Interview at the Empire State Building (Zack)

[aviabselon]

Admittedly, Avi wasn't entirely sure how he had kept a job at this firm so long. Between his noxiously negative point of view, his public smoking, and his generally impolite behaviour, it was rare that he kept a job very long, but here...well, clearly they thought enough of him to be interviewing a job candidate. Though he had gotten to this position on occasion during his working career, he didn't think it had ever been for such a position as this one. It was some science-y, number-y thing, one of those jobs that he couldn't necessarily not do, but that probably wouldn't interest him enough. He was more of a thinker and a reader than a number-cruncher...but to each his own.

In all honesty, Avi figured he should be somewhat respectful of the interviewee in this case. After all, the job sounded pretty difficult, and the candidate would most likely be above average intelligence. Avi had noticed there was a distinct lack of that in New York City, and he was honestly looking forward to the prospect of encountering someone with a brain wrinklier than a ping pong ball.

Office...he had an office. Or, well, it wasn't really his office, just the company's office, but for the time being, he would be its lord and ruler. It was spacious, with a lovely maple wood desk, two chairs on one side and a handsome office chair on the other. Two charming whitewashed bookshelves filled with paperweights and fake plants and a variety of yellow-paged old books stood against the wall opposite him, and there was a generic painting or two hanging on the superwhite walls. Admittedly, using the words "lovely" or "charming" to describe anything made Avi want to hurl into the precious woven wastebasket in the corner, but he swallowed the rising bile in his throat and moved with languid steps towards the desk.

He was more dressed up than he could remember being in a long time - slacks instead of jeans, a blazer (given, one that didn't match his pants well), a button-down shirt...but no tie, because those things were horrid, horrid creations. Avi had a somewhat irrational fear of things being close to his throat. It was one of his many (many) idiosyncracies.

Just having come in from a smoke break, the 26-year-old seemed very "chill" as he sat down in the Big Man's Chair behind the desk, slipping his shoes off and hiding his feet beneath the wood. The shoes were uncomfortable, and it wasn't like the interviewee would be able to see his feet. Avi saw no point in wearing shoes.

Leaning back in the chair, he looked steadily at the ceiling and began musing over the ingredients in a Saltine cracker while he awaited the arrival of the candidate.

[ZACK CHARMING]

“’Scuse me?” The woman glared bemusedly at him. “Didn’t quite catch that, sorry.”

For the love of God, thought Zack tiredly. Honestly, this was the Empire State Building. Now Zack wasn’t quite a connoisseur in the field of economics, but he did happen to be of sound opinion that if you were a high-rise cooperate building in the business world, proper educate dictated that you should be able to hire a secretary with an IQ that surpassed that of a Gregorian House Fly. But then again, what did he know? As he’d already been reminded by countless hot dog vendors and taxi drivers today, he was only a little numbskull. Nothing he could do that a responsible adult wasn’t perfectly capable of doing, right?

Uh-huh. Right.

“Abelson,” he repeated pronouncing each syllable slowly. “You know. A as in auspiciosity. B as in Byzantium. E as in excogitatorium. L as in lackadaisical. S as in shi-“

“Thank you,” muttered the woman, small dots of red in her cheeks dilating and expanding until her entire face appeared to be stained a deep scarlet. “Fourteenth floor.”

“Thanks.” Zack flashed her a thumbs-up. “Oh, and do you mind checking the database and seeing what his first name is? Because I seem to have misplaced the paper.” He shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, Microsoft Excel’s a complicated exemplification of our technological world, but I’m sure with the proper intuition and a smattering of diligence, it won’t be too difficult to get a handle on.”

The secretary rewarded him with a regretful face. “I’m terribly sorry, but employee files are stored under a password protected file accessible to only the CEO.” She shook her head, long blonde curls reflecting the fluorescent lighting from above.

Zack groaned. Had this chick passed Kindergarten or what? “So just access the common server by reconfiguring the communal passcode, then recalibrate the mainframe’s hardware system,” he replied slowly, as if explaining the concept of toyboxes to an infant. “Whiiich they obviously don’t teach you in secretarial school,” he finished, in response to the horror plastered across her features. “Alrighty, lemme see that apparatus.”

A few minutes later Zack was in the room, laying eyes upon “Avi.” Most likely a pseudonym, he concluded, though one could never be completely sanguine. He presented himself well, and seemed a bit younger than the venerable, decrepit simpleton he’d envisioned.

The office smelled like smoke. That was his first sensory perception. He slid into the mahogany chair in front of the office, propping his feet up on the desk and folding his hands behind his head. “So,” he began, avoiding eye contact with the guy. “Yes, I am a fifteen-year-old senior. No, I did not cheat on my placement exams. Yes, I do have something of a knack for numbers, and no, I don’t hide a calculator underneath my shirt. Yes, I do happen to know some things, and no, I’m not going to write your dissertation for you. Can I go now?” He pulled out a thick wad of twenty-dollar bills and rubbed it across his forearm, grinning broadly. “There’s some large-breasted women outside absolutely dying for this money, if you know what I mean.”

[aviabselon]

He had spent about ten minutes in the office and had become so comfortable that he had curled his stockinged feet up beneath him in the chair. The biography of Descartes, one of his favorite books, was opened on one side of the desk; on the other side was a book on the philosophy of Immanuel Kant. As he waited (im)patiently for the arrival of his interviewee and reflected on his desire for another cigarette, he seemed to alternate between the two books, using two simultaneous trains of thought to focus on both works at once.

This was something he had learned to do in his childhood, during lulls in homework assignments.

