Post by Golden on Mar 11, 2023 23:25:47 GMT
Normally, a reaction like that would've been infectious, but all Ishaan managed was a weary smile. Obviously, he didn't know where they were going, or why it was so important, but her reaction amplified the amount of pressure he suddenly felt. Pressure to sign those forms, and the potential pressure to perform to a degree that would result in success. The good news was that he hadn't signed his life away - not yet anyway.
"I'll be here until eight o'clock," he said carefully, slowly rising to his feet once more. Usually he'd stay for far longer than the shop's closing hours, but he had a feeling he needed the extra time to think about this decision. Time away from this shop, away from the instruments and gadgets he had grown so fond of, and in the comfort of his own quaint home. "If it cannot wait until the shop opens tomorrow, and I've gone for the evening, leave the forms at this address." He considered simply saying, you'll wait until tomorrow if you aren't on time, but that also meant he'd have less time to review the agreement. And given her reaction, this seemed like a time sensitive manner. So he wrote down his home address on the very same scrap of paper she'd used, the letters appearing to be more like elegant calligraphy rather than a simple scribble.
He handed her the paper then began to walk around the desk, leading her around the bookcases brimming with ancient books, past the stacks of equipment - some dusty, others not, and towards the front door. He would open the door for her, shake her hand, and wait patiently for her to walk through, bowing his head slightly. "It's been a pleasure, Captain Byrn." Then he'd firmly close the door behind her and make his way back to his desk, though this time his steps would be slower, uncertain. Contemplative.
During her escort, the lovely Captain would finally get a good look at the rest of the man. Fairly tall, with a slim, agile build and broad shoulders. She'd notice the freckles over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, darker than his caramel-coloured skin. The faint scars; one by his hairline, the other across his cheek - Molly used to tell him that they made him even more handsome. But most notably, as he turned his back to her, she'd see his wings.
They'd once been concrete grey in colour, back when he'd been a child, but the years had not been kind, causing some of the darker colouring to fade. The outer aspects still remained fairly opaque, while the inner cells gradually got lighter, until they were nearly translucent. In some areas, they were so translucent, so delicate, that the Captain would wonder if there was even a surface there, or were they simply holes? Many of the veins that outlined each of the cells was dark grey, appearing like jagged cracks on a rock, struggling to deliver the blood and whatever was left of the nerves. Most noticeably though, was the difference in size between the right and left wing. They'd both been clipped, long ago, and very unevenly. The left took the brunt of the shears; its outer and posterior margins smaller than those on the right. Whoever had the pleasure of inflicting this punishment had clearly enjoyed mutilating one side more than the other.
It wasn't a sight commonly seen, at least not in this region. Those who knew him would eventually grow to look past the ugliness, yet new faces couldn't help but to stop and stare, to whisper and wonder what he had done to deserve this sentence. Perhaps Captain Byrn would question her decision to recruit such a damaged man.
"I'll be here until eight o'clock," he said carefully, slowly rising to his feet once more. Usually he'd stay for far longer than the shop's closing hours, but he had a feeling he needed the extra time to think about this decision. Time away from this shop, away from the instruments and gadgets he had grown so fond of, and in the comfort of his own quaint home. "If it cannot wait until the shop opens tomorrow, and I've gone for the evening, leave the forms at this address." He considered simply saying, you'll wait until tomorrow if you aren't on time, but that also meant he'd have less time to review the agreement. And given her reaction, this seemed like a time sensitive manner. So he wrote down his home address on the very same scrap of paper she'd used, the letters appearing to be more like elegant calligraphy rather than a simple scribble.
He handed her the paper then began to walk around the desk, leading her around the bookcases brimming with ancient books, past the stacks of equipment - some dusty, others not, and towards the front door. He would open the door for her, shake her hand, and wait patiently for her to walk through, bowing his head slightly. "It's been a pleasure, Captain Byrn." Then he'd firmly close the door behind her and make his way back to his desk, though this time his steps would be slower, uncertain. Contemplative.
During her escort, the lovely Captain would finally get a good look at the rest of the man. Fairly tall, with a slim, agile build and broad shoulders. She'd notice the freckles over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, darker than his caramel-coloured skin. The faint scars; one by his hairline, the other across his cheek - Molly used to tell him that they made him even more handsome. But most notably, as he turned his back to her, she'd see his wings.
They'd once been concrete grey in colour, back when he'd been a child, but the years had not been kind, causing some of the darker colouring to fade. The outer aspects still remained fairly opaque, while the inner cells gradually got lighter, until they were nearly translucent. In some areas, they were so translucent, so delicate, that the Captain would wonder if there was even a surface there, or were they simply holes? Many of the veins that outlined each of the cells was dark grey, appearing like jagged cracks on a rock, struggling to deliver the blood and whatever was left of the nerves. Most noticeably though, was the difference in size between the right and left wing. They'd both been clipped, long ago, and very unevenly. The left took the brunt of the shears; its outer and posterior margins smaller than those on the right. Whoever had the pleasure of inflicting this punishment had clearly enjoyed mutilating one side more than the other.
It wasn't a sight commonly seen, at least not in this region. Those who knew him would eventually grow to look past the ugliness, yet new faces couldn't help but to stop and stare, to whisper and wonder what he had done to deserve this sentence. Perhaps Captain Byrn would question her decision to recruit such a damaged man.