Space-Invader

Funny Business

Another Space Invader timestamp. Are you wondering how in the world Darko and Nigel could run a security company? Well, let’s follow them to a meeting, shall we?

Huge thank you to @chronicopheliac & @wrathofthestag for quality control. And a massive thanks to @plan-d-to-i for Romanian that wasn’t nabbed off of google!

         “What are the rules?” Darko adjusted his tie, a light blue silk that added a pop of color to his charcoal grey suit. He looked respectable, Cosmo had told him so. Nigel, in his black suit, black shirt and no tie, looked like a goddamn hood, as usual.

         “Fuck you.”

         “Do you want me to call him? Because I fucking will.” Darko dug in his pocket and held up his phone.

         “Fucking tattletale.” Nigel grumbled, running his hands through his hair. “You know how pathetic that is?”

         “Almost as pathetic as you being afraid I’ll do it.” Darko tucked the phone back in his breast pocket. “Now, the rules.”

         Nigel sighed, stretching his neck. Darko watched the stripper peak over his collar. 

         “One, no fucking cursing. Two, no physical altercations, even if they’re cunts. Three, let you do all the talking. Four, don’t make faces when you’re talking.”

         Darko raised an eyebrow.

         “Five?”

         “Don’t fucking question the rules.”

         Cosmo and Darko had spent an hour creating the rules after the Nigel’s first pitch meeting had gone…poorly. He accidentally called the CFO’s wife fat, made fun of the security guards, and told the office manager he was a twat for making the pin pad wires easily accessible. Darko had to admit that Nigel was right, but he also wasn’t surprised when his follow-up call was ignored. 

          Darko pulled at Nigel’s shirt, fastening the open collar buttons. He still looked like he was selling coke, but at least now he looked like an upscale dealer.

         “If you want to clear $800 grand a year, we fucking need this company, nenorocitule. Think of all the mac n cheese you could buy Cosmo. Don’t fuck it up.”

         Nigel rolled his eyes. Darko sighed and headed toward the building. He really wanted this contract. If they cleared this, then he would be set for years. Nigel would be set for years. Maybe Darko wouldn’t have to worry so much about his staff, Cosmo, and his best fucking friend. This contract meant no more grumbling about drug money being better, no more field stripping guns in his boxers at 3 in the morning, and maybe a Cosmo of his own, with a nice ass, big tits, and smiling eyes – someone to come home to besides Nigel. 

         He glanced to his left, Nigel was strolling through the lobby glancing around like he was casing the joint. The rent-a-cop behind the security desk glared at them, picking up the phone to make a call. Nigel caught the guy’s eye and sneered.

         Great.

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