Though he wasn't really keen on having the candidate see his feet, said candidate seemed to be in his office (his office...his office...he'd never had an office) faster than expected, and Avi was looking up slowly from the book on Kant when the boy slouched into a chair, put his feet on the marvelously clean maple desk, and began rattling off a long string of baseless information that Avi had neither asked him for, nor, in some cases, meant to ask him for.

This immediately grated on his nerves, but instead of immediately voicing his distaste towards the boy's actions, he shut both his novels quietly, stacked them neatly one on top of the other, and put his feet back down. He steepled his fingers, set his elbows at the table, and looked at the stranger placidly over the edges of his fingernails, his dark brown eyes utterly calm.

"I'll keep my response as concise as I can," he said, his words highlighted by an English accent. "Having read your application, I am aware of your age. I have no doubt that you did not cheat on your placement exams, because if you had, you would not have anywhere near, intelligence aside, the audacity to come into my office and tell me you're qualified for this job. I can see very clearly from here that you do not hide a calculator under your shirt, but it doesn't really matter to me if you use a calculator or not, and I'm sure it doesn't matter much to the firm, either, so long as the calculations are correct. I'm sure you do know some things, and I am also sure that I am never going to ask you to write my dissertation, because if I had a dissertation to write, I would write it myself. And no, you cannot leave, because, in that lengthy stream of answers, there was an extraneous detail or two, as well as several details in nonattendance. Therefore, Mr...Charming, is it? I know it's painful, but I'll have to ask you to sit in that chair for a little longer." He paused, sighed. "...ah, that wasn't very concise, was it. I suppose I'm wasting your precious time."

Relaxing his arms, he leaned back in his chair and looked coolly at the money in the other's hand. "I've frequently been told I take things at face value too often. I'm certain there are women standing on the sidewalk with prominent bosoms, and I'm sure they're very pretty in that 'look-what-the-cat-dragged-in' way that I despise, and I'm positive they would be very excited at the prospect of receiving that money. But you have overlooked one crucial detail, my friend, and that is that I am not the smarmy wanker you automatically assume I am, and you offering me money for hookers so I can get me jollies gets you no closer to the job."

He cleared his throat. Though there was a slight air of condescension about him, it was not in the smug, "looking-down-his-nose" kind of way, but rather a distinct perfume of "you push me, I'll push you back." The boredom had lessened ever-so-slightly in his eyes, though, and he seemed intent on the boy across from him. "Now then. Down to business." He clapped his hands together decisively and sat up straight. "Do you have any prior experience with work of this nature?"

[ZACK CHARMING]

OOC: I DID NOT ANTICIPATE ZACK BEING SO MEAN IN THIS POST. MY APOLOGIES

Sighing heavily, Zack pulled a Rubik’s cube from his pocket and flipped the tiles back and forth absentmindedly. He wasn’t a staunch believer in multi-tasking, but he’d found over the years that applying his intellect to a mind-stimulating exercise such as a Rubik’s cube often helped to focus his intellect on the task at hand (a mind that simply brimmed with the inclination to wander). Zack shut his eyes for a second, willing the nothingness forward, willing the rich, full emptiness to wash over him like a tsunami, engulfing him in a sensation of…complete non-sensation.

His surroundings shimmered before his eyes, then flickered out of focus. The reds and greens of the Rubik’s cube tiles consumed his vision, closing in until they swirled into and around each other, blending together and separating instantaneously. Zack’s hands moved automatically, working the tiles expertly in and out of each other as the patterns of the cube floated through his Void. Numbers began to throw themselves into the mix now, equations and algorithms instilling themselves within his mind, one after the other, competing for his attention. The colors swirled into alignment with the numbers, and Zack’s hands spun the tiles without question. It would’ve been utopia, utter bliss…

If Loner Stoner hadn’t been gabbling away opposite him.

"Having read your application, I am aware of your age. I have no doubt that you did not cheat on your placement exams, because if you had, you would not have anywhere near, intelligence aside, the audacity to come into my office and tell me you're qualified for this job. I can see very clearly from here that you do not hide a calculator under your shirt, but it doesn't really matter to me if you use a calculator or not, and I'm sure it doesn't matter much to the firm, either, so long as the calculations are correct. I'm sure you do know some things, and I am also sure that I am never going to ask you to write my dissertation, because if I had a dissertation to write, I would write it myself. And no, you cannot leave, because, in that lengthy stream of answers, there was an extraneous detail or two, as well as several details in nonattendance. Therefore, Mr...Charming, I know it's painful, but I'll have to ask you to sit in that chair for a little longer…oh, that wasn’t very concise, was it. I suppose I’m wasting your precious time."

Zack snapped back into reality, blinking rapidly to steady the blurry images surrounding him. His eyes flickered to the cube clenched in his fingers, which was, at present, solved. He tossed it distractedly between his hands. “Rawr,” he growled sardonically. “Well well well, no need to get all uptight, Mr. Weed Tweed." He raised both hands in mock surrender, sending the Rubik's Cube clattering to the floor. “You got crack to smack, you got crack to smack. Don’t let me stand in the way of you and your grizz.” He paused. “Or is that too ghetto a word for a cosmopolitan industrialist such as yourself?”

"I've frequently been told I take things at face value too often. I'm certain there are women standing on the sidewalk with prominent bosoms, and I'm sure they're very pretty in that 'look-what-the-cat-dragged-in' way that I despise, and I'm positive they would be very excited at the prospect of receiving that money. But you have overlooked one crucial detail, my friend, and that is that I am not the smarmy wanker you automatically assume I am, and you offering me money for hookers so I can get me jollies gets you no closer to the job."

Zack raised his hands higher, widening his eyes. “Smarmy wanker. How perfectly idiosyncratic.” He leaned in and braced his elbows against the desk. “Mentally challenged as you may delineate me to be,” he began in lowered tones, “I did manage to draw that conclusion before. Not being born yesterday tends to give one that sort of advantage in adverse interactions such as these.” He flashed another thumbs up.

