The receptionist, a svelte but sweet-looking woman named Nina Carnegie, nodded along with the question posed. She was entirely too nice to be working for Sinclair Solutions but the same can be said for a lot of people. "Mr. Sinclair is waiting for you at his office, Mr. Compson," she speaks with a melodious tone, as if she's the man's songbird and doorbell.
It's with a lively step that Nina leads Jason through the Panem Northern Bank halls, every so columns hung a portrait of President Snow along with the Board of Directors. They all seemed to stare down at the commuters, warning them to not try anything funny with their enterprise and with Panem itself.
Behind the solid oak doors with the plaque A. Sinclair, Esq. Sinclair Solutions, was a sprawling office, complete with one of the best views of the Capitol's financial sector, a place in the metaphorical Mount Olympus, high above the mortals that served them. The smirk on Gus's face was...dangerous to say the least. It's the same one he uses with investors and business partners, but this time?
Behind Augustus was a man in a simple suit, tall and built like a swift tank. This was Delta, Sinclair's personal Avox, once known as Johnny Travis, a former Peacekeeper who was sentenced to this for highly questionable acts. To have him here, it made sure that guests to the office wouldn't try harming Augustus.
"Thank you Nina...send up some tea for Mr. Compson and cancel all my other appointments for today. He and I have a few things to talk about," Gus spoke as he stood up from his chair. Miss Carnegie nodded and got to work on the request while the venture capitalist offered an empty chair.
"Figured with your family history, alcohol isn't a preference."
There was a lot to talk about indeed, the folders all carried the Compson name.
I
It's with a lively step that Nina leads Jason through the Panem Northern Bank halls, every so columns hung a portrait of President Snow along with the Board of Directors. They all seemed to stare down at the commuters, warning them to not try anything funny with their enterprise and with Panem itself.
Behind the solid oak doors with the plaque A. Sinclair, Esq. Sinclair Solutions, was a sprawling office, complete with one of the best views of the Capitol's financial sector, a place in the metaphorical Mount Olympus, high above the mortals that served them. The smirk on Gus's face was...dangerous to say the least. It's the same one he uses with investors and business partners, but this time?
Behind Augustus was a man in a simple suit, tall and built like a swift tank. This was Delta, Sinclair's personal Avox, once known as Johnny Travis, a former Peacekeeper who was sentenced to this for highly questionable acts. To have him here, it made sure that guests to the office wouldn't try harming Augustus.
"Thank you Nina...send up some tea for Mr. Compson and cancel all my other appointments for today. He and I have a few things to talk about," Gus spoke as he stood up from his chair. Miss Carnegie nodded and got to work on the request while the venture capitalist offered an empty chair.
"Figured with your family history, alcohol isn't a preference."
There was a lot to talk about indeed, the folders all carried the Compson name.