WAYSTAR ROYCO

“That’s what makes it so fun,” Charlie had no stake in what transpired here. Everyone was fighting for a seat at the table. He didn’t want whatever throne the heir apparent was meant to uphold. Musical chairs was played in spite of the more important game at hand - who would monopolize every piece on the board. “I’m not afraid of these people,” disinheritance sought, he played the role with a frown. It didn’t take a deep investigation to make note of how Charlie didn’t feel he belonged there, nor did he ever think he’d acclimate to the position. “Roman sounds like an asshole,” it’s quick, accompanied with the tilt of his head, “I think you’re funny,” and with the gentle nudge of his elbow against hers, forearms leaned together, “I like your company too,” it’s easier, being here with her, than being out there, playing games. “You wanna sneak out?” He’s grinning, leaning close, gesturing towards the double doors that lead outside, “We can pretend it’s a smoke break,” no one would ask, or apprehend them, this wasn’t the time. Charlie estimated if they cut through the crowd, they wouldn’t be stopped - not if it came in time for the crowd to gather around the stage for whatever speech that was on the verge of being given. “Cut out through the back. You game?”

To make an appearance was standard - winning his father’s favor was nothing short of impossible, and needlessly necessary. Looks were everything, and if Charlie wasn’t there, what was it gonna look like? He was back, wasn’t he? Time to stay in the game. Nerves ate away at his insides. He felt most comfortable hiding in plain sight with Jess while the rest of the partygoers strutted by, paying them no mind. When it came time to field questions about his departure - why he was gone for so long, and where he went - it was no surprise at his discovering just how incredible Jess was at her job. He found she was well acquainted with many a familial black sheep - pariahs, outliers, and she knew exactly what to do. Gratitude was expressed at the lack of interest in explanation to why he didn’t like to talk about it. One that could come - would come, with time. Peripherals scrutinized over her shoulder, and over his, before his focus honed in on her, nodding his head, “Sounds like you’re dragging this out,” he was teasing. Comfortable. “It’d go a lot faster if you told me who to approach.” Or who to fuck with. Charlie leaned forward, elbows on his knees, mischievous glint in his gaze, “Whois public enemy number one?”

acknowledgment  of  the  unfortunate  peculiarity   within  him  hasn’t   𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐞  the  sheer  endearment  swathed  in  constant  professionalism  basked  upon  the  endless  liability  uttered   as  if  the  demise  could  return  to  amuse  the  penitence  enunciated  regardless  of  the  subject  of   GUILT  ,  REGRET  ,   AND  REMOSE  has  evolved  more  than  one  subject   ––––––   one  ,  two  ,   maybe  even  three  or  more   as  he  recounts  the   𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲𝘀   he  had  done  ;   MAYHAPS  HE  HAS  INDIRECTLY  KILLED  SOMEONE  WITHIN  THE  POWER  OF  CAPITALISM  &.  the  thoughts  lingers  palpably   (  the  kid  was  a  waiter  and  he  worked  to  get  money  and  he  obeyed  to  get  money  and  dad  knew  because  he  supposed  to  work  for  him  so  he  could  give  him  money  :  everything  is  about  money  and   i  bought  their  silence  by  money  …   MONEY  ,   MONEY  ,   MONEY    &.   her  solution  to  the  main  issue  is  to   𝐛𝐮𝐲  the  children  another  new  rabbit      ––––––    does  soul  can  be  owned  by  money   ?   =   yes   ,    his  is   logan’s  )   thus  the  sob  prickling  ,   reminding  him  of  the  pathetic  imagery  bewildered  the  woman  who  may  never  have  seen  him  like  this  before   :   the  touch  of  comfort  feels  foreign  ,  as  if  he  bought  the  prize  for  showing  his  own  emotions  upon  her  but  JESS  HAS  ALWAYS  BEEN  GENUINE   ,  he  knows  that  ,   or  he  may  imagining    that   ––––––   the  comfort  someone  desires  can  be  provided  ,   connor  is  the  victim  of  the  scheme  &.  she  works  under  him   but  she  is  different   ,   she  would’ve  crossed  the  boundaries  if   she  finally  gets  to  know  the  real  him   …   but  what  is  he   ,   the  real  him   ?    the  killer   ?

