The Weight of Choice [ Open ]

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In its most basic form, Ciro's day-to-day routine consisted primarily of his trade deals with several weapon smiths, which he was rather fond of, regardless if it meant inhaling a lungful of molten metal and coal every now and then. Though his business partners were more than likely to find the activity solely a chore that must be done, the redhead revered it with a sense of endearment, the smell of furnaces perfuming the choral of metallic tongs hitting the molded parts satisfying him immensely. What he wouldn't give to be able to get his own nubby hands on his own private smithing place, however unlikely it was, due to the very nature of his position in his father's company that sealed his hands to the paperwork, to the inspection, to the testing and never the process of creation. 

Sure, it was a maddening limitation that had unfortunately been stapled to his birthright, and while it was almost impulsive of him to complain about the issue every other hour of the day, something else was bothering him at the current moment - a strain in the system that Ciro has followed dutifully in order to save the rest of the afternoon for target practice. His retainer and prime confidante, Felipe, took the brunt of the redhead's frustration as he lent an ever-ready ear to the woes of the young master, the air tensing as Ciro impatiently shifted in his seat.
 
"He's late." the redhead said, his tone a little more than just disappointed. Felipe knowingly pours his master another glass of his favorite wine, the garnet color almost soothing Ciro's taut nerves...almost.

"The new prototype that he keeps yapping about better be damn good for him to waste time like this." he continued, his normally calm and collected visage fading by the second.

"You and Pierre have been on good relations for a good while now, Ciro, give the old bloke a little credit." Felipe lightly interjected, his aging smile overshadowed by the frustration that wafted from the redhead, "Perhaps there had been a slight delay in the delivery, or a completely different circumstance that we are unaware of. Either way, there is no harm to be brought about by waiting."

As hard as it was to submit to Felipe's wisdom in his times of immaturity, any level-headed business heir would have thought so as well. The impatience on his end of the situation was more or less a product of his increasing urge to handle a new model that his instructor introduced the other day - its impeccable design charmed him so severely that he was willing to take any price that Mr. Herera would give him, just to add another sexy weapon to his hoard. 

Any more of this waiting game might impede his negotiations with Herera, especially then, when the stoic instructor was adamant in leaving as soon as practice was over. 

Ciro wistfully sank into the plush of the cafe seat, the sigh that followed visibly containing all his strained patience. He'd eye the open glass window to his right in a silent search, glued unto the flow of the common folk as they went about their daily routines.

"Alright. A few more minutes. Pierre's a good man, he's probably trying to quality-check the guns for the third time. Yeah, let's go with that." he'd say, biting the inside of his cheek as he checked the wall clock above him for the umpteenth time.

One minute. He thought, the small ticking of the second hand almost mocking him.