Chapter Text
For once, Chief's desk is mostly clear of paperwork. It's not a state of affairs she expects to last for long, or even until the end of the week. But it's enough of an achievement for her to feel proud of the temporary reprieve.
All that remains are a handful of documents. Chief flips through the small pile's contents and scans the headers. None of them look that urgent. A request for new ingredients from the cafeteria after a bad batch of meat from their supplier. One or two reports from the arrest team regarding low-risk Sinners they've recently brought in. And another form requesting replacement water pipes for the Bureau.
It's enough to make her give a weary smile. No matter how many times she tells Hella to just ask for a brand new pipe, the Sinner always insists on finding' one and ripping it out from the wall herself. Something about 'street cred' and 'keeping up with my ******* rep you ****'. Along with half a dozen other curses she's fairly sure nobody else but Hella uses.
The header on the final form catches her eye. Against all her work habits, Chief slides the thin sheet of paper out and casts a more detailed glance over it. The handwriting isn't intimately familiar, but she's seen it enough to recognise the owner. Every letter is precise and easily legible, even if the author's language is so professional it almost loops back around into being illegible.
Chief flips the paper over just in case there's more. Blankness stares back at her, and she re-reads the form for the second time. Then the third.
Her lips curl in amusement even as she tries not to sigh. Chief reaches for her desk's phone and dials the internal number for the Bureau's guards. It doesn't even take two rings before someone picks up.
“Can you send Cinnabar up to my office please?”
“Of course, Chief.”
Before she can put the phone down, Chief pauses, and puts the receiver back to her lips.
“And make sure she knows it's not urgent. I just have a question to ask her.”
The line goes dead and Chief leans back in her chair. It's not that late in the day, but it's still late enough she can already anticipate going home. Dull fatigue settles around her shoulders, a slight ache at the back of her mind. Both are familiar to her by now, but still unwelcome whenever they crop up.
Chief leans forward and does her best to shrug them both off. It's unlikely, but she might be able to get through the last few forms before Cinnabar can make it to her office.
But, as always when something involves Cinnabar, Chief comes up short of her mark.
“You wanted to see me, Chief?”
Chief glances up from her work. The Sinner stands in front of her desk, at ease even in the bright orange jumpsuit of a Minos inmate. No matter how many times she's been told she can wear her own clothes, the Sinner insists on wearing 'detainment appropriate attire' whilst inside the Bureau. She's stubborn enough about it that Chief has long since given up trying to change her mind.
The earlier form slides back to the centre of her temporarily bare desk. With a flick, Chief spins it around and leans forward, trying not to look confrontational or tired.
“I just had a question for you.” She taps the form for emphasis. “Could you explain what this is to me? Because I've read it a dozen times and I'm still confused.”
Cinnabar doesn't even glance down at the form. It's enough to remove the 1% doubt Chief was holding on to that maybe this was some sort of prank by Priscilla, or maybe Crache.
“After careful reviewing of the situation,” Cinnabar says, her voice as clear and precise as always. “I realised it would be for the best to improve my personal-professional relationship with you. To that end, I decided to submit a formal application in the hopes of getting along with you better.”
Cinnabar looks at her now, a slight trace of worry on her features.
“Did I overstep myself, Chief?”
Of all the questions she expected the Sinner to have, that certainly wasn't one of them. Chief looks between the form and Cinnabar, floundering for a response.
“No, it's just...”
It should be easier to point out what's wrong with this situation. Where the line between 'professional distance' and 'needlessly formal' is, let alone where this crosses it. And yet, given how informal and chaotic everyone else Chief interacts with is, the dedication and professionalism of Cinnabar always winds back around to catch her off guard.
“Cinnabar, this is a written application to call me by my name.”
Neither of them says anything. Silently, desperately, Chief prays that saying it out loud will make the Sinner realise how insane it is to submit a written request to do that, rather than just asking her face to face.
Even if it is a little touching that Cinnabar went to the effort of laying it out like this.
“That's correct,” the Sinner replies.
Chief waits for something further. A lightbulb realisation from Cinnabar that she doesn't need to do things so by-the-book when there isn't even a book to do things by. They both stare at each other, seconds slowly ticking past, before the Sinner breaks the silence.
“...Does this mean my application has been denied?”
Fatigue sweeps over her as Chief leans back in her seat and sighs again. This is going to take some effort to explain.