"Now then. Down to business." He clapped his hands together decisively and sat up straight. "Do you have any prior experience with work of this nature?"

What even was this job again? He’d applied for so many through this nonsensical “student career program” that he couldn’t even classify them to himself. Probably something with numbers. That category made up the majority of his potential choices. Every company used numbers in some way, right? One way or another? It was a fair assumption to make.“None, I’ll admit,” he began. “But if I’m not mistaken, this firm uses mathematics on a daily basis. And I have something of a…knack for numbers.” He winked cheerily.

[aviabselon]

It took every ounce of Avi's determination not to be fired from this well-paying job to keep him from throwing a paperweight at the boy across the table. It wasn't that he wasn't adjusted to insolence, for he was on the receiving end of that quite often in this uncivilized metropolis, he'd just imagined the character applying for this job to be a little more...mature?

No, the kid's demeanor was definitely mature. Maybe it was just the rudeness pissing him off.

He needed a cigarette.

But, wait a second. This boy had no right to try to get under his skin; Avi was the one who decided when he was going to be irritated, and right now was not the best time to become irate. Therefore, he passed judgment right at that moment that he wasn't going to get angry. It wouldn't do any good, after all, and Avi was somewhat a creature of practicality when it came to his source of income. Besides the extra he spent on smokes, Avi's money was usually used quite resourcefully and efficiently on what he needed based on priority.

He needed this money. Nothing rash could happen that might even imply he could lose his job.

“Rawr. Well well well, no need to get all uptight, Mr. Weed Tweed." He raised both hands in mock surrender, sending the Rubik's Cube clattering to the floor. “You got crack to smack, you got crack to smack. Don’t let me stand in the way of you and your grizz.” He paused. “Or is that too ghetto a word for a cosmopolitan industrialist such as yourself?”

Avi chuckled a little at the young candidate's attempt at being clever and leaned back in his chair, coolly unfazed, though there was only the wisp of a smile still on his face. "Putting aside the fact that you just called me 'Mr. Weed Tweed,' which sounds more like the title of a song by a 60's rock group, it'd be fantastic if you could speak English instead of that half-baked street lingo, you're obviously smarter than that. And ugh, don't call me an industrialist, you'll make me lose my lunch all over this lovely maple counter." He patted the desk affectionately, then glanced back up at the boy. "Crack's not my street, by the way, but thanks for offering."

Oh, but the kid was talking again. He'd best not interrupt.

“Smarmy wanker. How perfectly idiosyncratic. Mentally challenged as you may delineate me to be, I did manage to draw that conclusion before. Not being born yesterday tends to give one that sort of advantage in adverse interactions such as these.”

"Quirky is as quirky does," Avi responded, gesticulating towards the fallen Rubik's cube with his head before leaning back again, seeming at peace. "And now I suppose I should smack my own wrist with a ruler for hypocrisy. Just moments ago I was reprimanding your ghetto language, and here I am slanging it up myself." He laughed lightly and shrugged his shoulders, then allowed his head to loll to the side as he watched the boy across from him. "If you'd drawn the conclusion I wasn't a smarmy wanker who would hire you based on hooker money, then why bother offering?"

“None, I’ll admit,” he began. “But if I’m not mistaken, this firm uses mathematics on a daily basis. And I have something of a…knack for numbers.”

"Alright, good to know," Avi responded with a slight quirk of his eyebrow. "Give me an example. Talk nerdy to me."

[ZACK CHARMING]

"Putting aside the fact that you just called me 'Mr. Weed Tweed,' which sounds more like the title of a song by a 60's rock group, it'd be fantastic if you could speak English instead of that half-baked street lingo, you're obviously smarter than that. And ugh, don't call me an industrialist, you'll make me lose my lunch all over this lovely maple counter. Crack’s not my street, by the way, but thanks for offering."

Well. This supercilious numbskull had certainly memorized his fair share of grammar textbooks. Although honestly, though Zack hated to admit it to himself, he could tell from the syntax, the brevity and clarity of his cadence, that he was something of an intellectual. Zack enjoyed working with intellectuals. Those who were quick to accept their utter inferiority, at any rate. And this did happen to be the most stimulating conversation he’d had in some time. Zack was thinking, for once actually thinking about his responses to this imbecile’s phrases. He was utilizing his logic for a purpose that wasn’t extraneous mathematical equations or physical formulae. That was certainly something.

“Putting aside the fact that you are someone who is honestly under the impression that ‘Weed Tweed’ is street lingo, you seem to know your colloquy.” He chuckled to himself. Not to mention, the guy’s aversion to the word ‘industrialist’ had struck a chord somewhere in Zack’s mind. He was feeling something he couldn’t remember ever having felt before. “And believe me,” he added, flicking a lock of hair from his eyes, “comparatively speaking, I am delving into highly sophisticated English. Dip your hopped up little head into Baum Academy next time you’re feeling particularly ghetto.”

Zack Charming was rarely at a loss for words, but this was proving to be one such occasion. What was this feeling? Not happiness, certainly. He experienced happiness at frequent intervals: when he computed an arc tangent or natural logarithm faster than his own calculator, when he solved a particularly herculean scientific puzzle or augmented his vocabulary with a new word which hadn’t been encountered before. Zack’s intellect was so focused on labeling the sensation that he only half-absorbed the next speech that his interrogator nourished him with.

