10 Dentis 2718 | Morning
The Office
Deft fingers wiggled above the keys, the pursed lips paused into a hum. There was the lingering scent of some lead based ink, the faint tackiness that lingered on the tips of his digits. The sleeves were rolled up, past the elbow, the low, single tone hum slicing through the immediate noise and to focus on the task at hand. A sheet of paper was loaded in, sliding it into place the rose quartz eyes peering down the bridge of his nose. He needed to be able to see without the glare of his glasses, the small discomfort from the light that flooded the office. A small pause to check the feed, he took a short screwdriver to the carriage and gradually tightened it. A small click worked past it, and lowering the tool he looked upon his work so far. He wiped the ink from his fingers, studying the keys. He pressed one, and then another, listening to the clicks of the typebar as it left its dark imprint upon the page. A few testing strikes of the space bar, another string of words mostly unrelated rattled across the top, before he pressed the small metallic leaver. A satisfying clink sent the carriage returning across the top, and a new line began.
“Alexandus, your typewriter works now,” the Galdor turned to the journalist on the desk opposite him. The younger Galdor – some dark haired boy really – paused from his scribbled note taking. He blinked as the glasses were returned, the expression easing as the room took on a pink sheen.
“What was wrong with it?”
“The carriage had disconnected from the band that connects the spring. You may want to check the spring tension and get it replaced, but it should do for now,” The Galdor lifted the typewriter from the base and promptly passed it to the other,
“Also you should really clean your keys more often. Be surprised what dust gets trapped under there when you do not cover it.”
With the humming now stopped, the journalist became aware of the sheer amount of noise within. The ringing ding of typewriters, the pitched voices that wrestled against each other. While the younger turned back to his own work, Journalist Vinter began to shift through his notes – silently glad that his own article was not needed for couple of days. It did not mean he had time to slack however, and he imagined with a good lean down into the ear of his boss he would be granted the grace of working from home tomorrow. On the basis he finished his draft however.
Taking up the notepad, he quickly scribbled out a premise; it was the first of many that specifically looked at the history of women, rather obviously pointing out what women had achieved over the last fifty years, who they were and what drove them. Most men snorted at this thought, the director among them – until he saw the serious and disappointed look on the face of the Galdor. The pencil scratched upon the page, words written not in Estuan but Giorian, as he scratched the thoughts out.
He peered, briefly at the note left on his desk – greet, tour and type test new secretary.
“Language! And I will tell you again, Conway, like I told you this morning, yesterday and two days ago –“ the foreigner leaned back in his chair, foot brought up so it rested across the other knee. His words however were cut off when the once squeak pitched up into a shout of an angered woman.
It was quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop.
While the jaws of others hung slack, the low snigger built up into a laugh as the scene painted in his mind. He could see it now, the eyes bulging, the level of rage slowly growing beneath his galdori peers while this petite human announced her presence. He tucked the pencil behind his ear, hands clapping together as he took the scene into his own. A thick accent boomed out,
“You tell them, CeiCei!”
It sounded more like
SeaSea really.
“Welcome to this office of merry fools and clowns,” Swinging up, he heard the nervous mumbles of the others while he flashed only a smile. Polished boots clacked against the floor, the free hand came to rest upon his bracers,
“Now come my peers, and welcome the nice new secretary. Yes yes. Good good. Clap clap.” There was a nervous clap while the Galdor strode across the way towards her; notepad tucked under one arm, wriggling around the closed in bodies,
“Thank you. Now, dear writers – no need to gawk now, eyes down. Back to work!”
He clapped his hands together, a small pivot on his heel as the Anaxi went back to their business. So skittish they were, it was just a human. His field prickled, a soft hum that vibrated and stilled; curious, interested, the orbs sweeping around her as he closed the gap. He gave her a bow, as was the custom here, lowering his glasses briefly before returning them,
“Hello, I am Journalist Vinter. I believe the director is out at a meeting until lunch, but he informed that I should uh… what is the word? Tour you?” His hand swept back to the growing chaos of the main room,
“This is the report and writers room, as you can see we are all chaos here.” He gave a small lean in, an exaggerated whisper,
“Between you and me, I believe they are all lost without a capable person such as yourself here.” Returning to his height, he stepped around and gestured down the corridor and up a flight of stairs,
“Editing is this way, it is managed by Casimir and Erskine. Also, I believe your typewriter is being stored there – so we shall collect that as we pass… You do know how to type, yes?”