braymitch thornathy. (grever) wrote in emillion, @ 2013-11-14 00:25:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !thread, arielle chiaro, bram thornton, siana banes, storm kapur, theodore finch |
no one's got it all.
Who: Bram Thornton & (Siana, Storm, Ari, Theo)
What: A day in the life...
Where: around Emillion
When: ...throughout the day (Wednesday).
Rating: Tame.
Status: Complete!
[08:00am - Park in the Commoners District. Siana Banes.] There was a coffee vendor he preferred to frequent by the park. It was cheap, but still some of the best in the city, all served from a rolling wagon pulled by a crotchety chocobo and manned by an even more crotchety owner. Over the years, however, Bram had evolved into the coveted status of food truck Regular™: the proprietor had memorised the man’s craggy face by now and would hand over a steaming cup of black coffee (only one sugar) without another word, mutely exchanging gil, just the way the two of them liked it. A polite nod of the head, and then he was moving on. Normally, he would have continued onwards without a second glance to arrive at the offices early — but today he stopped, lingering to glance at the headlines of the Valendian Standard. Bram flipped a coin to the grubby urchin, purchasing the day’s paper, and then settled down on the nearby bench to nurse his coffee, his paper, and his last few minutes of quiet before the workday fully began. [11:00am - Outside the EKP offices, Shieldwyrm Hall. Storm Kapur.] The hum and bustle of the EKP offices was a welcome lodestone to his day, the anchor around which he constructed everything else (including, yes, council work). The moment he stepped in through the doors, Detective Inspector Thornton felt more like himself: his strides lengthened, his back straightened, his chin rose higher. He slunk back into his uniform and his badge like someone donning a cloak, wrapping the identity tight around them. Behind him, however, one of his officers was having a much harder time of it, hauling in a suspect who was alternately kicking, flailing, or going limp in their arms, spitting invectives all the way. Thornton paused to hold the door open for them – officer Bright gave a terse nod before carting her suspect inside – and then the man turned, distracted, not noticing the other guildhall passerby until they practically ran into each other. “Ah—apologies.” [3:00pm - Bahamut Hall. Ari Chiaro.] Training had become harder and harder and so he preferred the paperwork at Bahamut Hall, gravitating towards it even as he knew the loathing others (Monaco, notably) had for the practice. On his way into the council offices, however, Bram immediately noted someone leaving Cassul’s office who most certainly wasn’t a fighter. “Afternoon,” he said, subtly craning his head to see if the councilwoman was in. The old officer’s instincts were immediately kicking into gear: checking for vandalism, for signs of breaking and entering, perhaps files stolen. Over the past twelve years, he’d caught more than his share of unauthorised entrants trying to work their way into the council offices. One couldn’t help but be on alert, or so he reasoned. [9:00pm - The Kranky Knight. Theo Finch.] It wasn’t precisely late yet, but it certainly wasn’t early either. Bitter coffee heralded the start of the man’s workday, and bitter whiskey heralded the end: Bram had taken up residence at the long countertop of the Kranky Knight, stewing in something approaching silence. His years of cheerfully striking up conversation with his neighbours at the bar had mostly passed; instead, he enjoyed his drink and enjoyed it alone, staring into the bottom of the glass as if it had some sort of wisdom to offer. The day had passed enjoyably enough: nothing had seemed especially bad about it, but nothing good either. It trundled onwards, is what it did. Another minute ticking into another hour and then another day, wrapping itself up uncomfortably quickly as time slipped away from him, the days melting away into a blur. In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on. |