[closed]

[vox_tacenda]

Who | Atlas Fairweather and Quintus Falxvale
What | A conversation about how wonderful the Games are that turns really awkward.
Where | Peacekeeper Headquarters
When | Between Arenas, after Quintus leaves his job at the Tribute Center.
Warnings | Talk of violence, talk of Avoxes.

Atlas is here as he is every fourth Friday, leaning on the desk and waiting for the administrative assistant to return from the bowels of the building with his monthly pension permission. They know he's going to be here, and somehow it always takes them half an hour to bring him the go-ahead to transfer funds. You'd think they'd prepare it for him in advance by now, right? Scan it for him the day before instead of letting him lean here on his one good leg and wait.

Not that he minds overmuch. He's always happiest when he sees faces he knows here, and finds they have a moment to chat with him. Some of them are from back in his District days, other veterans transferred back to the Capitol after years of faithful service; some he's gotten to know since he came here, and have never known him without his limp.

Quintus' is a face he knows, and his own face will light up in recognition when he comes by. The man is still as much a reputation as a real acquaintance to him - they've spoken briefly, but always about work (beyond the normal Hope you're well, Thanks I'm fine courtesies. Quintus comes to Atlas' mind alongside words like faithful and loyal and competent. Maybe not the kind of guy he'd invite out for a beer - a little too reserved on a first impression - but not a bad guy.

"Heading back there?" Atlas calls out to Quintus in greeting. "If you see the desk man, give him directions back up here. I think he got lost back there somewhere."

Comments

[lex_paciferat]

Quintus' transition to his new job hasn't been rough, per se--the difficulties have been more the usual bureaucratic nonsense than anything, with forms he hadn't known existed and coworkers passing inquiries further and further up the line. It's simply a lot of details, and his own lingering anxiety about the whole thing hasn't helped. He deserves to be here, he recognizes that, but in some ways it feels like he's painting an even larger target on his own head than he'd endured before. Here, he really can't afford to slip up.

He's on his way back from lunch, absorbed in his own thoughts, when Atlas catches his attention. His smile is a tad apologetic, reflecting that he probably should've noticed him there and stopped to say hello. It's always good to hold onto these sorts of acquaintances.

"I'll see what he's doing." He strides down the hallway, leaning down a bit to line his eye up with the iris scanner on a door, glad when it opens for him--his security clearances were another thing that had been stuck in managerial hell for a few days. After a few moments, he reemerges, returning to stand by Atlas' side.

"He'll be right out," he declares, and true to his word, after half a minute the administrative assistant is back at the desk, looking a bit harried and glancing nervously at Quintus as he requests a signature from Atlas. Quintus watches the transaction expectantly, not saying a word, then turns back to Atlas when it's done.

"So, how are things going back at the Center?"