Chapter 672 Bellemare's Office
It didn't take long for Talbot and Alex to reach the center elevator, from which they would rise to the building's last floor, above ground. The ascension was much longer than the descent, and Alex unconsciously tapped his foot to the elevator's music as they went.
This made Talbot laugh under her breath.
"What's funny?" he asked her, wondering why the sudden hilarity.
"Oh, nothing. I just didn't take you for the type to enjoy elevator music. You're like a polyhedral. So many facets to you, it's hard to grasp who you are."
Alex thought on her words for a moment, before chuckling.
"You wouldn't believe how many facets. Much to my regret, even I don't know," he said, scratching the back of his head.
Ever since he started melding on this side of the veil, he noticed he had developed many strange tics that he could only associate with the many creatures he fused his soul with.
He didn't worry too much about it, as long as it didn't affect his day-to-day life. But he wondered how long it would take for these facets to merge back into his original self.
Did his original self still exist?
He couldn't delve into that thought for long, as the elevator dinged, signalling they had reached their destination.
Talbot gave him a casual salute as he exited the elevator. She stayed on, and rhythmically pressed the down button, before the doors shut.
'A code for the basement, I assume,' Alex thought.
But he was now busy with scanning the rest of the room he had entered.
The open area that the elevator had come to was massive. On the walls were rows and rows of collection items, ranging from weapons of old to modern ones, and paintings of old men in so many styles and attires.
"What the hell is this room?" Alex mumbled to himself.
But a voice from all around him responded to his silent question.
"Welcome to the archives, Mr. Leduc. Or, as my ancestors used to call it, the tapestry of history, whatever that meant," Alex heard, coming from speakers on the ceiling.
"Turn right at the old silk loom, and keep going until you reach my desk. I'm waiting for you there," the voice once again resounded.
Alex looked around him, spotting said old loom, and started walking toward it. He stopped momentarily, noticing that the loom wasn't encased in glass, or anything, and seemed to have been recently used as well.
But the stitching in the last row was strange. It wasn't straight and tidy, like the many rows above it.
He wanted to spend more time there, looking at the weaved silk, to see if this was more than just a mistake, but he could feel Richard's staring eyes on his back from the cameras all around, and opted to keep walking.
He turned to the right and kept walking toward Richard, even though he couldn't see where the desk was.
He walked for an entire minute before the glass casings on each side gave way to a recess, where Richard awaited behind a luxurious mahogany desk.
The man was wearing reading glasses, his head down over stacks of papers, with many electronic screens around his desk.
'Who still writes by hand?' Alex wondered, as he looked at the man's careful penmanship.
Richard didn't even look up at him and responded to his mental question as if he had read his thoughts.
"Some ways of old should never go unremembered. Young people these days never take the time to write by hand, and the skills of calligraphy are already being lost to time. But a well-written letter is a piece of art, for the many people of my age."
Alex sucked in cold air, wondering if he had said his thoughts out loud, unknowingly.
"I could guess your thoughts by your frown alone, as you entered the office. Sit down, boy. We have much to talk about."
Richard's tone was neither cold nor arrogant when saying these words. Most likely, he was too focused on his penmanship to even give Alex more than an afterthought.
Alex did as instructed and sat down. He waited for Richard to speak first since he was the one to call him up.
But Richard instead shoved a stack of paper towards him.
"Sign those. Don't take too long. I want to get this meeting with as much as you do."
Alex looked at the pile of paper, and his brain almost blanked. There looked to be at least a hundred sheets of paper before him as Richard deposited a pen on top of the stack.
Seeing his face from over his glasses, Richard almost shook his head in disappointment.
"You do know how to sign your name, right?"
The mocking tone didn't escape Alexander's ears as he glared lightly at Richard.
"I do. I was just surprised at the mountain of work you are making me do…"
Richard huffed.
"Kid. This is not even a tenth of the workload I have to do every day. If this is too much for you, you are even more useless than I thought"
Alex gritted his teeth as he gripped the pen in between his fingers.
"Alright, stop talking. I'll get it done, you old fogey."
Alex leaned into the stack, starting to scan each page to find the signature lines, and Richard's light smirk escaped him.
Richard was not one to shy from some light banter, and he didn't take the 'old fogey' comment to heart. After all, he had just called him useless as well.
Silence took over the room once more, as only the sound of ruffling pages and scribbling pens could be heard.
This lasted for almost half an hour, before Richard set aside his fancy pen and folded his paper into a blank white envelope, sealing it with a smudge of black wax and a stamp.
Alex saw him do this, and wondered once more, 'Who still shuts envelopes like that…'
Richard gazed at him, after setting the envelope to the side, and noticed he was almost done with his signing task.
'Not bad,' he thought, as he leaned back into his large office chair.
The stack he had given Alexander might have looked thick, but the workload was even worse. On the hundred and twenty pages of the document, there were close to three hundred signature lines, and just as many initial boxes, which he wanted Alexander to fill in.
It was no small task, and he had expected the young man to cramp up before even reaching halfway through. And even though he could see him wince in pain, Alex plodded through, keeping a steady pace.
When the young man signed the last sheet, he dropped the pen, with his hand cramping up in the position it had been for the last thirty-five minutes. But he didn't say a peep.
"Good. Now that this matter is done with, let us get to the debrief, shall we?" Richard said, grinning.
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