let it go [social]

Sometimes the burdening weight of prestige was made lighter by the ease of which he could make his desires a reality. Had another cadet attempted his own actions they’d have met a fair amount more resistance if not had their request speedily shot down. However, when the inquisitor was of Koenig descent, personnel were all too happy to fulfill the demand. He’d have disapproved of their willingness to concede to his whims but, as the old saying went, he wouldn’t be looking this gift horse in the mouth.

It had been a laughably easy to commandeer a transport unit and have it loaded. The upper echelons might have felt a slight discrepancy over his insistence but had not fought him nearly as hard as they probably should on the matter, although he supposed there hadn’t been a need to considering the size of the vehicle, nevermind its cargo. Where exactly would he hide with something as bulky as this? No, there hadn’t been much cause for concern in him disappearing as much as the location.

While Germany was, officially, a Federation controlled territory; their precinct was continually beleaguered by skirmishes with outlying Zeon troops. Perhaps their greatest worry wasn’t that the enemy would get a hold of what Anselm was transporting – because in all honesty they couldn’t see why the he wanted it – but the person driving was of realistic value.

A hostage situation involving a Koenig would likely not go over well but he’d made his case and given his assurances that he’d stay well away from outposts to avoid such an outcome.

When he’d arrived at the innocuous looking garage the blonde had wasted no time in checking the tarp was still properly hiding his cargo before taking a position by the door. He waited all of twenty minutes, mind drifting in and out of half-finished thoughts, before the person of interest arrived.

Anselm arched a brow at the exiting blonde, remiss of any sort of verbal response to the admonishing comment. “You are five minutes late, was there trouble?” he murmured without any notable concern, as if the question was more a courtesy than anything else. Honestly he wasn’t certain whether Amon’s familiarity with him was a comfort or a curse. While Anselm disliked how skittish some could get when he was near this was hardly the alternative he would’ve wanted nor was he sure how to deal with it right off.

“I had remembered that you said that you were a repairman of some sort before enlisting as a pilot.” Pushing away from the wall he walked around the truck and unlaced the roping of the tarp. It noisily came away from a rather beaten up, rusted, but somehow intact motorcycle. It was nothing that had been created this century but perhaps a model that had been around during The Great Fall.

“I found this during one of our scouting patrols and took an interest. I’d like to know if you would …attempt to restore it.” The words felt odd on his tongue, unused to asking for personal favors. However he was an avid collector of vintage items, things that had history to them and this was, for him, a priceless find.