What's There To Complain About (Isaac Foster)

[Julian McAllister]

There was just something magical about viewing the city skyline at dusk- the dark buildings, standing tall and strong against the red sea of a darkening sky, like teeth or fangs in some horrible monster's mouth. Not usually the average idea of 'magical' beauty, but intriguing none the less. It was enough to make one wonder what kind of godly forces would be required to rip the towers from their foundations, to bend their dark forms and wave their solid shadows around in ways not considered natural to them. How much power did it really take to change someone's nature? Julian grinned quietly to himself before turning his attention back toward the crowd of people sitting around him. They all seemed so small, sitting there in their outdoor tables, hunched over their drinks and shying away from him almost unconsciously, he assumed because of his height. He stuck out in a crowd, there was no doubt about that, like a great dane at a dachshund convention or an aircraft carrier amongst a fleet of submarines. Sometimes a blessing, sometimes a curse, he realized quietly as he caught the brown eyes of a middle aged woman, who seemed to have to crane her neck to get a good look at him, and did so without shame or subtlety. The lycanthrope just smiled at her warmly, gave her time to get her visual fill of his slender form, his dark hair and his bright, chilling eyes before looking away again, lifting his wrist to check his watch.

7:43 pm was the time to be interpreted by the white ivory facing, gold hands pointing delicately in their respectful directions. Forty-five minutes after the agreed meet time, he realized but without scowling or removing the grin from his angular features, only slightly shaking his head. He'd been late to his first interview as well, though not by so much time. His train had been delayed by a group of teenagers who refused to pay for their ride and would not leave the transit system quietly, causing a massive twenty minute ruckus that had almost lost the lycan his only decent job opportunity in months. Fortunately, his employer had been late too and the two had arrived at this exact same establishment at about the same time three months earlier. The memory was a fond one, and the corners of his eyes quirked up with the genuine smile that spread across his face before he hid it self-consciously with one hand, quirking his long straight nose a few times before settling down to continue his wait.

He couldn't blame the young man in question. The life of a janitor is not one to be rushed into with beaming smiles and excited gestures. The job was a tough one and offered little pay considering the amount of often times horrifically disgusting work involved. But a job was a job, and with the company being so under staffed with the holidays approaching fast, it seemed logical enough to wait around for the guy to show up. After all, Julian thought with a smirk, lifting a glass of soda to his lips and taking a long sip, the more time he spent sitting here waiting for this 'Isaac' character to show up, the less time he had to spend mopping up poop in the museum bathrooms. The applicant could be two hours late for all he cared. Human relations was not really his department anyway, but the original staff member elected to welcome the newbie into the "training" program, if you could even call it that, called in sick this morning. Someone had to do it...

And "it" involved sitting outside of a quaint cafe drinking soda and munching on breadsticks for an hour. This was something he could get used to.

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[isaacf]

Isaac was not a people-person.

He hated crowds, with their intolerably slow speeds and noise and constant jostling about like mindless salmon swimming somewhere to spawn. He hated groups and couples, always bursting out in sharp peals of laughter that needled his ears like a physical shove, stopping to hold hands or walk alongside one another and do you really need to be taking up the whole sidewalk when you do that some of us have places to go. He hated the individuals and the way they'd bump into him or try to strike up a conversation, girls batting their eyelashes and giggling until he fixed them with a sour glare, men trying to talk about sports and parties until his rakish smile and short temper informed them that no, he had no interest in being your "bro."

He hated the term too, come to think of it. "People-person." What other kind of person could you be? Even if you were a werewolf roaming through the wilds of the forests - which he had done, during one phase - there was always that inexplicable urge that shoved him back towards civilization, that goddamn urge to be in a pack, have friends, talk to someone, anyone, or else go out of your mind with madness and turn into something you can't even recognize anymore. He'd done that, too.

