Mar 09, 2013 02:47
Prefect had figured out where he was a good couple of weeks before he managed to trace O'Brien through the vast tendrils of the Party's bureaucracy. Weeks spent there, and no sign of the Barge, no word from the admiral. Not even the faintest flicker of static on his communicator. He'd thrown himself into the work he was given, as was his way, and little by little, he'd slid himself from department to department, followed certain protocols, requested certain transfers, and of course, enthused vigorously about certain aspects of the party, until he was finally reassigned to the role he'd been hoping for.
Personal Aide and Assistant to Comrade O'Brien.
An underling of the inner party (Not that he cared about that, of course. Not that he was being ever so slightly won over by the tactics of the regime...) and more importantly, a chance to see the other man again. Even if O'Brien didn't remember him, or the Barge, or their friendship at all.
It would be enough just to see him again.
Prefect reported to O'Brien's house at half eight in the morning, fully equipped with his boiler suit, his work papers, and a full compliment of nerves at the prospect of seeing his friend again. Stepping forward, he reached up to press his finger on O'Brien's buzzer, and schooled his face down into a perfectly expressionless mask.