❛  you  can’t   𝐟𝐢𝐱  this     ––––––   they’re  fucking  dead. ❜    they  :  the  rabbit   &.  the  waiter  ,  the  subject  he  wails  underneath  the  tantrum  he  throw  like  a  child  as  he  curls  even  further    ,   sinking  into  the  repentance  he  finally  indulge  after  the   𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐚𝐥  battered  himself  within   … .   ACCEPTANCE   OF  HIS  OWN  GUILT   &.    PECULIARITY   as  if  it  could  soothe  him  ,   lull  him  further  into  perpetual   𝐬𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫  of   non-existence   ;   you’re  not  a  real  person   &.  for  once  he  feels  peace  within  the  sufferance  because  he  could  admits  to  someone  without  being   manipulated  or  taken  advantage  of   …   JESS  HAS  ALWAYS  BEEN  GENUINE   &.   he  believes  that   ,   regardless  of  the  fact  she  may  works  for  the  money  but   she  cares  about  him  ,   as  he  cares  about  him   ;   A  MUTUAL  UNDERSTANDING  BY  THE  DEEPER  BOND  OF  ACKNOWLEDGEMENT   ,    he  sees  her   &.   she  sees  him.    the  cry  subsides  slowly   ,   the  uncountable  shake  of  hands  dissipated   as  he  accepts   the  dead  can’t  be  bothered  anymore  but  can  be  recognized  by  confession  the  people  may  not  fathom  the  subject  of  yet  it  was  serene  ,  tranquil  ,   eventually   he  despise  himself  for  changing  the  subject  to  something  irrelevant  during  that  time      ––––––   YOUR  CHILDREN  ARE   WAITING  FOR  YOU  ,  KENDALL.    ❛  i  ,   uh   ,   god   ,    i-   i   should   see  the  kids   ,   yeah   ,   i   need   to   see   ‘em   …    i    OWE   them   that.   ❜    but  he  doesn’t   owe  anyone   explanation   when   deads   don’t   speak.

her hand is tugged away,   her stagnant wondering confused by the way he flickers between subjects   :       he is a child in kendall roy’s clothes       (         he has always been that child      /       he has always been kendall roy       ...       quiet and reserved and too small in his body        /         loud and brash and with a cruel joke on his tongue,    no laughter summoned from the awkward faces that swarm to him        ).       jess has seen both   :        she has seen him in his entirety.     she has peeled back the layers of his tender flesh and seen flashes of his bruised skull,    the red - rimmed sweetness of his exposed eyeballs,    the realness of his muscle pulsing beneath her prying fingers.       jess has seen it all   :        at least,   that is what she thought.      BUT THE BREAK DOWN IS A NEW SIDE,   A NEW SLIT AGAINST HER OPEN PALM        (        she can give him all of her,     but there will still need to bring her knife into work each day and carve a place for herself out of his chest         ...         she breathes and relaxes   :        her mind washes away the anxiety that threatens to lap up her throat,   dismissing them as silly thoughts from a silly girl         ).     if she looks too deeply into their story,   she will realise she has the genres all wrong        ...        she has sorted through workplace comedies   /   buddy - cop trilogies   /   the wayward loneliness of heartbreak.      she has not yet learned that this is a horror movie.      SHE HAS NOT YET REALISED THAT KENDALL IS EVERYTHING HE SAYS HE IS   :        the hand that holds the blade,   the killer that slashes car tires into fainting bodies,     the man who appeared from the lake like a beast from outerspace.

❝   oh, director!   ❞     her laugh is an accent piece, a brutal highlight next to widened eyes.  she has one hundred and one sore spots, and willa’s found number ninety-nine. it isn’t a competition, because mara’s already decided she’s the winner  –   which makes this a victory lap  (  she’s forgotten that her grand prize was already entry into waystar, and nothing more  ).     ❝   okay, yeah.  that’s really fun!  yeah, i heard a lot of girls are getting into directing these days.   ❞     the most dangerous thing about mara is that she knows her audience   :   some other time, she’ll wax poetic on the importance of women in the industry.  she’ll champion her mother and her passion, the wayward echoes of activism left in the graveyard behind.  NEAR THE END, RIGHT ON CUE, SHE’LL START TO CRY.  here, she only makes room to nod along and linger on a sip of her martini.     ❝   well, yeah. i’m the consumer. i mean  –  i don’t know if i’ll actually be able to see your show when it’s out, i don’t know if i’ll be in town.   ❞     movie stars and their whirlwind schedules, fallen angels and clipped, twitching wings.  the implication of busyness often isn’t as dazzling as she prefers.     ❝   but you know what i mean.  you’re gonna do great.   ❞

𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻𝘆  shrieks  within  the  momentary  numbness  of  the  body   ––––––   announcing  the  existence  of  misery  palpably  by  the  time  unwanted   mewl   whispered  underneath  pianissimo  cry  prickle  involuntarily  after  the  bewilderment  of  PROCESSING  THE  CHILDREN’S  FEELING   /  placing  himself  in  their  position   &.  he  fathoms  how   𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧   &.    𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞  they’d  be   &.  he  internalize  it  hence  the  futile  articulation  he  had  uttered  become  a  mystification  of  desperation  [ … ]  WHAT  DID  HE  SAY  TO  HER  BEFORE  ?   WHAT  DID  SHE  SAY  TO  HIM  AGAIN  ?   he  was  lost  in  daze  of  anguish  with  shaking  hands  rest  atop  of  his  visage  ;   𝐡𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠   from  the  truth  that  he  once  again  KILLED  something  &.  the  other  person  is  covering  his  tracks  once  more     ––––––  HOW  MANY  TIMES  SHOULD  HE  RUN  FROM  THE  INCIDENTAL  SLAUGHTER  HE  ALWAYS  DOES  IN  THE  TIME  OF  HIS  NEGLECT  ?    the   𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧  transformed  into  a  howl  of  confirmation  ,    berserk  to  the  night  he  once  tried  to  outrun  yet  it  always  hunt  him  as  if  he  was  the  boar   [ … ]  THE  BOAR  FELL  INTO  THE  FLOOR  when  a  cocoon  was  made  for  him  to  embrace  but  the  ground  welcomes  him  with  the  knees  rested   &.  head  tilted  upwards  for  position  of   𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧    ,

❛  i’m  a   𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿  ,  jess.  ❜   admission  spoken  woefully   ,  disgruntled  by  the  sob  throttling  the  words  of  salvation  he  seeks  from  her    ––––––   WOULD  SHE  EVER  SEE  HIM  THE  SAME  WAY  IF  SHE  KNOWS  WHAT  HE  DID  ?   but  the  confession  could  be  seen  as  a  sermon  for  the  death  of  the  rabbit  than  the  slaughter  he  had  done  with  the  boy  from  the  wedding  ,  however  the  meaning  bears  other  strangulation  of  guilt  on  the  throat  &.  he  repeats  ,  &.  he  repeats  ,  as  if  she’d  grant  him  a   𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲  from  the  proclamation   /   but  it  meant  to  ENNUCIATE  HE  IS  NOT  A  GOOD  MAN.  &.  he  meant  it  ,  he  meant  it  ,  as  the  guilt  swallow  him  into  the  water  &.  belly  of  the  rabbit   ;   YOU’RE  NOT  A  KILLER  ,  YOU  HAVE  TO  BE  A  KILLER   [ … ]   &.   he  was   ,   ❛  i’m  a   𝗸𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗿  ,  jess.   i’m   a  killer.   i  kill  &.  i  kill     ––––––    there’s  something    𝘄𝗿𝗼𝗻𝗴   about  me  ,  jess.   i’m-  a  killer.  i  shouldn’t  be  here.   ❜

jess’ mother used to hold her hand every night and tell her a new story         (        but her mother’s memory had been faulty and the stories had been stop - starts - stop - starts,   almost narratives crafted from broken sentiments   :       there had been enough love to find herself by her daughter’s bedside,  but not enough sense to craft anything other than babble       ).      there’s no moving kendall when he gets like this       ...       jess’ mother taught her everything she knew,    from the quick smiles that helped avoid skipping - stones danger and their pond - ripples to soothing away the lifestyle that kendall had shackled himself to.    THE COAT IS IN HER HAND   :       they had almost escaped without a spew of words,   without the breakdown rising in his chest.     her mother had made it outside.    her mother had made it into the rain.     her mother      -        jess strokes her hand along the seam of a coat that hadn’t yet touched his skin.     ALMOST,   ALMOST,   ALMOST.     she takes a deep breath and urges herself back into professionalism.       ‘   we can still fix this,  kendall.   ’      coaching 101   :       we,  so kendall doesn’t feel solely accountable.   still,   to remind kendall there wasn’t time.   a tone that landed somewhere between familiar and professional.       ‘   really,   kids never even notice things like this.   i must’ve had a thousand different bunnies when i was a kid and i was none the wiser.   ’        jess had never had pets as a kid.      SOMETIMES,  WORDS WERE MEANT ONLY TO EASE KENDALL       --       they held a subjective purpose.