Perhaps, he thought as he checked the address he'd scribbled down on a ripped and now folded corner of paper, that would still be a better alternative than having to apply to - what were they calling it, "Custodial Services?" Fancy name for a job that involved mopping hallways and cleaning toilets. No doubt children vomiting and spilling their drinks everywhere, people leaving food in places - did this museum even have food? He hadn't been in a history museum since he was a child, and had he had his way, he could have definitely abstained for another fifty years. But, as any pseudo-intellectual on the street could tell you if you asked, the economy was crap and jobs were more scarce than most people could remember, and when Isaac had been scouring the papers and online ads a job that potentially involved solitude and not having to work at an office desk or run drugs seemed pretty damn fantastic.

Speaking of this job, he had no idea what he was supposed to do now. He was definitely at the right food court in the right mall - unless the receptionist had completely given him the wrong information. "Talk to Julian," she'd said, "You'll know him when you see him." He ran his tongue over his teeth and jerked his head up, hazel eyes scanning over the throng of people. Who the hell eats dinner at 7:30 in a mall food court? Apparently every family in New York. Julian, she'd said his name was, Julian... something. It had sounded Irish. Or maybe Scottish. Mc-something? Probably would have been good to write that down too. Not like he could identify someone by only their name, anyway. Some sort of physical feature would have been nice. Isaac's eyes narrowed, focusing on the people sitting alone. There was an older man with a thick mustache sitting alone and reading a paper, he looked like a janitor. A younger woman was texting on her phone - no, probably not her, she didn't seem like the janitor type, based on her clothing. A woman eating a plate of pasta. A man checking his netbook. A skinny, dark-haired guy cramming his face with breadsticks, looking around expectantly. He had a messenger back slung over the back of his chair which Isaac could see was stuffed with manilla file folders. Did he look like a Julian? Hell if he knew.

Gritting his teeth, he made his way over to the mustache-man's table, hands in his pockets and shoulders squared. He hated this, hated having to go up and ask and not know what he was doing, be put at the mercy at some fat bastard who probably didn't know his right from left. He cleared his throat and put on his best (he assumed) non-predatory smile.

"Are you waiting for the job applicant?" The man blinked up at him stupidly and Isaac internally kicked himself. "Nevermind." He turned and glanced around again. He had been somewhat late, maybe Julian-whats-his-face had simply given up and left.

[Julian McAllister]

The air took on a sudden flavor, a certain density, a certain... something, the word for which seemed to be escaping his distracted mind, and it made the lycan look up from his table suddenly, brows knitted in confusion and maybe a tad bit of concern. It was like smelling smoke before a fire, that sharp spice, thick and heavy, practically assaulting the senses like a fist to the face. It screamed eminent danger, registered in the mind as flashing lights or a howling siren, the kind of thing that made the heart quicken and the blood rush to the center of your chest, hitching your breath. It seized Julian like an icy hand around his neck and his gaze darted amongst the cafe patrons, searching for the source he seemed to know was there. How, or why, he had not really bothered to ask, as usual. One does not ask why there is smoke in the building, one only seeks to escape the ensuing blaze.

But this was no smoke, and there was no fire, no police cars, no emergency personnel. In fact, no one else seemed to notice the heavy change in the atmosphere except for him. The brown eyed woman continued her chat with her estranged husband, the young girl at the bar continued to fuss with her phone, a couple of college age love birds strolled by with a laugh and the grasping of hands, and the table of middle aged women continued to giggle and gawk at any fair looking man who wandered their way. Julian recognized the high pitch of their laughter, it had been directed his way only fifteen minutes ago. But, as he panned his attention their way, he found their fake nails and not so subtle stares directed elsewhere, somewhere nearby, to the left maybe.

That was a cue his senses could recognize.

Sitting upright suddenly, keen, cool eyes found themselves resting amongst the stubble of a young gentleman's face. Like everyone else in the room, he was shorter than Julian, but by how much was difficult to tell due to the fact that he was standing and the lycan was still folded gracefully in one of the chairs at a table. His hair was dark, his eyes light and wandering over the various faces of the crowd, as though searching and a rumpled piece of paper was clutched in one of his burly hands. With no shame, Julian reached over with one long arm and gave the man's jacket a soft tug, child-like almost, unwilling to shout over the chatter and crowd noises to get the others attention. He hoped that would be enough to turn hazel eyes his way.

