Post by Cam Pyetr on Feb 5, 2023 19:41:43 GMT -5
[for @elletta ]
Cam tipped his head back and let out a low groan as he stretched his arms overhead, letting his chair tip back to give more room for his hip flexors to stretch. The window on one side wall showed him that the sun wasn't even close to setting--it was probably early afternoon. He'd been sitting in this dank, cold office all day and had been for most of the week, trapped in this hard-backed chair behind a wobbling desk. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a chair, equally straight-backed and uncomfortable, on the other side of the desk. The chair was currently empty, but he only had a short time before the next guest was sent in.
A shipment of soldiers from Coheed had come in. He wasn't quite privy to the why they'd been brought back, but that didn't matter to his job anyway. War was hard on a person--even a man--and just being deployed was difficult for a loyal Nevermerean. His temporary job was to make sure that those who came back were still of sound mind and self-control. A mental evaluation, you could call it, to make sure that the female soldiers didn't need a little time away at the Beldam. Cam's military liaisons pretended the witches chosen to be interviewed were picked at random, but he had doubts about that, and there were two male guards stationed outside the door of the interview room. Just in case the job went sour.
Though it wasn't his job, or wasn't supposed to be. He had satellite employees of the Beldam who did this, bureaucratic types whose job was simply to interview witches returning from the field, fill out the questions he'd written, and flag any that seemed to need follow up. Easy. Women loved to talk. And yet here he was, filling in. Why? Because apparently it required more finesse to have a conversation than some men could handle. His last interviewer had quit days before the interviews were to begin, mere weeks after his training was done, to Cam's complete frustration at the waste of his own time. The man had a new baby on the way, he said. He needed to put his family, his safety first. Cam hadn't been able to pull in a replacement, so here he was.
He settled his chair and slid the sheaf of papers for his last interviewer into one of a few satchels on the floor. Then, sighing, he dug out the paper for the next one. Summons would have been sent to her home address or current residence days ago, if it was on file. A courier would have been sent days later if she didn't respond. @elletta . Twenty-three. Combat active. History of pugilism, insubordinate speech.
So helpful. Cam sighed again before straightening his spine, leaving the frown on his face. He pulled a fresh form from another satchel on the ground and wrote her name at the top.
Cam tipped his head back and let out a low groan as he stretched his arms overhead, letting his chair tip back to give more room for his hip flexors to stretch. The window on one side wall showed him that the sun wasn't even close to setting--it was probably early afternoon. He'd been sitting in this dank, cold office all day and had been for most of the week, trapped in this hard-backed chair behind a wobbling desk. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a chair, equally straight-backed and uncomfortable, on the other side of the desk. The chair was currently empty, but he only had a short time before the next guest was sent in.
A shipment of soldiers from Coheed had come in. He wasn't quite privy to the why they'd been brought back, but that didn't matter to his job anyway. War was hard on a person--even a man--and just being deployed was difficult for a loyal Nevermerean. His temporary job was to make sure that those who came back were still of sound mind and self-control. A mental evaluation, you could call it, to make sure that the female soldiers didn't need a little time away at the Beldam. Cam's military liaisons pretended the witches chosen to be interviewed were picked at random, but he had doubts about that, and there were two male guards stationed outside the door of the interview room. Just in case the job went sour.
Though it wasn't his job, or wasn't supposed to be. He had satellite employees of the Beldam who did this, bureaucratic types whose job was simply to interview witches returning from the field, fill out the questions he'd written, and flag any that seemed to need follow up. Easy. Women loved to talk. And yet here he was, filling in. Why? Because apparently it required more finesse to have a conversation than some men could handle. His last interviewer had quit days before the interviews were to begin, mere weeks after his training was done, to Cam's complete frustration at the waste of his own time. The man had a new baby on the way, he said. He needed to put his family, his safety first. Cam hadn't been able to pull in a replacement, so here he was.
He settled his chair and slid the sheaf of papers for his last interviewer into one of a few satchels on the floor. Then, sighing, he dug out the paper for the next one. Summons would have been sent to her home address or current residence days ago, if it was on file. A courier would have been sent days later if she didn't respond. @elletta . Twenty-three. Combat active. History of pugilism, insubordinate speech.
So helpful. Cam sighed again before straightening his spine, leaving the frown on his face. He pulled a fresh form from another satchel on the ground and wrote her name at the top.
