send forth your spirit. Who: Fw Black & the Reverend What: A welcoming. Where: The Feldwebel’s office. When: Circa Violet’s appointment. Rating: G. Status: Complete.
The flights of stairs were strangely empty. While the space was usually filled with the hustle and bustle of the clergy, at this hour, the nuns settled into their work at the cloister, the monks at the monastery, the Church leaders at their offices. The remainder attended service in the nave below, and certainly the acolytes were already scurrying their way up the neighboring belfry, ready to attend to the hourly tolling of the bells.
So it was that a lone figure made its way up the winding stairs. The hem of his dark vestments fluttered around his ankles with each step, hanging so heavily on his thin frame he almost appeared to be floating. Only his footfalls and the rustle of his straw bag interrupted the silence.
In stenciled, gold letters, a sign on the next landing indicated that he’d arrived at the offices of the Silver Blades. The Kaplan pushed the door open, its angry creak as familiar to him as any church hymn, and stepped into the halls. The lefts and rights to the Feldwebel’s office proved easy to navigate, although the arrangement of the office that greeted him through the door left ajar was a different matter entirely.
Of course, Amos should have expected that adjustments would be made for the tastes of the new owner. Slender fingers reached out of a rough-hewn sleeve, curling into a fist to deliver two polite knocks at the door.
“I do hope I’m not interrupting?”
"Kaplan. Not at all."
It was a week into her time as Feldwebel and Violet was still getting used to her new office. It was a humble thing, but Violet was used to small spaces. It didn't quite feel her own, not yet, at least, as there were still lingering touches of Heron Shaw that seemed written into the very stone of the floor. Violet had decided to keep his furniture and not touch that which Shaw had yet to pick up out of respect to both the man she was replacing and his team.
"Please," Violet said, voice soft and warm, "come in and sit."
Before he got too close, she shut the file on Vizekorporal Raol Leveren that she'd been reading. Getting to know the men she'd been put in charge of had been her top priority this week. Many were too torn up about Shaw's injury to be friendly, or too loyal to show her kindness, and so Violet had gone to the Hauptmann for their files. She'd know them as intimately as possible, even if they would not be forthcoming with their own details.
Raising her eyes from the closed file, she took in the sight of the small priest that stood before her. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"
“I thought you might enjoy some of our best.”
With a wan smile, Amos slid the straw bag off his shoulders and presented it to her. It was filled with fresh pickings from the monastery gardens; how better to welcome a newcomer into the fold? The priest then did as she directed, taking the seat opposite her. “Although I must be honest,” he continued, “and say that I also thought to check in, to see if there is any way I can assist with your transition.”
Such was his practice with all of the Blades in the squad, for whom he was responsible in both body and soul. A responsibility, he thought with a slight pang of regret, that would not be his much longer.
Violet was always polite, but guarded, even on her best days. The pleasant surprise of a welcome, though, warmed her slightly. The smile she'd been smiling reached her eyes as she took a quick peek of the bag's contents. "Well that was kind of you. Thank you."
With a gentle grace, she slid the bag to the side of her desk so she could give the Kaplan her full attention. "I must say, I appreciate the gesture." And she wouldn't have minded if the other Blades could mimic this attitude. Thus far, they'd mostly seemed to avoid her, if not be outright rude. She understood this attitude to an extent, but after having pegged the one named Rictor as the worst of the bunch, she'd decided that she'd need a gameplan to handle them all and survive intact.
For a moment, Violet thought quietly. She regarded Amos for a moment, taking in the sight of him, noting his slight build. And then she said, "What advice would you recommend me in this period of transition?" It was a question asked to get a better idea of Amos more than for the help. What Violet wanted in her first week was some comprehension. She figured that either through patience or strength, things would eventually work out well enough.
There was silence in the wake of her inquiry.
Amos mulled his answer over—hers had been a worthy question, certainly deserving of his full consideration. Unfortunately, it was also all too relevant. Loyalty ran deep in their Order: the gardists had long learned to put their lives on the line at Heron Shaw’s command. For such a tragedy to befall him and for it to be followed so hastily by a replacement: these were no easy matters to swallow. That the replacement was of the other squad, the one that remained behind the Cathedral’s walls as they labored through the dangers of the Mist…
Well, it certainly did not sweeten the deal. And even soldiers of the Lord could be human enough to let their ill will fester. Amos took a deep breath, blinked.
Finally: “You are the Feldwebel now. It was not an appointment made lightly, and, as such, the Blades ought to regard you with the same respect that they afforded the last. In turn, I would suggest that you be honest with them. Let them know of your expectations and your goals, and, perhaps, that you hold yourself to the same standards to which you hold them.” A pause, another small smile. “The greatest testimony to your worthiness as a leader will be your own actions. The example you provide.”
Violet nodded and gave his response just a moment of consideration. She could appreciate wise words and a man with a good heart and though she hadn’t known Amos long enough to really know him, she had a good feeling about him. One out of nine men was, she supposed, a start. “Thank you, Amos,” she said. “I must admit that it was my intention to pull the lot of them aside and have a talk, but I’m giving them time. I realize they’re still recovering and even those who weren’t injured still are nursing the pain of having lost their friends. I suspect it will be a difficult transition, but not an impossible one.”
She stopped and examined him once more, for a long enough time that he might just begin to squirm. Violet had a bad habit of doing this from time to time when thinking. Finally, just before it got really uncomfortable, she spoke, “I would like to ask you what you would expect of someone who is stepping in for Heron Shaw. And I would not begrudge you your thoughts on my new charges.”
“I would expect that they do not behave as though they’re ‘stepping in’ for Heron Shaw,” Amos said. He was not the sort to find perturberance in scrutiny—or in anything, really—and so his voice was so light as to suggest he’d barely noticed the lull in conversation. “You are your own Feldwebel, Violet. As for the knights.” The priest paused, offered a tilt of the head. “Good men, all. Stubborn, but good.”
Violet let the wise words sink in. Taking over for Shaw had been an intimidating move, but she trusted herself to be capable in the position. It would just be a matter of time before she felt truly confident with the title. "I've seen the stubborn," she smiled. "Soon, I hope, the good will follow."
The time taken by Amos to talk felt nice, encouraging in a way that speaking with the Hauptmann could not be. "Thank you for coming to speak with me, Amos. I hope you will continue to do so again in the future. For work or just to chat." Violet rose elegantly from her seat indicating that the conversation was coming to a close. She did, after all, have more work to do.
“Of course. I do hope you enjoy the produce.”
Ever obliging, Amos rose as well. With a last nod and a solemn “Faram bless,” the priest turned and left.