The cloaked figure swept into old storeroom-turned-office in a rush, eyes hidden beneath the brim of his hat.
He raised his head as he began speaking, not quite shouting at the lean Human behind the desk.
"Listen here, you fat bast--" He broke off suddenly. "Um."
"Not who you expected to see, then?" asked Tasdrean.
"Not... exactly." The Elothean glanced back and forth across the office. "Where is--"
"Unavoidably detained. I am filling in as Guildleader in Riverhaven for the time being."
"Ah. Well. I am--"
"I know who you are. You have quite an interesting file."
The Elothean blinked. "File?"
"Yes, very interesting." Tasdrean digs through the piles of paperwork on the desk and extracts a bundle of parchments in a folding cover. He opens the file, scanning a few pages, tsking occasionally. He shifts his gaze upward, green eyes locking with slanted grey. "How may I help you?"
"I want..." The Elothean takes a breath, squaring his shoulders and glaring at the seated Guildleader. "No, I DEMAND readmittance."
"You demand?"
"Indeed I do. Four decades and more is a bit long for some silly grudge over--"
"The 'Incident,' yes. It's here." Tasdrean scans another page of handwritten notes, tsking again over the contents. "However," he says, closing the file, "there is nothing I can do for you." He stands up, setting down the file, and walks over to the stove.
"Nothing you can do? Nothing you can do?! Fine, then, I shall petition a more senior Guildleader."
"That will accomplish nothing, as well," came the calm reply.
The man gritted his teeth through a flash of anger. "And why is that?"
Tasdrean turns away from the stove, casually gazing at the fellow before him. "One cannot be REadmitted to an organization one has never left."
Confusion replaced the more intense emotions in the almond-shaped eyes. "But Ezruh--"
"Was upset? Yes. Lost his temper? Definitely. By his own notes, he came very close to assault." Tasdrean pauses, letting the information sink in.
"Struck your name from the rolls of the Guild? Never." He walks back behind his desk, sitting down as he picks up a quill and a scrap of parchment.
"So I... I am--"
"Horrendously behind in your studies? Quite." Tasdrean flips through the file again, continuing to the many, many pages past the recounting of the
'Incident.' "We really expected you to check in before this, and yet--" Tasdrean shrugs, making notations on the scrap of parchment. "Well, the Guild does not force its members to do so." He signs the scrap and holds it out to the Elothean across the desk. "Here is your Guild voucher for the various athletic and collegiate institutions about town. Do try to make use of them."
Reaching for the parchment, the man asks, "So I'm... I'm still..."
"Indeed. Always was. Always shall. We don't let go of our own so easily."
Their eyes meet again, understanding and comradeship passing silently between them.
"And if there's nothing else, I have work to do. As do you."
"Yes. Yes, sir. Good day." Settling his hat and pulling his greatcloak about him, the Elothean turns about and exits the office through the door he entered.
Tasdrean gazes after the departing form a moment, then reopens the file still sitting on the desk before him. Flipping to the last pages, he begins writing.
Killing you softly with his song,
- Stormsinger Shavay
Faerie tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know dragons exist. Faerie tales tell children that dragons can be killed.
- G.K. Chesterton
