Joined: 14 Aug 2006
Location: The Guiding Hand is watching!
|Posted: Sun Nov 05, 2006 6:07 am Post subject: A Day in the Life of..
|“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
The man snapped a sharp salute, just like at parade at the State War Academy, turned on his heel and did the three customary steps as his feet bring him to the door.
Embroided twin revolvers flexed with every step the man took, combat boots making soft clicks in his imagined marched, regimentation evident to even the untrained eye. A full, horizontal rectangle of silver signified his rank as he leaned a little to his right to pick up a clipboard, fishing out the pen and begins signing the various documents. A short scribble, a flip, another short scribble, yet one more flip…
“Welcome back, boss. It’s good to have you back”
Davlos cleared his throat, “The Commanding Officer’s here, Oshiro.”
“Welcome back, Lieutenant Cain.”
“Good to see you again, Asami.”
Asami Oshiro smiled, though it only lasted a split second as Davlos came to the last of the documents on the clipboard, “About your financial status, sir.”
“Don’t you worry about it. I won’t be asking the CO for any Kredits, and I’ll think of something. Just do your job, and you’re coming to Nanbantei at New Caldari Prime for dinner tonight.”
Her eyes widened in obvious surprise, “Nanbantei?! Reservations take six months in advance, and-“
One final scribble, and the instantly-capped pen was raised, silently, “A little token of thanks for doing your job so damned well while I wasn’t here.”
“And what of the blockade? And reporting for duty? We’re at war, sir, and how are we gonna get there?”
“All too simple, Asami,” Davlos shifted his posture a little, a slight grin coming to his features as he laid the clipboard down with a subtle, mischievous wink, “We’re going to meet an informant of undisclosed identity, and unplanned flights can be made for that.”
The aide fidgeted uncomfortably on her chair, looking down to her desk as she covered the clipboard to double-check the documents, “I’m not too sure about this, sir, I-“
“Don’t you worry about it. Just do your job.”, he stated firmly.
A sigh of resignation, “Yes sir.”
His office was the same as he left it – desk with the standard work terminal and strewn with all sorts of curious-looking instruments that he never bothered to put away, a huge shelf of holoreels neatly labeled, stacked and cataloged. There was also a plain-looking coffee table flanked by two huge, plush couches, quite over-luxurious by Caldari standards and a sizable fur rug nearby that would not look out of place in a typical, decadent Gallente residence.
Seating himself at his desk, he sighed at the mountain of paperwork stacked on his desk – weeks of backlog of work to do. Ship maintenance logs, a report on crew morale from his crew chiefs, an equipment stock-taking log stamped with a huge red “URGENT” on it, amongst other things. Shuffling through the documents, he clucks in tongue in irritation as the last bit of paperwork screaming for his attention was a perfumed sheet with an elegantly flowing script. Was not signed, but a lipstick mark at the bottom brought a smile to his face nonetheless.
But that was not what he was looking for.
Lines creased his face and touched the implants slashed on his right temple, “Where the bloody hell is it?!”
Davlos had been awaiting news from the Board for a time. For acknowledgement, just a sign, that they have considered the information that he had scrounged out, dug for despite not having a clue in the field of intelligence. Known ship types of his enemies, travel habits, what they ate, who they talked to, fleet command hierarchy, and the list went on.
Every day, when monitoring communications channels including his own comrades’, the enemy pilots’ names were always identified, but the information he dug out never used. Even his recommendation to hire mercenaries fell on deaf ears. The agreement to quickly resolve this conflict echoed amongst his fellow grunts, yet his leaders were blinded by pride, and insisted on doing it themselves.
Fingers laced themselves into his hair as he grasped at his own scalp, “Where are our allies?! The ones who moan for Caldari Prime and yell their moral support when they do nothing! They are no different than those Gallente fucks who wear tattoos for the Minmatar!”
Oshiro was at the door, half open and carrying a sheaf of papers, wide-eyed and staring in shock at him. The capsuleer was frozen in place, hands in his hair and stared silently at her like an ugly statue called ‘art’ by the Gallente.
The aide stuttered softly, mumbling and trying to find words as she blushed, pressing the documents to her breast and broke a hasty retreat.