Hermes - Coffee lawsuit

"In the past three months," the woman recited as if she'd memorized it for an elementary school play, "Mr. Trump has acquired eighteen competing small businesses, twenty-seven locally-owned storefronts, five major league sports teams, twelve boy scout troops, six casinos, and an extended multiverse."

"That one!" Hermes said excitedly. "That's the one I'm here for!"

"You," the receptionist drawled, "And fifty-seven other people. For every acquisition Mr. Trump makes, we hear blowback from the affected parties asking for some form of reversal. It never happens, but they never stop coming, so he started this help desk." She pointed to a sign above the countertop, which read OFFICE FOR GENTLE REFUSAL AND EJECTION FROM THE PREMISES in large, gold lettering.

"Oh," Hermes said plainly. "I see."

"Right," the woman confirmed, "And now that we've finished the gentle refusal, if you'll allow me a quick call to Security I'll have you escorted away and get back to my-"

"I'm afraid not," Hermes said politely, "Your game of Tetris will have to wait."

"How did you-"

"For you see," Hermes interrupted again, holding up his coffee cup like a gold medallion or a crucifix. "Mr. Trump has no choice but to see me." His smile was borderline smug at this point.

"So what?" the woman said with disdain. "It's a coffee cup."

"Correct," Hermes agreed, "But look closely, especially on the bottom."

The woman leaned a little bit forward, examining the cup. "It's the hot drink warning."

"Hot drink warning?" Hermes asked, visibly confused. He turned it around in his hand, reading it carefully. "No, I don't see any hot drink warning there. I do, however, see a very nice compliment." He turned it back to the woman for her to inspect a second time. True, there was a warning printed on the bottom, but parts of it had been blacked out with a permanent marker, so that it now read "CAREFUL, ████████ YOU'RE ████████████████ EXTREMELY HOT."
The woman's eyes narrowed- she'd been around long enough to know that something was up, but she hadn't put all of the pieces together just yet. "So?"

"So," Hermes said matter-of-factly, "Suppose I'm the person they write warnings for. I give plastic packaging to small children, I let my son watch R-rated movies, and I use lighters while I'm asleep." He paused for a moment, realizing that that last one might actually be half-true. "And I definitely don't know that my hot coffee is hot unless a warning label tells me so." He carefully removed the lid. "Suppose I'm very, very tired, and need a splash of something cold on my face to wake me up." He held the drink precariously over his own head. "Oh, I think this drink will do nicely- after all, nothing told me it was hot."

Realization widened the woman's eyes. She knew where this was headed now. "You wouldn't."

"I wouldn't, would I?" Hermes responded slyly. "I noticed the barista giving me strange looks when she handed me my drink. I'd be willing to guess that she does that for everyone's drink. It's all in good fun, of course, but... not everyone is as dumb as me."

"That's the only small entertainment she gets from a minimum wage job completely lacking any engagement or hope," the woman said in awe, as if watching Hermes transform into a demon in front of her eyes. "How could you punish her for trying to enjoy her job?"

"Easily," Hermes said, his eyes narrowed, the cup shaking slightly over his head. "That's one and a half seconds she could be spending getting drinks out faster."

"You're..." the woman whispered, shocked. "You're pure evil. What do you want?"

"Just a meeting with Mr. Trump. Get me that, immediately, and I won't have to bog down this company in any more lawsuits than it already deals with. And believe me, sister, if I want a lawsuit to be long, pointless, and tedious, I know just where to sign."

Her eyes narrowed, her mouth stretched into a thin line. "You're bluffing."

Hermes' smile crooked up on one side. "Am I?"

The tension in the air redoubled for a brief moment as the standoff between the two pencil pushers stretched on. They locked eyes, never wavering, until the woman broke the stare and turned for her phone. She punched a single number. "Hello, security?"

In that instant, Hermes dumped two-thirds of a venti eighteen-shot Pike Place Roast on his head, and immediately began screaming in incredible pain.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"

"Sir?!" the woman said in raw shock. "Please, just-"

"SWEET CHINCHILLA OF MANILA, THAT'S SO MUCH HOTTER THAN I THOUGHT IT'D BE!!" Hermes clawed at his face and eyes, trying to wipe the boiling-hot liquid from his face before he was burned any further. Despite his incredible agony, he stuck to the plan, stuck to his guns, and laid out his demands in an agonized bellow.

"Sir, I-"

"TRUMP!" Hermes roared, "GET ME TRUMP OR I SUE!"

--------

"Well, here you are."

Hermes sat near the end of an exquisitely-crafted rectangular wood table, made of some type of wood he'd never seen before that absolutely reeked of incredible expense. The meeting room's walls were made of the same dark amber marble, long unbroken pieces of it that seemed to stretch into infinity and gave the entire room a golden glow. Golden braziers on the wall held lamps that illuminated the entire space in a soft yellow glow, so that Hermes' papers appeared almost beige. Tucked into a corner was a small cupboard, made of clean white marble with space for a basket of pastries and a coffee machine, which Hermes smartly stayed well away from. On one wall near the door was an enormous flatscreen television, and at the opposite end was an elaborately ornate rolly-chair that held the owner of the tower, the man of the hour, The Donald himself. And he was extremely unhappy.

Hermes adjusted the position of his briefcase on the table. "Here I am."

***

Round 3.5, FreestyleKneepad