@suckession :  get away from me  ⁄    one-liner   .

an   infectious   𝐠𝐫𝐢𝐩   of   coercion    ––––––    uninclined    within   brash    utterance    of   𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗳𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘁𝘆    ,     soared    in   whisper   regardless   of   the    distance   segregate   them   in   apprehension    [ … ]     HE   WISHES   SHE'D    LISTEN   TO   HIM     /   however   benign   𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧   emitted   with   vehemence    ,   or   even   𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗱   for   his   assault   to  her   personal   life   with   the   roy    family   ;   especially   𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍   𝐑𝐎𝐘   [ … ]   he   had   seen    this    before    , repeated   unwillingly   for    𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲𝗱𝘆   that   shall   humiliate    her   for    mere    reason    of    𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭   ( a   laugh   spared   ,   tragedy   befalls    )   therefore   he    hasn't    released    his   grip    from    her       ––––––   hell   , mayhaps    he    𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬    to   the    fault    of    her    amenity    upon    others     ( and    he    takes    pity    on    that    )

❛   𝗴𝗲𝘁   𝗼𝘂𝘁    while     you    still    𝗰𝗮𝗻    ,  ❜   hues   scrutinizing    for    imminent    confirmation    of    her    dispatch    from    the    family   /     HE'S   PROTECTING    HER    FROM    THE    HEARTBREAK   ––––––   can't    she    𝐬𝐞𝐞    !?    he    suffered    once    ,   for    mere    false    confidentiality    lain    upon    𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞    slithering    in    the    family    ;   as    if    the    others   were   any    good   ,   when they    aren't     [ … ]     but     𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴    comes    out    good     from    personal    relationship    with    the    roy    boys.   roman    is    no    different    than    kendall    ,   mayhaps    he's    the    worse    amongst   them   (    he   barks   lke   a  dog   for    attention   , yet   seeks   from   wrong   tree   )   ,    ❛   i'm   not   fucking   around.   you   need    to   get    out    from   this    hellhole    before    you    𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤     like    me    ,     or    even    like    tom     ––––––   have    you    seen     him    ?  ?    he's   fucking   𝗱𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴.      roman   is    no    better  than    kendall    or    shiv   , take   it   as   an   advice   from   someone   who's    been    through   lot   for  their   𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐬.  ❜

❝     he’s a friend from college,     ❞          spits right out his mouth like he believes it,  and jack has to keep himself from recoiling          —          mara’s already up in his head doing it for him,  rolling out the well-worn red carpet of shame.     YOU FUCKING CLICHÉ.     YOU FUCKING PUSSY!     there’s not a door in the world he can’t get through without the right smile and story,  and he’s oh for two already.          ❝     hey,  look.     ❞          rewind.     pick up another script,  the one with the casanova just blown in from a vague out-of-town.     vagueness leaves room for interpretation.     for generous guesses,  for first impressions scissored into strategy games     (     hi,  my name is jack,  pick out a drink for me to pay for and let’s hurry home together.     ).     a clear of his throat,  a shift of his weight as he stands a little straighter,  looks a little sweeter.     his head jerks toward jess,  brows knitting together for a beat.          ❝     is this what you’re doin’ all night?     this what they told you to do all night long?     just this?     ❞

@suckession :  i  forgive you   ⁄    one-liner   .

