Damned Commies


boyce_icon.gif elijah_icon.gif

Scene Title Damned Commies
Synopsis Elijah's computer doesn't work and Elijah gets more than he bargained for.
Date December 4, 2010

Suresh Center

Elijah's slowly been moving into his office. He's really not quite thrilled that his office is on the third floor, while his labs are on the second floor. It makes it more difficult to archive his work when he has to travel between floors, and it takes valuable time away, which could be better spent in the lab, studying and comparing and isolating. He's got his freshly embroidered lab coat on right now, and is currently organizing his computer with a disgruntled look.

His computer isn't working right, either. It won't accept the flash drives filled with data he's collected from his research thus far. Finally, angry, he called for tech support. Currently, he's seated in his nice cushy leather chair, scowling at the monitor with his arms crossed over his chest. The flash drives are neatly arranged on the desk, waiting to be transferred over to their new computer.

He is so going to be getting a laptop. He is not a happy geneticist. He's even grumbling to himself, though it's in Russian. "«Really, how difficult is it to just give me a spare room with a counter? I don't need this cushy office shit, I need a place where I can study in peace, without having a line form behind me and feeling like they are staring over my shoulders.»

Sure, they've given him all the right equipment, but he doesn't like people. If he had it his way, they'd set him up with a suite on the medical floor, and he would never leave except to retire for the night.

A whistled version of the Andy Griffith theme echoes through the the hall along with distinct snapping on beat. And along with the sound comes the distinct smell of cannabis in the air. All of this announces Boyce's impending entrance into the office.

Knock, Knock, Knock

"Somebody call IT?" the strawberry blonde haired man peeks about the office before being asked in. He adjusts a pair of thick framed glasses on his nose as his eyes widen distinctly. "Hi-Keeeeeeba— " the words are virtually sung as he literally twirls into the office before being invited. "I tell ya, you guys have quite the set up down here— " distinctly he whistles as he peeks about the room. "I can only imagine the number of heat lamps you could get into this room can you dig it? I mean think about the sheer number… I see dollar signs, doc. I do, I do." His lips twitch into a half smile as he tosses the glasses off his nose. "Those are just for show," he explains. "I find people prefer their average nerd wearin' glasses. And I got used to it for awhile."

Finally he extends his hand to Elijah, "Whoops! I'm Grayer. Grayer Merck. Just call me Grayer." The ID tag on his shirt says Sterling Boyce…

Elijah turns that frowny face up toward the door at the knock, his brows arching a bit. The long winded introduction only prompts the frown that creases the geneticist's features to grow in size. He doesn't quite get what the man is talking about; instead, he just frowns up at this 'Grayer Merck'. The offered hand is only granted a raise of his brows.

Reluctantly, he takes the offered hand in a stiff handshake, one of a man who really doesn't want to be touching the other. His voice is thick with a Russian accent when he speaks. "Good to meet you, Grayer Grayer Merck. I am Elijah." He mumbles this out, then gestures to the computer. "Not accepting my flash drives. I need this to be fixed so I can work." A bit testy, irritated by the entire situation.

"Technology is nothin' if not a foul mistress? Like when you need to express your urges to a bea-u-t-i-ful woman!" Like Grayer has ever touched a woman in his life. "Am I right or am I right?" his eyebrows arch several times at his small innuendo before directing his attention to the computer. His hands rub together excitedly as a dimpled grim creeps over his lips. "Alright Bella, do me proud. Don't be an Edward on me…"

Despite himself, and his impending work, he turns to face Elijah, "Have you ever read that? That Twilight series?" He shakes his hands in the air, "It's like all the rage with the kids. And the twenty-something women. I read it to get in good with the 20-something women. But man," he slides his hand in a 'go with the flow motion' "I'll fill you in on a tip. If you wanna get with them and not read the book just say you want your first child named Renesme. After that? You're gold!"

Elijah frowns. "It is a Russian name." His rough Russian accent shines through as he says this gruff notation, eyes hooding as he watches the man. He doesn't seem too highly amused by Boyce's actions. As he notes that it's fixed, he holds up one finger, and turns on the computer. At the same time, he's picking up one of those flash drives, glancing it over. He's going to make certain that it works.

