Celica took a pause in scanning the document in front of her to take a sip from her cup of coffee, the liquid scorching as it flowed down her throat. Then her gaze turned back to the paper, brows knitting together in an irritated frown.

As she walked to the site specified by the announcement, coffee in one hand, paper in the other, and duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, she repeatedly paused in her examination to frustratedly simmer on the Academy’s lack of respect for its own schedule. After yesterday’s morning session, being woken up earlier than she had planned, by an announcement which she could only imagine preluded more of the same torture as before did not have a positive effect on her mood. The previous day’s clothing had been replaced by new, clean apparel, but she wondered how long that would survive. 

She had assumed the papers in her hand would provide some amusement, but, while clearly written in Alice’s taut handwriting, all hard lines, there was a notable absence of the loose tongue she imagined had led to the paperwork being rejected. In fact, there was nothing she could see in the writing itself that was out of place.

“This is starting to annoy me,” she commented, idly, forcing her lips into a crooked smile. 

“What is?” Alice asked, cocking her head to one side slightly in curiosity. 

Celica shook the paper in her hand. “I can’t see what keeps getting you turned down. I mean, even if you were giving them hate mail, we are walking nukes. What would the problem be with shipping a gun?” She looked back at the form and grimaced distastefully. “For how long have you been trying to get this done?”

Alice shrugged in defeat, “About once a month for eight or nine months. I keep getting this ‘your request could not be processed’ type response. It’s infuriating.”

“I can imagine…” For a moment, Celica had the strangest urge to empty the rest of her drink on to the document, if only so she didn’t have to look at it any more. Then something struck her. “Wait, so you weren’t actually getting rejected.”

Alice stopped dead in her tracks, staring at Celica, “What do you mean?” she demanded.

Celica turned to look at her. Suddenly, it was Alice’s head she wanted to dunk the scalding coffee on. “If they were denying your requests, they would have explicitly said so. ‘Could not be processed’ is the kind of automated response one gets when there’s a mistake in the paperwork.” She turned to look at the paper, and the problem was so glaringly obvious she wondered how she could not have noticed it at first glance. “Alice, you’re trying to get permission to mail a gun over. Why are you addressing it to the Human Resource Management office?”

Alice looked blankly at Celica, then to the letter in her hand, then back to Celica, and snatched the letter, reading it with a scowl. “I don’t see the issue.” She admitted with a grumble, “But I’m guessing it’s not with my prose.”

“They don’t deal with that stuff, of course you’re not going to get anything out it if you ask them.” Celica started walking again, one hand massaging her temple. “And you’ve been doing this for a year?” She didn’t know whether she should laugh herself silly or cry. 

Alice then heard Celica’s words about Human Resources, which somehow had managed to completely slip by her. “Wait. Wait. I’ve been addressing this to the Human Resources office?” 

“Yes,” she told her, curtly.

Alice smacked her forehead in exasperation, “You know, you’d think after all the training I’ve had, I would notice what people say. And what I write on letters.”

“One would think,” Celica agreed, dryly. They were almost to the rendezvous point, and the murmur of conversing student’s slowly began drifting into earshot. “But you’ve never been about doing what’s expected, now have you?”

“Expectation is subjective. Some people might’ve expected me to do something, who knows?” Alice shot back.

“Well, I can’t believe you expected to get your gun out of this. And you did it, what? Ten times? I can’t get over it.” Celica shook her head disbelievingly. There was something here to be said about insanity, but she could not recall the quote.

“это пиздец,” Alice grumbled, “How the hell do I not notice this? You’d think that in this day and age you wouldn’t even have to handle paper, but no, you still have to bother with a pen, paper, and apparently having one wrong digit in a number.” 

She leaned against the wall, sighing in exasperation. “Well, guess I’ll fix the address. Thanks.” She said awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably a little.

As they reached the waiting area, Celica took a gulp of her coffee, letting out a long sigh. “Don’t mention it. Really. I should be making fun of you, but I don’t even want to think about it anymore,” she added, dropping her bag against the wall.