Synclair, Poliferus, and Sierra
Synclair's morning had been a rough one. He had decided months ago that this day would be the one where he would shed his mourning attire. Three days before, it had been exactly a year since his young wife died. Today marked the anniversary of the death of their child. It was not good for morale for Synclair to wallow in past sorrows. That was why he had decided he would only mourn for a year, and no more. But then he had awoken to the news that many of the men posted as guards during the night had met tragic ends. Synclair was tempted to continue in his mourning attire, having been provided an excuse to do so. But if he delayed his return to normalcy every time a man under his command died, he would never wear purple again. Such was the nature of their lives during these times, when usurpers were after the throne.
Swathed in purple, Synclair went about his duties for the day. He ignored the startled looks or odd comments on his attire. If it was too soon, or too sudden for him to be coming out of mourning, Synclair didn't want to talk about it. He had made this decision like he made all decisions whenever possible; with a clear mind that took into account all foreseeable outcomes. Though he may have to tolerate uncomfortable situations, coming out of mourning at this time was what was best for his men. Luckily, toleration was a strength of his, and Synclair was only mildly frustrated by those few who questioned how strongly he had felt about his wife and child.
What honestly frustrated Synclair was the situation surrounding the deaths of the men posted on guard the night before. The General had made alterations to the schedule of the night guards himself. Synclair had disagreed with these actions. His men were not pawns, setting up those few men to die was not something Synclair was comfortable with. The only reason he had not fought harder to protect these men was because Synclair knew that the assassin Phoenix would be there to add strength to their defense without the obvious giveaway of larger numbers. But reports suggested that Phoenix had not lifted a finger to help the guards as they died. Synclair would be including a complaint with his report on this subject.
As it was, Synclair had to report a few minor formalities, among other topics. The problem was locating the General at this hour. Synclair had first gone to the throne room, only to be informed by the guards posted that the General had gone off in the direction of the courtyard. Synclair changed his course, walking quickly in hopes of catching the General before he managed to wander off again. Synclair wanted to get this report off of his chest before he burst from the unusual amounts of frustration contained within.
Finally spotting the flowing cape at the General's back on one of the north-facing balconies, Synclair slowed his footsteps. The Lady Sierra was in the General's company, which made Synclair hesitate. Were he a selfish man, bursting into their conversation would give him little pause. However, Synclair was entirely too selfless to easily interrupt. He knew that the General and Lady were close, and that their conversation was likely personal. And yet, what Synclair had to say was weighing on him heavily. Synclair stood weighing his options until he noticed the General turn away from the view that the balcony provided. No doubt the General would soon notice Synclair standing in silent observation, with no obvious purpose. In an attempt to avoid the embarrassing alternative, Synclair strode forward, bowing deeply to the General and then again to Lady Sierra.
"My apologies to you General, Lady Sierra. I have little choice but to interrupt your conversation. I will try to make myself as brief an inconvenience as possible." Synclair adjusted his purple shirt once he was upright, his blue eyes shifting from Lady Sierra to the General. Synclair had cut himself off from society for the past year, only functioning when it came to his work. He had not seen a lady in quite some time, and the lady before him was one to inspire curiosity. His most burning question about her at present was whether she could be trusted within earshot of a report or not. He would have guessed that the General trusted her, much like he would trust a daughter. Some things were best kept between the individuals who most needed the information. Synclair kept his eyes trained on the General. "Permission to report, sir." He then glanced at the lady again, silently asking if it was appropriate to report in her presence.