Dossiers
Sept 3, 2018 22:09:19 GMT -8
Post by aabria on Sept 3, 2018 22:09:19 GMT -8
In any other office, Penelope would have been a serviceable assistant. She was organized, discreet, and knew enough about Faiza’s career trajectory to see the tremendous opportunity presented by working for her. Penelope was excellent on paper, and generally Faiza put great stock in that - at first.
A fortnight into the post had opened Penelope’s dull cow eyes and proved to the both of them that she had arrived fresh from uni woefully unprepared for the position. Any half-witted civilian could remember coffee preferences and itemize an expense account; what Faiza required was someone to think about global markets the way she would (which would be the *right* way, obviously), and prepare briefs and protocols with that strategy in mind. She wanted someone with ambitions to prove themselves as exceptional as she was, and not simply content with being well-liked by their superior.
The latter was a clear sign that nepotism had allowed them to fail forward through life. The glimmer of hope that still shined in Penelope’s eyes warned Faiza that this sheltered whelp expected her hand to be held through the transition from St. Andrew’s to “the real world.”
With an annoyed sigh, Faiza closed the matte black dossier belonging to the disappointing girl and pushed it away from the pile. Frowning slightly, she unlocked her phone to check if HR had approved her request to dismiss Penelope from her service. No update. She was stuck with her for another day. Another sigh heralded a wave of frustration hot enough to make her fidget uncomfortably in her immaculately tailored black dress.
Every time she requested a new executive assistant, the delay in personnel shift grew longer. Faiza had been stuck with Penelope’s predecessor for close to a month. Barbaric. How could she be expected to do her job without adequate support staff? Perhaps it was time for her to remind Hahn Corporation of the immense value she added to the firm as both the Director of International Compliance and the head of their X Initiative.
Reaching for her latte as she began forming the core premise of her next status report on the West African developments, her hand bumped the pile of dossiers, scattering them across the cold metal desk and sending one to the floor in a spray of papers. Anyone fluent in Tamaziɣt would have been treated to a delightfully colorful turn of phrase about equine husbandry from the pointedly monochromatic woman who now knelt to pick up the folder’s contents.
At first glance, Faiza failed to recognize the information within the dossier: college transcripts from some unremarkable school, records and commendations from a police academy and various mid-to-high level district chiefs. Sliding back into her chair, she paper clipped the headshot of a lanky but not altogether unattractive young redheaded man to the front of the folder. The name beneath it was Constable Simon Guthrie, and Faiza had no earthly idea why his ginger face was staring up at her. She reached for the intercom.
“Penelope, what am I looking at?”
Instead of a response, her door suddenly flew open and an intensely worried petite blond scurried across the cement floor mumbling apologies or explanations (or both.) With her came a flood of warm air carrying the cloyingly sweet sillage of Penelope’s flowery perfume into cool stillness of the office. Faiza noted absently that even the quality of light looked different outside her door; there was a golden glow to it that was obviously absent here despite the major wall of the room being entirely made of glass.
“Oh that - he’s from the shortlist you asked me to compile last week of publicly known Xers with impeccable records. That pile’s the lot of them, there. I put him on top because he’s from a long line of public servants in the police force on top of all the other qualifiers, and pretty fit besides-”
“Why are you still talking? And why is this only getting to me now? I did ask for it a week ago.”
Even sitting, Faiza seemed to dwarf the girl. From beneath the thick, dark brown fringe of her hair, steel grey eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke. In defiance of the laws of physics, the door behind Penelope began to slowly swing shut, taking the light and warmth with it.
“Do you have any idea what this list is for, or was your recommendation of Constable Guthrie simply because you find him attactive?”
“I-I’m not really sure, and wouldn’t p-presume to guess…”
There it was. In her own words. Stupid girl.
“You’re dismissed.”
Faiza’s eyes lowered back to the constable’s dossier as Penelope scurried out with a small yelp as she smacked into the door she was certain she’d left open a moment earlier. He seemed to have a great deal of potential, after all. He had the right credentials and the right temperament to be of use, and after studying his face a bit longer, she realized they’d met before. She chuckled to herself at the memory of his failed attempts to detain her after the bank robbery. Yes, he was the exactly what she was looking for.
