Sigurd glanced over Ebonbrand's standard job posting form, observing how it had been haphazardly tacked to a message board near the Quicksand's rear entrance by one of his business partner's "employees." Sigurd's icy pupils studied the form carefully, noting several typographical errors and formatting problems.Â
"...Gods, Varus -- the amount of formatting problems and scrivener's errors... It is /so/ hard to find good help these days." Sigurd would mumble to himself, biting his tongue as he suffered the center-justified text splattered over the form.
Sigurd folded his arms about his chest in silent disapproval and voiced further objections: "...I supply the content and draft the disclaimer, and that dense-headed Garle-- ugh, humble son of a Mor Dhonan miner -- can't even get the damn formatting right. Hopeless! Whatever happened to delegation, Varus? Gods, where is our administrative staff?!"
A heavily scarred left hand reached for the flask slung about his hip, raising it to his lips for a sharp swig, which staunched the criticism. Adult beverages had a way of excusing inadvertent errors.
((Best. RP. Buddies. Evar. <3.))
"...Gods, Varus -- the amount of formatting problems and scrivener's errors... It is /so/ hard to find good help these days." Sigurd would mumble to himself, biting his tongue as he suffered the center-justified text splattered over the form.
Sigurd folded his arms about his chest in silent disapproval and voiced further objections: "...I supply the content and draft the disclaimer, and that dense-headed Garle-- ugh, humble son of a Mor Dhonan miner -- can't even get the damn formatting right. Hopeless! Whatever happened to delegation, Varus? Gods, where is our administrative staff?!"
A heavily scarred left hand reached for the flask slung about his hip, raising it to his lips for a sharp swig, which staunched the criticism. Adult beverages had a way of excusing inadvertent errors.
((Best. RP. Buddies. Evar. <3.))
