Alastor hummed under his breath, as he attentively skimmed through the transcripts of the segments he would have to record that day. A mug of coffee set next to him on the desk, a hint of smoke rising from it and its strong aroma filling the room. Those tasteless, bland lines weren't a part of his job he took pleasure in, not in the least. They were tremendously lacking in flavour and charm, and he wouldn't have been boasted if he had said that his voice was the only reason why those dry sentences managed to catch the attention of their audience.
He had considered offering to write them himself, but he knew too well that his producers wouldn't have allowed it. For some foolish reason, they were convinced that those lines had an appeal, even when it was remarkably obvious that they did not.
Oh well, their loss! In his eyes, they would remain just a boring task he willingly fulfilled each day so that he could keep freely handling his own personal broadcasts. A small price to pay, mildly annoying but easy enough.
Slim fingers wrapped around the handle of the mug, nimble and elegant, and Alastor brought it to his lips, taking a slow, pensive sip of coffee. For whoever had worked at the broadcasting station for long enough, the sight would have been an extremely familiar one. It was no secret that the radio host liked his routines as tidy and well staged as his clothes and mannerisms, and he never missed to show a polite hint of vexation whenever something disturbed them.
Not because he couldn't handle it, of course. The young man was nothing if not adaptable. He had always been, since a tender age, and nowadays it was an essential skill for him to have, to properly balance his work and hobbies. Especially the most private ones.
The woman's presence on the threshold was sensed much before she could find the courage to make a sound, but he pretended not to have noticed her until her voice rang in the room in greeting. Only then sharp, dark eyes left the lines they had been scanning, to land on her.
Alastor's gaze took in her form from head to toe, quickly and discreetly, absorbing as many hints and information he could. The way her hair had started to get a little messy, the nervous quivering of her mouth and light trembling of her fingers, the tension in her shoulders. She was obviously struggling, desperate to please, to look like she belonged in her role.
It was obvious that her rounds hadn't gone as she had hoped for so far and that made him feel obliged to offer her some kindness. He knew far too well what it meant to be judged for the hue of your skin. Or lack of, in her case.
Also, that hopefully would have also dissuaded her from keeping on staring at him as she was doing. Alastor was very well aware that his looks were considered appealing, despite the darker shade of his flesh, and he had often been on the receiving end of unwanted compliments and attention, much to his chagrin, from both women and men. In his eyes, it was almost as distasteful as the scorn and belittlement his complexion earned him on a daily basis.
And he would have rather not deal with that so early in the morning.
"Thank you kindly, my dear," he answered, his ever-present smile not betraying any of the thoughts that were circulating in his mind. "Ah, a new face, I see! First day on the job, isn't it? My, my. I remember the jitters I experienced when I was in your shoes!"
He took the papers from her, careful to avoid any sort of accidental contact, and set them down on the desk. He would have looked at them later and then promptly discarded them, as per usual. He still hadn't decided if he found the persistence of the station writers to keep shoving them on him, when they knew perfectly that he wouldn't be using them, more obnoxious or more entertaining.
"May I be so bold to ask for your name? I make part of my job to get to know all the people I work with. Besides, it would seem like you and I will be seeing each other every day! One more reason to put a name to a face, don't you agree?"
