie," Smith said. "You will be working with Cynthia. Here's your first case. Welcome to Smith, Stone, and King. Something else you should all be aware of. Charles is a fourth rank ASSFACE."
"Allied Socialist Spellcaster Free Agent Commissioned in Emergencies," Charles said calmly, doing his best to not throw Smith a dirty look while simultaneously admiring the man's style. "Would you like me to explain?" he asked Smith.
"Please," said the Senior Partners at the same time.
"I am a fourth-ranked wizard who was trained by the Alliance. I specialize in Clairvoiance, Clairaudience, and Teleportation. Plus a few other spells here and there. I can teleport objects with this mark on it." He raised his had and turned the back of it to the employees gathered. "So you will start seeing it a lot around here."
"Anything else you need to tell people?" asked King.
"Oh, right." Charles stood up and buttoned his suitcoat in one fluid motion. "I currently represent the Holy Messenger Killer. She'll be here every so often. Consider it my contribution to the firm's notoriety. Try not to take photographs." An uneasy silence fell over those gathered. "She hates that." He picked up his assignment and began to work his way to the door, glancing casually at his watch. "In fact, she will be here in five minutes, so I best see to that. Which one of you is Cynthia?" He stopped and scanned the crowd.
"I am, Charles." A woman wearing glasses with tightly braided hair raised her hand.
"Are you proficient with any kind of weapon?"
"Handgun?" Her co-workers turned and looked at her. They didn't know that about her. She nervously cracked her neck.
"Lovely!" Charles held the door open for his new assistant.
"The Holy Messenger Killer?" Cynthia asked as she followed him to his office. "Are you serious?"
"Yes," Charles said calmly. "I was assigned this case because I can transport her with no flight risk. It is secured and instantaneous. And she's not as bad as one would think. If you believe the media, I will have to break you of that disgusting habit. The clergy she killed did some very bad things, and obviously mental instability comes into play. Also? I wouldn't recommend calling her Ms. Holy Messenger Killer. She prefers her given name: Iolana." He led Cynthia into his office, locked the door behind them, arranged three chairs, one more for Cynthia and removed his coat.
As he stretched and rolled his shoulders, Cynthia could see dark purple light radiating from his back -rune marks, she guessed. He cracked his knuckles, raised his hands in fists, and the room filled with matching dark purple light. When her eyes had adjusted again two heavily armed sentry droids stood in the middle of the room on either side of a muscular woman with unruly brown hair and arms full of tattoos. Iolana Gold. The Holy Messenger Killer.
