Hamis 23, 2718
Evening
Evening
Another dragging night led to an equally dragging day. The lunch hour had just past and Aurélien had not risen from his desk. On this day, like nearly every other, he was at his office in the building belonging to Amourgis & Associates, the firm he worked for. He had skipped lunch, yet again, despite the invitation from one of his colleagues and used the additional time in the quiet building to continue working on the case before him.
The case and its paperwork took up his entire desk and even spilled out onto the floor. The parchment - once crisp and clean - was now muddled and worn, having had been in and out of his hands several times a day for a great many days. He would have to go to court to represent the client in less than a fortnight, and he had yet to develop and an argument that was good enough - at least in his eyes.
He sat at his desk, head resting in his palms as he stared down at one of the pages of the case. He re-read line after line, drafting an argument in his head that he would then counter with another possibility. With each word read, his head bobbed to the rhythmic tutting of lines and soon enough his aching leg joined the chorus of twitching and began to jostle up and down, heel nearly pounding the floor with each beat. Soon his lips began to part and whispering streams of words were spoken in conjunction with the head bobbing and leg jostling. Another word, another beat, another bob, another word, another beat, another bob, another jostle.
The door to his office slid to a close and the resounding thud startled him out of his trance of concentration. Aurélien’s head shot up and his eyes darted around the small space before the feeling of a breeze coming through the open window at his flank brushed over his face, bringing cool air with it. He lapped it in, inhaling and clearing his fogged mind. His twitches had ceased and his body sat still in the chair, his hands now resting over the sheet of paper. He drug his tongue over his lips and then bit the inside of his cheek. Evening was fast approaching and he could tell from the lack of ambient sound around him that many had left the office for home. He knew he should be doing the same, but a majority of his peers were senior in age, thus they were content with their station, okay with their client base. Aurélien was not.
He ran a hand through his hair, bringing his fringe back as his palm traveled to the nape of his neck, where it rested to put pressure on a knot under his skin. His fringe fell back into place slowly, threatening to obscure his vision with the longer than average strands. This case - and others less pressing - had forced him to ignore the growth of his hair.
He licked his lips again and pushed up out of his seat. He stood over his desk, arms splayed wide to give him a limited but aerial view of the cases’ contents spread out. Even from that view, he had a hard time putting together the words of his argument. It just wasn’t good enough.
In a spark of frustration, he drew open one of the drawers of his desk and produced a small rectangular piece of wood. He placed it in the flat of his left palm and spoke to the mona clinging to his field. They came at his beckon, energized at his command. It didn’t take more than a second until the surface of it began to crackle and pop with embers as its internal temperature soared, igniting the wood. He did not have to sustain the temperature throughout the wood; the initial burst was enough to consume the little block. He watched as the wood broke down and breathed in the smell.
With the stint of his frustration burned away, he spoke another verse to the mona, injecting a change clause into his conversation to reverse the change in temperature, cooling the burning wood before it was all char. Another clause was thrown into the conversation, and the mona reacted as he willed them. The process was slow, and the conversation dragged, but the char and ash began to slowly revert itself and recombine with the exhausted molecules that were cast into the air and reform the piece of wood. The piece, once complete, resembled its shape before being burned, but now it was made up of fabricated material mixed with the natural pieces. The wonders of his magic never failed to calm the rising irritation that his work brought him from time to time. He curled his spell when he was satisfied.
Aurélien then dropped the block into the drawer he produced it from and then closed it. He rubbed his hands, casting away the soot that had blackened the center of his palm and returned his attention to the case. With night falling, there was no sense in continuing it at the office. He found his bag discarded off to the side of his desk and packed his papers up neatly before tucking them away. When the bag was thrown over his shoulder, and his space was further tidied, he bid the lights off and made way for the hallway. Aurélien gave the room a lasting look before he pulled the door open and stepped out.
The case and its paperwork took up his entire desk and even spilled out onto the floor. The parchment - once crisp and clean - was now muddled and worn, having had been in and out of his hands several times a day for a great many days. He would have to go to court to represent the client in less than a fortnight, and he had yet to develop and an argument that was good enough - at least in his eyes.
He sat at his desk, head resting in his palms as he stared down at one of the pages of the case. He re-read line after line, drafting an argument in his head that he would then counter with another possibility. With each word read, his head bobbed to the rhythmic tutting of lines and soon enough his aching leg joined the chorus of twitching and began to jostle up and down, heel nearly pounding the floor with each beat. Soon his lips began to part and whispering streams of words were spoken in conjunction with the head bobbing and leg jostling. Another word, another beat, another bob, another word, another beat, another bob, another jostle.
The door to his office slid to a close and the resounding thud startled him out of his trance of concentration. Aurélien’s head shot up and his eyes darted around the small space before the feeling of a breeze coming through the open window at his flank brushed over his face, bringing cool air with it. He lapped it in, inhaling and clearing his fogged mind. His twitches had ceased and his body sat still in the chair, his hands now resting over the sheet of paper. He drug his tongue over his lips and then bit the inside of his cheek. Evening was fast approaching and he could tell from the lack of ambient sound around him that many had left the office for home. He knew he should be doing the same, but a majority of his peers were senior in age, thus they were content with their station, okay with their client base. Aurélien was not.
He ran a hand through his hair, bringing his fringe back as his palm traveled to the nape of his neck, where it rested to put pressure on a knot under his skin. His fringe fell back into place slowly, threatening to obscure his vision with the longer than average strands. This case - and others less pressing - had forced him to ignore the growth of his hair.
He licked his lips again and pushed up out of his seat. He stood over his desk, arms splayed wide to give him a limited but aerial view of the cases’ contents spread out. Even from that view, he had a hard time putting together the words of his argument. It just wasn’t good enough.
In a spark of frustration, he drew open one of the drawers of his desk and produced a small rectangular piece of wood. He placed it in the flat of his left palm and spoke to the mona clinging to his field. They came at his beckon, energized at his command. It didn’t take more than a second until the surface of it began to crackle and pop with embers as its internal temperature soared, igniting the wood. He did not have to sustain the temperature throughout the wood; the initial burst was enough to consume the little block. He watched as the wood broke down and breathed in the smell.
With the stint of his frustration burned away, he spoke another verse to the mona, injecting a change clause into his conversation to reverse the change in temperature, cooling the burning wood before it was all char. Another clause was thrown into the conversation, and the mona reacted as he willed them. The process was slow, and the conversation dragged, but the char and ash began to slowly revert itself and recombine with the exhausted molecules that were cast into the air and reform the piece of wood. The piece, once complete, resembled its shape before being burned, but now it was made up of fabricated material mixed with the natural pieces. The wonders of his magic never failed to calm the rising irritation that his work brought him from time to time. He curled his spell when he was satisfied.
Aurélien then dropped the block into the drawer he produced it from and then closed it. He rubbed his hands, casting away the soot that had blackened the center of his palm and returned his attention to the case. With night falling, there was no sense in continuing it at the office. He found his bag discarded off to the side of his desk and packed his papers up neatly before tucking them away. When the bag was thrown over his shoulder, and his space was further tidied, he bid the lights off and made way for the hallway. Aurélien gave the room a lasting look before he pulled the door open and stepped out.
