A few feet to Dagnyr's left, Alyssa glances around the Watch cordon and the crowded square beyond, fidgeting nervously under the unfamiliar weight of her new uniform. The uniform itself is barely two weeks old, measured and cut to her size just before the initiation ceremonies for the Saints' Academy class of rising adjutants. She received her first assignment that day as well, and nearly had a conniption when she opened the documents to find her starting date: 7th Celeste, Portal Square. Crosssing Night duty. One of the most prestigious assignments for a new recruit, and all the more so for being Prometa's 500th anniversary. It should be the most important day of her life... and it would be, if that day hadn't already happened five years ago on this very same date.<br/><br/>Five years... has it really been so long? It feels like only last night that she was sitting in her family's kitchen, clutching her mother's hand, while Captain Lanzo delivered the most terrible news in the world. After that, everything becomes something of a blur: The mourners' visits. The funeral. The sudden flash of inspiration as her father's name was chiseled into the Watchman's Memorial. Her first day of adjutant training at the Saints' Academy, followed by many months of intense study and training with the brightest minds in Prometa. And then, five years later, standing here in watchman's blue as she prepares to take her first steps down the path her father once walked. It almost seems unreal...<br/><br/><blockquote><div><cite>Yuki wrote:</cite>"Fifteen minutes 'til showtime."</div></blockquote><br/><br/>The sharp tone of Sergeant Ananda's voice stirs Alyssa from her reverie. Standing at full attention, she listens carefully as her superior reviews her assignment for the night, nodding dutifully during pauses. A quick glance to her side shows Dagnyr doing the same, with a confidence and composure she only wishes she could manage. Giving her commander a smart salute, she follows Dagnyr into the crowd, staying close to take advantage of the narrow wake created by the paladin's passage.<br/><br/><blockquote><div><cite>Dagnyr wrote:</cite>"I think the good sergeant had me confused for a cleric," he comments to her, scanning the crowd slowly as he moves along. "Even an Aurain paladin can't <span style="font-style: italic">cleanse</span>, and alcohol isn't a disease so my healing will have no effect on it. Fortunately, I can improvise..."</div></blockquote><br/>"Sergeant Ananda does have a way of being rather, erm, demanding of her subordinates," Alyssa admits. She laughs nervously, trying not to avoid looking tense as she recalls her last training session with the Sergeant, a nonstop series of drills from daybreak until she had collapsed from exhaustion sometime in the evening. And on an empty stomach, no less... The thought of food elicits a squeal of displeasure from Alyssa's stomach as it laments it current empty state. As usual for her assignments under Sergeant Ananda, today was another impromptu test of stamina: a single apple for breakfast just before morning patrol, and guard duties near the vendorless dais throughout midday and afternoon. She mumbles a vacant response to a half-heard comment from Dagnyr, eyeing the food carts ahead. Maybe there would be time to duck away, just for a minute or so, and find a small dinner?<br/><br/><blockquote class="uncited"><div>"I think I see some who'll need to be quieted down. Anything on your end?"</div></blockquote><br/>"Oh, nothing unmanageable," Alyssa says, scanning the carts ahead. Her attention quickly fixes on the other half of Dagnyr's vanara troop, galloping around the Wandering Grill stand. A good place to start, or at least as good as any other- besides, a small skewer would be easy to nibble discreetly during the ceremony. "I'll begin with the central stands first, and work outward. With any luck, we'll be done well before the Academy Bell sounds!"<br/><br/>Alyssa waves to Dagnyr as she departs, threading her way carefully through the festival crowds toward the Wandering Grill. The screeching vanara voices are, if possible, even harsher up close, and she resists the urge to cover her ears, mentally reciting the Protocol for Conversation with Unruly Civilians from her lessons as she approaches the most likely leader of the troop. "Pardon me, sir, but I wonder if I might have a moment of your time?"