Chapter Text
It was a well-known fact around the office that Stanley Rider and Nathan Parable… didn’t get along so well. The men could often be seen in the breakroom bickering over every topic under the sun- whether it was work-related or otherwise. Even the higher-ups knew not to pair them together on projects, and most tried to distance the two as much as possible, in order to keep things moving smoothly.
It wasn’t so much a hatred as it was a complete separation of personalities- Nathan was consistently on track, on time, consistently diligent and witty, too. Stanley was a little forgetful, though he tried his best- which often was a little less than average. He had a ‘chill’ attitude, and whilst Nathan had his moments, he was much more staunch about rule-following, instead of rule-breaking.
They argued over whether or not the other had stolen their lunch out of the fridge, over who broke the coffee machine (even if it was a third party who held no personal grudge against either of them), they argued over interpretations of different media, they argued over the benign and serious. Eventually, their respective friends would come and usher them away from each other- another problem, since their friends were friends with each other, and it caused some tension in their little social circle.
Nathan was most well-known for his insults. The man spoke quick and sharp, like a switchblade, especially during his spats with the taller brunet; and if Stanley didn’t use sign instead of speech, he probably would’ve been spoken over before he could even retaliate.
Their fights were always passionate, though, and a spectacle- it’s shocking that the two haven’t been fired yet, but it’s probably just for narrative purposes. They were filled with yelling on Nathan’s part, and a lot of huffs and stomps and furious signing on Stanley’s. It was even more entertaining for those who didn’t know ASL- to them, it was just a load of British jabber, followed by a couple seconds of tense silence, and then the same voice would begin yelling again, as if in an argument with himself. The only way you’d know, if you weren’t in the room with him, that the older man was fighting with another would be via the frequent use of Stanley’s name.
Interestingly enough, there were no curse words used on Nathan’s part- he ‘refused to sink down to Mr. Rider’s level,’ according to him. Stanley’s opinion was that Nathan ‘was just a prissy asshole who wanted to act better than him,’ which- you guessed it- spurred on another argument.
It was a regular Thursday- the kind that seems to drip by, and every time you check the clock you could swear that it had been 2:05 for the past ten minutes. Time became a slow jelly, an endless wading pool of work, check the clock, work, check the clock…
…before there came the sound of shouting. They were at it again. This time the pair was fighting over… ah, yep, it was about the copy machine.
“Stanley, you god-forsaken lump, you’ve been standing there for twenty minutes! What in the world are you printing?”
A loaded silence. Then-
“ Really!? You haven’t- but you just- why?”
An employee went around passing earplugs to those nearest to the pair. Some accepted, others denied in favor of hearing the full conversation.
“Stanley, that is perhaps the worst, the most idiotic reasoning I’ve ever heard. All for- why do you need 598 photos of your cat?”
Several people had started recording.
“You’re- you must be joking. It’s- it’s your cat’s birthday.” A heavy sigh. “That doesn’t answer my question, you thick-headed buffoon, why do you need to waste so much ink- colored ink, I might add- on photos of your pet ? Why do you need to hog the copy machine? Explain it to me.”
Someone moved to call management, and was quickly stopped by a surprising number of people. Their phone was unplugged and taken away by a couple employees.
“Because you’re- you’re throwing a party..? ” A terse pause. “A party. For your cat.” Nathan sounded like he believed Stanley to be the biggest dumbass in the entire office- and he did. “And you need the photos… why?”
“You’re- oh, Lord, why do I waste my time talking to you? You’re inviting everyone in the office? Everyone? Wait, that excludes- there’s 600 employees, and take away you is 599… oh, I see. Hm. I’m not invited, is that right?” If the two men had been paying attention, they would’ve heard a quiet “Ooo…” circulate ‘round the room. A certain employee was attempting to get her phone back, and it was being held just out of reach by a taller man, who was fixated on the argument occurring in the center of the room, as were many.
“That’s it. I don’t even want to go to your cat’s birthday, I’m sure she’s just as stupid and bull-headed as you are. I hope this is her last birthday. Who ever held an exclusive birthday party for a cat , Stanley? A total social recluse, I’m sure.”
And with that, the older of the two stormed away, grumbling, presumably in search of an unoccupied copy machine. Stanley just blew a raspberry at him, which made the Brit whip around, red in the face, and point at the younger.