He would be the feather in her X Initiative cap; beyond all the pro-X lobbying she engaged with on behalf of Hahn Corporation, what the X movement truly needed was a role model to prove to the world at large that the Xer population was more blessing than threat. This Simon Guthrie would be the face of the Xers, and it was Faiza’s new mission to make sure he could become that symbol before some terrible individual or group could first.
A fortnight into the post had opened Penelope’s dull cow eyes and proved to the both of them that she had arrived fresh from uni woefully unprepared for the position. Any half-witted civilian could remember coffee preferences and itemize an expense account; what Faiza required was someone to think about global markets the way she would (which would be the *right* way, obviously), and prepare briefs and protocols with that strategy in mind. She wanted someone with ambitions to prove themselves as exceptional as she was, and not simply content with being well-liked by their superior.
The latter was a clear sign that nepotism had allowed them to fail forward through life. The glimmer of hope that still shined in Penelope’s eyes warned Faiza that this sheltered whelp expected her hand to be held through the transition from St. Andrew’s to “the real world.”
With an annoyed sigh, Faiza closed the matte black dossier belonging to the disappointing girl and pushed it away from the pile. Frowning slightly, she unlocked her phone to check if HR had approved her request to dismiss Penelope from her service. No update. She was stuck with her for another day. Another sigh heralded a wave of frustration hot enough to make her fidget uncomfortably in her immaculately tailored black dress.
Every time she requested a new executive assistant, the delay in personnel shift grew longer. Faiza had been stuck with Penelope’s predecessor for close to a month. Barbaric. How could she be expected to do her job without adequate support staff? Perhaps it was time for her to remind Hahn Corporation of the immense value she added to the firm as both the Director of International Compliance and the head of their X Initiative.
Reaching for her latte as she began forming the core premise of her next status report on the West African developments, her hand bumped the pile of dossiers, scattering them across the cold metal desk and sending one to the floor in a spray of papers. Anyone fluent in Tamaziɣt would have been treated to a delightfully colorful turn of phrase about equine husbandry from the pointedly monochromatic woman who now knelt to pick up the folder’s contents.
At first glance, Faiza failed to recognize the information within the dossier: college transcripts from some unremarkable school, records and commendations from a police academy and various mid-to-high level district chiefs. Sliding back into her chair, she paper clipped the headshot of a lanky but not altogether unattractive young redheaded man to the front of the folder. The name beneath it was Constable Simon Guthrie, and Faiza had no earthly idea why his ginger face was staring up at her. She reached for the intercom.
“Penelope, what am I looking at?”
Instead of a response, her door suddenly flew open and an intensely worried petite blond scurried across the cement floor mumbling apologies or explanations (or both.) With her came a flood of warm air carrying the cloyingly sweet sillage of Penelope’s flowery perfume into cool stillness of the office. Faiza noted absently that even the quality of light looked different outside her door; there was a golden glow to it that was obviously absent here despite the major wall of the room being entirely made of glass.
“Oh that - he’s from the shortlist you asked me to compile last week of publicly known Xers with impeccable records. That pile’s the lot of them, there. I put him on top because he’s from a long line of public servants in the police force on top of all the other qualifiers, and pretty fit besides-”
“Why are you still talking? And why is this only getting to me now? I did ask for it a week ago.”
Even sitting, Faiza seemed to dwarf the girl. From beneath the thick, dark brown fringe of her hair, steel grey eyes flashed dangerously as she spoke. In defiance of the laws of physics, the door behind Penelope began to slowly swing shut, taking the light and warmth with it.
“Do you have any idea what this list is for, or was your recommendation of Constable Guthrie simply because you find him attactive?”
“I-I’m not really sure, and wouldn’t p-presume to guess…”
There it was. In her own words. Stupid girl.
“You’re dismissed.”
Faiza’s eyes lowered back to the constable’s dossier as Penelope scurried out with a small yelp as she smacked into the door she was certain she’d left open a moment earlier. He seemed to have a great deal of potential, after all. He had the right credentials and the right temperament to be of use, and after studying his face a bit longer, she realized they’d met before. She chuckled to herself at the memory of his failed attempts to detain her after the bank robbery. Yes, he was the exactly what she was looking for.
He would be the feather in her X Initiative cap; beyond all the pro-X lobbying she engaged with on behalf of Hahn Corporation, what the X movement truly needed was a role model to prove to the world at large that the Xer population was more blessing than threat. This Simon Guthrie would be the face of the Xers, and it was Faiza’s new mission to make sure he could become that symbol before some terrible individual or group could first.