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Summary
Harua stood squarely in front of the door, one foot crossed over the other, clipboard pressed to his chest like a metaphorical chastity belt. His gunmetal-gray suit didn’t wrinkle. His matching tie didn’t dare. Even the ID clipped to his belt loop hung at a perfect angle, as if it had been ordered into position.
Taki approached with a black corduroy jacket slung over attitude and a pen behind one ear. In one hand: an iced oat milk macchiato sweating through its paper sleeve. In the other: a dog-eared folder labeled DAIRY DECEPTION in aggressive red Sharpie. His lanyard was backwards.
“Hey, Big Milk. You’re blocking the door.”
“I’m filtering the nonsense,” Harua replied, unmoving. He gave the macchiato a brief glance of disgust. “Which includes you and whatever nut water you’re sipping, heathen.”
“Oat milk isn’t nut water, fascist.” Taki took a loud, deliberate slurp, eyes locked on his target. “Delicious, actually. And cruelty-free.”
[Wherein two legislative aides stir up bipartisan tension, spill some secrets, and discover milk isn’t the only thing getting steamed in committee.]