an   𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝  silence  betwixt  them  has  vexatiously  exaggerates  the  unfortunate   𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵    ––––––    unbeknown  error  has  placate  him  into  submission  that  he  has  made   𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞   /   GRIEF  SHOULD  BE  PERCEIVED  ,  yet   !   bewilderment  EXUDATES  into  question  :  does  he  even  𝘄𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗵𝘆  of  forgiveness  ,   when  feelings  is  concealed  underneath  faux  certainty   [ … ]   DWINDLING  HIS  OWN  TIE   (  why  did  he  even  wear  this  thing  ?   it  suffocates  him  )   ;   he  refuses  to  see  her    ––––––    as   𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭  proffer  in  remission  of  unspoken  salvation   [  WHY  HE  DIDN’T  FEEL  THE  PAIN  WHEN  HIS  CHILDREN  ARE  CRAWLING  IN  SORROW  OF  GRIEF  ?   ]

❛   i  ,  uh  ,   it  was  a  𝐛𝐚𝐝  idea   [ … ]   to  give  a  big  rabbit  in  the  first  place  ,  ❜    bluffing  ,    he   𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘𝒔  he  chose  it  because  he  wanted  to  be  DIFFERENT  than  rava   /   a  sort-if  fun  ,  absent   parent  who  had  a  thoughtful  mind   (  regardless  of  the  fact  he  hasn’t  paid  attention  on  how  his  children  have  gotten  so  big  )    [ … ]    &.   he  knows  how  the  children  love   something  extraordinary,   picked  by  their  father  ,   for  the  sake  of  theatrical   bonding   ;   a  token   to  be  recognized  whilst  the  father  is   𝗮𝗴𝗼𝗻𝗶𝘇𝗶𝗻𝗴  himself  to  be  seen  by  their  grandfather     ––––––    calloused  fingers  rubbed  against  each  other  ,   lethargically  peeks   from   his  lids  for  solace  ,    ❛   y’know  ,   i  ,  uh  ,  should’ve  given  them  dog  ,  they  would  love  it   &.   dog  eat  bagels   [ …  ]   RIGHT   !?   who  the  fuck  am  i  kiddin’   IT’S  MY   𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐓   /   HOW  THE  FUCK  AM  I  GONNA  FIX  THIS   ? ? ?     what  to  tell  them  !?     “  𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆  𝒎𝒆   children  ,  i  was  in  silly  mood  for  feeding  death  trap  to  the  rabit  !?    𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐒   …   please   ,   help  me.  ❜    

NO  FUCKING  SHIT  he  sticks  out  like  a  sore  thumb.      there’s  plenty  to  joke  about  in  this  vein,    even  long  before  digging  into  the  matter  of his  vertical  length.      greg  feels  less  like  a  slat  amongst other  planks,    even  when  he’s  able  to  comfortably  slot himself  besides  the  likes  of  tom,    or  even  kendall    —    pushing  it    —    and  more  like  a  splinter      …      no,    more  like  a  nail  that  has  yet  to  be  hammered  down.          (      that  is  to  say  :      a  NUISANCE,    a  hazard,    a  red  flag  among  red  flags.      cumbersome,    bothersome,    more  trouble  than  he’s  worth.      he’s  sure  marianne’s  called  him  most  of  the  above  at  some  point  in  his  ragged  adolescent  years.      )          still,    something  in  that  stupidly  foolish,    smooth  -  brain of  his  assures  him  that  he  has  the  right      …      the  privilege  to  offer  up  consolation.      AS  IF  HIS  OPINION  IS  SOMETHING  WORTH  LISTENING  TO.          HE  KNOWS  IT’S  NOT.      greg  has  never  had  the  most  interesting  or  poignant  takes.      still      …          ‘  maybe  it’s  all  fine.      maybe  they  just  share  a  big  bed  together,    right?      and  they      …      watch  friends  reruns  together      …      and  they    —    they  drink  milkshakes.      that’s      …      that’s  not  UNamiable,    right?  ’          idiot.

