Fingers crossed

The job interview

Barely making it to his meeting, Kirishima arrives in the front hall of the federal council in Tokyo, gasping. A lose tie, a white wrinkled dress shirt, some black suit pants which are way too long and dirty leather shoes with two different colors, black and dark brown. This is the outfit Kirishima wants to present himself in front of the head of the most important minister in whole Japan, Mashihito Kayaba. The lobby of the building is crowded with many different people, wearing their formal suits, acting all serious while holding documents or talking to others. Kirishima already feels all the pressure lying on him after wrapping up throat clearing and wiping away the sweat on his forehead. Running here was not the best idea, but since he missed the bus at his station and thought he could walk the way to the next one - just to miss the second bus, because he didn't make it in time - there was no other choice but to run all the way in order to make it. He straightens up, looking at all the various faces in the lobby, trying to memorize every single expression, just to imitate it to appear more mature. He glances to an older man, who's lecturing his apprentice about something he did wrong and imitates his mimic, while he walks up to the information point. Before making notice of himself, he propers his pants and zips up his fly nervously, looking around to see if anyone has noticed but himself. A slight sigh of relief, no one even perceived him coming inside this hasty and actually pretty loud. Kirishima looks at the woman behind the secretary table, checking something on her computer. She wears dark blue glasses, with short dark blue hair, a triangular onyx eye shape with a pale, emotionless expression. He clears his throat again, a little louder this time and lays his hand on the desk softly. The wood feels more expensive than any furniture in Kirishima's apartment combined. The woman looks up to him with a ray of light reflecting on her glasses.

Kirishima doesn't react to her, but instead, keeps on stroking the soft, shining wood with glowing eyes and a pointy mouth, showing his curiosity. He moves his second hand up slowly and lays it next to his other, feeling the wood with both now. All his attention is set on the long secretary table, instead of the woman, who is correcting her glasses peeving.

Now she is the one clearing her throat and making Kirishima notice her.

„Excuse me, sir. Is there any reason you're doing this right now?" She asks stolid, putting her hand back on the keyboard. Kirishima doesn't get her attention for too long. Before he's able to answer, the woman turns her face away from him, glaring hostile at the monitor, which Kirishima of course can't see. He wraps up again, even more nervous than before and throws his hands back to his body, clapping them on his hips. His expression changes from a concentrated fixed face, to a plain, despondent mien. His mouth abridges to an asymmetric thin line, his lips vanish to the inside to his mouth and his eyes rip open widely, staring down to the woman, who had given him attention for barely three seconds. It's enough to make his heart pound and his body shake. He swallows his fear, closes his eyes for a long second and breathes. There is no need to be so worried, he thinks to himself, because he knows that nothing bad will happen, if he asks this nice woman for the way to Kayaba.

„I'm sorry, ma'am. My name is Eijiro Kirishima and I'm here for a job interview with Mashihito Kayaba, the head of the council, I guess-" Kirishima stops his sentence and winces a little. I guess is not the best thing to say, if he knows exactly what he's looking for. It's probably his fear of being annoying too fast and therefor not being able to ask something directly, which is making him a lot of trouble on the daily basis.

„I mean, I'm searching for him and I would really like to know where he is! Of course, only if you have the time." He said it again. Pointing out that he has no confidence and assertiveness. His fingers slip down to his thigh, thumb and index finger picking at his suit pants and subsequently pinching into his skin, for a small punishment of his inability to communicate like a normal, serious person. Doesn't matter how hard he tries to look and act serious, nothing turns out the way he wants it to. He's already seeing the confused gaze in the young woman's eyes, though somehow still showing more confusion that the gaze.