Mattine nell'inferno [Amel]

[Cerise Abel]

March 6th
07:00

It was all apart of the schedule. They made sure to keep to this schedule. At seven Cerise would come wake him up with breakfast. Then she would give him twenty to thirty minutes to eat. During which time she would either pick out his outfit for the day. Or if he head not slept that night and was up and dressed himself, she would lecture him on why his outfit choice was not a good one.

After that she would leave to allow him to get dressed. Often having to return to help him tie his tie. Then she would set the food tray out for the maid to take care of as she went over Amel's plans for the day with him. Heading to what ever was first on the list.

And that was how it was everyday.

Knocking on the door lightly, not wanting to barge in if he was awake, Cerise waited. A tray of food in her hands. Just some simple crepes on request from the teen. All ready made, filled with strawberries, bananas, and blueberries. A light mixture of caramel and chocolate as well. A cup of coffee, a glass of water on the tray as well.

Her hair was pulled back, she wore a black and white checkered dress with black leggings underneath, white boots, and a black scarf. Cerise dressed like this everyday. Partly because it was only proper for the business she dealt in. Also to look nice for Amel.

Shifting the tray slightly, she waited another moment for an answer. If she received none, she would just go ahead and go in.

[Amel Allen]

Amel hadn’t slept. He’d spent half the night pouring over reports from Italy, translating the text meticulously into English. It wasn’t necessarily his job to do so, but he didn’t trust those idiots who normally did this job. Too many unnecessary conflicts were caused by fault translations; the nuances lost on those who did not understand it. And anything Amel could do to keep unnecessary conflict, he would. L’s justice was absolute, but it also required him to take responsibility for innocent human life as well as the guilty.

Currently he was writing out the words that didn’t translate properly on the three foot by four foot chalkboard that he had mounted to one wall in his bedroom, his hands and dark t-shirt covered in chalk dust as he wrote out the phrases in his careful cursive writing. His bed was cluttered with papers, obviously not slept in. His bedside table was clear save for a small radio that was currently playing a news station at a quiet volume. The space heater beneath his bed was already on and running to counteract the cold morning air, sitting right next to an ornate table just large enough to hold a chessboard and match clock. A half played game was sitting upon it.

The knock on the door made him jump, but he shouldn't have been surprised by it. Cerise was always punctual; he could almost set his clock by her arrival in the morning. But the last time he had glanced at the clock, it had been 2:32. Tempus fugit. The sudden movement made his side hurt where the fractured rib that he had received from one of his very angry foot soldiers two weeks prior was still healing. He glanced down at the bag of ice and dish towel that she'd brought him the night before, the ice long since melted and sitting just where she had left it, unused.

“Entrer, s'il vous plaît ,” he called out as he erased a word from his board and made a note in the notebook on his bed. He just hoped that she wouldn’t give him grief for working all night. And that she had brought coffee. Yes, he hoped for that much more.