"I do not smoke marijuana, nor do I care to smoke it. I do not need anything that will slow down my mental facilities. I have far more important things to do." He frowns, peering thoughtfully at the man. "I am a geneticist." And…it seems like that's the best answer that Grayer is going to get from the stony-faced Russian.

"Geneticists could engineer the best stuff. I swear it's true. There was this one time my buddy kicked me out of my mom's basement because I was playing waaaay too much WoW. I was on the news once." Boyce strokes his chin, which is painfully free of stubble, drawing a sharp v in his eyebrows, "Screenname: Ghostbustthat— maybe you heard of me? Anyways, so we were driving down to Mexico to get the good stuff and we met this amazing," oddly, Boyce's head bobs forward like he's about to sleep, but it lifts again several seconds later.

With the motion the geek's entire demeanour changes, his body stiffens, his expression sedates, his jaw tightens, and everything about him turns serious. His posture itself becomes commanding while his eyes squint with scrutiny. Odder still, his story completely changes tracks, as does his entire tone. While fixing the computer and talking cannabis everything about him had seem alight within it. Now? It's gruff, throaty, even, "— and that's when I was walking through that USSR. Those damned commies."

Elijah rolls his eyes at the talk of WoW and other such things. More important things to do, he has. Not that it will apparently reach the fellow's ears or the apparently tiny brain that is housed within that oversized head of his.

It's just as he mutters to himself in Russian that the man's head bobs, stopping the Russian in his tracks. And then, there's the change of subject. Elijah blinks a few times, his eyebrows raising high to wrinkle his forehead. He really can't help his accent; despite trying to correct it for years, he's only really succeeded in making it sound a bit more understandable. Sure, he can imitate, but it's usually quite a bad imitation.

"Are you okay, Mister Merck?" The accent shines through. He's all the while got that frown on his face, peering at the man. Idly, he puts the flash drive into the computer, to make sure it works.

Boyce's eyes narrow suspiciously into tight slits at Elijah. His head tilts as he straightens his… t-shirt. His chin drops as he eyes his own clothes with disdain, his eyebrows tightening together with that same suspicion— did the commie do it? His jaw tightnes further as his arms move to his hips. Boyce is, effectively, doing the Superman pose: imposing yet protective in a lot of respects.

There's no merriment or joy in his expression, only seriousness, and an equally disgusted look at being called Merck. "You can call me Wright." His lips purses together as he sucks on the inside of his cheek, forboding in his stance and posture. "So. What exactly are you doing here— " there's a distinct pause as he scans the room like the geneticist's name will be written on the wall, or somewhere in his own mind, "— I don't call people by their first names, it gives them the false sense of friendship." He frowns.

The Russian man arches a brow up at Boyce, or Merck, or Wright, or whatever he's calling himself. He remains in his cushy desk seat, frowning up at the man. "I am a geneticist. That is all you need to know." He frowns up at the man for a moment, before turning his eyes to the computer with a frown. Yes…seems to be working, now. For someone who understands the building blocks of life, Elijah certainly isn't the most technologically savvy person in the world.

"You can call me Doctor Ruslan." Because he does, after all, have a doctorate.

His lips curl upwards into a sardonic smile, nearly evil as it exposes his vampiric canine teeth. He's unconvinced by the doctor's lack of explanation and assurance of what he does and doesn't need to know. "Doctor Rusian," he repeats, trying the name on. Again his lips press tightly together, this time whitening underneath the pressure. A glance is given to Boyce's fake glasses which were left along the desk. Shaking his head, he murmurs quietly, "Amateur," before plucking it from the desk and clipping it to his shirt.

"Well, Doctor, know that I will be watching you. And also know, I miss nothing." His eyes narrow again before he's turning on his heel towards the door.

Elijah allows a brow to arch as the man makes his way out of the room, before sighing and shaking his head. Note to self, ask Dr. Brennan if this is really and truly the way they tend to treat their newest employees. Happy that his computer is working, Elijah sighs, settling back to transfer his information to his new computer. He's scowling all the while.

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