[he's always thought life has a... funny way of moving itself along. a lifetime of being part of his Family, torn down in an instant and converted to life beneath cold waters; even were he more talkative, he'd likely never dare to speak on it. Michon would never speak poorly about anything that happened, in fact—the circumstances that arose were, as one might say, good and just. even early on, he'd known that there was always a risk, playing at the edges of the law, skirting onto the wrong side.
even so, he'd never raised a voice in protest, accepted his place on the side of protection, loyalty, and propriety. he'd grown—taller, mostly, and less in notoriety; in spite of his fearsome look, most of the whispers about him had always been of his uncanny politeness or his willingness to bow down to help anyone in need. what the Family did was not his business, but it still stung when it was gone. everything he'd had was wiped away in an instant by Fontaine and its Justice, each individual's sentence bearing the weight of his or her crimes. perhaps that, or his diligence inside the Fortress, or some combination thereof, saw him facing the sun before most of the others who remained. it was so easy to get along, to just move forward when your days were scheduled out in advance.
the surface... was not nearly so easy. he'd wandered, wraith-like, from wilds to villages and beyond, taking up small jobs with pitiful salaries to provide the funds he needed to keep going. he doesn't even remember who referred him to the path of a bodyguard again, but if he did, he would have to thank them. it's less worrisome now, since he no longer has to worry about the fighting of Families and business partners, but it's also earned him a strange sort of reputation.
amicable, but distant. that's the most common agreement on the subject of his personality, and he isn't bothered by it. in truth, not much really bothers him—not counting the sense of being an outsider here. that, too, is something of a facsimile of circumstance—but his ability to connect with people feels limited by his lack of experience, the distance he keeps on instinct now. there is no Family to disappoint, and still he can feel the weight of their rules.
but all that seems distant in the moment. guard the Iudex against any and all threats during these turbulent times is a vague sort of order, but it's one he takes to easily enough. the Gardes don't even have much to offer him for expectations, but he finds that fine, especially with the promise that the man will explain in greater detail later. the less he needs to know, the better to do his job. if anything is a potential threat, he will evaluate it seriously, without question. now... he just has to reintroduce himself to the man who, years prior, had been the crux of his life's turning point. the blond is largely the same as he always was—a truly boring spectacle in court, proud but agreeable.
deft fingers fix his vest, brushing over the Vision still buried within its inside pocket, then move upward to adjust thin-framed glasses. though he doesn't know what his future holds, he doubts there will be any difficulty; if one were to ask him, a man who's survived five hundred years without much obvious incident hardly needs his assistance. the day is a grey one, soaked in a sort of tension, but that changes nothing. Michon has a job to do, and it begins here at this very door. he's already checked in at the desk, taken the time to proceed, with the echo of his shoes the only accompaniment to his thoughts. is it... daunting? no, he doesn't think that's the right feeling. even so, the door seems... secretive, perhaps. as though it and the sky know something he yet should, but the time for any consideration has long passed.
so, there's nothing to do but knock, firm and controlled, eyes closing briefly just to listen. no threats will appear, and that's to be expected, but old habits surely die hard.]
action | we pretend I know what I'm doing, as always
even so, he'd never raised a voice in protest, accepted his place on the side of protection, loyalty, and propriety. he'd grown—taller, mostly, and less in notoriety; in spite of his fearsome look, most of the whispers about him had always been of his uncanny politeness or his willingness to bow down to help anyone in need. what the Family did was not his business, but it still stung when it was gone. everything he'd had was wiped away in an instant by Fontaine and its Justice, each individual's sentence bearing the weight of his or her crimes. perhaps that, or his diligence inside the Fortress, or some combination thereof, saw him facing the sun before most of the others who remained. it was so easy to get along, to just move forward when your days were scheduled out in advance.
the surface... was not nearly so easy. he'd wandered, wraith-like, from wilds to villages and beyond, taking up small jobs with pitiful salaries to provide the funds he needed to keep going. he doesn't even remember who referred him to the path of a bodyguard again, but if he did, he would have to thank them. it's less worrisome now, since he no longer has to worry about the fighting of Families and business partners, but it's also earned him a strange sort of reputation.
amicable, but distant. that's the most common agreement on the subject of his personality, and he isn't bothered by it. in truth, not much really bothers him—not counting the sense of being an outsider here. that, too, is something of a facsimile of circumstance—but his ability to connect with people feels limited by his lack of experience, the distance he keeps on instinct now. there is no Family to disappoint, and still he can feel the weight of their rules.
but all that seems distant in the moment. guard the Iudex against any and all threats during these turbulent times is a vague sort of order, but it's one he takes to easily enough. the Gardes don't even have much to offer him for expectations, but he finds that fine, especially with the promise that the man will explain in greater detail later. the less he needs to know, the better to do his job. if anything is a potential threat, he will evaluate it seriously, without question. now... he just has to reintroduce himself to the man who, years prior, had been the crux of his life's turning point. the blond is largely the same as he always was—a truly boring spectacle in court, proud but agreeable.
deft fingers fix his vest, brushing over the Vision still buried within its inside pocket, then move upward to adjust thin-framed glasses. though he doesn't know what his future holds, he doubts there will be any difficulty; if one were to ask him, a man who's survived five hundred years without much obvious incident hardly needs his assistance. the day is a grey one, soaked in a sort of tension, but that changes nothing. Michon has a job to do, and it begins here at this very door. he's already checked in at the desk, taken the time to proceed, with the echo of his shoes the only accompaniment to his thoughts. is it... daunting? no, he doesn't think that's the right feeling. even so, the door seems... secretive, perhaps. as though it and the sky know something he yet should, but the time for any consideration has long passed.
so, there's nothing to do but knock, firm and controlled, eyes closing briefly just to listen. no threats will appear, and that's to be expected, but old habits surely die hard.]