The Castling Quartet

millard

Two months, seven days and three hours before

Millard stared at the form in front of him.

"Mr Nullings, I don't have all day."

He looked up at the stern ymbryne who'd called him into her office, a deep frown creased into her features. He didn't know her name. He didn't bother to learn their names anymore.

He swallowed thickly, and he could almost imagine his dry throat muscles brushing up against each other. "I c-can't sign this. I'm sorry."

He met her eyes and she pursed her lips, brows knit.

"I'm afraid you don't have much of a choice, Mr Nullings."

He slid the form back to her, the sound of paper against the polished wood desk making him cringe. "Actually, I do."

She bristled, her upper lip curling slightly. "Why are you going against me on this?"

"My apologies, Miss, but I don't even know your name." He stood up, the chair grinding against the floorboards. "I've been with this organisation long enough to know my place, and it is not what's on that paper."

He started to walk away, and she called for him to Stop, to Sit down young man, and even a Don't you want us to win the war?

Don't you want us to win the war?

He stepped into the hallway and immediately took a hard right. At the end of the hallway was a door that read A. Peregrine. He and everyone else often stayed in her old office, sometimes even going as far as to sleep there. In the rightmost corner of the room, there was a small wardrobe filled with blankets and pillows and memories for whenever they needed it.

The inside was cluttered, the remnants of someone trapped in a manic frenzy before flying out on a suicide mission. The desk was dusty save for the rightmost edge, where he'd gotten into the habit of running his fingers through the dust. Millard liked to see the long marks and the grey on his fingers and be appreciative that he could see himself like this, at least. He didn't often get the option, anymore.

(It's easier to see the privilege and choices that you had after they're suddenly taken away.)

He collapsed onto the chair in the corner (the one that he liked the most because it was the softest), sinking into it and trying to imagine the chair was a person and that they were hugging him from behind. He closed his eyes to let himself rest for a bit after that long conversation, and he was nearly asleep when someone barged into the office.

Millard shrieked in surprise as Emma, with her shoulders and fingertips ablaze, had what seemed to be a freak-out. She formed half-sentences, then groaned and clutched her head then paced then stamped her foot then repeated the whole thing.

She seemed to cool down after a length of minutes, and Millard said, "Are you quite done? It was peaceful here before you came in and tore up the place."

Emma jumped, the flames on her shoulders rising and falling as she registered that someone had been in there the whole time.

"Mill! When did you get here?"

"I would reckon that it's been nearly an hour."

"Oh." Her flames dimmed as she thought over that. She shrugged. "Sorry. Something-" the flames rose again, "Happened. And before you ask, it was Enoch."

Millard watched her as she began pacing the room again. "What'd he do now?"

"Buggered everything right up, that's what he did!"