"I'm looking for a young woman." Maron spoke through a seething lisp. "Dark hair, deaf."
The administrator explained, placing his hands over his ears and mentioning silently her long hair.
"I'm guessing this visit has nothing to do with an audit." The guard, Dawmas, coughed at some implication.
"Show me," the young administrator demanded.
"Might as well. I'm a dead man anyways."
Time gives favor to no man. A fool tries to hide himself from the sun and moon.
Their minds had been made up. Maron and Dawmas walked over to a long hallway. The light was less kind here, and only the small flicker of something beyond the door offered assistance as the ageing guard fumbled with the large ring of various tumble-tools at his belt.
"Seems like an awful lot of keys for a place like this." Maron mused.
Dawmas hesitated for a moment. "Indeed. One tends to amass a fair amount when transferred."
Maron raised an eyebrow. It was clear the infraction suffered on Lohta was not the first, from the sound of it. "And you had me convinced you are a soldier."
"Was a soldier, sir. Was."
"Please, call me Maron."
The mechanized lock clicked with relief and Dawmas held the door closed for a moment. "I'm not supposed to be in there."
Maron turned to where he thought Dawmas was. "Nonsense. You're on official business."
"An audit then?"
Dawmas grinned. His faint silhouette's posture took on a more steady look, like a man whose had his feet placed on the deck after being dropped in the ocean a spell. Maron could divine that the dark, weathered guard was enjoying this. Perhaps he too was enjoying it. There was something about it that felt right, but he could not say the same of his old self. Before the deaf girl entered his life and destroyed it.