"You're Isaac..." he paused briefly, trying to remember the name on the application without having to fish it from his bag. "...Foster? Right? The job applicant that Linda sent over."

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[isaacf]

For all his bravado and tough-guy posturing, it took a considerable amount of Isaac's self control to not spin around and aim a fist at whatever had suddenly grabbed onto the back of his jacket; he seemed to catch himself halfway and ended up smacking the hand with the side of his wrist. The inquiring voice was soft and faintly accented, and after a brief second of wild-eyed sweeping he found himself looking into the bright blue eyes of a willowy, dark-haired young man sitting at a table behind him, and Isaac promptly gaped at him.

He was a lycan - good God, how had he not noticed that he was here, were his senses really that unrefined - and he had the polite, open look of a child even though he couldn't have been more than a few years younger than Isaac looked. He smelled like water and curiosity, some strange, bright mixture with the tiniest hint of a dark undercurrent. Isaac clenched his jaw shut and twitched the corner of his mouth in what he hoped was a smile, folding the paper he'd been holding back into his pocket. Bizarre. Really bizarre. Was this some werewolf temp agency he'd been unaware existed? It had to be, or at least some sort of connection was there, there was no way you went for a job interview and your employer also just happened to be the same mythical beast that you were.

He wasn't entirely sure whether this was something good or bad, he realized. Maybe they wanted to keep him close, help him out, give him a job because they understood. Or they could be staking him out, threatening him. Perhaps they wanted him out of the area; he knew there was at least one major pack within the city, and doutbless there were also dozens of wanderers. Space wasn't plentiful between the humans, the hunters, the lycans and the vampires, and with a ripple of defiance Isaac realized he may well have to fight. Not here, not now, relax and just take the damn job.

The above had all run through his head in a matter of seconds, and he straightened himself slightly, bringing his eyes to maintain contact with the stupidly bright blue pair in front of him. "Foster, yeah." He gave a toothy smile and held out a hand (always the first initiate the contact I'm not running again not yet not now) "You Julian, then?"

[Julian McAllister]

"Not exactly." Looking a little sheepish, the taller of the two lycans took the outstretched hand gladly, without any sort of animosity or fear of having his appendages slapped again. A fear that might've been more justified than he realized. Instead, he grinned warmly, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Julian's my father's name. Linda seems to refuse to call me Junior for some reason. I believe she has a nephew with that name or something..."

He seemed to catch himself mid-ramble and apologetically raised his slender hands, palms out, as though in silent surrender. Surrender to what was really anybody's guess, but it didn't take much for the dark haired lycan to surrender. He was a follower, not a leader, had really always taken a secondary role in most group situations, and here too he seemed to welcome this stranger with open arms and a steady stream of silent curiosity. He chuckled to himself lightly, folding his arms before resting them on the table in front of him, leaning on them for support, one hand fussing with the rolled up sleeve of the plaid shirt he was wearing. It hung open, loose around his thin frame, revealing a hairless chest and a toned, but pale skinned core.

"Anyway, what you call me is not important. You'd like to be a janitor, is that correct?" How Julian managed to speak with such curious interest in something so mundane seemed baffling in the moment, but he simply shrugged his shoulders casually, as though small talk and conversation were second to his nature. They were. "I'm not going to lie- it's a tough gig you know. Any previous experience?"

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[isaacf]

Junior. His name was actually Junior. It took a lot of self-restraint to not openly sneer at that, but he managed to turn it into a tight-lipped smile. Isaac had known some Juniors. Quite a few Juniors, actually. As a general rule, they hadn't been the most esteemed companions; though of course, the majority of them he'd met while still bouncing between drug dealers, so perhaps it was just a circumstantial coincidence. Or perhaps this lycan was just as unsavory as the others had been. In a perfect world, Isaac wouldn't have to stick around and find out. Surely this guy wasn't a janitor, he looked more like a salesman or artist, with long-fingered hands that sat folded on the table and that same big, stupid smile. He was already annoying the older lycan - overly-peppy people like Jun - Julian tended to do that.

