A/N: I really have no idea where this one came from. It almost wrote itself, and I'm pleased with how it's worked out. I hope it's enjoyable. Thanks for reading; the support means the world to me.

It's sort of like writing; he's the one who records with movement and voice the trail of events even as they come to fruition. The smears of pen and the creases of skin alter the original, and might leave the one having written it questioning their decision.

They might see that there's a light against the darkened window, and it tells them that there's nobody home, but at the same time, there is activity hidden beneath the backdrop of inky black that creates the pools in the depths of the mind. Appearances can be deceiving, especially with him.

Thought and consideration, and then action. Each word so precise; the meaning might seem shrouded, impossible to find, but he uncovers it eventually. The results usually present another challenge to be resolved, heedless of the consequences. He knows that, and he relishes it as much as he abhors it.

It might seem to him like there's a wall sometimes, that in contradiction lets encumbrance and doubt creep in, but that isn't true, although he doesn't know it. It's just that there are too many lines and threads, so criss-crossed and intertwined that he can't divine where one ends and another begins.

At others, the emotions being felt are as well displayed and brightly-lit as a glass-walled room, illuminated from within. A collage where the inky words spin slowly, lazily, easily understood and where questioning is not needed. That makes his job harder; hiding what is being considered and decided from those who do not know, who might not know well enough to agree without irreparable damage being done.

Some have that skill, others don't. In some instances it inherently exists, and in others it is a honed acquisition. But then, sometimes things can be not gained at all, no matter hard we might try.

The merest hint of an open door, and then there is room for queries and probing and contention. That's where things become difficult.

So many different voices; condescending, pressuring, advising; sometimes from within as well as without, and it makes it hard for him to decide on the best course of action. He sometimes might crack beneath the strain of it, but he never shatters. He is in his element.

Here in matters of life and death, when the Angels of the pure and light, or even the tainted and dark can take anyone and anything in their hands or discard them like scattered cards on the floor. Good intentions might turn into bad without warning, and things intentionally harmful might well become worse, or may even resolve against initial expectations. These things are almost never straightforward.

For him, nothing is simple. Too many connotations and alternate routes that could have equally advantageous or damaging repercussions. But he does his best.

He writes it all down, both in pen and memory, otherwise he'd crumble from the inside out and there'd be no-one left to do the job.

Ink, hand, thought, word. They all combine to create one single picture; bright and so dazzlingly clear so he can learn from past mistakes and apply them to future circumstances.

He needs that clarity. It stops him from going mad. That, and the action itself is soothing to his oft-troubled mind.

He can then make doubly sure that the smears do not become so thick and obscuring that they affect his future decisions.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

-Pyre. Xx