Scratch.
Tap, tap, tap.
Scratch, Scratch.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Bing.
Scra….
Financier pauses mid-signature at the soft sound that interrupted the familiar soundtrack of her evening paperwork. A quick look reveals a small lamp on her phone blinking, signalling that she has an unread message. She hesitates, then quickly completes her signature, a difficult task she has long since perfected, far too many documents ruined on nights like these, when she jumps at every little sound, hope and fear in equal measure making her stomach flutter.
She puts the report into her "out"-tray, and picks up her phone, checking the message, and the fluttering increases when she sees the sender.
22:30 IF wrote: Hey Financier, I know I told you I'd tell you when the "cleared" message came in, but my shift ended an hour ago and my boss says I should go to sleep, so I can't keep you updated until tomorrow at six, but I'll contact you first thing in the morning and tell you if anything came in during the night.
I'm really sorry.
Don't worry, they'll be fine.
22:31 Financier wrote: He's right, you should take better care of yourself.
It's alright, I can wait that long, don't overwork yourself on my account.
Write you in the morning then. Good night.
I should listen to my own advice, and get some sleep. Or eat something, haven't done that all day. But even as she thinks this, she pulls up another report, and starts double checking the data with her records, correcting as needed, before signing off on the document, laying it aside and repeating the whole process with the next one, deviating from the routine only when one of the documents in her seemingly limitless pile of to-be-done work requires a different procedure, and to take occasional sips from her now-cold tea.
Scratch, scratch.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Scratch.
Scratch.
Tap, tap, tap.
Sip.
Scratch, tap tap.
And, of course, to pause every time her phone blings, to take in reports that have nothing to do with the smooth running of the Basilicom, and everything with the sinking feeling in her stomach.
Every time she hears a door opening somewhere in the Basilicom. Every time a window bangs shut in the wind. Every time a floorboard squeaks.
She can feel her body screaming at her to get some rest, some nourishment, she hasn't slept or eaten properly in two days. But she can't abandon her duties. Not when every second she could get the message that they're back, or in trouble. Not when every door she hears opening in the distance could herald the arrival of her friends, and her Lady.
She knows that everyone does their duty as they best can, and her place is here, with the reports and the guards, and the dozens of minor issues that arise everyday in the running of a country. She can't go out with them, to protect Lowee, to save the world, to fight for those that can't.
She's not an adventurer, but she is the chamberlain, and she does her job, to make sure that they always come back to an orderly home, to a stable nation.
But even though she knows that, she can't shake the fear, every time they leave. The fear that this time, they won't be returning at all.
But when the first light of dawn falls through the windows, and an exhausted Blanc shoves open the door, half supporting, half carrying her injured companion, the short woman finds Financier waiting for her with a pot of tea and some healing items. And when they all slump down in the kitchen, retelling and bantering about the exciting battles they fought, the beautiful places they saw and all the great things that happened on their quest, everything is right again.
And when Financier finally collapses into her bed, after enduring a lecture from her friend and her Lady, she smiles. She did her job, and they did theirs, and now they're all together again. Until the next urgent request comes in from the guild, she can enjoy her life with her friends.
That is enough for her.