fast_max: (Dreamer)
http://pics.livejournal.com/7s_mod/pic/00012dby

It wasn't much of an incident, but still, he fully expected Stephen to have words with him about it.

The press-conference was very ... impromptu. Or rather, Stephen Lamarck had appeared in the building of a business associate, escorted only by his head of security by means of a bodyguard, and had walked out to a small ambush of journalists who had flocked there after news of coming lay-offs of a significant scale were considered by that associate. So far, they hadn't managed to get what they had been looking for.

But the owner of Archer Imports walking out was a whole different variety of prey. Because he hasn't made major lay-offs, nor were any supposed to be forthcoming. (They weren't.)

What is his source of additional income in the conditions of economic recession? Is he involved in illegal activities? Is he laundering money for foreign companies?

Stephen answered calmly. Good planning and steady business contacts around the world, no, no laundering anybody's money, just balancing locations where the recession was at different stages, and no, his employees were safe, as far as he could say, from joining the increasing number of jobless people.

His look behind his shoulder looked bland enough - to all but his rather silent bodyguard. Who deciphered it absolutely correctly as irritation. There were plenty of business of the company that was... well, from shady in the eye of the law, to worse. Smuggling, to begin with. Not to mention the magical artifacts, and a few other choice activities.

Stephen wrapped what he was going to say with the usual, 'thank you for your questions, that will be all.'

The journalists, who had probably been sharpening their teeth, wanted something meatier to bite into. They pressed.

Max loomed, moving to stand beside his boss. Didn't exactly growl, but attempted to push through the group politely.

And unsuccessfully.

His shoulders tensed; the shorter man by his side looked sideways and arched his brows, very slightly.

Max's eyes narrowed. He paused, then murmured a single word. Most of the journalists thought he probably swore; those closest thought the word was something like "Hexus." Which made no sense at all.

Next thing they know, every single item of technology - cameras, microphones, recorders, phones, pagers, electric watches even - gave way. As in started smoking and stopped working. The one in the pocket of the woman who had phrased her question particularly unpleasantly even caught on fire, creating minor panic.

Neither of the two men in the center of the ensuing chaos blinked or cracked a smile. Max just got his boss out of there and into the car before any semblance of organization had started to reoccur, whether on personal or pack level.

It wasn't much of an incident, but still, he fully expected Stephen to have words with him about it. About using magic too much in the open; it was dangerous.

Of course, that would have to wait at least until his boss stopped laughing.

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June 2010

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