![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Griffin Keep, 17/06/115AE...
Jun. 17th, 2015 07:22 pm...It's a small thing, the communicae bearing the official seal of Defender Command in Exiles Rest, addressed to Gerrard Knight at Griffin Keep. He sits at his desk in his office, holding it in his hands, quietly feeling every emotion under the sun, the combination evening out to a slightly wide-eyed, slightly blank stare.
Stop being a twat and open the damn thing.
He breaks the seal and unfolds the note, hands steady with an effort. He reads, breath becoming slightly faster as he does so, but his face betraying nothing. Whatever is there is being absorbed, not reflected.
He finishes, and looks up and into the middle distance for a while, before regaining the here and now, standing up, putting the note down, going to the door. All very methodical and deliberate.
He walks out into the corridor, silently passing a number of people trying to look as though through pure happenstance, they just happened to be in this end of the keep, at this time, just as the skipper got an official letter from on high. Eyes twitch this way and that, silent communication without a word as he leaves them in his wake, his face neutral, his gait calm.
Finally, an overly large man with obvious highland heritage breaks the silence, piping up in a broad highland accent.
"How d'ye do, Knight?"
He stops, pauses.
Looks over his shoulder at them.
Smiles.
"How did you do, Captain Knight, SIR!"
You'd think Heusenberg had just won the Juggerball world cup.
He raises his voice over the top, backing away and beckoning them to follow.
"Drinks are on me, boys!"
You'd think they'd just won it again.
Sort your shit out, stage two. Mission accomplished.
Stop being a twat and open the damn thing.
He breaks the seal and unfolds the note, hands steady with an effort. He reads, breath becoming slightly faster as he does so, but his face betraying nothing. Whatever is there is being absorbed, not reflected.
He finishes, and looks up and into the middle distance for a while, before regaining the here and now, standing up, putting the note down, going to the door. All very methodical and deliberate.
He walks out into the corridor, silently passing a number of people trying to look as though through pure happenstance, they just happened to be in this end of the keep, at this time, just as the skipper got an official letter from on high. Eyes twitch this way and that, silent communication without a word as he leaves them in his wake, his face neutral, his gait calm.
Finally, an overly large man with obvious highland heritage breaks the silence, piping up in a broad highland accent.
"How d'ye do, Knight?"
He stops, pauses.
Looks over his shoulder at them.
Smiles.
"How did you do, Captain Knight, SIR!"
You'd think Heusenberg had just won the Juggerball world cup.
He raises his voice over the top, backing away and beckoning them to follow.
"Drinks are on me, boys!"
You'd think they'd just won it again.
Sort your shit out, stage two. Mission accomplished.
