All About Duty (1/1)
anonymous
January 4 2010, 22:42:23 UTC
Her office was quiet. The sounds of singing and laughing were long gone. Traces of some form of camaraderie, some type of a beginning, remained in the echoes of the steam pipes.
Ainsley lingered in the basement doorway. Her gaze took in the posters, lips twitching ever so slightly up until finally manifesting into a wide smile. Fingertips traced along the desk as she walked forward. A shoulder twitch had her bag sliding into a guest chair. She rounded the wooden corner and finally dropped to sit in her own chair.
Her gaze switched to focus on the stack of folders in front of her computer monitor. New assignments from Tribbey, no doubt. The man was intimidating but she’d seemed to do alright for him yesterday. At least, she’d thought she did; the fact that he hadn’t killed her with his cricket bat was a good indication.
Their conversation about duty came back to mind. She might not agree with all of their methods or how they did things, but they were all moving towards the same end goal. And she’d meant every word when she’d defended these people, now her people, in that restaurant that seemed so long ago.
She might be different from them in many ways, but this was her dream.
She’d be damned if she didn’t give it everything.
Reaching for her morning breakfast, Ainsley flipped open the top folder to the first page. As she read, she found herself humming in between bites of blueberry muffin,
“…for he himself has said it, and it’s greatly to his credit, that he is an Englishman…”.
Re: All About Duty (1/1)shutterbug_12January 5 2010, 05:37:07 UTC
I'm not the receiver, but awwww. That was really wonderful. The muffin, of course. Can't forget the muffin. And I love that she's embraced everything so much now, that you can tell it's all become a part of her.
Ainsley lingered in the basement doorway. Her gaze took in the posters, lips twitching ever so slightly up until finally manifesting into a wide smile. Fingertips traced along the desk as she walked forward. A shoulder twitch had her bag sliding into a guest chair. She rounded the wooden corner and finally dropped to sit in her own chair.
Her gaze switched to focus on the stack of folders in front of her computer monitor. New assignments from Tribbey, no doubt. The man was intimidating but she’d seemed to do alright for him yesterday. At least, she’d thought she did; the fact that he hadn’t killed her with his cricket bat was a good indication.
Their conversation about duty came back to mind. She might not agree with all of their methods or how they did things, but they were all moving towards the same end goal. And she’d meant every word when she’d defended these people, now her people, in that restaurant that seemed so long ago.
She might be different from them in many ways, but this was her dream.
She’d be damned if she didn’t give it everything.
Reaching for her morning breakfast, Ainsley flipped open the top folder to the first page. As she read, she found herself humming in between bites of blueberry muffin,
“…for he himself has said it, and it’s greatly to his credit, that he is an Englishman…”.
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