Shadow Feathers
Closed starter for the nightmare on a mission @mpxmaxim
It was a quiet day in the archives. Foot traffic had been minimal at best which was how Vitas liked it. His third day on the job and he had already recategorized, reorganized, and rearranged he entire archives into a far more efficient and superior system than it had been prior to his arrival. The quiet did not bother him in the slightest, it gave him leeway to complete his tasks unhindered. Most patrons preferred to keep to the upper levels for their research, rarely had subjects for which they needed deeper investigations into the more antiquated aspects of history, so Vitas spent his time this day scanning documents and translating them.
Midnight eyes stared at the laptop monitor that reflected his current project upon the lenses of his silver-rimmed glasses. The tall and pale waif of a figure sat at his desk that was perfectly organized and devoid of any personal affects--just a computer and a lamp. The desk sat ahead of rows upon rows and aisles upon aisles of shelves filled with documents and artifacts and boxes filled with KNOWLEDGE. And the person sitting at the desk's comfortable swivel chair seemed as clean as his space, albeit nearly swallowed by the dark grey cardigan that covered the black turtleneck and slacks, neck-length hair of night just long enough to be pulled back into a very small ponytail at the base of his skull and out of the way of his somewhat limited vision, unbothered by the loose locks that did fall before his left eye. His name was no secret, on plain view via his ID badge which hung from the black lanyard about his neck, a pewter pin in the shape of a raven on either strap. His typing was seamless and quiet, smooth and unburdened by any mistakes as he translated recent scans from Latin to Korean. He did not look away from the screen, however, as someone approached--nor did he appear perturbed by the fact that someone was interrupting his task; he could pick up with his translations at any time, but addressing a patron's inquiries was also part of his job.
"Your name and request," he stated flatly with a quiet and emotionless baritone, not looking to the stranger that had arrived at his desk, still typing.















