Note: mostly written on ym. unbeta-ed. plz do inform if there are any left-over words needing to be capitalised.
Warning: VERY OOC, and that is possibly an understatement.
pumpu: CHANCE OF SNOW ON SUNDAY :(( :(( :(( :(( :(( :((
pumpu: AND SNOW IS BAD
so obv. this is ALL. HER. FAULT.
The cry shattered the calm that had settled over Kinnetik in the late November afternoon, blasting through the quiet like a miniature, ferocious trumpet of doom. It came from deep within the bowels of the lair, and it sounded very much like -
As she made her way towards Brian's office, Cynthia ran a quick slideshow of the day's events in her mind. So far, Brian had queened out over misprinted copy twice, yelled at three interns and snapped at Ted Schmidt four times.
Cynthia was content. Surprised, but content.
It was rare that Brian was in such a benevolent mood, and there seemed a good chance of it continuing - unless the reason Brian was commanding her presence was due to something untoward having happened, and just as those words skittered across her brain -
"The fucking weather channel says there's a chance of snow on Sunday," said Brian, looking disgusted.
Cynthia contorted her features into a pained (and hopefully, sympathetic) expression. "If only there was something we could do to stop it. But I fear no mere human cou-"
She stopped short, attention dragged irresistably away. Her eyes seemed to have suddenly turned to iron filings, and the door a magnet; which was sort of strange and worrying. Then she saw who was at the door, and relaxed. Justin Taylor always did seem to have that effect on people.
Brian's eyes were also fixed on Justin, and Cynthia wondered if he knew how goofily he was smiling. He seemed to have forgotten all about the forecast, and she couldn't help but feel relieved. Life at the office was so much easier when Brian stayed in a good mood. Thank God for the existence of one Justin Taylor, who usually managed to put Brian in an excellent mood - well, when he wasn't making Brian order Cynthia to acquire restraining orders. Still, on the whole, Justin's presence produced far more fatuous smiles than mindless rages.
With this in mind, Cynthia made a note in her mental Filofax to somehow convince Justin to stop by Kinnetik more often. Hell, she'd buy him a car with her own money to settle the transport issue, if that was what it took. Now that he was a Hollywood multimillionaire in his own right, though, he ought to be able to afford quite a few Ferraris himself; so she'd probably have to come up with some other inducement.
In fact, right now seemed to be an excellent time to continue with her plotting, as both Brian and Justin seemed rather distracted by the meaningful looks of "I want to rip your clothes off and do you right here on the office floor" they were exchanging.
Cynthia just decided that she and Justin should meet outdoors somewhere (the park, maybe) on a beautiful day (so he'd be more likely to be in a good mood and less likely to dismiss her idea) when -
"What was that you guys were saying about snow?" Justin asked, curious as always.
Oh, fuck, chirped the little voice which resided in the back of Cynthia's head.
Fortunately, Brian was so wrapped up in staring at Justin's mouth that the evil of the answer was apparently diminished. "Oh, there's a chance of snow on Sunday and we wish that it could be stopped somehow, but no mere human could do it," he said, off-handedly.
Cynthia watched as he switched his scrutiny to Justin's left eyebrow, still smiling dreamily.
Justin wasn't smiling, however. "You hate snow," he said, upset. Cynthia cringed.
"Yeah, well," shrugged Brian, who was now devouring Justin's right earlobe with his gaze.
Justin was not to be put off, though.
"I will stop the snow," he announced, with just the right amount of dramatic flair. Cynthia would have thought that Hollywood had really done its work well on him, if she hadn't known for a fact that he'd been exactly like this before.
Brian stopped eye-fucking Justin's nose, and blinked at him slowly. Cynthia would have bet the shiny new ab machine Justin had given her for her birthday that the little voice in Brian's head was currently squeeing, "my hero!" quietly but insistently.
Somehow, though, Brian managed to censor himself well enough that what left his mouth was a simple, "Really?"
Even if it did sound more breathy than sarcastic.
"Yes." Justin sounded quite serious, and when he met Brian's gaze, his eyes were solemn. "I will stop it," he said, nodding decisively.
Turning, he gave Cynthia a smile and a small wave, then whirled on his heel and made his way to the door. Presumably to go stop the snow.
Cynthia looked at Brian to see how he was taking this new development. He was still smiling slightly, and as he returned to his desk, Cynthia couldn't help but notice that his normal strut had turned into something that suggested he was walking more on air than the ground.
As her ears picked up on the words he was mumbling, she had to turn away to hide her smile. That was probably the safest bet she had ever made, and really. If there was anyone who could stop snow from falling simply to make Brian Kinney happy?
It would be Justin Taylor.
Now all she had to do was find a convenient day to convince Justin to stop by the office more often. She studied the Rage™ calendar she had on her desk and smiled, satisfied. Sunday was looking good. No previous commitments, and she had a feeling that the weather would be bright and clear.