Solo [Customs Office] Keeping Order.

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Center of scholarly knowledge and shipwrighting, Zeltiva is a port city unlike any other in Mizahar. [Lore]

[Customs Office] Keeping Order.

Postby Loken on March 23rd, 2017, 2:01 am


4th Day of Spring, 517 A.V.

It shouldn't have been this hard.

No. That wasn't true. He knew that difficult was exactly what it should have been. What did he expect, that clerking for the Customs Office would be easy? Nothing came easy, let alone dealing with the agitated states of people who didn't enjoy giving their money away. The fees were a necessity to control what was imported or exported, but that didn't stop people from giving him flack all day. Or try to haggle with him as if he could suddenly give them a discount.

Tilting his head from side to side, Loken heard the bones in his neck crack and pop quietly. It was a habit he did out of boredom, but relieved the tension he was feeling in his muscles. His fingers sifted lightly through the coarse feeling of parchments, look down at the stacks in his hands that he'd just retrieved to resupply the foyer desk. The end of martial law seemed to bring the weirdos and unique out from hiding. Well, that was what he could see from the ragtag group of people who flooded into the Customs office, standing around like they had never heard of a 'line' before. Which was one reason why Loken was now walking around directing people to take a seat.

“Attention. Please form an orderly line and wait to have your fees processed.” He glanced to a scantly clad looking woman with a toddler running around the room. They both looked dirty, but in the way that proved they either lived outside, or were avant-garde in their outlook on public attire. It meant that they were obviously Svefra.

Loken had to walk over to the kid and stare down at the boy. He held up one his hands to show the multitude of heavy scars decoration the back of it. "This is what happens to children who can not control their bodies... Now rectify your behavior or be removed." His tone of voice did not rise or fall, but remained monotone. Making it clear to the child that his statement was factual. A stern promise. Even if the little boy didn't know what rectify meant, he got the gist of things and quickly went to go hide behind his mothers legs. The Mother gave Loken a look of disgust for speaking to the boy that way, but Loken didn't care so long as the child remained quite.

His continued with his business, letting his stern gaze lock onto an old haggardly looking man with a disheveled grayed beard. The human laid on the ground like a homeless person. Loken was about to treat him as such, but noticed the paper work in the man's hand gave him evidence to the contrary. It was in that moment that the first sign of emotion broke through the Ano Cultists normally stoic visage.

Loken his gaze for an unsettling amount of time, looming over the prone man as his eyebrows lowered, lips pressing firmly and eyes widening with the smallest amount of anger; annoyed at the disorder within the foyer. Had people lost all their common sense? "I will personally remove you from the building if you do not stand up and get in line. That is your last warning." As was Loken's usual dress attire, he wore his black leather armor over his clean kept black clothing. It did give him the appearance of someone who could handle some amount of violence. And it proved enough to aptly motivate the man to take his place at the end of the newly formed line; albeit begrudgingly... and drunkenly.

He tilted his head from side to side again, this time to adjust the fit of his leather armor. Lifting a hand to grip the collar and pull it away from his neck. Then with a sigh, he turned to take his place behind the foyers large desk. Tapping the bottom of the stack of parchment he held against the desk to straighten them before setting them down.

Word Count: 669

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