Welcome to Gaia! ::

To his family, Harrow had described this as an internship in an important, managerial kind of position. He had made it seem like he was doing something real, maybe managerial. It was in the business district. It was official. And his father had, just vaguely, approved.

The truth of it, though, was that Harrow had more or less become someone's secretary, himself, with grand duties that mostly consisted of sorting mail, delivering messages, and making sure the actually-important people got the files they so desperately needed. It was dull, it was repetitive, it was small, but it took a certain organized monotonous skillset that was the very core of Harrow's being.

His father could never know. And definitely couldn't know he really enjoyed it.

Still. The bag of papers raised his eyes from whatever it was he'd been sorting carefully into columns on a scraptop, and pinched the corners of his mouth down again. The look he finally turned up to Pickworth, instead, was borderline accusatory. He didn't need to say anything, it was clear on his face:

What did I ever do to you?