bamji harrogate // d6
May 3, 2024 7:49:16 GMT -5
Post by moksimsal on May 3, 2024 7:49:16 GMT -5
bamji harrogate
there is nothing bamji loves more than routine. this morning, despite being his thirty fifth birthday, would be no different. he drew the razor across his stubbled jaw, today being sunday (shave day), where he'd shear the ghost of a goatee off, as he would every week. he wasn't an obsessive, or at least didn't consider himself as such, but instead simply enjoyed how easy life could be made via a little routine. he once explained it to an old friend - a mistake he wouldn't make twice - that his routine wasn't out of an intense anal quality, but rather an all-consuming laziness. if he could chain down minutes ordinary people would waste with decision making - a terrible thing - then it would rather simply free up more minutes to do whatever he pleased. which these days, tended to be spent at the bar. on non alcoholic drinks, that is.
his tanned skin is washed clean after the shave, erroneous eyebrow hairs plucked from their thick, angular bushes, and sleep rubbed out his soft, almost kind eyes. he doesn't mind being underestimated as dopey on first glance. after all, first impressions can be very quickly remedied with a dose of personality, something bamji certainly wasn't lacking in, if not for his charms, then his oddities, which he would readily admit he had plenty of. variety is the spice of life, his mother always told him. bamji wished he could afford gel to look like a rich capitolite and slick back his hair, but the best he can do is run a comb through his black, neatly trimmed hair. he stumbled out of the bathroom, running on autopilot, and put on sunday's clothes - the clothes he prepared before yet another a pleasantly solitary night in his bed as he did every night, saving himself from having to choose anything in the morning. almost all of his savings go into his fashion tastes, not like he has many other costly interests to spend what little he has on.
there is nothing more bamji hates than indecisiveness. by far the worst quality in other people, and one that he had eradicated in himself. it was a firm belief held that everyone had already made their minds up no matter what you asked them - it was only a matter of honesty that prevented people from so called 'deciding'. which is why he carried a coin in his jacket pocket at all times. the coin had changed over the years, somehow finding a way to get spent on something or slipping through a hole he forgot to had darned, but checking for the coin before leaving the house had become part of his routine now. of course, the coin didn't really make the decision. like he'd leave life up to chance. but the question was simple - there's a side of the coin you're secretly hoping for, isn't there?
he actually doesn't mind being kept waiting all that much. the beauty of such an ironclad routine it's flexible, which makes room for the inflexibility of others. a guest late for a meeting would only be disadvantaging themselves, as he'd finish the engagement on time, no exceptions - their loss. anything that took longer than expected, laundry, a haircut, cooking (he had experimented with being more strict with timings on cooking and after ending up with food poisoning) would be lost by a later bedtime, the lack of sleep being a form of self flagellation. if, by some unholy miracle, bamji himself was found late to an engagement - good luck finding someone who could keep him a minute past the time he had agreed to.
the last part of his routine of getting dressed, same as always, was fastening his wristwatch - or rather, his father's. okay, so maybe there was one thing bamji loves -- loved -- more than routine. wang harrogate was just another doctor at just another clinic, and that was probably why he ended up loving his father so much. wang harrogate was no super surgeon, wasn't a remarkable talent at all, but little bamji saw first hand what a workhorse he was, late nights, missed meals, but all for his family, and it was exactly that work ethic that lead him to an early grave. bamji often suspected this was where his pathology grew from, a fear of turning into his beloved father, though one he could never speak to truth, never wanting to disrespect his memory.
it was perhaps this penchant for punctuality that made his work cut out for him. ill suited to the work of his father, couldn't live a life of overtime, simply didn't have the stomach for any of the gore, he found himself drawn like a magnet to the life of a civil servant. there were very few things in life that got him more excited than paperwork, after all. except perhaps a new tie. another bonus of the routine was keeping him focused. the threat of going off schedule kept him glued to his task, creating the illusion of a good work ethic, despite it being driven entirely by fear instead of motivation. well, fear was a type of motivation, he supposed.
breakfast is the same every day, though he supposes he can allow for a little flexibility at lunchtime for his birthday. he remembered protesting to his mother about the oatmeal, or 'sludge', his mother forced him to eat, only now in adulthood finding its mildness and convenience an asset - sorry mom. before she departed, as a good kid, there wasn't much he was left to feel guilty over, but breakfast was something that had become a sort of way to honor his mother and her efforts to always provide, something he regrettably had taken advantage of in his youth. both of them gone now, and being an only child, meant the house was silent aside from him and whatever irritating bird was currently tapdancing on the roof.
7:55am, he notes as he shovels the last spoonful of sludge into his mouth. right on time. he washes the bowl in the sink in under sixty seconds, leaving it to dry before grabbing his coat. it only would take twenty minutes to get to work, which meant he could take his time as he walked, taking in as much natural beauty as the sterile streets of district six had to offer. happy birthday, bamji harrogate, he thinks to himself as he leaves the house, knowing there's nobody else in his life who will care enough to wish it to him anyway.