“Do that again and I’ll pull all those copies into my personal home shredder.” The rest of the employees settled back into routine, and the large man sheepishly handed the woman her phone back. People with earplugs in were tapped on the shoulder and were able to go back to their regularly-scheduled work.
Well, that was it for the day. There weren't typically two arguments within the same 24-hour period.
Which was why most looked around in confusion when they heard more shouts coming from another area of the office. Except… Stanley was still standing at the copy machine, printing images of a grey cat grumpily donning a little blue birthday hat.
In another part of the office, Nathan had walked into the breakroom, still a bit red in the face after his argument with Stanley. He was just passing through, when someone called him over- Employee #348, who was named Craig; a guy who wore shirts a bit too small, so you could see a sliver of gut and belly button, and sideburns that didn’t quite fit his overall appearance.
“Hey, Nathan! Heard a spat going down, who were ya fightin’ with? Sounds like you left ‘im speechless!” For reference, Craig was a relatively new hire, and he only knew Nathan because he was tasked with showing him around his first day on the job. Nathan didn’t like him much- a bit brash, and he tended to speak before he thought.
The Brit sighed- he really ought to get to that copy machine. “Well, it’s not like he would have responded, even if it wasn’t an argument. There’s a man named Stanley Rider, who, I’ve already implied, is mute, and with whom I have the extreme displeasure of working nearby. He’s printing- get this- 598 photos of his cat. Can you believe that? For birthday party invitations. I can’t even- where would he fit that many people? That’s a small college’ worth!”
Craig nodded, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head. “The guy’s mute? Pfft. What a retard. Bet he looked so stupid, just standing there. Good job, man.”
Nathan nodded, before freezing. He called him a- what? “What did you just call Stanley?”
“What? Oh, I called him stupid. Y’know, cause-”
“No… before that. You said, ‘what a…’”
Craig snorted, grinning. “What a retard. Yeah, I know. Dumbasses who can’t speak- it’s like, what, were you just born an idiot?”
Nathan couldn’t respond. A white-hot rage was welling up inside of him, so quickly that he was startled by its arrival. Before he knew it, the Brit had grabbed the man’s collar and pulled him down to eye level, snarling.
“Don’t you ever call him that again! I swear to fucking God, Craig, if I ever hear you utter that word again- especially when referencing Stanley- I will personally pull each and every tooth out of your skull and make you eat them. You hear me? I’m not fooling around, I’m not exaggerating. You call Stanley a- a- god, I can’t even say it. I will make your life a living hell-” Nathan could see, distantly in his peripheral vision, people crowding around the two, some recording, others confused, a couple employees almost seemed to be panicking- “-if you even think about calling him that again. Stanley, although he may be idiotic and childish, is a thousand times smarter than you’ll ever be, so keep his name out of your goddamn mouth!”
Nathan was seething, and barely registered being pulled away by the regional manager- his older sister, Carrie- until they had exited the room, and she hugged him. He also hadn’t noticed that he had begun to cry, great, heaving sobs, and he wrapped his arms around his sister while his chest heaved.
“Nathan, buddy, are you alright? What happened?” Carrie just rubbed her younger brother’s back, albeit a bit awkwardly. Nathan didn’t- he couldn’t respond. He just kept crying, before finally sniffling a few final times, and meeting her gaze. The older of the two was shocked to see a still-smoldering rage apparent in his eyes.
“It’s nothing. Everything’s been taken care of. Don’t worry, Carrie, I’m alright.” Pushing back the last of his tears, Nathan stiffened to see Stanley standing awkwardly nearby the entrance of the breakroom. The brunet met his gaze, and his cheeks reddened slightly, before he looked away.
Nathan huffed, and walked up to the man, leveling him with a hard gaze again, before speaking. “You’re not stupid, Stanley. At least, not as stupid as Craig .”
Nathan spat out the latter’s name like a curse, and huffed, pushing past the wide-eyed younger. Stanley observed the room- Craig stood stock still in the center, white as a sheet- and glanced at Carrie, who was also scanning over everything, confused.
He walked up to the woman. What was that all about?
Carrie sighed, before shrugging. “Honestly, I don’t know,” she replied, sounding a wee bit out of it, “But I think it had something to do with you.”