previous: [5:6]

~~

[2:7]

“This is Katherine.”

In hindsight, calling up the number she’d pried from the depths of Wes Evans’s official website with her head still spinning from Krazy Glue fumes might not have been the best move. “Hi! Uh. Is this the agency for Wes Evans? I’d like to–”

‘Eternally bored’ does not describe the voice on the other end of the line with nearly enough justice. “Do you have business with my client,” the woman asks with no hint of a question mark.

“I– Not, erm, professionally, but this is an urgent m–”

Click.

Maka pulls her phone away from her ear and, sure enough, the screen tells her the call has ended. She grinds her teeth, cursing under her breath as she redials.

“This is Katherine.”
“Hi! I’d like to set up an interview with Mister Evans.”

The resulting silence on the line causes Maka’s mouth to twitch into what can only be described as a self-satisfied, Soul-approved smirk.

“…I’m transferring you to Scheduling. Please hold.”  There’s an uncomfortable clatter and some rustling noises, so Maka simply leans back into the living room couch and waits, pleased she’ll be talking to someone who is hopefully a thousand times less rude.

Ten seconds pass, and she’s mildly surprised by the lack of any distorted elevator music playing while she’s on hold– though she does hear something. Maka mashes her phone closely to her ear, straining to pick out faint background noises. There’s a low, mechanical whine reminiscent of a powered car window rolling down; a crinkle of cellophane, some rhythmic clicking, and sigh follow.

It might be the glue fumes, but it sounds like someone is in the middle of a smoke break. Before Maka can screech into the phone for anyone to pick up, there’s another muffled clatter.

“This is Scheduling,” a woman says in the exact same voice and cadence as Katherine. Maka only just catches herself from crushing her cellphone in her hand. “My client’s next available slot is the week of Easter.”

Reeling, she slides off the couch and onto the floor, irritation overtaken by shock. “E-Easter? No, you don’t understand– I need to talk to him immediately, as in preferably today.”

“Uh-huh. And what magazine, paper, or station do you represent?”

“I’m–“ She winces. Sighs. ”…not a reporter.“

Click.

Maka nods, unsurprised. She doesn’t bother swearing this time as she immediately redials.

“Flat learning curve, I see.”
“I call it perseverance, thank you. Look, it is nearly Christmas and it is imperative that I talk to Wes before–”
“My client is extremely busy during the holiday season, so either get a clue or talk to someone who cares.”

Growling at her coffee table, Maka throws all amiability to the wind and spits, “I feel bad for Wes’s career if this is the agency behind the scenes.”

“Tell that to his bank statement with a straight face.”
“Grinch.”
“I’m blocking your number.”
“Smoking gives you cancer.”

Click.

"UUOOOOOUGH!”

Maka tosses her phone to the coffee table, next to the horrifically lopsided record she’d glued back together. She glowers at its inelegance, the newspaper she’d spread underneath it as a drip guard for the glue having inevitably attached itself like a grade-school arts and crafts project. She’s tempted to break it again and put it out of its misery.

Rubbing violent circles into her temples, she decides more help on this mission is required. It’s probably a bad idea, but as she picks up her phone once more and dials Kid’s mansion, she plans on blaming glue fumes (and agents named Katherine) if things go awry.

~~

first: [8:1]
previous: [5:6]

next: [9:8] TBC (eventually)