Inconvenient Business - Part One: Mr. Mata

Part One - Mr. Mata

Random noun: Elevator. Random Adjective: abstracted.

Mr. Mata stepped into the building. On the inside, the walls were lined with tall glass windows, and he had to step outside to check if he’d seen it right. As he stepped out the door, walking backward as if he didn’t have time to turn around, the noise from the street returned. The outside of the building had no such windows. It was a decent, older, and more modest building than the others on this London block. Yet, the interior didn’t even match the architecture. 

It’s one of these missions again. He thought with exhaustion, flashbacks of strange creatures, and ‘business associates’ from his last mission like this.

Mr. Mata composed himself, clenched his briefcase, and straightened his tie. He pushed open the door and the sound from the streets, the smell and visual of it gone as well left with a blue-tinted large room, with natural light filtering through the large foggy windows. He cleared his throat and looked around. His voice echoed, and he bit the inside of his cheeks, somewhat self-conscious. As he scanned the room, he saw from behind a tall desk, a tuft of hair, and as he went closer, the woman behind the counter lifted her head. She smacked her lips, and her eyes went from whatever she had hidden on her desk to him. 

“Mr. Mata?” Her voice was drawled and mostly matched her appearance. She was an older woman with a long nose and catlike eyes, with which Mr. Mata tried not to make contact. 

“Erm, yes.” He said hesitantly, switching his weight from one leg to the other and feeling his long coat impatiently swinging around his knees. He looked around and waited while the women typed something. 

A door appeared, startling the businessman. He jumped back and took a breath before composing himself and looking carefully from the door to the woman, who must’ve forgotten he was there because she was now lying back in her chair and reading a book. Mr. Mata nodded his head to himself and reached for the handle. 

“This door, correct?” He checked. 

The woman was started, and the book disappeared from her hands as her face formed a scowl. “Is there any other door?” She squinted at him in disbelief.

“My apologies.” Mr. Mata mumbled and swiftly walked through the door, hesitating to close it behind him, knowing that doors here had a knack for disappearing.

He entered an office, organized (though also somehow cluttered), dim, and filled with such random objects, though strategically placed around the room that he did a double-take. A man from behind the desk pushed it away and stood, knocking over a few glass jars of suspicious substances he ignored. Mr. Mata froze.

“MR. MATA!” The old man said heartedly, reaching out across the organized clutter of his desk for a handshake. A very enthusiastic handshake that was. A very one-sided enthusiastic handshake. “So very nice to see you, have a seat, have a seat. Oh, I’ll make room. Hehe, too much time on my hands, the regulations on stealing from humans are so easily looped, er-” To Matar’s horror, he swiped his arm across the desk, knocking down all that was on it and pushing it off onto the floor, where most shattered before disappearing. “Whoops, portals these days, am I right?” He barked a laugh and slapped the desk with his palm, and wiped a tear from his eye. “Have a seat. I’ve been told you don’t accept intergalactic missions, but I have a very special proposition for you.”