It was a relatively calm day, by the standards of the clerk's office. Things had been busy, but it was far from anything that the staff on-hand couldn't handle. The ebbing sunlight beamed almost excitedly through the windows of the quaint office and glared into the eyes of its seemingly tireless employees, which were navigating the thin back hallways expertly as per usual. Three people stood anxiously in line. A thickset, husky legend of a man with a bit of a pin head, a lean, thick haired one who was missing a finger, and, finally, an average-sized, athletic-looking lad.
The lad glared impatiently at the girl manning the desk before flicking out a gold-rimmed pocket watch when they accidently made eye contact.
She’s new… I might actually have a shot! He adjusted the strings on his drawstring knapsack and coughed awkwardly to cover up the clinking sound his pack made in response. My kingdom for a good way to store weapons in a government building… If only. He watched on carefully and inconspicuously for any distinct changes in her expression while she processed whatever the other two jokers in the room wanted. None whatsoever. He smiled a little.
Just as he was about to approach the counter, an older, snooty-looking woman with glasses came in from one of the hallways and relieved the younger girl from her duties, thereby causing the color to completely fade from the lad’s face.
Son of a bitch—Ms. Rosenwald! He hurriedly checked his pocket watch again, actually reading the time this go around. He kicked himself for not noticing the turn of the hour just now. His smile was now just a falsetto of his new mood: absolute despair.
“Oh, you again!?” His head jerked to the nasally voice of Ms. Rosenwald, head clerk. “Char, did you not see the sign!?”
“Ah, which one?” He was clearly playing dumb, raising the pitch of his voice ever so slightly. It was about the only thing he could do here.
“Oh, you know—THIS ONE!” Ms. Rosenwald slammed a small sign, printed on cardboard down onto the granite countertop. It was a hand-drawn and colored rough illustration of Char’s face, complete with its heterochromia, notable pupil, spiky black hair, and signature stupid grin. Char knew she had about as much experience drawing as he did, but he had trouble forgiving how nefarious some of the added sharpness made him seem. He looked almost like a cartoon villain, only lacking the long black mustache. The words ‘No CHAR LIG allowed ANYWHERE!’ were sprawled across the top of the sign and, in a tinier font the words ‘He WILL lie and STEAL from YOU!’ sat underneath the picture. There was also one posted outside on the door, which Char had chosen to ignore out of hubris.
“Ah! I see—” He feigned surprise as he put down his bag and approached the counter.
“No, you clearly don’t! You’re not allowed on the premises of this building; do you hear me!? Don’t even take a step closer!”
“Listen—” He took one step closer, hands raised in a surrendering position.
“Char, I will not fall victim to another one of your tricks!” Char slowly winced further and further inward as she yelled. “I don’t care whose marriage you need to officiate, just shut up and—"
“You listen, you old hag!” He ran up to the counter and banged his hands as hard as he could on it. He damn near hurt himself. “You stupid bitch—dumb hoe, even! Piece-of-shit human being!” He took a second to calm himself down as the young girl, who had come back with a coffee stared frightened at him. He did not return eye contact this time. “Look here, you minx! There’s no rub this time.”
She took the opportunity to get within breath’s distance to him, nose-to-nose. “Like the last fifty times, huh!? I’ve nearly gotten fired thanks to you more times than I care to count!”
He stayed resolute, and his expression lightened into something more akin to peace. He looked beside himself with something more genuine than Ms. Rosenwald had ever seen on his face in her lifetime of knowing him.
“I’m not here to scam you this time—especially not for tax purposes. I want to take the marriage license exam.”
The old lady faltered. “Don’t think I didn’t hear about it from the grapevine...” She reclined a little. “You hooligan—a little birdie told me you were quitting the marriage planning business. Cutting out the middleman, now, are you?”
His brow furrowed. “Yeah, that’s right. Except for the second part. You may not like it, you old crone, but this is what peak performance looks like:” He dug into his baggy pants’ pocket and grabbed his wallet, which he flipped open to reveal his identification. His grin was just as shit-eating on his card as it was on the sign, but something more disheartening stuck out to Ms. Rosenwald, who had practically been trained by Char to sus out any problems with these sorts of things. “I’m a mage now, so fuck you.” He looked proud of himself as he held it out against her chest, forcing her to hold the card.