"Quirky is as quirky does.” Zack grimaced. “Pertinent, pertinent indeed.” In any normal situation he would have settled for ‘fair point,’ but today he was finding his vocabulary filter moving further and further back into the doldrums of his mind. He was slipping from his usual façade of plain words into his native tongue. "And now I suppose I should smack my own wrist with a ruler for hypocrisy. Just moments ago I was reprimanding your ghetto language, and here I am slanging it up myself. If you'd drawn the conclusion I wasn't a smarmy wanker who would hire you based on hooker money, then why bother offering?"

Oh honestly. “My friend, allow me to introduce you to an intimate compatriot of mine. He’s commonly referred to as ‘sarcasm’ though those of a more sophisticated caliber might prefer ‘acrimony.’ He’s quite conciliatory.” Was it…admiration? Not quite, not yet anyway. Admiration was what he felt for Einstein when skimming through his publications. Even if many of the man’s conclusions were meretriciously wrong, he still had nerve. Zack didn’t admire this man, not yet anyway.

"Alright, good to know. Give me an example. Talk nerdy to me." The man raised an eyebrow.

Zack returned the gesture. “Nerdy? Now who’s resorted to street lingo? I prefer ‘intellectually adept.’ But we’ll leave it be.” Alright, here it was. Here was his chance to prove himself. Zack didn’t press the matter to himself: he didn’t work well under pressure. He closed his eyes and retreated into the nothingness, allowing the numbers to flow freely through his brain. Pi, he thought loudly, allowing the concept to echo off the walls of the void. The numbers sprang apart and bled together, waltzing and knocking into each other. Zack spoke in a voice that echoed from a distant universe.

“The first ten digits of Pi are 3.141592653. Multiplied together we arrive at a sum of 97200.” Zack felt the numbers gain in intensity, whirling around him at speeds unfathomable to mankind and their puny little brains. As he manipulated the numerals like pawns on a chess board, new sums swam before him. “The square root of 97200 is 311.76915, rounded up. The square root of that is 17.65698, rounded down. The arc tangent of 17.65698 is 86.75852, rounded down. The natural logarithm of 86.75852 is 4.46312, the cube root of which is 1.64644, rounded up, and the cube of which is 88.90285, rounded up.” He grinned and opened his eyes, feeling a slightly nauseous sensation as he thrust his brain back into the confines of the real world. “Well? Nerdy enough for you?”

[aviabselon]

Ahh, the impertinence of a young mind. Avi was still uncertain whether or not he was amused or frustrated, but what he could recognize quite immediately is that, for all the boy's discourteous way of speaking, he was quite adept, and Avi had to say he valued a good intellect. In fact, this was most certainly the most stimulating conversation he'd had in quite some time, and he found his fatalism dimming just slightly with the knowledge that there was actually a youth of this level of intelligence seated before him.

It was...refreshing. Had he used that adjective already? He could no longer recall.

“Putting aside the fact that you are someone who is honestly under the impression that ‘Weed Tweed’ is street lingo, you seem to know your colloquy. And believe me, comparatively speaking, I am delving into highly sophisticated English. Dip your hopped up little head into Baum Academy next time you’re feeling particularly ghetto.”

"Well, one could overanalyze 'Weed Tweed' and place its roots in such street lingo, but it's really not something I'm too terribly intrigued with," he responded. He almost felt a smile quirk at his lips; had this youthful academic just complimented him? Even if it wasn't intended that way, it certainly was the nicest thing he'd said to Avi so far. "I'm sure it would be enlightening, but I doubt I'll ever feel such a need," he responded with a note of sarcasm.

“Pertinent, pertinent indeed.” Another semi-compliment, Avi reflected to himself, though he didn't voice this to his companion. There was no excessively drawn-out response to his little quip, which intrigued him, as he'd assumed the boy (he was becoming hesitant to refer to him as 'boy,' but felt he did not yet know him well enough to refer to him in thought by his proper name) would pick apart his statement and find a way to say something rude about it - he seemed quite apt at doing that already.

"Thank you," he responded simply, with an acknowledging dip of the head.

It felt inappropriate to admire someone younger than himself - then again, that view was somewhat elitist - but Avi certainly did appreciate this conversational partner he'd acquired. Though he still wasn't offended by the occasional biting tone in the other's words, he had to say that it was easier for him to be honestly irritated when his offender was... "speaking his language," in a way. Avi had hardly ever felt so engaged.

"My friend, allow me to introduce you to an intimate compatriot of mine. He’s commonly referred to as ‘sarcasm’ though those of a more sophisticated caliber might prefer ‘acrimony.’ He’s quite conciliatory.”

"Ahhh, I'm acquainted with your dearest 'acrimony,' I assure you, but I'm known to be a bit too direct for his tastes sometimes. He and I do not always see eye to eye." Avi didn't find it unusual to personify things, as he did it often, and he was pleased to see that his fellow had no qualms with it, either. He couldn't say that Charming had succeeded in making him feel 'stupid,' as he was a bit too egotistical to allow such a pitfall in his self-esteem, but he could note that the youth had quite effectively made him feel slightly sheepish. He almost wanted to applaud him for it, as Avi had never met another boy of his age with the ability to do so.

"Nerdy? Now who’s resorted to street lingo? I prefer ‘intellectually adept.’ But we’ll leave it be.”

"My apologies if you found it inappropriate," Avi responded, though there was a slight smirk in his voice that indicated he wasn't entirely earnest. That didn't make the statement intentionally acidic or derisive, but it did touch on the fact that he wasn't a particularly apologetic being. It was more of a jest in good fun than something derogatory.

And then, the young man began to spew the language of numbers, and Avi sat back, enthralled.

He had never been particularly talented with numbers - words were his greatest strength - but he'd always been considerably better with them than his peers, whose mathematical skills left much to be desired. And yet, here was a fifteen-year-old high school student listing off more complicated calculations than he supposed the CEO of this company could only dream of doing. He felt something odd and unfamiliar...was it awe? It wasn't quite admiration, but there was definitely a note of astonishment to it, and pleasant surprise.