canon  -  dialogue  starter  call.                     @suckession​​

❝     it doesn’t really inspire your work.     ❞          repetition slugs off of her tongue,  hollow,  like it’s from a script she glanced at once     (     WILLA’S DIALOGUE GOES HERE,  STAMPED IN SOLID BLACK     /     mara’s is scribbled to the side,  illegible spare for the profanity,  the paper underneath stained by the once-there ring of a beer can.     ).          ❝     no,  of course not.     what was i thinking?     ❞          she blinks,  the threat of theatrics gnawing at her cheek and pressing to make it an open wound          —          she imagines jack,  if he were at her side,  scrambling to bandage it back up before the carnage became too much.     he’d find a way to say play nice in a single,  silent look,  then cut into the conversation himself when that wouldn’t work.     a small,  polite laugh chimes through her lips.          ❝     it’s a thing with you behind-the-scenes guys.     you keep yourselves so busy working,  you forget to keep up with the rest of the world.     i get it.     i only don’t have the same problem,  ‘cause,  y’know,  i’m the actress.     i’m the rest of the world that the rest of the world is keeping up with,  y’know?     ❞

if chit-chatting were an olympic competition    ,    he might get first place for it    ,    gold medal and victory song and all that dumb jazz losers with too much time on their hands and weak minds think is worth their time   .    it might be the only thing the youngest roy son actually excels at    ,     if he were ever to be named excelling at anything    (     not if his father has a say in it    )   .    but even that has a chink in the procedure     -     roman definitely does not have the attention and neither the energy to converse with some low-level glorified ass-wiper of his brother’s entourage   .    as much as he loves the guy on a sunny day   ,    there is only so much he can take to his tender sensibilities   .    thank fuck greg’s not here   ,    that might push roman’s limit of unimportant bullshit for today   .    “    of course he wouldn’t call one that’s not important    ,    ”    he replies    ,    followed by another dismissive gesture of his hand as he reclines in his seat   .    at this point kendall could call the fucking council of ancient rome back to life just to go over his bullshit instead of sucking it up and ignoring it like a fucking grown-up   .     what the hell else is new in this company  .    “   well   ,    he’s a wet towel these days   .    i do can imagine things worse than my sad lump of a brother    .     but then again he’s never been a real boss  .   wait   ,    is he even your boss?    he can’t even raise his kids to save his life   ,   so  …     “

it goes into one ear and leaves out of the other without much time or energy to register what she said   .    roman is used to this    -    people talking to him   ,    the sake of talking    ,    turning him into a place to vent or rant to because he is there    (    and always the easier choice than his siblings    ,    full offense here     )    .    he disregards it as he disregards most anything that hasn’t been said to him by the approximately five people whose voices he gives a shit about and can recognize a name to them when they speak    ,    family members part of this list due to dire circumstances of genetics and a will in place only   .    “    i can’t think of a reason why i would   ,   ”   he retorts   ,   sitting himself down on one of the fancy leather couches in the office   ,    but rather the armrest than the seats   ,    letting one leg dangle in the air  .   if he has to slum it with the office flies   ,   he sure as shit won’t do it while standing around for his damn brother  .   what is this?  not a pre-school play he needs to wait on his bows for   .   kendall might always beg him to have his back in oh-so many words   ,   but in the end roman’s been waiting on fair payback for years   .   yeah  ,   he stopped waiting on that front  .   no use  .  this is just passing time   .    “   is it important?   don’t answer that  .   i can’t really imagine  .   working for my brother sounds like a nightmare   ,    actually   .   ”

words don’t sting him       -      hardly anything does   ,   that’s not his father’s hand   ,    or attention    ,    or ignorance   .    generally anything considering his father and anything happening around him    .    an orbit as awful as what one might find when you’d fly too close to the sun    ,    not in the metaphorical sense though    ,    in the flying to space in a bullshit tin can type of way   .    yep   ,    that’s his family    ,     and he‘s on the general consensus that anyone putting themselves in the line of fire without needing to must either hate themselves spectacularly or is just fucking dumb   .    now     ,     he knows shiv’s husband falls to the former group    ,    their weird estranged cousin to the second   .    but kendall’s assistant     -      jasmin?    justin?    jessica?     ,    something like that he thinks but he doesn’t care enough to ask     -      seems to be neither of that   .    who knows    ,    maybe she’s sorry for his brother   .   kendall sure is pitiful     ,    made it an art form    .      “   you didn‘t put it into a question   ,   ”    he agrees    ,    unconcerned   .   though he wonders too when his brother is going to be here soon    ,    or better yet when gerri will be   ,   save them from their misery  .    “    isn’t that   ,   like   ,   your job?   that’s what he pays you for?    i don’t think he pays you for hanging around saying useless things   .    i hope so   .    but he should be here soon   .    it’s his stupid meeting  ,   after all .   ”