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Realistic or Modern justice in equal measures -- priv.

cultmentality

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People would probably say the same about Atticus. The man worked a job with plenty of wealthy clients. Whether they were villains or innocents who needed help, he would readily help. With that came the obvious awe of those who he worked for. Anyone could claim that Atticus was on some kind of insane power trip, wielding his abilities above the heads of others. Except he wouldn't say that about himself. As much as he longed for a power that was spectacular, he just had the ability to organize things. It was embarrassing, really. So he didn't think that he had a power trip. Even apart from his literal power. He was trying his best. He was simply a little more standoffish than most.

Knowing that he had Emil's full attention was empowering somehow. Atticus liked when people knew who he was, what he was saying, and so on. People had never listened to Atticus when he was younger, so getting a response with people's eyes on him, he liked it. It was like a drug to him. So he didn't mind the way that Emil had mumbled that his groceries were melting. Of course that was what he was focused on. But Atticus had seen how the other was looking at him as he spoke. Emil had listened, and it was everything he had ever wanted and more. It was something that put a cheerful smile on his face- if only for a moment- which was a stark difference from the usual apathy he displayed.

"Oh, yeah. I- Sorry about that." Atticus hated himself for apologizing to the other. That was a sign of weakness, but he was trying his best. He really was! Atticus had looked down at his hands for a moment, studying some of the freckles that were on them. As if he had never seen them before in his life. It was a good distraction to the redhead. "Oh, no. It's fine. I- Uh, don't worry." Atticus felt himself getting flustered. This was a mistake. He had made a horrible mistake, only because he had kept the other too long. His eyes flickered from the door to Emil. "Yeah, you can go. Sorry, again." He waited for Emil to leave before he shut the door behind him.

Atticus didn't know why he felt so nervous. He didn't like Emil. The other was some annoying freak who thought it was funny to come to his house and get him to quit his job. It was a little endearing... Knowing someone so naive had helped him out. Atticus crinkled his nose in disgust at the thought. "Grow up," he mumbled to himself. He wanted to throw up, thinking about how Emil was wearing him down. Not that he was trying to do so.

That was the issue. Atticus' analytical mind was reading into things. He was reading far too much into things. He bit his tongue for a moment, sitting back behind his desk. Atticus had made sure all the blinds were pulled shut, pulling his knees up to his chest. If anyone saw him sulking like this, it would be so embarrassing. That his mind had deemed Emil tolerable. He buried his face in his hands, debating letting out an aggravated scream. Instead, he just sat there for a few minutes. Then he sat up straight, ready to return to looking through the papers he had laid across his desk. Everything was fine! He absolutely was not a fan of Emil, regardless of what his brain was telling him.








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