little_troven: (Default)
Alec Troven ([personal profile] little_troven) wrote in [community profile] alternativewriting2012-08-15 09:32 pm
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The shift leader turns his hat around nervously as he talks to Mr. Ryan trying to explain what happened to the factory. No one really knows. The place is up in flames, a great deal of people are dead, even more are hurt. The foreman of the factory is one of the ones dead, the man is telling Andrew. He went back into the fire to rescue people, including his older son. At that he flicks a nervous glance over at one of the fire trucks where a small boy is sitting, a blanket around his shoulders, kicking his feet idly watching everything going on.

"That's the younger one, there, sir," the shift leader says, still spinning his hat around. "He was playing in Mr. Troven's office when everything went down. I don't think anyone's told him what's happened yet."

The boy is the same one who scammed Mr. Ryan out of some money a few weeks ago by being annoying and following him around until he got paid to go away. When he sees Mr. Ryan he gives a short wave, still kicking his feet.
rianofski: (Old lies and fireflies)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 04:48 am (UTC)(link)
Andrew immediately recognizes the boy, and frowns slightly. He can't ignore the wave outright, not in a situation like this -- even he has some realization that the loss of life is tragic. Certainly, he's displeased about the loss of his factory, but factories can be rebuilt. And will be, soon enough.

"I'll speak to the child," he tells the shift leader, and then dismisses him to begin filling out the mountain of paperwork that is sure to arise from an accident like this. At least the child knows who he is, even if he's a little scam artist.

He approaches the firetruck slowly, offering a short wave in return.
rianofski: (And all is undone)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 04:56 am (UTC)(link)
Andrew clears his throat, not sure how to respond to the question. Of course, there's only one thing to do -- and leaving the child in false hope would be cruel, wouldn't it?

"I'm afraid your father is dead," he responded, not bothering to use more euphemistic language. He hates the phrase "passed on", and since he doesn't believe in God, he's not going to talk about heaven. The Russian accent that he's worked hard to scrub clean from his voice is still slightly there, more so, perhaps, in this moment of disaster than it would be normally.
rianofski: (And taste the air in your lungs)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 05:06 am (UTC)(link)
Damn. What was he supposed to say in the face of such innocence? He knew how to fire people, how to yell at people and intimidate them, how to plan a good business deal, how to seduce... but he had no idea how to make a child understand that their father wasn't coming back.

"I'm sorry," he finally said, "No, you didn't set the place on fire. None of this is your fault. But your father won't be coming back."
rianofski: (You whisper prayers into the dark)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 05:13 am (UTC)(link)
"Well..."

He looks around for help, but finds none forthcoming, not with the way everyone is bustling to get the fire under control and clean everything up.

"Where's your mother?"
rianofski: (But it won't make it any easier to see)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 05:21 am (UTC)(link)
"Because I was hoping she could give you dinner, but I see now that that is impossible. In that case..."

He looked around again, wondering vaguely just who he was hoping would come along that could take the child into their own hands. Nobody showed up. Of course not.

"I'll give you dinner."
rianofski: (Up to a god)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 05:31 am (UTC)(link)
"Very well."

It doesn't seem reasonable to argue. The child is clearly having a difficult time processing the whole thing, and Andrew can't exactly blame him.

"Come along, then."

At least Andrew has his car here, and nobody will think it odd that he's taking the boy into his own custody for the evening.
rianofski: (Default)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
Andrew's car is very nice. Top of the line, really, but who could expect anything less from the chief of Ryan Industries himself?

He opens the passenger door for Alec, and gestures for him to get in before crossing to the driver's side and sliding in himself. "Now. Tell me where you live."
rianofski: (You whisper prayers into the dark)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 05:47 am (UTC)(link)
Andrew parks the car, gets out, and opens the door for Alec, gesturing for him to lead the way.

"Go on, then."

This, at least, seems to be a more practical use of time than listening to reporters asking their demanding questions about what happened at the factory, or hearing people crying about it.
rianofski: (Old lies and fireflies)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 06:01 am (UTC)(link)
He takes in the apartment, looking at the photographs and the drawings, and then focuses his attention on Alec and the icebox.

"We're not having meatloaf."

Andrew doesn't like it, either, and beyond that, he has no interest in making something that takes that much time. Of course, it's an easy enough dish, but he's an impatient man.

"Do you like eggs?"
rianofski: (And taste the air in your lungs)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 06:10 am (UTC)(link)
"Fried eggs, then."

Good, because that's one thing he knows how to cook well enough. He reaches for the frying pan, setting it on the stove and turning the stove on.

"Find me some butter. Do you want toast?"

It's not like him to be this accommodating, but these are unusual circumstances. And they both need to eat, after all.
rianofski: (You leave the church)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 06:18 am (UTC)(link)
Oh shit. This was when the crying started, wasn't it? He hadn't fully expected to be able to get away with the child remaining stoic the whole time, but he'd hoped.

"No toast, then," he said quickly, putting the butter in the frying pan to melt it and cracking the eggs in after a few seconds. Maybe if he keeps cooking and doesn't meet Alec's eyes, he won't have to discuss it further.
rianofski: (But it won't make it any easier to see)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 06:31 am (UTC)(link)
Andrew eyes the stuffed dragon suspiciously, but doesn't comment. Perhaps the child needs the comfort of a plaything, though Andrew privately thinks he's a bit old for that sort of nonsense. Why, he must be at least eight!

He continues cooking, looking over every so often at Alec setting the table, as though to make sure he's not breaking anything.
rianofski: (Default)

[personal profile] rianofski 2012-08-16 06:43 am (UTC)(link)
After a few minutes of silence, Andrew brings the eggs to the table, and sets two on each of their plates.

"Here," he says, at a loss for anything better to say. He sits down at the table, gesturing for Alec to sit, too.

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