Is a fairly ordinary afternoon, all things considered… which makes it, as mornings on Planet Aaron go, extraordinary in its own right. Not that extraordinary is a bad thing – he’s learning rapidly that tedium isn’t an enemy, and boredom is something to be cherished, because the alternative is dark and brutal and agonizing, and now that he’s *in charge* there’s not much grey area. So he’s trying desperately to convince himself that he’s actually enjoying this, that drinking lukewarm coffee (because he hasn’t got a secretary any more, and despite being a technical whiz the mysteries of the espresso machine are, like most domesticities, totally beyond him) and staring blankly into space really are totally diverting…
He almost wishes they were properly at war already, because that way he wouldn’t have room to sit and do nothing (only he’s never really doing nothing, not with his mind constantly on overdrive… which makes the nothingness worse because there’s bugger all to do except think, and thinking inevitably leads to remembering, and that way madness lies). He can’t fault the new recruits… except that yeah, he can. Mostly they’re either angsty goth types or spoiled rich kids who think joining up wonderfully counter-culture, and while he knows they were never anything particularly special it’s just… not the same, really. Can’t ever be the same. And now they’re stuck waiting for things to finally break, which is frustrating as all hell.
The bell (whose bright idea was that bloody thing anyway?) rouses him from his reverie, and he looks up to the redhead in the doorway. There’s something a little familiar about her… only he can’t quite place it, and thinks that even if he could, it would only be a delusion. No one familiar is left, right? That’s why he’s in charge, after all. It’s much easier to shy away from that illogical spark towards trying to be motivated and engaged by how something is happening for once. Maybe they’ll get to rescue a cat from a tree, or track down someone’s long-lost cousin, or any of the other boring stuff that Cassie insists will pay the bills that need to be paid – because apparently fighting the good fight counts for bugger all as far as getting a break goes.
“Hey” It’s about as bright and cheerful as someone this sleep-deprived can make it, remarkably so considering the main cause of that deprivation. The words themselves are like a litany, machine-gunned out on auto-pilot. “Ketch-Hare-Burke-Ketch Pest Control and Information. How can I help?”