02-02-2019, 04:19 AM
Meera Alam nodded along as the man spoke to her. It seemed she had struck a nerve, if only so slightly. She hadn’t met this Hercule, the file was surprisingly sparse, but then again the file she had reviewed was not written by the Guardian…
Excellent.
With a careful motion, Meera pulled a thick leather-bound notebook from the drawer to her left and a steel-nibbed pen from the drawer above that. She uncapped the fountain pen, engraved with her initials with an inlaid, flourishing gold script along its side. It was a smooth, polished thing of fine craftsmanship. Meera adored it. Despite the appearance of her office, she was obsessed with the orderly and simple things in life; just like the simple leather-bound notebook. Inside of that were countless notes on her cases. Notes that she wouldn’t have minded others seeing. The more sensitive topics she wrote about were store safely away on a private hard drive inside of her basement laboratory. No one could access those.
Meera began scribbling down bits of the dribble that spewed from the soldier’s mouth, nodding to him at all the appropriate moments.
“Unfortunately, Eiji-san, I have not had the pleasure of meeting Hercule-sama. He doesn’t work here anymore, does he? Alas, my work keeps me too busy from socializing with many of my peers.”
That was no lie, although surely if she had wanted to, she could have a social life. There was no need for such frivolities. Her work was something great, something worthy of consuming every waking moment of her very existence.
“I shall, however, make a phone call to the man. As I said, your file is sadly lacking in many details I would have for my own.”
Riddles? Meera thought to herself.
The soldier went on and on and on. A long-winded man… But then he said something that sparked Meera’s interest. The Ascendancy? Perhaps this man was a Channeler. Did he have connections to the monarch of the CCD? Oh, how Meera craved a meeting with that man. She had long dreamed of sinking her very teeth into the supple flesh of one so powerful- supposedly the most powerful- but the Atharim forbade her from seeking him out… Still… If she just so happened to encounter him in a professional setting…
Meera shook herself slightly, making sure to keep her face from giving away any hint of hunger that had begun forming in the pit of her stomach.
With a concentrated effort, Meera set her pen down upon the pad of legal-ruled paper and folded her hands atop the notes. She looked up at the man and adopted a warm, concerned look, arching one eyebrow ever so slightly. As Eiji-san finished his little monologue, she spoke in a voice covered in thick, sticky honey.
“Eiji-chan,” Meera accented the change in honorific, “It seems that we have gotten off on the wrong foot. You must forgive me if I came off less than hospitable. It has been a long day. Of course, I take you seriously. I would not have consented to this meeting otherwise. I am a professional, Eiji-chan, I would never discount a patient with potential.”
Meera pushed away from her desk and wheeled over to the back corner of the room where a record player sat. She turned a dial and placed the needle atop a flat black disk. The Lark Ascending, performed by Ralph Vaughn Williams, began to pour its delicate sounds from the speakers hidden around the room. It was a beautiful, almost heartbreaking, piece played on the violin, just the thing to put this man at ease with her. It could inspire even the most frightened of soldiers into pouring out his heart. This was the one luxury she allowed herself in the office.
Within moments, Meera was back behind the desk, still holding that same loving look for the man. He might have thought it was all an act, a lie, but Meera would never lie.
“I am here for you, Eiji-chan, you have my undivided attention for the rest of the afternoon… So, tell me, none of these horrible, awful things were you? Who performed these actions, Eiji-chan? How did you survive all of this? By performing such deeds? Who ordered these things? Your betters? Reveal it all to me, Eiji-chan. Think of me as a… Mirror… In which you can better see yourself. Perhaps we can heal you if you gaze long enough into that mirror…”
Excellent.
With a careful motion, Meera pulled a thick leather-bound notebook from the drawer to her left and a steel-nibbed pen from the drawer above that. She uncapped the fountain pen, engraved with her initials with an inlaid, flourishing gold script along its side. It was a smooth, polished thing of fine craftsmanship. Meera adored it. Despite the appearance of her office, she was obsessed with the orderly and simple things in life; just like the simple leather-bound notebook. Inside of that were countless notes on her cases. Notes that she wouldn’t have minded others seeing. The more sensitive topics she wrote about were store safely away on a private hard drive inside of her basement laboratory. No one could access those.
Meera began scribbling down bits of the dribble that spewed from the soldier’s mouth, nodding to him at all the appropriate moments.
“Unfortunately, Eiji-san, I have not had the pleasure of meeting Hercule-sama. He doesn’t work here anymore, does he? Alas, my work keeps me too busy from socializing with many of my peers.”
That was no lie, although surely if she had wanted to, she could have a social life. There was no need for such frivolities. Her work was something great, something worthy of consuming every waking moment of her very existence.
“I shall, however, make a phone call to the man. As I said, your file is sadly lacking in many details I would have for my own.”
Riddles? Meera thought to herself.
The soldier went on and on and on. A long-winded man… But then he said something that sparked Meera’s interest. The Ascendancy? Perhaps this man was a Channeler. Did he have connections to the monarch of the CCD? Oh, how Meera craved a meeting with that man. She had long dreamed of sinking her very teeth into the supple flesh of one so powerful- supposedly the most powerful- but the Atharim forbade her from seeking him out… Still… If she just so happened to encounter him in a professional setting…
Meera shook herself slightly, making sure to keep her face from giving away any hint of hunger that had begun forming in the pit of her stomach.
With a concentrated effort, Meera set her pen down upon the pad of legal-ruled paper and folded her hands atop the notes. She looked up at the man and adopted a warm, concerned look, arching one eyebrow ever so slightly. As Eiji-san finished his little monologue, she spoke in a voice covered in thick, sticky honey.
“Eiji-chan,” Meera accented the change in honorific, “It seems that we have gotten off on the wrong foot. You must forgive me if I came off less than hospitable. It has been a long day. Of course, I take you seriously. I would not have consented to this meeting otherwise. I am a professional, Eiji-chan, I would never discount a patient with potential.”
Meera pushed away from her desk and wheeled over to the back corner of the room where a record player sat. She turned a dial and placed the needle atop a flat black disk. The Lark Ascending, performed by Ralph Vaughn Williams, began to pour its delicate sounds from the speakers hidden around the room. It was a beautiful, almost heartbreaking, piece played on the violin, just the thing to put this man at ease with her. It could inspire even the most frightened of soldiers into pouring out his heart. This was the one luxury she allowed herself in the office.
Within moments, Meera was back behind the desk, still holding that same loving look for the man. He might have thought it was all an act, a lie, but Meera would never lie.
“I am here for you, Eiji-chan, you have my undivided attention for the rest of the afternoon… So, tell me, none of these horrible, awful things were you? Who performed these actions, Eiji-chan? How did you survive all of this? By performing such deeds? Who ordered these things? Your betters? Reveal it all to me, Eiji-chan. Think of me as a… Mirror… In which you can better see yourself. Perhaps we can heal you if you gaze long enough into that mirror…”
"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile."
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan