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"What is this?"
Lavender Whitethorne's voice is soft, and silky smooth, and the sheer vitriol that burns through it is practically palpable in the air. He repeats the question, carefully, testing each word out like it's foreign. Like this isn't a question he should ever have to ask.
"I asked. What is this?"
One of the younger agents clears their throat, shoved forward by the little group gathered around the break room table. His eyes dart nervously from Lavender's face to the tabloid magazine that Lavender's hand is resting on delicately. He licks his lips, likely a stress response, before answering. "It's, um. It's a magazine."
"About?" The word comes out like a knife, and there's an odd light in Lavender's eyes as he tilts his head inquisitively to the side, a soft smile on his lips.
The agent continues, voice barely-- barely!-- shaking. "A magazine. About the Boss."
"I can very well see that," Lavender responds in that same silky soft tone. "I am familiar with the Nimbasa Weekly Gossip. I recently stopped reading the Nimbasa Weekly Gossip after it began publishing such,,,, libel."
Every muscle in his body is taught. He is a gentleman , but they are testing his patience. He continues in that sweet, almost playful tone. "Would you care to explain what this is doing in our break room?"
Nobody has ever been scared of Lavender, not before this, but everyone in the room feels a sort of chill settle over them with that question. What is this doing here? And who was stupid enough to bring it??
"...libel?" asks one of their new hires-- unloyal hires -- incredulously. "C'mon, Lav, you gotta admit there's some tru--"
"Truth?" Lavender interrupts. "You ascribe truth... To these baseless accusations. To these disgusting rumors?"
"They-- they aren't baseless!" he shouts back. This is not the time to take a stand, little one, but he supposes he isn't clever enough to understand the danger he's in. "It's more than a LITTLE weird that Boss vanished the way he did, and that smi--"
Lavender's expression doesn't change, that soft smile still on his lips, but he tightens his hand, making the paper in his grasp crumple. A few other agents take a step back. It's like staring into the maw of a garchomp, and for some reason they're starting to be scared of their mild-mannered coworker.
"Really now, darling," he coos-- and the petname comes out like a KNIFE-- "surely you aren't stupid enough to believe these rumors? Do you think they hold truth in them? Do you really think--"
"That the Boss killed his brother?? Yeah. I do."
The other agents in the room gasp and it's like the temperature drops several degrees. Lavender's next words come out like he's biting each one.
"Well. I'd suggest you leave now, everyone."
It's not a suggestion. There's something dangerous about his smile and the light in his eyes and the way he's spitting every word out like it's poison. Frantically the other agents spill out of the room.
One looks back, catches the idiot's eyes. "Sorry, Jake," she stammers, before leaving.
The door clicks shut softly behind them. Mm. So his name is Jake . Jake swallows harshly and looks up at Lav. He seems a lot more intimidating without the crowd of people behind him to back him up.
"Sit down, Jake."
"What?? I'm not a do--"
"Sit. Down."
He clamps his mouth shut and takes a seat on the breakroom couch. It's slowly but clearly beginning to dawn on the man that he's in danger.
"How long have you worked here?"
"....three months." he mutters, casting his eyes to the side. There's a little stain on the couch that he focuses on, refusing to meet Lavender's gaze.
"Three months. And through those few months, you somehow believe you know our bosses well enough to make these accusations?"
He furrows his brow, turning back to Lavender and meeting his gaze defiantly. "I know enough to see that the Boss's disappearance is creepy! He just vanished! All of Nimbasa is talking about it, and the only person who seems like he doesn't care is his freaky tw--"
Jake swears he didn't see him move, but Lavender is suddenly grabbing him by the collar, shoving him back against the couch cushions like he's nothing. He makes a startled wheeze, hands lifting to his throat to try to shake the other man off, but Lavender's grip is ironclad.
"I am a gentleman," Whitethorne says softly. His other hand is still crumpling that tabloid, and Jake can't help but imagine that strength crushing this throat. He whimpers as he stares up at Whitethorne, eyes suddenly very wide and very scared.
"I am a gentleman," he repeats, and it's almost like he's telling himself that. "You have worked here for three months. I have been an employee of Gear Station for almost seventeen years."
Jake swallows nervously. Whitethorne's expression shifts to something almost condescending.
"Do you really think you know Emmet better than I do? That three months could tell you more about the man that I have known for half my life?"
"N-no," Jake stammers. Anything to get out of this situation, away from this crazy man with his dangerous eyes and soft smile.
"I am your superior. Address me properly."
"No... Sir."
"There we are. At least you know your place." Whitethorne lets go of him, and Jake coughs, hand darting up to clutch at his neck. When he glances back up, the older man is adjusting his tie like nothing happened.
"I know the boss. More than you ever could, and ever will. Emmet loves his brother, and Ingo will come home. There is no other scenario that is acceptable." He glances back down at Jake, contempt practically dripping from his expression. "These tabloids are garbage. I will neither see them, or you, in this station ever again. Are we clear?"
Jake nods frantically, and Whitethorne hauls him up off the couch by the arm like he's nothing. He stumbles as he regains his balance, and the breath goes out of his lungs as Whitethorne roughly shoves the tabloid into his chest. His hands come up to grab it, and with a contented smirk, Whitethorne is shoving him towards the door.
"Take the trash out with you, darling."
Jake practically trips over his own feet with how fast he leaves the room, shoving past the cluster of agents gathered in front of it. His footsteps echo down the hall as he pushes through the door leading out to the station and disappears. One of the other agents peeks around the doorframe.
Lavender is standing in the middle of the room, humming softly as he adjusts his gloves. It's as if nothing happened. He turns back cheerfully towards the door, catching the agent's eye.
"I'd prefer if we didn't bring that sort of reading material into the station again," he chirps, smiling brightly at them. He glances at the clock in the room, clucking his tongue. "Ah, my break is over. Back to work!"
The agents gathered outside scramble to get out of his way as he briskly walks out of the break room and down the hall, humming softly as his ridiculously large panther comes strutting out of his office to meet him. He affectionately gives her a pat and the two head out into the station.
***
The next day, HR receives a formal notice of resignation from Jake Wilson, along with his uniform, neatly folded and freshly laundered. The scent of lavender detergent lingers on the fabric. Nobody says anything.