This was fast making his week.

“The first ten digits of Pi are 3.141592653. Multiplied together we arrive at a sum of 97200. The square root of 97200 is 311.76915, rounded up. The square root of that is 17.65698, rounded down. The arc tangent of 17.65698 is 86.75852, rounded down. The natural logarithm of 86.75852 is 4.46312, the cube root of which is 1.64644, rounded up, and the cube of which is 88.90285, rounded up. Well? Nerdy enough for you?”

Avi whistled, a less smirky sort of smile creeping into his expression as he raised both of his eyebrows in surprise. "Impressive," he mused. "Your mind must be simply a wonderland of algorithms and calculations if you can spin all those numbers off the top of your head." A slight chuckle escaped him, the first honest laugh of his in weeks that was not scathing or contemptuous. "I see no reason why I shouldn't hire you, unless you can provide me with one."

[ZACK CHARMING]

Zack felt a psychic jab like a cattle prod, jolting him back to reality. Numbers pranced through his consciousness, which he strained to shove to the back of his thoughts while simultaneously attempting to formulate a witty response to whatever had just been said. What had he said? Zack often encountered relapses of memory while travelling between the worlds of the literal and the figurative, the unimaginative and the unimaginable.

He was also, as he was starting to realize, positively ravenous. He’d eaten two slices of whole-wheat bread this morning in the Baum Dining Hall, but wasn’t entirely sure when he’d next indulged himself in food. Was it just him or had this gentleman been eating crackers earlier? Crackers, certainly, or something of the like. He’d undoubtedly have more, stashed away somewhere. Or at least, he certainly seemed to be of that caliber.

So what had he been saying before the conversation had taken its abrupt U-turn? Various ripostes to what he’d so charmingly remarked over the course of the past interview. Something about his use of the term “acrimony” which, as far as he could recall, was to the affirmative…and then the compliment.

“Impressive," he mused. "Your mind must be simply a wonderland of algorithms and calculations if you can spin all those numbers off the top of your head." A slight chuckle escaped him, the first honest laugh of his in weeks that was not scathing or contemptuous."

Had Zack just been…complimented? Admired, even?

Thousands of characteristic witty retorts were just beseeching to be spouted right now, but Zack harnessed them, with difficulty. He’d never been adulated concerning his intellect before, and honestly wasn’t sure of the appropriate reciprocation. “Erm…thank you.” That should do, right?

He’d also never heard his mind described in that way before. He supposed that “a wonderland of algorithms and calculations” was quite an interesting way to phrase it. Although “arbitrary, anarchaic mass of numbers” was probably a more definitive term, it was the closest it was probably possible to come, having not experienced the sensation itself.

"I see no reason why I shouldn't hire you, unless you can provide me with one.

Again, the retorts forced themselves against his mouth, but Zack would’ve hated to lose the respect he seemed to have obtained from this person. Could he be…a friend, perhaps? Zack wasn’t sure of the terms that really constituted a friend. He didn’t have that many.

“I got nothing.” He threw up his hands. Oh, and he was still hungry. “And while we’re questioning, would you happen to have any food?”

Well this was certainly evolving to be quite the interesting afternoon.

[aviabselon]

Avi had, throughout his years of schooling, been known largely as "The weird kid from Britain who's too smart" - and it was always TOO smart, like it was possible to be TOO smart, like it was bad or wrong to be TOO smart. Perhaps that was why he felt...he didn't want to call it a connection, but some strangled form of empathy for this kid. He was obviously far too smart for whatever peers they'd placed him with, even considering he seemed to have skipped so many grades already. The public school system was atrocious - that, Avi knew from personal experience, as well.

He felt for this boy...what was his name...Zack? Yes, Zack. Though their minds clearly functioned on different planes - Avi's in the realm of words, Zack's in the realm of numbers - their intellectual situations were reminiscent of each other.

Perhaps that was why he was smiling. Avi didn't often smile.

“Erm…thank you.”

The boy seemed a bit startled at the compliment, and Avi assumed it was because he had not received a fair amount of praise for his genius - that was a shame, really. Avi himself had received both respect and criticism when it came to his own intelligence, neither of which were particularly pleasant when encountered in abundance.

"You're welcome," he responded simply, though the simple formality of the reply almost made him cringe. He hated common courtesy, and yet, even he was continuously compelled to use it.

“I got nothing.” He threw up his hands. Oh, and he was still hungry. “And while we’re questioning, would you happen to have any food?”

The inquiry made him tap his lips lightly with an index finger, frowning slightly. "I believe there is a cafeteria somewhere in this blasted building, but I tend to carry my own lunch. I do not tend to trust food I haven't prepared myself." That made him sound awfully paranoid, but it was less a matter of paranoia as it was a matter of Avi being an atrociously picky eater. Very rarely did that damn cafeteria serve up anything he found worth consumption.

[ZACK CHARMING]

"You're welcome," he responded simply, though the simple formality of the reply almost made him cringe.

God. To put it lightly, polite people made Zack want to assault himself repeatedly with the nearest possible metal object. He began to rotate the tiles of his Rubik’s cube again, staring straight ahead at the wall and the alluring person across from him. Honestly, Zack had been at this interview, for lack of a better word, for less than an hour, and already he had absorbed the notion that this perspicacious young (or young-ish, at least) man who was eyeing him with an almost vainglorious grin that Zack recognized as mirroring one often located across his features, was completely different than any of the supercilious autocrats that inundated the Honors classes Zack took at Baum Academy. Certainly Mr. Abselon didn’t seem to harbor mathematical or scientific tendencies, though Zack had to wonder if that was determined by talent or choice.