He held up his hands and smiled and Isaac realized he hadn't really been paying attention to what he'd just said, a little too hung up on the fact that he'd met someone who was not a child and still preferred to be called Junior. He leaned forward as he fussed with one of his sleeves and Isaac instinctively leaned farther back in his chair, arms crossed in front of his chest and legs splayed out in a manner that would look comfortable if you could ignore the rigid tension in his neck and shoulders, the way his eyes would momentarily flit sideways to make sure no one was approaching or moving too suddenly.

This was... not what he'd expected. To say the least. Janitorial jobs did not generally appear to fields of candidates that were over-qualified; he'd had them before, as they were one of the staples for people like him who had no GED or degree to speak of. It normally was a pretty cut-and-dry procedure (can you use a mop, are you fine with working night hours, here's the keys and some windex, see you tomorrow). This man in front of him though was talking in a cheerful manner that reminded Isaac somewhat of his teachers in high school, trying so valiantly to prove that arithmetic was not boring, but great fun. You'd like to be a janitor, is that correct?

He gave a curt nod. "Right. The - Linda said there was an opening on the late shift." It's a tough gig, you know and Isaac did actually give a little snort at that bit. No doubt the man in front of him - clean slicked hair, bright face, well-dressed and young - thought it was tough. Probably a wealthy kid who'd never known the hollowness of going days without eating or the feeling of having to keep on your guard or be killed. He wondered briefly how long he'd even been a Lycan; it would have to have been at least a while, for him to seem so thoroughly nonplussed by it. He hadn't even mentioned it in passing yet, which was a bit confusing, unless they were trying to put on a front - perhaps they wanted him to agree to something before actually talking, or needed to keep their guard high in case of eavesdropping. Isaac shifted uncomfortably at the thought and his shoe bumped into one of Julian's, and he drew it back quickly - Christ, how long were this kid's legs.

"I've done some work, yeah." He brought a hand up and rubbed the back of his neck, the side with the scar, out of habit, before realizing what he was doing and dropping it back down to his chest. "Nothing in museums but I've done cleaner and construction work enough times before. Can get the records if you need 'em." He paused, brow furrowing slightly. "Is there... any other aspect of the job that Linda wouldn't have told me about?"

[Julian McAllister]

As though noticing his companion's discomfort, Julian rearranged himself casually in his chair again, still supporting himself on his slender arms but this time without leaning so far forward. An observer may have been impressed, may have thought that the young twenty-something had actually seen the way the gentleman across the table had started and flinched. But, they would be putting far too much faith in those blue eyes of his. No, Julian was a stranger to the concept of subtlety. The way that this Foster fellow fidgeted and almost rocked in his seat with impatience was completely lost on him, the movement of his hands and the sideways glance all seeming like totally innocent acts of a bored mind, or perhaps someone looking for something. To be fair, Julian would be the first to admit that he did not seem like the janitorial type. His hands were clean this evening, his clothes casual, his person free of all pieces of cleaning equipment and the cover-alls all staff members were required to wear on the job. But he was not on the job. He did other things with his time, other than cleaning poop from toilets and dusting off dinosaur bones, he had no interest or need in fitting anyone's previously conceived expectations.

The dark haired lycan titled his head slightly to one side as he listened to the applicant's explanations, raising an eyebrow expectantly before letting it drift back down to its resting position at the base of his forehead. He'd been expecting a little bit more by way of conversation, but never deterred, he remained openly optimistic, grinning like the sun on a mid-summer's day. He didn't even notice when a booted foot brushed up against his own sandaled feet.

"Any... other aspect?" Julian repeated with a little bit of uncertainty, eyes darting to the side thoughtfully, as though thinking, and they remained there, directed down toward the slate tile floor that spread across the patio space beneath their table. "Well I can't imagine Linda told you much. She's a bit clueless, that one."

