A/N:
Hi. I did a thing.
Interlude:
Sometimes, We Have Normal Days Too
My name is Enoch Maxwell.
I'm one of the Elites of the Kanto region, the heir to the Maxwell family, and the unofficial Right Hand of the Kanto Champion.
Suffice to say, my workload is probably one of the heaviest around here - perhaps even in the entire region, given that I do handle the Champion's duties from time to time.
Breakfast in the morning is usually a subdued affair, for which I am thankful. It's easier to focus in silence, and a lot easier to concentrate on my own thoughts and pretend that the butler that follows me around doesn't exist.
It still doesn't stop him from making a quiet 'ahem' every time I pull out the wrong handkerchief, though. Or replace the butter knife when I inevitably drop it.
No one in the Dining Hall is foolish enough to laugh, however. Samuel merely gives me a small, knowing smile, but doesn't stop eating his breakfast. Wyn and Volok are, as usual, either too sleepy or too out of it to comment on my obvious slip up and exhaustion, and of course, the butler doesn't say anything.
He's not supposed to, and I don't need him to.
Five minutes to nine o'clock, and nearly a full hour after the four of us have gathered, is when Richard finally enters the room, stumbling a little and narrowly avoiding a collision with several inanimate objects including the doorframe.
It's also when I excuse myself and leave the room in absolute silence, ready to start the day's work, leaving my fellow co workers to deal with a sleepy Dragonar. Volok gives me an expression that clearly says 'not again', and I simply shrug before leaving the room. Paperwork called, and I have no intention of allowing the work to pile up any more than it already had from last night.
. . .
It's lunch by the time I next leave my room, and this time, a few new additions are clearly present at the dining hall.
Brittany Troy sits next to her father, seemingly unconcerned despite being scolded - despite it seeming more like nagging, Samuel would never let anyone live if they mentioned that word before him. And while he can't exactly do much to me, I don't fancy having to send another suit for repair. She makes a move to stand, which is by all rights customary going by rank, but a quick shake of my head conveys my intention.
Her maid, Maria, stands in silence behind her, just like how the butler stands behind me. I inwardly sigh, hoping that I haven't gotten any ink on my hands, which would no doubt give the butler a chance to hand me yet another handkerchief - or, Arceus forbid, a towel. She doesn't bow, and I don't acknowledge her; no doubt she had read my earlier intention. That's good, I don't need to repeat myself.
Lastly, Miles Fletcher sits next to Wyn, who is pointedly ignoring his every attempt at trying to start a conversation like the ice her heart must be undoubtedly made out of. That is, assuming that she had one in the first place. His gaze flickers over to me for a second, and for that brief moment, I meet it squarely with my own. Miles turns away shortly after, and I finally take my seat.
Lunch basically turns out as a replica of breakfast - it always is, even with the added people. They turn up often, especially the announcer, but somehow don't ever contribute that much to the noise level. It's a rather odd fact that I find interesting, but won't ever research into, if only because it's also a waste of time.
Once again, I excuse myself after I'm done, the butler a few paces behind me. This time, however, I'm not headed back to paperwork, and instead go to oversee the preparations for the upcoming tournament. It's just that - preparations - and nothing is concrete, and while it's not like I can get started while Samuel, Volok, Wyn and Richard are in the dining hall, the meeting room is at least dark and quiet.
Pretty good for sleeping, actually.
. . .
It's hours later that I wake, much to the sound of obnoxious laughter. Almost instantly, I grimace, having recognised the presences of the five people in the room - and how could I not? After all, I work with four of them on a daily basis, and the last one is the greatest pain in existence currently known to mankind.
"And it looks like Richard and Samuel win the bet! Pay up, guys!" Miles crows, and I instantly glare at the other four occupants of the room. You bet on me, of all people?
Samuel grins. "Don't be so touchy, Enoch. You have such predictable sleeping habits that it's the easiest way to win a bet."
Richard only shrugs, but the smirk playing on his face tells me that he has no intention of stopping his actions any time soon.
Meanwhile, Volok and Wyn are complaining - well, Wyn was complaining - about losing the bet, but honestly, if she hasn't learnt by now never to bet against the house, she'll never learn. Sometimes it feels like they're just moving through the same motions on purpose, to paint each day in the same colour that it was yesterday, just as if making up for when the bloodshed starts.
As is customary, we don't have dinner. Instead, we spend the night drinking, before making Volok's little bar a place unfit for habitation by playing drinking games that somehow always include lethal weapons, before crashing to the floor when it's close to one in the morning.
The hangover next morning is entirely worth it, even if it means having to deal with another desk of papers - mostly bills, really.
Because it's a reminder that even we can have a normal day.
And I'm looking forward to the next one, whenever it may come.
Characters:
Enoch Maxwell and ? (Audino) - emosewa-13
A/N:
And you get a little thing from the POV of the great Enoch Maxwell himself. Ahahaha…
Wait, where's Chapter 6, you may ask? Well, about that…
Stuff happened. Yeah. (y)
Until next time, ciao! (O u O)/