And Zack really didn’t know anything about politeness. His conversations were either inordinately intellectual or seductively flirtatious, and neither carried any sort of quota of pleasantries. What did one say after “You’re welcome”? He rifled through his memories for the last AP English class he’d attended, probably in mid-March or April, but nothing came to mind. Hmmm. “Um. K.”

"I believe there is a cafeteria somewhere in this blasted building, but I tend to carry my own lunch. I do not tend to trust food I haven't prepared myself."

Zack nodded. “Ah, the beauty of processed food. The rations at the fine institution of Baum Academy are most comparable to freeze-dried astronaut rations. I tend to make my living off of apples from the nearest farm stand and Arizona Iced Tea.”

He glanced down at his Rubik’s cube and rolled his eyes when the fact that it had been solved dully registered in his mind. He began to mix the tiles around again, trying to arrange it as anarchaically as possible. “So, don’t take this the wrong way,” he began distractedly. “But what exactly does this job do?”

[aviabselon]

What was the purpose of a turn of phrase such as "You're welcome"? Where on earth had it even come from, and why did it exist? What was the significance of telling someone they are welcome to thank you? Was that even what it meant? How utterly perplexing, he reflected, his eyes seeming almost empty as his mind drifted to another plane of existence for a moment.

You're welcome. It was stupid. Stupid. Entirely rubbish. He would stop using such an absurd and unnecessary formality as of now. Yes.

"'We have too many high sounding words and too few actions that correspond with them,'" he mumbled, mostly to himself, quoting Abigail Adams almost subconsciously. It was natural for him to draw up little quotations he'd come across over the course of his tremendously boring lifespan. He tended to remember them easily.

And, speaking of which, perhaps he was overthinking this whole "You're welcome" thing. Another quote drifted to mind, a little boat in the sea of his consciousness. We should have a great fewer disputes in the world if words were taken for what they are, the signs of our ideas only, and not for things themselves. John Locke. Yes, he was overthinking it. And the boy was talking again, he had to pay attention.

“Ah, the beauty of processed food. The rations at the fine institution of Baum Academy are most comparable to freeze-dried astronaut rations. I tend to make my living off of apples from the nearest farm stand and Arizona Iced Tea.”

"The beauty indeed," he drawled sarcastically, drifting back into the conversation with a wry smile. "Baum Academy, you say? I recall the place only vaguely. Frankly, any school institution disgusts me. They're all sub-par, whether it be here or England." Ahhh, the glory of the English schooling system. He had despised it almost as much as the American counterpart. "That sounds like a delightfully delicious, if nutritionally-lacking meal plan, but wouldn't it get tiresome after a time?"

“So, don’t take this the wrong way,” he began distractedly. “But what exactly does this job do?”

Avi chuckled, redirecting his train of thought. He was very good at this. He wondered, sometimes, if he could manage maybe three, four conversations at once. It was something he would have liked to try sometime.

"In all honesty?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "They hardly wasted their precious breath telling me. It's something to do with complicated mathematics they cannot do themselves, and which someone like me is unwilling to do for them." He leaned back in his big, classy chair and sighed. "Perhaps you could ask the CEO himself. I'd like to be witness to a conversation between the two of you. Perhaps his frontal lobe would spontaneously combust. I'd love to see that."

[ZACK CHARMING]

Zack watched his interrogator distractedly, while his fingers spun the tiles of his Rubik’s cube with a mind of their own. He’d solved and mixed it several times over, and was now channeling his energies into arranging each side in a pattern of his peripheral intuition’s preference. He’d succeeded in creating a single band of blue tiles around the top of the cube, but had recalled too late that there weren’t actually enough orange tiles to do the same without disrupting the superlative pentacular arrangement of red tiles on the bottom. How perfectly beleaguering.

The man across from him had paused in his rhetoric and appeared to be allowing his mind the freedom to wander. Zack did the same. It wasn’t often that he truly granted it full reign: too often there was another interminable class to attend, another ignominious debate team meeting or “Academic Bowl” practice to attend, another paper to strategically bullshit or female exemplar with which to perform obstreperous, insubordinate actions. It wasn’t often that he could abruptly release his barriers and allow his raw intellect to pick its own poison. So he sat for what seemed like a long time, not quite retreating into his void, but simply thinking and thinking and thinking, of the mysteries of the multiverse, of life and motivations and dreams, and principles of life and logic and reason, and concepts so utterly and indescribably paramount to the laughably frivolous capabilities of the human mind that Zack couldn’t even describe, let alone classify or quantify them.

"'We have too many high sounding words and too few actions that correspond with them.'"

Zack nodded in agreement, as if the arbitrary comment was the most sensible statement in the world. “Actions? Meaning is what is lacking in that respect.” He flung his vocabulary filter to the wind, allowing his lips to spew the first example that penetrated his thoughts. “For example, I’m sure there is an inordinately apposite reason that humans possess the inclination to say ‘Excuse me’ after sneezing and such, but I cannot for the life of me see it. What on Earth does one excuse with such a sentence? An archaic bodily function? And if such a bodily function were such a blatant travesty as to warrant forgiveness, in what universe does a simple “excuse me” justify it? Certainly that’s anti-climactic in its own right.”

Of course, the man was still talking. "Baum Academy, you say? I recall the place only vaguely. Frankly, any school institution disgusts me. They're all sub-par, whether it be here or England."

“Say that again.” Zack snorted, tossing the Rubik’s cube into the air with his left hand and catching it with his right. “Only lesson I’ve learned is that math teachers can’t be trusted to tell a simple Euclidean Vector from a Kronecker Product, let alone disseminate said information to a group of infantile pupils. Honestly.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s honestly reminiscent of spending the day in an abominable sort of pig pen, with the teachers as farmers.” He blinked, then shook his head. “On second thoughts, the teachers are the troughs. The imbecilic pigs just lap away at them all day long, slurping information in, digesting it, and depositing it insensately upon the ground.”

