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wwiiiWarren frowned as he read the letter one more time. This was apparently not a great week for receiving mail, though he had to at least give Mallory credit this time around. The Court Steward had marched into his office and put the letter into his hand personally, insisted that he was delivering it within minutes of its delivery, in fact, he'd held up the postman just so that the poor male could back him up on this.
So, in short, "Please don't kill me, I respect your mail rights, and besides, Cora and Nyles need their tutor and you wouldn't kill me so soon after bringing them home, would you?"
Not that any of that was on Warren's mind as he read the letter over again. It was a printout, on Worthington Labs letterhead, with his father's signature scrawled across the bottom. The gist of it was, essentially, that more anti-mutant legislation had been pushed through, and if Warren's father was to continue running the company, he needed Warren to come to New York to sign an affidavit specifically stating that Warren himself had no hand in the business operations of the company. If he didn't, control of the company would transfer over to Trask Industries, one of Worthington Labs' biggest competitors in genetic research.
His father hadn't explicitly stated as much, but Warren was getting the impression from the letter that something like that would be nothing shy of tragic for more reasons than just his father's loss of the family business.
He sighed, read the letter again, neatly folded it and set it to the side, and the held his head in his hands for a good half-hour before pulling himself to his feet. He was going to have to make portal arrangements, and cancel any plans in his official capacity as Consort for the next couple of weeks. After all, the other unfortunate thing about having to go back to his reality was the ridiculous time difference between his world, which ran at about a fifth of Fandom's time at its quickest, and Kaeleer, which typically ran double that.
He could have done without this sort of mail, today.
[OOC: Open to anyone who has any reason to wander by Warren's office in Glacia, or phone calls or whatever!]
So, in short, "Please don't kill me, I respect your mail rights, and besides, Cora and Nyles need their tutor and you wouldn't kill me so soon after bringing them home, would you?"
Not that any of that was on Warren's mind as he read the letter over again. It was a printout, on Worthington Labs letterhead, with his father's signature scrawled across the bottom. The gist of it was, essentially, that more anti-mutant legislation had been pushed through, and if Warren's father was to continue running the company, he needed Warren to come to New York to sign an affidavit specifically stating that Warren himself had no hand in the business operations of the company. If he didn't, control of the company would transfer over to Trask Industries, one of Worthington Labs' biggest competitors in genetic research.
His father hadn't explicitly stated as much, but Warren was getting the impression from the letter that something like that would be nothing shy of tragic for more reasons than just his father's loss of the family business.
He sighed, read the letter again, neatly folded it and set it to the side, and the held his head in his hands for a good half-hour before pulling himself to his feet. He was going to have to make portal arrangements, and cancel any plans in his official capacity as Consort for the next couple of weeks. After all, the other unfortunate thing about having to go back to his reality was the ridiculous time difference between his world, which ran at about a fifth of Fandom's time at its quickest, and Kaeleer, which typically ran double that.
He could have done without this sort of mail, today.
[OOC: Open to anyone who has any reason to wander by Warren's office in Glacia, or phone calls or whatever!]
