[After his execrable contribution to last month's missions, and his subsequent stay in the Citadel's dungeons, Liem has spent the last week and a half determined not to give the Regent any cause to be disappointed in him again. They have charged their aions with defence of the city during the executions, and Liem intends for his performance to be beyond reproach.
A man who was thinking only of his own glory likely wouldn't have bothered to arrange supplies like this for his cohorts' use. One who was less thorough wouldn't have bothered checking the state of his caches after he'd had them delivered. But Liem's first priority has always been to focus on completing a task, and completing it well. He is out in his dark, Achamite robes, braving the hostile glare of the day's buttery summer sunshine as he ensures that his directions have been carried out without flaw, and that the delivered supplies will be accessible to any of his colleagues who need them.
He doesn't miss M's slight form lurking in the doorway. Given their last interaction, he can't help the prickle that sets his nerves jangling at the demon's red-eyed regard, but he masks the feeling by straightening from his crouch next to a box of first-aid supplies and briskly straightening the hang of his robes.]
Thirty-two, [he says without hesitation,] focused around main thoroughfares leading to the Citadel.
[Being the one to arrange the distribution of the supply stashes, he knows precisely how many of them there are.]
Not as many as there might have been with a bit more preparation, but it should serve, unless the Pleroma's forces are far more populous than I've been led to believe.
no subject
A man who was thinking only of his own glory likely wouldn't have bothered to arrange supplies like this for his cohorts' use. One who was less thorough wouldn't have bothered checking the state of his caches after he'd had them delivered. But Liem's first priority has always been to focus on completing a task, and completing it well. He is out in his dark, Achamite robes, braving the hostile glare of the day's buttery summer sunshine as he ensures that his directions have been carried out without flaw, and that the delivered supplies will be accessible to any of his colleagues who need them.
He doesn't miss M's slight form lurking in the doorway. Given their last interaction, he can't help the prickle that sets his nerves jangling at the demon's red-eyed regard, but he masks the feeling by straightening from his crouch next to a box of first-aid supplies and briskly straightening the hang of his robes.]
Thirty-two, [he says without hesitation,] focused around main thoroughfares leading to the Citadel.
[Being the one to arrange the distribution of the supply stashes, he knows precisely how many of them there are.]
Not as many as there might have been with a bit more preparation, but it should serve, unless the Pleroma's forces are far more populous than I've been led to believe.