Post by Julian Forbes on Aug 19, 2007 11:06:38 GMT -5
Plutus had been right when he had said applications would begin pouring in once word of the destruction of the prior Ministry building circulated through the area. Already Julian had received two applications from young men wishing to be Aurors, and had he been informed by a secretary that some students over at the University had successful become interns in his department. Outwardly the Chief Auror was pleased that his section was growing in number, but beneath that smile there was some doubt. The two who had been accepted as Aurors were only 18 and the interns weren't much younger. If he had his way, he'd have given them a course on Auror drilling and proper dueling before sending them out into the field.
However drastic times warranted drastic measures and Forbes had to send all that he could out on the streets to keep tabs on suspected persons. If the time was available, if there was a lull in their line of work (which there rarely was in a new government), he would personally oversee what they needed to improve on and how proficient they already were. But for now, Julian needed his newest members here in his office to debrief them. He was pacing around, back and forth, in his vermilion green robes with the crimson red surcoat covering them. The only thing missing on Forbes was his black felt hat with purple plume, but it was close at hand on a peg near the door.
If there was one thing that Forbes never could be accused of: it was not being prepared.
He had letters sent to James Mustang and Alexan Vale, asking them to immediately come to his office so he could see what he was looking it, and he sent another set of letters to Jeremy Tyler and Connor Arch requesting their presence if they weren't busy with school preparations. Shakily, the dark-haired man made his way for his mahogany "throne" and crumpled in it. He wasn't up to leading untrained boys into the heat of a conflict, and he couldn't help but imagine their blood on his hands. Yet they needed those boys, so some way or another he'd learn to cope with the current situation.
Running his right hand through his hair, Julian let out a sigh and after he returned his hand to the chair arm he stared sullenly at his signet ring on his ring finger. The symbol of the Maltan Viscounts, the Maltese cross with an hourglass engraved behind it. It symbolized that they would remain the rulers of Malta for all time and it was passed down through the entire line until it reached him. And yet he couldn't return to his home: he had to gain more recognition before he could claim his title. What recognition was there to be gained in leading youths to their possible deaths? It was as if he was trapped in one of Shakespeare's play, the tragic hero trapped by his lack of notability and cursed to never to fully achieve what he sought.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Julian Forbes composed himself and waited for the arrival of the four newest members of his department. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow: creeps in this petty pace...yet tomorrow is not today, so will such thoughts away.
However drastic times warranted drastic measures and Forbes had to send all that he could out on the streets to keep tabs on suspected persons. If the time was available, if there was a lull in their line of work (which there rarely was in a new government), he would personally oversee what they needed to improve on and how proficient they already were. But for now, Julian needed his newest members here in his office to debrief them. He was pacing around, back and forth, in his vermilion green robes with the crimson red surcoat covering them. The only thing missing on Forbes was his black felt hat with purple plume, but it was close at hand on a peg near the door.
If there was one thing that Forbes never could be accused of: it was not being prepared.
He had letters sent to James Mustang and Alexan Vale, asking them to immediately come to his office so he could see what he was looking it, and he sent another set of letters to Jeremy Tyler and Connor Arch requesting their presence if they weren't busy with school preparations. Shakily, the dark-haired man made his way for his mahogany "throne" and crumpled in it. He wasn't up to leading untrained boys into the heat of a conflict, and he couldn't help but imagine their blood on his hands. Yet they needed those boys, so some way or another he'd learn to cope with the current situation.
Running his right hand through his hair, Julian let out a sigh and after he returned his hand to the chair arm he stared sullenly at his signet ring on his ring finger. The symbol of the Maltan Viscounts, the Maltese cross with an hourglass engraved behind it. It symbolized that they would remain the rulers of Malta for all time and it was passed down through the entire line until it reached him. And yet he couldn't return to his home: he had to gain more recognition before he could claim his title. What recognition was there to be gained in leading youths to their possible deaths? It was as if he was trapped in one of Shakespeare's play, the tragic hero trapped by his lack of notability and cursed to never to fully achieve what he sought.
Pushing those thoughts aside, Julian Forbes composed himself and waited for the arrival of the four newest members of his department. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow: creeps in this petty pace...yet tomorrow is not today, so will such thoughts away.