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Summary
His life is not a life, not really. He wakes. He gets dressed. He buckles his emotions away as his armour tightens. He kisses his brother’s foreheads to wake them up if they’re in his bed, and gently opens their room doors if they aren’t so they’ll wake naturally to the sound of the radio blaring from the kitchen. Thorn is usually up too, not dressed, but tea and sandwiches are waiting. He’s a provider by nature, Thorn. He takes his dinner up to his cupboard-office, jigs the door open and hopes he remembers to fix it today; turns on his array of datapads because they have too few actual computers and one has to go to medical. The other is in barracks, where vode can use it as necessary. He listens to his voicemails as his emails and memos load up, by which point his tea is cool enough to drink. Tea drunk, he addresses the easy issues first, signing off requisition forms, sending a new request out to the cafés and restaurants and such for all Clone-induced bills to be addressed c/o The Guard, checking he has indeed sent out today’s rotations.
Series
- Part 1 of Buir Fox