[center][img]  https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/d6a56ee9-32d6-4670-b1a8-5613303b23ba.jpg[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=#7D5CB3]Andrew Carlino[/color][/h1][/center]
[center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center]
[center][color=#812442][b]Location:[/b][/color] The Bastion [color=#812442][b]Time: [/b][/color] Late evening[/center]
[center][color=#812442][b]Interactions:  [/b][/color] n/a[color=#812442][b]Mentions:  [/b][/color] n/a[/center]
[center][youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wDl3DuPcZzA[/youtube][/center]
[center][color=black][sup]____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________[/sup][/color][/center]

Andrew Carlino could only stand and glare.  In response to the doctor’s request for information on the Code 3, the Wardens records clerk had just said to him that favorite phrase of all bureaucrats:  “I’m sorry, but…” which was their idiom for:  “No, fuck off.”  

Resentment and frustration grew steadily in the psychiatrist’s tone as he pressed in turns for a medical file, then for a name, then for *any* information about the missing Warden and/or the circumstances of their disappearance, and then at last for an explanation for why not.

[color=#00ced1] “That information is strictly confidential,”[/color] the clerk said to the last:  [color=#00ced1] “It hasn’t been released , not even to me.  I couldn’t even tell you any of that if I wanted to.”[/color]  [i]And I don’t want to[/i], her tone said.  Functionaries like this one derived their importance from defending to the last any information or resource in their charge that might be sought after by those looking to accomplish something with them.  Access denial was both their superpower and their [i]raison d’etre[/i].  And right now, this clerk was flexing her powers and raisons at the expense of Dr. Andrew Carlino.

[color=#ffd700] “Can I talk to somebody who does know?”[/color], the psychiatrist demanded.  

The clerk shrugged; Andrew thought he saw her smirk, as well.  [color=#00ced1] “Not in this department, sorry,”[/color] she answered, in a tone that sounded anything but.  [color=#00ced1] “Unless you have access to the Command Center, you’re probably out of luck.”[/color]

He rapped his knuckles as if to some unheard music for a moment, perhaps some suitably angry-sounding passage from Beethoven.  Diabelli Variation 28 felt about right.

[color=#ffd700] “Out of luck,”[/color] he repeated bitterly.  [color=#ffd700] “In that case, I’m also out of here.  I came out here for nothing.  Sorry to have wasted your time.”[/color]

The clerk was saying something as Andrew turned and left, probably assuring him that he had not, in fact, wasted her time.  He had definitely wasted his own time, he seethed, as he walked back to his office.  He need not have come into the Bastion at all. He shouldn’t have.  He should be home right now, defeating Fenrir the World Devourer at tug-of-war in his living room while listening to something nice by Scarlatti, rather than stalking these spartan corridors empty-handed with Variation 28 stuck on a loop in his head.

Wardens passed him in those corridors, sometimes greeting him with a curt:  “Hey, Doc,” greetings he did not bother to return this evening.  He had nothing polite to say to anybody right now, so he didn’t.  Ignoring everybody he encountered, he finally arrived at the refuge of his office.  He slammed the door shut.  Like most doors in the Bastion, the one to Andrew’s office was heavy, and thus satisfyingly loud.  The sound made him feel a tiny bit better.

As a psychiatrist, Andrew Carlino knew quite a few relaxation techniques.  Some of those involved chemicals, but this was not the time for that.  Instead, he lay down on his own analytic couch and stared at the ceiling, forcing himself to breathe slowly and deeply for a while.  This calmed him down, even though it did nothing to eliminate the source of his frustration.  

It did put him in a clearer state of mind to review his options, unappealing as those were.  He had gotten a message reminding him that he was overdue for shooting practice with his sidearm.  Andrew Carlino usually hated shooting practice, but tonight the idea of shooting the faces off of silhouette targets while pretending that they were bureaucrats saying:  “I’m sorry, but…” appealed to him more than usual. 

 Unfortunately, one does not simply walk into the Warden practice range.  It was heavily defended by its own bureaucracy, whose lidless eyes watched sleeplessly over the tight scheduling and strict issuing of weapons and ammunition.  He would have to schedule a time, probably a week or so from now.  Hoping that he would still be mad at bureaucrats then, Andrew Carlino sent a message to the armorer, requesting a time for shooting practice.