Suikoden III, Salome/Chris
Aug. 30th, 2010 07:09 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lirillithTitle: Onslaught
Fandom: Suikoden III
Characters: Chris and Salome
Length: 304 words
****
It wasn't until they faced the final onslaught, the reports, that Chris realized she was exhausted.
Individuals sent letters requesting leave - a firstborn on the way, a death in the family or a wedding - or, anonymously, complaining of conditions, of the officers, of the Grasslanders or the mantors or the food. The quartermaster's office sent inventories, expense reports, copies of invoices - they'd been supplying the Lake Castle personnel with most of the necessities at cost, but the exchanges still needed to be reported, initialed, sealed and passed on. The field commanders sent handwritten reports on battles, commendations for valor and nominations for medals, and in separate, black-edged folders, drafts of letters to be sent to the families of the deceased.
"Why?" Chris asked Salome, her voice half a wail. "Why go to all this trouble to make the man's death sound glorious and then use the word 'decapitated'? Does he think the poor fellow's wife needs to envision that?"
"Perhaps he thought it was more genteel than 'beheaded,'" Salome suggested. Chris groaned, lowering her head to her folded arms.
"I beg you, Salome, relax your work ethic for one night."
"My lady, you know why we can't delay on most of these..." He stood to see to the tea kettle, and she commenced shuffling papers.
"I'm just moving invoices to the bottom," she said, before he'd even turned around.
"I have faith in you, Lady Chris," he said.
"I have faith in the tea," she said. "Can you bring yourself to brew it very strong?"
"Just for you, my lady," he said. She stared at the back of his head. If this were Percival, or even Borus, she'd almost say he'd just flirted with her. But this was Salome, and surely she was simply too tired to be hearing him correctly.
Fandom: Suikoden III
Characters: Chris and Salome
Length: 304 words
****
It wasn't until they faced the final onslaught, the reports, that Chris realized she was exhausted.
Individuals sent letters requesting leave - a firstborn on the way, a death in the family or a wedding - or, anonymously, complaining of conditions, of the officers, of the Grasslanders or the mantors or the food. The quartermaster's office sent inventories, expense reports, copies of invoices - they'd been supplying the Lake Castle personnel with most of the necessities at cost, but the exchanges still needed to be reported, initialed, sealed and passed on. The field commanders sent handwritten reports on battles, commendations for valor and nominations for medals, and in separate, black-edged folders, drafts of letters to be sent to the families of the deceased.
"Why?" Chris asked Salome, her voice half a wail. "Why go to all this trouble to make the man's death sound glorious and then use the word 'decapitated'? Does he think the poor fellow's wife needs to envision that?"
"Perhaps he thought it was more genteel than 'beheaded,'" Salome suggested. Chris groaned, lowering her head to her folded arms.
"I beg you, Salome, relax your work ethic for one night."
"My lady, you know why we can't delay on most of these..." He stood to see to the tea kettle, and she commenced shuffling papers.
"I'm just moving invoices to the bottom," she said, before he'd even turned around.
"I have faith in you, Lady Chris," he said.
"I have faith in the tea," she said. "Can you bring yourself to brew it very strong?"
"Just for you, my lady," he said. She stared at the back of his head. If this were Percival, or even Borus, she'd almost say he'd just flirted with her. But this was Salome, and surely she was simply too tired to be hearing him correctly.
