Corporate Service [Sol/Eliane]

Sol was going through literal hell.

Was he fighting an intense battle for life or death? Perhaps he was struggling to explain to someone a recent fuck up? Or maybe he had lost all his money? Nope. What he was dealing with far exceeded all that: corporate bureaucracy. Otherwise known as the literal bane of his existence currently. On paper within Vastime, he was dead. And his mother. So naturally with no inheritors to his belongings, much of his stuff was taken by the Duvailer group.

The people who banked rolled his fighting career when we was alive.

Normally this wouldn’t be too much of an issue, but Sol wanted one thing back: His prized truck. A truck he had spent quite a bit of money on, and generally just loved working on. Sentimental value, but it did run an exorbitant amount of money due to being essentially a collector’s item. He had been given the run around, transferred to multiple different people- put on different wait lists- and finally he had managed to get a meeting at one of their admin buildings.

Naturally, Sol was pissed. Currently waiting in a chair tapping his foot impatiently to be called up. Yep. He hated this shit.

Sol wasn’t a complete asshole enough to just be rude to anyone who approached him, but he was visibly agitated. Being dragged around by a corporation when trying to get back your RIGHTFUL property was annoying. However it seemed like his troubles was at an end soon, for a woman had emerged calling his name.

He stood up running a hand down his shirt, deciding to follow her without much hassle. “It’s alright, let’s hope we get this resolved quickly, eh?” He’d comment seemingly in better spirits for now. After all, he was getting hope this might go in his favor!

What could go wrong?

Sol was a simple man at heart, one who could be pretty easy going. With that however came the simple desires of a man, and it would be simply false to say the moment she sat on the desk Sol and he took his own seat, that it was contest of wills for him not to lean forward. But! The lad was able to maintain some degree of candor and professionalism himself as his lips drew taunt at her wording.

“Well it is my truck. I just, so I was killed by a Zanpakatou. As in the actual spirit of one. So I died, legally, in Vastime but I wasn’t like actually dead. I’m still here as you can tell, but I had to deal with some stuff in soul society. And my family wasn’t able to claim my property.” He’d explain with some difficulty, having to have done this nine separate times on this quest.

“The long short of it is my fighting contract was with this company, and I guess they claimed my items when I died. I don’t really care about anything else. I just want my truck back. That can’t be all that hard, right?”

She seemed nice, right?

Be strong Sol, be strong.

It would be foolish to deny that Sol was indeed attracted to the plays she was making on him, but he wasn’t so easily manipulated. He’d clear his throat as he shifted in his seat, taking care to avoid staring at her ass as she bent over. That wouldn’t do. Although Lilynette might’ve called him a fag in this moment, he rather not take the obvious bait.

But as she further explained the situation, his brow would furrow. “Ok, well can you at least provide me who the private owner is? If corporations can’t help me, then I guess I should cut out the middle man.” He’d place a hand on his knee leaning forward, clearly approaching this from the perspective of an African male rather than a businessman.

In his eyes, he’d just kindly explain to the guy who had his car why he should give it back. Yep.

Sol don’t stare.

The more she spoke, the more he found himself growing irritated. As if her words felt akin to a bee buzzing in his ear, as he slowly found this encounter untenable. But when mixed with the clear attraction if not sultry aura which she presented, it was a toxic cocktail. Had Sol been in this seat a few months ago, it would have sent him for a loop that no amount of will power might overcome.

However, what he felt now was a headache at a clearly personal thing to him being kept from him. An elbow would rest on an armrest, his hand coming to rest his forehead against his fingers as she explained the situation to him. Some part of him couldn’t blame her, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hate the corporate bullshit he was dealing with.

“Yeah, I get it. But, and excuse my language here, this is some bullshit.” His tone seemed to cut through the air for a moment, as he removed his forehead from his fingers to look at her. It was clear on his face the obvious level of conflict. “I don’t know how you can really help at this point…” His words trailed for a moment as he stared at her, his lips pursing into a tight line.

Yeah, she was trying his patience in every measure of the word.

“Is there really nothing you can do, to help me get my truck back? Anything at all I could do?”

Maybe a quid pro quo?