"The man's got vision, I'll give 'im that," remarked Governor Driscol as he sat reclined in his office chair. That was still a matter of some difficulty to accept, upon reflection. This was his office now, and it was his chair that he was half sprawled upon with his feet propped up on the edge of his desk. Granted, these items had previously belonged to Matt Simon, and before that Kitty Helston, but Dris never really had ever had any issues with making himself at home in any new setting.
"Only one week and 'e's already got plans surpassin' my own imagined machinations." He skimmed over Admiral Wolvinator's missive for probably the hundredth time and smiled in a way that Erin had told him he should always smile, like the devil himself. He pretty much had it patented now, complete with lightly rubbing his chin with his fingertips and that wicked gleam reflecting in his blue eyes. He also had a madman's habit of talking to himself, because there wasn't anyone else present in the office but him at the present moment.
"'Course, when I suggested the Good Samaritan Militia, I'd considered makin' it more a public project than the private one 'e's suggestin' 'ere, but..." Dris tilted his head speculatively as he mused aloud. "S'why I 'ired 'im, innit' Whadoo I know 'bout runnin' the military' Nothin'. That's what."
Dropping his feet off the edge of the desk, Dris rolled up out of his chair and stepped around to the front to take up another bad habit; he started pacing. The document was still in hand, and he continued to read and reread as he took those long steps left and right around. "Sounds sommat like a secret service, or special investigations," he said to himself, and the paper, giving the missive a pat with his fingernails. "Almost sounds a bit like what I'm settin' up myself." He stopped his pacing abruptly and gave the open door to his office a long and thoughtful, slightly paranoid, look. "'Cept nobody knows 'bout that but me an' Erin. Yet."
Grinning as sharp as a shark smelling blood in the water, he relaxed a bit to take up a perched lean on the front side of his desk and face the open door. Setting his fingers to his chin, he crossed one up to tap at his lower lip thoughtfully. "Aye, this'll do. Just a small matter o' bus'ness first, though." He twisted at the waist and leaned back on his desk to press the intercom button. "Basil, my office," he pronounced in as an authoritative voice as he could muster.
Ten seconds later, a lanky young man with slightly pointed ears came bustling into his office toting a stack of papers in his arms, half of which were askew. As always, the boy's cheeks were flushed, either from over-work or a failed attempt at concealing a crush Dris could never be completely sure. "Y-yes, Mr. Driscol, Governor, sir?"
Dris smiled his most charming smile at the half-elven intern. "Basil, m'lad. Get me a copy of this. No. Make that two, on the double," he said, handing over the Admiral's missive. "But don't go readin' it or I'll be forced t'gouge yer eyes out," he added sternly and mostly not at all seriously. Still, it was a good enough threat to keep the boy in line, or any who didn't know him any better. In short order, Basil took the missive and hurried off to attend his new immediate duty.
It wasn't long before Basil returned with three copies of the Admiral's plan, one of them the original. Dris smiled when he noticed the great pains the boy took to keep his eyes from even remotely glancing at the contents. "Good lad," he said, taking the three pages from his care. "Now run along an' do ....whatever it is y'do," he added with a twiddle of his fingers. Basil made a show of bowing about seven times as he backed out the office door.
Stepping back around to the business side of his desk, Dris set aside the two photocopies for the time being. One was to be filed away in his own collection, but the other he had plans for. The first, the original, of course needed to be sent back to the Admiral, but not until after he'd signed his approval. Looking over the contents of his desk, Dris sighed in dismay. "Gon' need t'order some o' those fancy stamps an' a few pads o' red ink, I'm thinkin'," he mused to himself. In fact, he leaned aside to jot down a note to send Basil off on that particular errand later in the day. Until then, he'd just have to do with red ink and a single hand written word. On the top of the Admiral's proposal, he scrawled just that:
Approved
Old fashioned pens the likes of which he used required a moment of drying, and while he waited for that to happen he prepared a return envelope to send back to the Admiral's office. Folded neatly in thirds, he slid the missive into the envelope, once the ink was dry, and sealed it with a note of "For the Eyes of the Minister of Defense Only." To that addition on the envelope, he could only smile, perhaps a bit wickedly. He was already starting to like these inter-office games of intrigue and politics. Once all that was prepared, he called Basil in to take the slightly altered missive back to the Admiral, with dramatized emphasis on the importance and secrecy of the delivery just to keep the boy on his toes.
Then there was the matter of the copies to attend to. One, of course, he filed away to his own collection for later review. The other he prepared with an extra letter to be attached to it before he sent it off. That letter began: Dear Erin....
