#viortum

     Seeing soldiers as young as 17 was nothing new for Sigmund. After all, he’d signed up on the life as a dog of war himself at a rather young age with a wide-eyed naivety and idealism in hopes of changing the world, and save lives from the same kind of tragedy that befell upon the world many years ago. He could still remember the baleful crimson descending down to the world almost as though it’d happened yesterday. He hated his own powerlessness, and drawn to power, he was and he thought the military could help him be exactly that: To be strong. 

     He wondered if those youths were exactly like that. Drawn to the idea of glory, honor, potential fame, and heroism like a moth to a flame, a desire to be strong. Everyone who joined the kingdom’s military had their reasons. Some did not have much a choice in life, some simply needed the money, some joined for benefits and prove their worth to be a citizen, and others... well, were drawn to high ideals to be something that most weren’t. A hero. Where most had fires in their eyes, the lilac orbs of the new leader of Fenrir team was drawn to a young girl in particular, a blonde girl who should still be in school at most. 

     She was like a doll, almost. Quiet, almost unassuming, and emotionless even as the constant fire of the training-issue Grimoire Rifles of the trainees and cadets went off with consistent thundering ‘crack’ against the holographic targets in the distance. He saw the way some turned red, or even dissipating altogether as a sign that they were hit by the armor-piercing spell round. Sigmund paused to briefly appreciate the kind of firepower that the standard-issue training weapons held, but he could not remember the last time he held one in his hand.  

“Drill-Sergeant?” Sigmund called over the trainer with a wave of his hand.  

“Yes, sir. How may I help you?” 

“Those trainees are rather good shot, don’t you think?” 

“Ah, yes - we do train ‘em well here.” The soldier puffed his chest proudly, “We have fairly high-standards before we decide to ship ‘em off. Is there... someone who catches your eye?” 

“That girl in blonde hair, what’s her name?” 

“Her? Umm... hmm, actually... I... forgot her name, sir.” 

     Sigmund scratched the back of his head. Perhaps it was best that he went up to talk to her, but... everyone was in the firing range, so he decided that it was best to wait it out before walking up to her. It wasn’t as though her skills particularly stood out from everyone else -- rather, the kind of aura she gave off was somewhat... unnatural, he thought. The soldier had encountered several people throughout his misadventures, but he hadn’t seen anyone quite like her. What did she go through to cause her to be act such a way? To look so emotionless? 

     She... almost mirrored Alina in some ways in regards to that, though to a more extreme degree. 

Client Yuki Nagato would likely seem markedly unfriendly to anyone with  awareness of what is to be expected from other people. When her apartment number is called from the front door, so that she can unlock it remotely, she doesn’t even say hello, or acknowledge the caller in any way. The only thing that signals you’ve been heard is the sound of the door unlocking.

It is only upon knocking on her door that you will hear her voice. She opens it less than a second after you’ve knocked, and will always say “Welcome.” in an unwelcoming tone.

The same is true for Violet Evergarden, naturally. Yuki seems neither happy nor displeased to see her. She takes two precise steps backwards, at an angle, so that she may have room to enter the apartment.

In the main living room of Yuki Nagato’s home, there are no noticeable flourishes of character or colour. The walls are barren. There are no little knick knacks anywhere, or end tables for those knick knacks to sit on. No couch. Besides the kitchen, there is only a low table, and two cushions, on opposite sides of it. The table holds on it a snow globe, and under it sits a laptop. “Sit where you would like to.”

She does not immediately join Violet at the table. Instead, she goes into the kitchen, and returns with a tray. On it is a plain white teapot, with matching cups. No sugar?

It seems this client is somewhat plain, though this also could’ve been deduced from the succinct nature of her request.

‘I request assistance on the composing of a letter which will be contained in a time capsule.’