Julian chuckled quietly to himself at the irony of that statement, but chose to make no remarks. This Isaac person would find that out for himself soon enough.

"But um... No, I can't think of any secrets that may be important. Try to avoid children- they are nasty little buggers with a tendency to grab and tug on clothing with their snot-covered fingers. Don't break anything, get used to the smell of fecal matter and detergent... The usual." He paused haphazardly with a casual shrug, turning away slightly to take another long sip of his drink. The outdoor patio was open and full of fading sunshine with little to no shade to be offered. In the warm weather of a New York City summer, it was a bit of a roast out there.

"Jim just likes to know a little bit about the guys he hires on, to make sure they're not rapists or murderers. Not obvious ones, anyway. If you can hide your secrets, you can be whatever the hell you want in your free time. Just be sure he doesn't catch you doing it. He's not a big fan of scandalous behavior."

Though his words suggested something darker, Julian remained amused and composed, even laughing slightly himself, remembering a particularly funny time when his boss had made the mistake of doing something foolish in public. The old man hated public attention, and had reacted to the only minor scandal with rage and serious hatred. He shrugged again, casually, as though surrendering again.

"And Jim's the boss of our department so... whatever he wants, he gets."

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[isaacf]

This, he decided as he watched the man across the table chat animatedly about the ups and downs of working as a janitor at a history museum, was a weird day for Isaac Foster.

For starters, the fact that he had been at a point where he was desperate enough for a job to bring himself to delve into a mall's food court and engage in a conversation that wasn't laced with threats or pick-up lines was unusual in and of itself. That he was talking to another werewolf, the others he'd met so far who had seemed deadset on chasing him off or avoiding him since arriving in the city, was another marked change. That the aforementioned lycan was happily interviewing him for a job and seeming to not care at all about the fact that two supernatural creatures were sitting at a tiny cafe table, well. It followed the trend.

It was... puzzling. Isaac continued to sit rather rigid in his chair, carefully trying to scan Julian's words for any hidden meanings, implications, threats, hints, anything that subtly gave him a point of reference towards the whole "hey I'm a werewolf and you're a werewolf let's have a chat" ordeal. Julian himself seemed to be either a master of secrecy, carefully plotting something for later once they were alone, or else seemed to be just a genuinely happy guy doing his job. It was that niggling thought that set Isaac off the most concerned, a tiny fold appearing in between his brows.

People who were assholes, he could handle. People who tried to pick fights or rile him up, people who tried to pretend he was something he wasn't, get him to chase after them or run off scared - he knew how to react to that. Knew how to threaten or flirt back or throw a punch, when to back off and save his skin and when to stand up and do what his gut told him to. Isaac didn't hate people. Well, yes he did. But he was not content to sit alone in the dark and hate from afar like a kicked dog. He wanted them to see.

Nice people though, people who waited around 45 minutes after you were supposed to get there, people who adjusted themselves to make you comfortable, people who talked about mopping floors like they'd just read a fascinating novel - those people, this person, Isaac had less experience with.

If you can hide your secrets, you can be whatever the hell you want in your free time.

Yes, that, there we go. That was good, that answered his question, even if it was in the most roundabout way possible. So then this wasn't some complex scheme - or not on the surface, anyway. It was secure. Perhaps there were more lycans higher up, working on some sort of security for others. He didn't know. But he had found what he deemed a passable answer, and relaxed slightly, nodding once or twice as Julian continued to talk at him.

"Sounds decent enough, then." He shifted slightly in his seat. "Is there any paperwork I need to sign, references you need or... something like that." He glanced up, and (be charming be polite you need this money you need this security I can't move again I'm falling behind) gave a toothy smile. "Or are there other things you need to know first? I'd really like to get this job."

