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Trent has an irritating problem, and it’s in the form of one Special Agent O’Doyle.
Even without looking he knows the other man is staring him down from across the room, ever fidelity by the President’s side during this week’s meeting regarding public announcements and scheduling press conferences.
The brunette is sat beside the Special Assistant and Senior Deputy of Press Secretary, who's currently having a debate with the President on what their next course of action should be after the man exposed that:
1. Elvis Presley was still alive
2. He was a fertility deity, whose goal was to cause overpopulation in America (the last bit not yet disclosed to the public)
3. Curtis killed him on the Hollywood sign on live TV (in self defense, supposedly)
"With all due respect Curtis, I strongly advice that we tread lightly - "
President Curtis, who is sitting at the end of the conference table, interrupts her, "I didn't get this position by sugar coating the truth, April. I'll do what i've always done after saving America."
"Sir! Mrs. Presley is threatening legal action and she has over 40% of Americans supporting her movement!" One of the White House councilman speaks up.
"Yea cause that'll work out. The child bride of an ancient sex god threatening emotional damages, like I'm the cause of that," President Curtis rolls his eyes.
Trent’s fingers dance across his keyboard as brown eyes scan through every social media platform that had the hashtags: #PresidentCurtisMurderer #RIPELVIS #MLM
He clicks on the ‘#MLM’ tab on twitter.
MLM, or in other words ‘Monster Lives Matter.’ The rise of this particular movement have began since President Curtis’s inauguration. In the beginning most overlooked and openly mocked the advocacy of monsters, but recently it’s taken hold. Especially since some celebrities are starting to open up about being part of that demographic.
He can still feel the ginger man’s eyes on him.
“Trent, what do you think?”
He looks up and sees everyone staring at him. He stutters, before grounding his nerves with a cough, “I think no matter what happens you’ll get massive public outlash, sir. People love a pretty face,” He sees O’Doyle rolling his eyes from his peripheral vision, “and love it even more when it’s attached to a “bad boy” celebrity type.”
President Curtis nods in agreement.
“So what should we do?” he asks.
Trent takes a moment before answering, “Best to ripe off the bandaid and begin PR immediately, sir,” Trent looks back at his laptop and moves the screen to show the others a MLM fundraiser event being funded by Mayor Mills, “Show the people you aren’t after every monster.”
Agent O’Doyle openly scoffs, “Are you serious - the last thing they need is playing the victim card.”
”O’Doyle.” Carl hisses at him, causing the ginger’s heated stare to turn towards the current Chief of Staff in defiance.
President Curtis, who was looking at the digital poster with a solemn expression, speaks, “You’re right, Trent - good job. April, have your team set up a press conference for Thursday and Carl, contact Beverly about sending a massive donation. That’s it for today’s meeting.”
——
O’Doyle watches Trent leaving the room with his third sense, surveying as the man and Carl walk together whilst chatting.
The ginger can’t help but admire the other’s aura; bubbly orange with flickers of pink that move like currents at the shore.
A handsome social butterfly who follows his heart. Authentically humble, accepting and caring towards even strangers. Perhaps the tiniest bit of a pushover when it comes to loved ones.
A real Disney princess type.
The ginger feels something heavy shifting within his gut at the thought and -
“O’Doyle?”
That snaps him back into reality. He shifts his slitted pupils towards President Curtis, who was looking at him with a spectative expression by the other doorway across the room. His aura read of concern and a need to use the bathroom.
The younger of the two immediately catches up and follows Curtis as the President begins to head down the hallway, “Sorry, sir.”
The President waves him off, “You’re fine. We all get lost in the clouds sometimes,” he glances at the half-Leprechaun with a sly smile, “especially when it’s about a ‘pretty face.’”
”Sir?” His voice did not crack.
They finally reach the hallway’s bathroom and before Curtis walks in he pats O’Doyle on the shoulder, “Nothing, son.”
——
It’s around 2:05 PM when O’Doyle is relieved to go on his Lunch Break, and he’s been craving the leftover molten gold spiced wings resting in the employee refrigerator; leftovers from the night before.
The ginger haired man lets out a sigh of relief when he doesn’t see anyone else in the break room, heading straight to the refrigerator where his wings resided in an old plastic to-go box from a Thai restaurant he occasionally orders from.
