"...Why are you telling me this," Khartsakhan asked, his typical agitated voice and harsh consonants cutting through Isak's statement mid-way. Khartsakhan wore black that day, hair up in a tidy bun with his hood hanging off of his shoulders just waiting to be pulled up. Golden eyes glowered down at Isak who sat at his desk... Impatient. Demanding.
Isak sucked in a slow breath, cool as ever even under that hot, scrutinizing glare. "Because you need to hear it, Khartsakhan." He shrugged his shoulders, relaxed as he pulled one leg over the other and rested his hands in his lap, folded together. "I value our working relationship very much!"
"How the fuck does cutting my hair have anything to do with our working relationship," he snapped quickly.
"You look like... a very handsome homeless person. Not to mention -- I'm sure that it would be easier for your day to day i--"
"Your opinion doesn't mean shit to me. It's not getting cut. Can't tolerate the way I look standing in your office or bordering the parties you like to flirt around at? Fire me or shut the fuck up."
Isak smiled, pitch eyes moving between those molten golds. "Why is this the only thing you clung onto among the entirety of our conversation? I don't believe you lack that much self confidence. Was it because everything else hit home so you lashed out about the one thing you felt was actually wrong?"
Khartsakhan then realized that Isak placed the landmine on purpose. His shoulders climbed up his neck and his face twisted up. As his mouth opened to bark back, Isak spoke again.
"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Listen to me," he said, leaning forward as his foot dropped to the ground beside the other. "You're no value to me if you're dead, Khartsakhan. Talented as you are, you aren't immortal. Start acting like it. I won't be the cause of your untimely death."
Khar held onto that breath he'd inhaled in preparation for the yelling -- mouth still open... he stalled and, eventually, stepped back once. "I'm sure you won't find yourself dead one of these days because you fucked the wrong bitch," he finally said in a dark, even tone. "Maybe you should clean up your own act before you try to fix mine. The next time you get shot up because you stuck your dick in a mouth and pussy that couldn't keep quiet, I'll just leave the fucker."
"Not like you were effective in that situation anyway. I got shot,” came a quick, unamused retort.
"And I dealt with it afterward, didn't I? What about this fucking artist? What's wrong with her? Crazy ex-boyfriend? Crazy father, too? Maybe she's fucking crazy and she's going to slit your throat in your sleep. Wouldn't that be rich. Smart-ass Isak Ciardha, felled by a pathetic little thing that can barely hold a knife because she got fucking jealous. Figure your way around that one."
Isak was already standing, vaulted over his desk and pointing a letter opener at Khartsakhan -- but he was quickly disarmed. It clattered to the floor as his wrist was twisted. Still, Khar didn't humiliate the guy further. He let him go and Isak just hissed a hateful sigh.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he said as he turned away from the Xaela.
"Sure I don't," Khartsakhan said as he started toward the door. "See you later, boss."
Isak slumped against his desk as the door to his office shut behind Khartsakhan... And he crumbled. Finally, he cried. Just a couple days after his and Elina's blowout and he finally... finally cried. And he didn't understand it. What was happening to him?