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No. 40835256
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>>40834711 >>40834799 >>40835041 Data collection was no special task - everyone in the world was capable of seeing and hearing every important piece of information around them, and anyone in the world would have found it trivial to see and hear the proceedings before them in Poet's position, even accounting for the painkillers and heavy duty medication raging through his system. No, it was data processing that Poet found his niche in, and here it was that most would have found themselves reeling from the sudden influx of information to process and observe, the sight of Amos stepping in, wearing a helmet, his every microexpression as he spoke, the information that he brought with him, that of his payment, which he already knew of, and that of the reasoning, which he had previously only been able to guess at. Then came Driftwood's reactions, and quick self assurance that Poet was paying attention. Of course, he was.
He took things slowly, subtly withdrawing his posture of relaxation once Amos entered, addressing Driftwood first, but at the same time letting his mind wander, and piece together his response to Amos, thinking ahead, but otherwise taking things one step at a time, so as not to further confuse himself, nor his new associates.
"Quite right, Driftwood. The credit chit is presently resting upon my nightstand," he pointed out, his speech rapid and unrelentingly enunciated, to the point where it would be no large leap of logic to compare his speech patterns to the vocalizations of the average machine gun. Like a machine gun, then, he took only a short breath, to adjust his fire, so to speak, instead now aiming his words in Amos' direction, despite his evident refusal to make eye contact with either of them, his expression more or less blank as he riddled out his verbal response. His tendency to ramble, if not already established, would soon be so.
"In order, I sustained a very long and quite embarrassing fall, but there was nothing so special about it save the inconceivable luck I had to fall directly upon a passing police vehicle that bears the worth of words. Fragility notwithstanding, I have every intention of returning to my position in your employ at earliest convenience, slated for the thirty-first."
Another breath, reload, lock, adjust.
"My gratitude knows no bounds, though knowing the payment was made in necessity, and evidently so begrudgingly, does you few favors. Nonetheless, this is only semantics, and bears nothing in the way of relevance," he continued, calling into consideration Amos' nervous expression, snatched into the cages of his mind in a glance before his gaze had fallen elsewhere, "Your fears are unfounded, then, I think."
Breathe deep, calm, control, discipline. He'd had this mental process prepared in the case he was ever called in to perform surgery someday, and much like surgery, conversations of importance, he believed, were not so variable as to lie in the hands of fate, but in the mortal hoof of skill, precision, and a watchful eye. This was the science of his tradition, so to speak.
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