I'll Just Forge It

“Aw, c’mon. Surely you can cut me a little slack…”

Cillian was laying a considerable amount of charm on the rather old woman sitting in front of him. Currently he was in Hargeon Town, standing in front of a desk with a line of people behind him that all wanted the same thing he was trying to get: a passport. It wasn’t that he was trying to leave Fiore. Truthfully Cillian was quite enjoying himself in the country, which was quite hospitable and opened minded to mages. He did also enjoy having his freedom, however, and that included the ability to leave if he wanted without having to go through much hassle.

The women stared up at him with a fully blank expression, not at all moved by his so called charm. “I will not cut you any slack,”[/color] she informed him with an icy tone that matched the hardness in her gaze. “I told you: I can’t issue you a passport if you don’t have any kind of proof of identification. If you cannot provide me with the proper documentation, then stop wasting my time and let me help the next person.”

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Lady, I’ve been trying to tell you. I don’t have any because I was born in Pergrande a long time ago, long before the continent’s countries started utilizing unified documents that were accepted across borders.”

She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? You’d have been hundreds of years old for that to be true.”

“Three hundred and sixty one years, to be exact.”

Once again she stared at him. No one ever believed him when he gave his age, though he didn’t exactly blame them for that. Cillian looked like he was in his early thirties or so, and most people weren’t generally accepting of the concept that mortals could adopt immortality. Not that most people would want his particular brand of immortality, but still. She waved her hand at him dismissively. “We’re done here. Next!”

Well that wasn’t going to do. He eyed her for a moment trying to decide if he wanted to argue further with her or not. She glared back, unmoving. No, Cillian would have to use more unsavory tactics to make this happen. Pretending to relent, he shrugged and turned as if to walk away, but timed it so that he would run right into the person behind them as they approached the desk. Using the rather small collision as a cover, he dramatically flailed and fell backward onto the desk.

It snapped beneath his weight and papers flew everywhere. The old lady screeched with indignation, while everyone in line behind him groaned at the knowledge that they’d be waiting even longer now. “Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” Cillian said, quickly stacking up the loose paperwork and handing them to her.

“Get out! GET OUT!” the woman cried, snatching the documents and practically shoving him away.

“Alright, alright! I’m leaving!” he told her, holding up his hands and walking away. Once he was far enough, he smirked to himself and slipped a hand inside his pocket, pulling out a blank passport form and one of the lady’s official stamps that she’d so foolishly left sitting out in the open. All he had to do was fill out the fields himself and slap the stamp on there, and he’d have everything he needed to travel between the countries.