(no subject)
Zechs is currently sitting at his office desk. One who looked in might notice his very obvious frustration; the particularly astute observer might notice that he's trussed from head to toe in red tape. Not literally, of course, because it's incredibly doubtful that anyone could get close enough and, if they did manage to, even more unlikely that they would survive for long enough to finish the job.
But the figurative governmental red tape is just as confining and irritating, particularly to Zechs. He's more than aware, as he always is, that his position and many of his liberties are due to the fact that the government is watching his every move with the same severity that he himself used whilst reviewing the troops. Zechs frowns as he reflects more upon the situation. It's not a particularly enjoyable one to be in; Preventer, no matter how much power it may possess, is nevertheless a civilian organisation operating within the limits of the law. For one who was almost always above the law, for royalty, the idea chafes like a pair of sandpaper underpants. (Or so Zechs assumes, because he's never really had an interest in underwear crafted from material that gets measured in grains per inch.)
At the moment, he's endeavouring to balance a pencil on the eraser end between his eyes, a mark of the severity of his boredom. Desk jobs have never much suited him, after all.
But the figurative governmental red tape is just as confining and irritating, particularly to Zechs. He's more than aware, as he always is, that his position and many of his liberties are due to the fact that the government is watching his every move with the same severity that he himself used whilst reviewing the troops. Zechs frowns as he reflects more upon the situation. It's not a particularly enjoyable one to be in; Preventer, no matter how much power it may possess, is nevertheless a civilian organisation operating within the limits of the law. For one who was almost always above the law, for royalty, the idea chafes like a pair of sandpaper underpants. (Or so Zechs assumes, because he's never really had an interest in underwear crafted from material that gets measured in grains per inch.)
At the moment, he's endeavouring to balance a pencil on the eraser end between his eyes, a mark of the severity of his boredom. Desk jobs have never much suited him, after all.