[Julian McAllister]

The mention of paperwork sent the lycan's cold blue eyes sideways suddenly and his expression twisted somewhat comically, like a cartoon character who had just been surprised by a plot twist. He let out a hiss, as though pained and spun quickly in his chair, reaching behind himself gracefully to the khaki-colored bag that hung from its strap over the back of his chair. The top flap was undone, straps hanging lazy and useless, revealing stacks of papers, a book and some other nondescript trinkets and items, which he shuffled through hastily, before revealing a small stapled stack of printer paper.

"Almost forgot about the paperwork. Man, Jim would have killed me..."

As he slid the stack across the table casually with one hand, Junior reached up with the other to scratch sheepishly at the scalp beneath the locks of wavy black hair that donned his skull. This was probably the easiest task he'd ever been assigned in his few months of working with this company, and still he had somehow managed to almost completely screw himself, and Isaac, over. Although the paperwork was more for legal purposes than practical ones, signing it before employment was still a requirement. Everyone had to. The typical mantra of promising not to steal merchandise, agreeing to show up to work on time, and so on and so forth. The unsaid rules of working in the United States.

Giving Isaac some time to read over the handful of pages- there were not many, five maybe at the most and the last was largely white space with a line for a signature, Julian sat back in his chair with a huffing sigh, still a little bit flabbergasted that he'd almost forgot the one thing he had to remember to do. The rage on Jim's face was practically tangible in his mind's eye and, though he doubted the portly man would've fired him for something so meaningless, it certainly would've earned him a good stern talking to and perhaps a cut in his hours slightly. With the economy the way that it was, that was simply not something that the lycan needed right now. Staring at the table thoughtfully, Julian pulled his hands slowly into his lap, folding his fingers together casually, watching them briefly as though counting to be sure they were all there. Of course they were.

"So tell me, Isaac." He started suddenly, eyes remaining in his lap where he had settled them. "Since I'm not terribly interested in returning to work in any sort of hurry, what did you do before all of this? What's made you need a job so desperately that janitorial work seems like a clever route to follow?"

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[isaacf]

Leaning forward a bit to pick up the stack of papers that had been thrust towards him, Isaac held them up slightly, flipping through the forms while his eyes scanned the paper that, to most people, would make him look as if he were intently reading the terms and conditions. In truth, he was flicking his eyes over the texts in search of any number of words - "lycan," "werewolf," "pack," anything that would explain exactly what the hell was going on with this job. To his frustration, he found them, much as Julian, to seem to give absolutely zero consideration to the fact that they were hiring Lycans.

Now this wasn't unusual - in his many years, the number of jobs he'd gotten that actually were related to the supernatural or had any amount of connection he could count on one hand. But then again, he'd never been interviewed by another Lycan and been so thoroughly brushed off. There was nothing - no clauses, no promises, no warnings, nothing. Well, there was one warning, but it was referring to the fact that if Isaac decided to steal any mops or office supplies they'd hunt his ass down. Not exactly the type of explanation he'd been looking for.

Still confused but willing to just sign the damn things and get this part of his day over and done with so he could get out of this god-forsaken food court, he set the papers back down on the table in front of him; his hand started to reach forward automatically before he realized Julian hadn't given him a pen. He shifted his jaw, looking up and opening his mouth to speak but closing it when he realized Julian was, in fact, sitting back and staring at his hands. He arched an eyebrow, though the other man couldn't see it. Maybe he was high... that would certainly explain a lot of what was happening.

When Julian spoke, it was without looking up and Isaac, to his chagrin, startled back just a hair. "What did you do before all of this? What's made you need a job so desperately that janitorial work seems like a clever route to follow?"

He smiled at that, a twitch of the corner of his mouth that didn't reach the rest of his face. "Bit of everything. Done a lot of service work, construction, farm work... did some bouncer work for a while back in the - a while back. In case you need me to kick anyone out at closing time." He leaned back on his chair, the front two legs lifting a half-inch off the ground. "Economy's just bad now though so, figured this gig would be easy enough to handle. Need to pay rent and all that good stuff. Probably wish you were back in England with all this crap, yeah?" The chair clunked back down onto the floor as he cleared his throat slightly. "You have a pen for this? Or should I sign in blood."