Absolutely Amiable: Day 18

[S] Back at it! (18,391 / 1,000,000)

The staccato taps of many shod footfalls echoed through the stretching hallway. The sterile white surfaces of the hall were smooth and unadorned.

“Quickly! Quickly!” a shrill voice pierced through the sounds of stepping feet.

The source of the voice, a diminutive man in a crisp black suit, strode confidently at the front of the marching group. At least a full foot shorter than any of the others, his footsteps sounded at double the frequency of those in his entourage.

“Hurry, you imbeciles!” The man spat, legs flurrying beneath him.

Surrounding him like a feeding shoal of piranhas, followed a group of attendants, indistinguishable one from another. As he walked, one of the faceless figures around him wordlessly shoved a clipboard and pen in front of him. Gaze fixed steadily forward, the man whipped a signature across the paper and the figure retreated back into the crowd. Another figure from the crowd stooped down to whisper in the man’s ear, fawning and stroking the man’s jacket as it spoke. The man casually backhanded the figure, which also immediately melted back into the trailing group.

The man strode down the hall, upper lip twisted in a perpetual look of disgust; the roiling dance of his attendants continued to swirl around and behind him. The hallway came to an end with a plain white door, and the man’s frantic footfalls ceased. Many arms reached around and past him, eager to be the one to open to door. The door swung open, revealing a cramped stairwell which ascended upwards out of view. The man started up them, the ambulatory cloud squeezing in behind him.

Reaching the top of the stairs, the man stepped out onto a silent stage. He paused for a moment and surveyed the scene. A solitary podium stood sentinel in the center of the stage, and a deep purple curtain covered the opposite side. He straightened the front of his suit jacket and approached the podium. Various figures broke from the trailing group, sprinting and scrambling towards the podium. One amongst them reached it first, and crouched on hands and knees behind it. The man reached the podium a moment later and stepped up onto the back of the stooped figure. He pulled a set of cards from his interior jacket pocket and flipped through them quickly, eyes darting across the lines of text.

After a few silent moments he straightened, turned his gaze to the curtain, and gave a curt nod. The curtain began to draw back and his sour expression softened, an easy smile replacing it. The retreating curtain revealed a packed room of people beyond it, a bristling sea of cameras and microphones already aimed in his direction. The silence was instantly shattered by a frenzy of raised voices and shuttering cameras.

Curtain now drawn, the full shape of the room was revealed. The raised stage divided the room into two opposite halves. One side was stuffed with reporters, cameramen, and their equipment; they jostled each other for better positions and shouted questions up at the stage. The side with the stage stood in stark contrast - the lone figure of the man at the podium loomed stoically over the rabid crowd. His responses were genial; and his gestures were calm, yet firm, emulating the motions of a practiced orchestra conductor. After some time, the man quieted the crowd with two raised hands, and gave a gentle dismissal. The curtains drew closed, and the man stepped down off the trembling back of the crouched figure. Like a stretched rubber band snapping back to its natural state, his smiling face quickly reverted to its previous rotten sneer.

“Animals,” the man stated flatly, as he scuttled back towards the doorway he had come through.

The crowd of attendants flocked back to his side, encircling him again like a living cloak. Various offerings were proffered from around him - a cup of water and a warm towel among them. The man flicked his gaze to the towel, and then to the figure who held it out with two hands. He closed his eyes and allowed the attendant to gently wipe his face with the towel. It dried his face with another towel and retreated back into the mass, it’s posture now brimming with excitement.

The man paused again at the top of the stairwell. With a fluid motion, he reached into his interior jacket pocket and produced a small mirror. He held it reverently before his face while he inspected himself. His eyes first met themselves in the mirror - huge and circular, they were too big for the size of his head. The giant discs of his eyes were entirely black - glistening orbs of midnight. He crooned in admiration as he tilted and turned his head, inspecting himself in the mirror. His face was round and smooth, adorned with a greasy helmet of combed black hair. His tiny nose and twisted mouth cowered beneath his massive eyes. He noted that his resemblance to the animals behind the curtain was minimal, but the thought was enough to ruin his mood. He stuffed the mirror back into his pocket, and gave a spiteful kick to the shin of one of the closer attendants. Finally, he started down the stairwell.

Back in the hallway, the pattering beat of shoes on floor echoed once more.

“We must hurry,” the man hissed. “I can’t stand this, I can’t wait!” he continued in a whine, and he clutched the sleeves of his upper arms in a gesture that resembled a self-hug.

His agitated gait carried him quickly down the sterile hallway, back in the direction from which he had come.

He addressed his troupe of cowering attendants, “Are there any adjustments to the timeline? Did I shave off some time?” he asked.

A dozen or so pens scratched away at scraps of paper, before they were shoved into his field of view. His gaze swept across them, absorbing the information written on them with a glance.

“There’s still much to be done”.