artfulequivocator:

   A familiar voice reaches his ears, and where does he recognise it? …Oh yes. Of  course. It’s Connolly Computing’s resident ‘cockblock’ and shitty nickname giver.

    Taking one last pointed drag of his cigarette, he then proceeds to stub out the
    remainder of it in the ashtray provided for him, before exhaling slowly, watching the
    steady white stream of smoke leave his mouth.

    Upturning his head, he takes a moment to think. Name, name…Did he get a name?
    Now that he ponders on it, he realises that he didn’t, which is rather rude,
    considering he introduced himself. True, he didn’t give his actual name, but that’s
    not exactly common knowledge, now is it?

    ❝Pointin’ out people’s bad habits…
       Nasty habit.
       Help you with somethin’, mate?
       Or are you just here to preach ‘bout my bad morals?❞

    He casually slides the paperwork he’d been perusing before he’d been interrupted
    back into the envelope. He’s not overtly bringing attention to it, but the movement
    should make it known to Michael. It’s a basic trick; stamp an folder with
    ‘confidential’, tuck it away in a drawer as a person comes into view - making sure
    they at least see the stark lettering marking the documents as private - and you’ve
    got yourself someone who can’t help but want to know what’s inside.

    An easy way to get a mark more interested.

    The way he sees it, getting anyone in Connolly Computing to believe that he’s
    actually who he says he is would be a bonus. Especially if that someone seems to
    be a jumped up arsehole with a short temper, and a height to match that.

’ I could, ’ he shrugs once.
’ Or you can tell me more about what you do,
  because, let’s be honest here— ’

   ’ I’m curious. ’

           Curious.
           And he doesn’t really trust him.

                    Can’t trust people anyway these days.
                    One minute, they’re you’re friend; the next,
                    they’re trying to screw you over 
                    ass-backwards.

                    Michael knows this better than most.

            He pulls a chair out from the lip of the table and 
            takes a seat across from ‘Tommy.’

                          If that was even his name.

                          Was he being ridiculous about this entire
                          thing? Maybe. Did he give a fuck?
                                                Not even in the slightest.