Ffamran lifts his glasses and rubs his left eye; there are still more than a hundred pages of precedent to annotate here, and it is already late.
Brisk steps sound, and a mug appears at his elbow. Judge Gabranth appears in the chair across from him. "I find, at this part of the evening, coffee is a judge's best instrument." He sips at his own.
Ffamran startles at the words. That's very nearly his father's favorite expression, but surely such a thing is not so rare; surely there is no small amount of contact between Draklor and the Judiciary. But he sips at the steaming coffee, both mortified and grateful that it's almost as sweet as he prefers it.
Gabranth opens his own set of files and sets to reading, and so Ffamran resettles his glasses, rests his pen against his lip, and refocuses on the fourth folio. He doesn't get to the bottom of the page before he is compelled to look up, his glasses already slipping a little on his nose.
"You know," Judge Gabranth says, "you look just like your father when you do that." And he watches Ffamran as he drinks again, ice-blue eyes slitted as his throat flexes.
Ffamran wants to push his glasses up, but he cannot make his hands move.
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It's only fair.
Date: 2007-07-10 02:10 am (UTC)Brisk steps sound, and a mug appears at his elbow. Judge Gabranth appears in the chair across from him. "I find, at this part of the evening, coffee is a judge's best instrument." He sips at his own.
Ffamran startles at the words. That's very nearly his father's favorite expression, but surely such a thing is not so rare; surely there is no small amount of contact between Draklor and the Judiciary. But he sips at the steaming coffee, both mortified and grateful that it's almost as sweet as he prefers it.
Gabranth opens his own set of files and sets to reading, and so Ffamran resettles his glasses, rests his pen against his lip, and refocuses on the fourth folio. He doesn't get to the bottom of the page before he is compelled to look up, his glasses already slipping a little on his nose.
"You know," Judge Gabranth says, "you look just like your father when you do that." And he watches Ffamran as he drinks again, ice-blue eyes slitted as his throat flexes.
Ffamran wants to push his glasses up, but he cannot make his hands move.