meeting

Anisa

She floated to a cloaked man with grey hair. He looked over and sipped his water. “You didn’t have to come,” he said.

“Nor did you,” she said.

They both stared ahead. Wizards wore their dress hats. Other Vanguardists were at the door, haggling with the security on what weapons they could bring in. John had walked over to greet them. A long table had been laid out with hors d’oeuvres, which a woman with red skin was judiciously observing, approaching people who were taking too many deviled eggs or punch. A group of grey robed, hatless men — presumably the owners of several of the hats on one of the coatracks — were vigorously arguing about something. The band, with its 2 guitars, its percussionist, and someone who was opening and closing their mouth, was barely audible on the other side of the room. A woman beside them bit cheese on a toothpick.

“I enjoy it,” he said.

“Chaos,” said Anisa. “How is this any different from your day-to-day?”

“Less paperwork,” he said. “I approach people instead of them approaching me. No meetings. No panic from new recruits on how to remove crossbow bolts. It’s cleaner. I don’t need to plan a meal. I can leave when I want.”

“Okay,” said Anisa.

The greycloaks were apparently arguing over what gods could kill what other gods. A man in a bi-pointed hat loudly declared how tasty the pickles were to no one in particular.

“How’s the water,” said Anisa.

“Yeah,” said Weathers.

“I suppose I’ll be assuming Samantha’s position on RBB’s pitch board,” said Anisa.

“I’ll talk to you at work,” he said, and he walked away.

“Okay,” said Anisa.