Martin actually jolts a little when John's voice cuts through the gentle tedium of needless reorganization, and he freezes for a moment, made-up task instantly forgotten. He turns, stiff and awkward, to see John stepping aside to indicate his office. Demanding his presence. I'll have you, specifically.
"R-right," he stammers, tripping up a bit over what he means to say, and it slips out before he can catch it: "Yes, sir."
It's almost natural; not suggestive, nor mocking, not even particularly emphatic. He never called John sir when actually working under him, and yet it just came out so organically he can scarcely question it. He supposes it just... felt right.
He's still flushed over it. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck. But otherwise he endeavors to look the part of a nervous employee, cowed but humble, as he obediently lets himself be drawn into John's inexorable orbit.
no subject
"R-right," he stammers, tripping up a bit over what he means to say, and it slips out before he can catch it: "Yes, sir."
It's almost natural; not suggestive, nor mocking, not even particularly emphatic. He never called John sir when actually working under him, and yet it just came out so organically he can scarcely question it. He supposes it just... felt right.
He's still flushed over it. He can feel the heat in his cheeks, his ears, the back of his neck. But otherwise he endeavors to look the part of a nervous employee, cowed but humble, as he obediently lets himself be drawn into John's inexorable orbit.