She let off of him to better glimpse at it and, to her surprise, the seal melted onto it—which was clearly newly added—was legitimate. It even had its own number. She quickly ran it, muttering slurs under her breath at Char, who flipped her off repeatedly as she did so. It was real.
TWC: 919/500
The lad glared impatiently at the girl manning the desk before flicking out a gold-rimmed pocket watch when they accidently made eye contact.
She’s new… I might actually have a shot! He adjusted the strings on his drawstring knapsack and coughed awkwardly to cover up the clinking sound his pack made in response. My kingdom for a good way to store weapons in a government building… If only. He watched on carefully and inconspicuously for any distinct changes in her expression while she processed whatever the other two jokers in the room wanted. None whatsoever. He smiled a little.
Just as he was about to approach the counter, an older, snooty-looking woman with glasses came in from one of the hallways and relieved the younger girl from her duties, thereby causing the color to completely fade from the lad’s face.
Son of a bitch—Ms. Rosenwald! He hurriedly checked his pocket watch again, actually reading the time this go around. He kicked himself for not noticing the turn of the hour just now. His smile was now just a falsetto of his new mood: absolute despair.
“Oh, you again!?” His head jerked to the nasally voice of Ms. Rosenwald, head clerk. “Char, did you not see the sign!?”
“Ah, which one?” He was clearly playing dumb, raising the pitch of his voice ever so slightly. It was about the only thing he could do here.
“Oh, you know—THIS ONE!” Ms. Rosenwald slammed a small sign, printed on cardboard down onto the granite countertop. It was a hand-drawn and colored rough illustration of Char’s face, complete with its heterochromia, notable pupil, spiky black hair, and signature stupid grin. Char knew she had about as much experience drawing as he did, but he had trouble forgiving how nefarious some of the added sharpness made him seem. He looked almost like a cartoon villain, only lacking the long black mustache. The words ‘No CHAR LIG allowed ANYWHERE!’ were sprawled across the top of the sign and, in a tinier font the words ‘He WILL lie and STEAL from YOU!’ sat underneath the picture. There was also one posted outside on the door, which Char had chosen to ignore out of hubris.
“Ah! I see—” He feigned surprise as he put down his bag and approached the counter.
“No, you clearly don’t! You’re not allowed on the premises of this building; do you hear me!? Don’t even take a step closer!”
“Listen—” He took one step closer, hands raised in a surrendering position.
“Char, I will not fall victim to another one of your tricks!” Char slowly winced further and further inward as she yelled. “I don’t care whose marriage you need to officiate, just shut up and—"
“You listen, you old hag!” He ran up to the counter and banged his hands as hard as he could on it. He damn near hurt himself. “You stupid bitch—dumb hoe, even! Piece-of-shit human being!” He took a second to calm himself down as the young girl, who had come back with a coffee stared frightened at him. He did not return eye contact this time. “Look here, you minx! There’s no rub this time.”
She took the opportunity to get within breath’s distance to him, nose-to-nose. “Like the last fifty times, huh!? I’ve nearly gotten fired thanks to you more times than I care to count!”
He stayed resolute, and his expression lightened into something more akin to peace. He looked beside himself with something more genuine than Ms. Rosenwald had ever seen on his face in her lifetime of knowing him.
“I’m not here to scam you this time—especially not for tax purposes. I want to take the marriage license exam.”
The old lady faltered. “Don’t think I didn’t hear about it from the grapevine...” She reclined a little. “You hooligan—a little birdie told me you were quitting the marriage planning business. Cutting out the middleman, now, are you?”
His brow furrowed. “Yeah, that’s right. Except for the second part. You may not like it, you old crone, but this is what peak performance looks like:” He dug into his baggy pants’ pocket and grabbed his wallet, which he flipped open to reveal his identification. His grin was just as shit-eating on his card as it was on the sign, but something more disheartening stuck out to Ms. Rosenwald, who had practically been trained by Char to sus out any problems with these sorts of things. “I’m a mage now, so fuck you.” He looked proud of himself as he held it out against her chest, forcing her to hold the card.
She let off of him to better glimpse at it and, to her surprise, the seal melted onto it—which was clearly newly added—was legitimate. It even had its own number. She quickly ran it, muttering slurs under her breath at Char, who flipped her off repeatedly as she did so. It was real.
TWC: 919/500
Last edited by Char Lig on 22nd September 2021, 9:00 pm; edited 1 time in total