O’Doyle removes the post-it note that said “NOT FOR HUMANS - MOLTEN METALS” and places the tupperware in the employee microwave; examining his nails while waiting.
Eventually O’Doyle’s eyes wander to a vacant donut box resting on the small dining table, and like a cautious cat scooping out a cucumber - so did the half-Leprechaun as he made his way to the box.
It was still freshly new, he discovered.
Only 3 donuts have been taken, and the rest were pretty regular. He’s never been one for sweet things.
Yet his eyes narrow on a chocolate glazed and a Boston cream.
Trent’s favorites.
Mind you, the special agent only knows these are the assistant’s favorites by being aware. Every time the smaller man has a donut in hand, it’s one of the two. It’s not like he’s a stalker or anything.
Speaking of the man, starring down the donuts caused thoughts of Trent to start filling in O’Doyle’s head.
How pretty he is, that manipulative cheeky smile, the mole that made you wander and sink into his seductive eyes; it starting to make O’Doyle…jealous? Flustered? Conflicted??
…
The half-Leprechaun grabs a plastic knife and begins to cut.
——
Trent halts halfway in the employee break room where he sees special agent O’Doyle, who’s staring at him in a way that wildly reminded the brunette of his Tuxedo cat Mr. Bond.
Mr. Bond always made that face when Trent brought home a new partner.
The assistant awkwardly nods at the agent, who immediately looks at the microwave that was still going. 1 minute left. The smell of heavily seasoned chicken wafting in the air.
Trent rolls his eyes and sighs internally, squeezing past the larger man to reach the refrigerator and grab his lunchbox.
‘This is your chance, Trent. Just talk to him and ask if there’s anything wrong.’
The assistant (and honestly half the office) knew O’Doyle had some beef with Trent. A few work-friends, including Carl, have told the brunette that the half-Leprechaun talks about him in a “weird way” whenever he’s brought up. Hell, apparently sometimes unprompted.
The last thing Trent wants is unnecessary office drama. Especially with a guy who’s kinda cute, in a grumpy-cat sort of way.
’Ring, Ring’
He glances behind his shoulder to see O’Doyle grabbing his sizzling wings from the microwave and stroll towards the door.
What Trent did next was stupid. ”Hey, wait - “ He reaches out towards the ginger and grasps his shoulder.
The larger man turns around faster than Trent could blink, and twists the brunette’s arm in a very painful angle.
”OW! OW, Fuck O’Doyle - letme go!” Trent manages to rip his arm off of the other’s grip as it started to loosen, and winces at the pain emitting from his wrist. “The fuck is your problem!?” He snaps at the special agent.
”Me!? You’re the one who grabbed me!” O’Doyle hisses back, bringing his hot wings closer to his chest like he’s protecting it.
Trent really wanted to say ‘fuck you,’ and run to HR to file a complaint, but then he realized that the man is a special agent. A weird, half-leprechaun, special agent. That’s gotta cause some crazy reflexes…
”You’re right. I shouldn’t have grabbed at you, it’s just,” he pauses to make the decision, “Do you have a problem with me?” He questions, arms crossed and eyes narrowed at the taller man. O’Doyle’s expression shifts into surprise and instead of answering he questions back, “What?”
”I said: Do you have a problem with me? You constantly stare, won’t speak to me, and Carl told me you talk about me behind my back.”
“That snitch,” The agent mutters and it takes longer than necessary for him to continue - shuffling his feet and looking down as he firmly answers, “No.”
“Then what’s your problem, O’Doyle,” Trent sighs irritably, “You’re lucky I haven’t gone to HR about this. I just - want to try and make this professional.”
The ginger looks like a dear caught in headlights, mouth slightly agape and wide eyed as he begins to stutter, then hesitating before finally uttering. “I - uhm…I,” He glances down at his watch while exclaiming, “Oh! The President needs me. I should - get going.” He (frantically) chuckles while stepping away from Trent and towards the break-room door before sprinting out of it. Disappearing around the corner.
Leaving Trent standing in the middle of the room. ‘There wasn’t even an alert.’ He thinks.
Turning towards the donut box, he looks down and sees his favorite ones cut into tiny pieces.
”What the hell.”
.
.