~.~[Please know that I did not write this. It was written by Absyn, one of the members in Assembly. I liked it so much, I asked her permission to re-post it here, as it's a nice little thing that makes your brain churn a little. Plus, it paints some fitting images about the different professions. Thank you, Luci.]~.~
The engineer sits at a large wooden desk. He tinkers with something under the glow of a half-spent candle. His hands conceal the item almost entirely.
The enforcer stands by the desk, his bulk meagrely illuminated by the orange glow. He watches the fixer with a cutting glare and flexes his jaw muscles visibly. A closed window frames a full moon on an obsidian sky and paints his other half silver and cobalt.
The agent will tell you what it is, but then she'd have to kill you.
The engineer squints a little and tilts his head, fitting puzzle-pieces together in a loving poem of creation.
The nanotechnician can deduce what it may most likely be from the reflection of circuitry in the engineer's monocle.
The martial artist waits patiently. "The engineer", she murmurs, "will show you when he and the device are ready."
The adventurer watches the candle's flame dance a ballet. You can't tell if she knows what it is or not.
The engineer pauses a moment and curves his spine against the creaking chair upon which he rests, loosening his frame from the stagnation his perched pose has settled him into.
The fixer speaks to you in a voice that creeps across the air on tiptoes. He apparently doesn't know what it is but alludes to the fact that he knows a man who does.
The trader could tell you what it is, but it'll cost you.
The engineer picks up a piece of metal resembling a screwdriver. He prods at the item cradled in his hands and lays the tool back to the desk. The silence in the room fills it. It presses against the occupants as the tin clink of the screwdriver fades into memory.
The meta-physicist knew what it would be before the Engineer knew for certain himself.
The keeper reclines in a chair whose tattered dressing looks almost as aged as the lines on his face. He clears his throat and then returns to silence, closing his fingertips in a spire in front of his chest.
The bureaucrat knows what it should be. He taps something into a comlink and nods to himself at the miniature personal screen.
The soldier is aware how many in the room perceive it. She appears non-interested in the apparatus, yet the martial artist glanced over at a moment divulging the glint in her eye as her view leaned towards the desk where the engineer toiled.
The doctor also travels the room with his eyes, measuring those in attendance. He can’t say what it is, but he can tell you that there likely stands no finer artisan for this project, reading the deft motions the engineer applies to the device.
A banshee whisper slices the air. “I know what it is.”
The engineer, startled, looks up and across to the window checking to see if it had come ajar. He sits motionless for a moment. More seconds pass, and he nods his head back down to his work.
