gillian. (chiburui) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-10-05 15:53:00 |
|
|||
7:30 AM - SEVEN CUPS. Twenty minutes for breakfast, and on this particularly crisp autumn morning that meant green tea with a hint of dried citrus peel. Coffee (black and sour and in a constant state of percolation in the break room) was reserved for later hours, and would be passed around the office like a daily holy rite between the members of the Black Lion Company, as they traveled back and forth between jobs and seemingly sustained themselves on a constant cycle of caffeine and cigarettes. This scene, however, was very different in comparison. Gillian didn't start her work day at the offices, however. Even now she was perusing a small stack of maps and building plans. Eren had clipped notes to most of them, and she squinted at his narrow handwriting, trying to decipher his concerns for an upcoming job. Preliminary planning was just as important as the work itself, after all. Seemingly enamored with her tea and papers, the table she had chosen was nevertheless suited to the most strategic advantage--Gillian was able to see the rest of the patrons without much effort, and the path to the nearest exit was conveniently unhindered. Old bodyguard habits, they were, the result of perpetual planning and the necessity to entertain all manner of paranoia. 9:00 AM - BLACK LION COMPANY OFFICES. The offices were nestled on the second floor of a older business building in the Commoners District. They consisted of a narrow waiting space for guests, a conference room for daily meetings between members, a break room the size of a large maintenance closet (where the previously mentioned coffee remained percolating at nearly all hours), and a number of private offices for the senior members. The younger mercenaries had a shared open office area, a wide, rectangular room (with all desks in various states of organization) that also connected to a locked equipment space. Mercenaries had a habit of going through supplies on a never-ending basis, and Gillian and the senior members ensured there was at least something useful around for emergencies. Today, thankfully, there were no immediate emergencies or meetings of the utmost importance. There was only the requisite forms that needed filing, pay that needed sorting, and checking in on those who milled about the offices that morning. Gillian took the time to recheck her schedule, to be absolutely certain no one had booked a meeting when she wasn't looking. Once it appeared safe to do so, she began to walk a thoughtful circuit through the offices to the waiting room. In her armor now, her helmet sitting neatly on her desk, Gillian opened the door and took a curious look around. 12:00 PM - SHIELDWYRM HALL. Leaning against a wall, Gillian stood to the side of the training area and watched the beginnings of a sword class. The instructor was a samurai well into his fifties, a master if there ever was, and he went through the familiar motions of the kata. Observing these lessons was something of an indulgence, but since she had completed her earlier business, there seemed little reason not to linger for a short while. She watched the younger students with some interest. Sitting on the ground, swords in front of them, they watched eagerly as the instructor demonstrated the ceremonial act of fastening the katana to the belt. Every movement was a show of grace, precision and discipline. Nostalgia was a useless thing, however, for eventually her mind turned to her own years as a novice fighter, and her own mentor. She crossed her arms unconsciously, feeling the tension begin to wind up her body at the memories. 4:00 PM - GOODWIN'S OUTFITTING. Her cousin was manning the counter today, it seemed. He was already a journeyman now, she recalled, her father mentioning something last month about tests and the younger man's promising progress at the forge. Gillian had missed the celebrations after, with a job she now couldn't recall. She thought now that he deserved at least an offer for drinks, but as soon as the smith saw her, he was already sighing. "Give me that fucking sword of yours," he said impatiently, reaching out with rough, calloused hands. "Let me see what you've done with it now." "This isn't for your hands," Gillian countered, unbelting her katana and handing it to him anyway. "Tell your master I'll need it as soon as possible." "Aye, I'm sure your dad will be thrilled about it too." Joking for a few minutes, her cousin disappeared to the back of the shop, leaving Gillian at the counter with the other patrons. Busying herself with a hefty catalog of armors, weapons and ornaments, Gillian thought it best if she attempted to linger around for a while, just to see who else amongst her family was likely to be around at this hour. Goodwin's was a fixture of the neighborhood, busy at all hours and well-organized, with a front room full of displays. Armor like hers rested against the wall, and unlike hers, was in perfect showroom condition. She'd practically grown up in this smithy, and being her now quickly made her feel at home. 9:00 PM - COMMONERS DISTRICT. Time for dinner, or well past. Gillian's hovercar was parked on the side of the street nearest to an Ordalian take-away shop, and the line for orders snaked neatly across the shop's front even at the post-dinner hour. Out of her armor now and back in her civilian clothes, Gillian shrugged deeper into her jacket and watched the people passing on the sidewalk. The aroma of a dinner soon acquired wafted out from the nearest open window, and she felt her stomach roil in hunger. Just when had she had time for a full meal at all that day? She recalled someone tossing her a sandwich at the office early, but everything else seemed a blur of unreliable details. The chill in the air had picked up slightly, hinting at much colder days yet to come. She pulled her hands inside her pockets and distracted herself with the conversations of the other people in line. |