"In all honesty?" Ah yes. The job. The reason he’d come here in the first place. "They hardly wasted their precious breath telling me. It's something to do with complicated mathematics they cannot do themselves, and which someone like me is unwilling to do for them." He leaned back in his big, classy chair and sighed. "Perhaps you could ask the CEO himself. I'd like to be witness to a conversation between the two of you. Perhaps his frontal lobe would spontaneously combust. I'd love to see that."

Zack had no reply except to chuckle. “Wouldn’t that be a sight.” This man never ceased to amaze him. This was, what, the third sort of compliment he’d received today? He’d never been complimented on his intellectual capabilities before, and he’d never been one to fish for praise. Still, he’d found that he liked being complimented. It wasn’t bad, wasn’t bad at all.

[aviabselon]

It filled Avi with somewhat of a...not precisely glee...but a similar feeling, perhaps more subdued, perhaps a contentment or a satisfaction or a pleasure or a gratification, that this young man was capable of following his train of thought. He'd thought the boy somewhat arrogant and hard to cope with at first, but, he reflected, how else could the boy have turned out? He was good-looking and incredibly smart, and he had most likely known it all his life. In fact, Avi reflected, delving back into the mountains of psychology textbooks he had studied, there was probably a very distinctive and very structured rationale for the way he behaved.

Avi was only now beginning to understand it. He could hardly hold young Mr. Charming responsible for having grown up in the society he did.

"Actions? Meaning is what is lacking in that respect.” He flung his vocabulary filter to the wind, allowing his lips to spew the first example that penetrated his thoughts. “For example, I’m sure there is an inordinately apposite reason that humans possess the inclination to say ‘Excuse me’ after sneezing and such, but I cannot for the life of me see it. What on Earth does one excuse with such a sentence? An archaic bodily function? And if such a bodily function were such a blatant travesty as to warrant forgiveness, in what universe does a simple “excuse me” justify it? Certainly that’s anti-climactic in its own right.”

"Oh, indoubetably," Avi concurred immediately, nodding a bit in agreement. "It is 'mannerly,' I suppose, but I have never understood precisely why. I'm certain it has roots in some ridiculous old custom we have carried on into the modern day, but it seems utterly absurd to have to 'excuse' oneself from a natural function of one's body." He shook his head slightly in disdain. "That is a habit, fortunately, that I have never acquired. I find it pointless."

He paused for a moment before continuing. "The nuances of the English language are indeed in abundance. For instance, I have often wondered about the significance of the word, 'goodbye.' I'm certain it has some sort of root in Old English of some sort, but I've always been unclear on what exactly a bye is, and what, pray tell, makes it good."

“Say that again.”

Avi stifled the usual urge he got when someone used the phrase "You can say that again," which was, in fact, to say what he had said over again out of spite. But this young man was undeserving of that.

“Only lesson I’ve learned is that math teachers can’t be trusted to tell a simple Euclidean Vector from a Kronecker Product, let alone disseminate said information to a group of infantile pupils. Honestly.” He rolled his eyes. “It’s honestly reminiscent of spending the day in an abominable sort of pig pen, with the teachers as farmers.” He blinked, then shook his head. “On second thoughts, the teachers are the troughs. The imbecilic pigs just lap away at them all day long, slurping information in, digesting it, and depositing it insensately upon the ground.”

"Ha! Ahahaha." Ohhh, this one was a truly priceless character. "What a fantastically accurate metaphor. Indeed, it does all seem to go in one end and out the other rather rapidly. It is a shame that the piggy memory of the average student is so very lacking in capacity that they actually require continued review of the same subject matter in order to comprehend and remember it completely. I find it quite pathetic sometimes. Even more inane is how easily their adult counterparts take to entirely forgetting everything they were taught in school. What is the point of sending a child to school and making them suffer the wrath of their nation's educational system for...what, over a decade at the least, only to have them forget every last scrap of information those teachers spent such an extended period of their time cramming into their insipid little brains?"

That was a rather long sentence, but he was starting to lose the usual filter on his thoughts.

“Wouldn’t that be a sight.”

He couldn't help but chuckle again. "It certainly would be," he replied, folding his legs up onto the seat of the chair again. "You would draw more amusement from him if you had so admirably endured his hellishly moronic behavior for as long as I have."

[ZACK CHARMING]

Zack spun the tiles of the Rubik’s cube for the fourth time, grinning as the colored tiles met their appropriate compatriots with a satisfactory click. He tossed the cube into the air with his left hand and snatched it mid-tumble with his right. Ah. Life was good. In all the hustle and bustle of this imprudent, inexorable, pitiless city, Zack was content here. Here, in this office of infinitesimal dimension, glaring over the vast, infinite city with its tiny, inconsequential window, Zack belonged. He wasn’t an imposter here, an outside observer with gifts that the world he’d been born into could care less about. Here, he existed. Here he was not a mere spectator on society at large, but a participant.

It was nice. A nice feeling.

"Oh, indoubetably," Avi concurred immediately, nodding a bit in agreement. "It is 'mannerly,' I suppose, but I have never understood precisely why. I'm certain it has roots in some ridiculous old custom we have carried on into the modern day, but it seems utterly absurd to have to 'excuse' oneself from a natural function of one's body." He shook his head slightly in disdain. "That is a habit, fortunately, that I have never acquired. I find it pointless.” He paused for a moment before continuing. "The nuances of the English language are indeed in abundance. For instance, I have often wondered about the significance of the word, 'goodbye.' I'm certain it has some sort of root in Old English of some sort, but I've always been unclear on what exactly a bye is, and what, pray tell, makes it good."

Zack was about to nod and continue the conversation as he usually would, when he decided to play along a bit more. He could feel their association drawing to a close, which he didn’t want. He enjoyed this feeling: it was probably as close to being high as a drugless invalid like himself had the ability to come. “It’s from the Latin ‘excusare,’” he dictated, allowing his tongue to take over his mind. “To obtain redemption or release,” in the verb sense of the word ‘excuse’ can be traced back as early as the fourteenth century. I would assume that in those days most bodily functions were considered sinful in some regard. I mean, women couldn’t show their ankles.” He rolled his eyes. And he was an outcast. The hypocrisy of it all. “Conservative society, eh?”

He dug into his mind again. He was such an aberrant specimen. So much knowledge crammed into the recesses of a squishy organ in his head. How did natural selection create exemplifications such as himself and the man across from him? What was the evolutionary advantage? Zack stared at the man’s tidy hair, the eyes that flickered intuitively around the room. Zack attempted to picture the man at his own age, a high school senior teetering on the edge of adulthood. What had gone through his mind as he’d peered down the road ahead? What thoughts had flickered across his consciousness briefly, like a single glimmer of light, and which had plagued him as he slept and ate and walked the Earth? Had he ever wondered or wished, as Zack had, for things like…nah. Probably not. Zack shook his head, shrugging.

"Ha! Ahahaha." Ohhh, this one was a truly priceless character. "What a fantastically accurate metaphor. Indeed, it does all seem to go in one end and out the other rather rapidly. It is a shame that the piggy memory of the average student is so very lacking in capacity that they actually require continued review of the same subject matter in order to comprehend and remember it completely.”

Zack’s lips broke into a grin. “Right? Like, what is the use in reviewing such inane a concept as the Fundamental Integral Theorem of Calculus multiple times over? Saying something once is enough to imprint the words in one’s mind. The standards these days are inordinately lax.”

I find it quite pathetic sometimes. Even more inane is how easily their adult counterparts take to entirely forgetting everything they were taught in school. What is the point of sending a child to school and making them suffer the wrath of their nation's educational system for...what, over a decade at the least, only to have them forget every last scrap of information those teachers spent such an extended period of their time cramming into their insipid little brains?"

“My thoughts exactly.” His mind drifted to his AP Calculus teacher. Now that was a character. “Why on Earth an adult would chose to partake in such a flawed discipline as education shall always be an enigma to me.”

And there was another compliment. Zack never got compliments. Surprisingly, it didn’t inflate his ego like he’d always assumed. Rather, it seemed to brighten his entire demeanor. He liked it.

[aviabselon]

Avi casually watched the Rubik's cube turn and turn and click and roll through the air, reflecting on the strategy involved in the solving of a Rubik's cube. Oh, there was a method, and he had learned it long ago...something about getting the middle pieces to correspond with the center pieces and getting the white side first...something like that. Perhaps this young man had a more mathematical strategy to it; he certainly seemed the type. It had been some time since Avi had partaken in the strategic adventure involved in the six-sided, colorful, cube-shaped logic puzzle.

“It’s from the Latin ‘excusare,’” he dictated, allowing his tongue to take over his mind. “To obtain redemption or release,” in the verb sense of the word ‘excuse’ can be traced back as early as the fourteenth century. I would assume that in those days most bodily functions were considered sinful in some regard. I mean, women couldn’t show their ankles.” He rolled his eyes. And he was an outcast. The hypocrisy of it all. “Conservative society, eh?”

Avi chuckled dryly and nodded in response. "I suppose that is correct...something that can be traced back to the overwhelming influence of the church in that day and age. But I digress; I'll not go into my complicated philosophy about religion and its lasting effects on modern society." With a smirk, he added, "I never understood that stigma against ankles. Personally, I find nothing sexually exciting about a woman's ankle. It's only a bone jutting rudely out from the otherwise smooth side of one's leg, covered by a thin layer of skin. The appeal of it is lost on me." Tilting his head slightly to the side, he nodded in agreement. "Conservative indeed."

Similarly to Zack's thought process, Avi too was reflecting on what he had been like his senior year of high school. Awkward, he recalled. Awkward and British. They didn't call it "senior year" in Cheshire, either, but that was beside the point. His last year of school before college, he spent most of his time reading books in the library, skipping classes because he was already too familiar with the nauseatingly simple content the teacher was cramming into the brains of lesser beings. He had no reason to go to class, and he still passed every test with flying colors. His peers seemed to have been caught between fear, reverence, and dislike. No-one liked having someone around that was that much more intelligent than them.

But so it went.

“Right? Like, what is the use in reviewing such inane a concept as the Fundamental Integral Theorem of Calculus multiple times over? Saying something once is enough to imprint the words in one’s mind. The standards these days are inordinately lax.”

"Inordinately," Avi agreed with another little smirk, pressing two fingers to his lips thoughtfully. "When I was your age, I rarely saw the point in even coming to class. My class-skipping was quite strategically planned. I spent many review days of my British History course reading up on philosophy in the library. No-one stopped me."

“My thoughts exactly.” His mind drifted to his AP Calculus teacher. Now that was a character. “Why on Earth an adult would chose to partake in such a flawed discipline as education shall always be an enigma to me.”

"Some of them are sadists," Avi reflected, twirling a pen between his fingers. "They enjoy watching children suffer. Some honestly believe in education and making a difference, but if you ask me, half of the children currently enrolled in this country's system of public education don't give a damn about absorbing new information. They are truly the ones responsible for how agonizingly slow the system has become; teachers are forced to teach to below the average." He rolled his dark eyes. "It is positively nauseating."