[Backstory] Civilian

The first odd thing was that she had space completely and wholly to herself.
 
In Sentinels Tower, more or less everything was shared. Sure, you had your own belongings and there was opportunity for privacy, but in general, most spaces were for the Skirmishers as a whole rather than individuals.
 
Her little flat didn't have much. Quinn had helped procure some essentials - bed sheets, cooking equipment, that sort of thing - and there were a couple of trunks of belongings from before she officially enlisted, but otherwise, it was fairly sparse. She kept it at inspection levels of tidy, something that her landlady had commented on appreciatively when she had come around to check how she was settling in.
 
The other part was not having a routine set for her. She was still up at dawn but then trying to find things to do with her day was oddly difficult.
 
She kept to a routine of morning drills, moving her bed to be against the wall to give her more space in the room, and drawing a few odd looks from those who were up early enough to see her on a morning run.
 
There were still some constants, however. Between Tasha's and the Vinegarden, she regularly saw friends, and the Stormwalkers kept her as up to date as protocol allowed. Nevertheless, she was lacking a purpose like she had before, which was almost as disorienting as the lack of routine.
 
"You know the Guard could make good use of you."
 
Living in the Smithing District meant she could see Hamish a lot more frequently than before. He was as committed to his work as Robyn had been to the Skirmishers and often it was hard to align time off. Now, quick coffees near the forges were easy.
 
Robyn snorted and shook her head. She had told Hamish what Quinn had told her as soon as she found out those few weeks ago. "Somehow, I think I'll have the same problem."
 
"You're probably right. Something independent, then. Plenty of the big families like having private security."
 
She frowned into her coffee. "Not sure I've got the right skillset for that."
 
"You could learn. It's certainly closer a skillset than anything else going at the moment."
 
"It's worth a shot I guess."
 
Robyn went quiet, still staring at her coffee as it gently steamed from its cup. Hamish reached across to lay a hand on her wrist, giving it a gentle squeeze.
 
"Want me to keep an ear out?" he offered.
 
Robyn let out a long breath, looking up and giving Hamish a small, rueful smile. "If you could. I'd appreciate it."
 
"You got it."
 
It was a couple of weeks later, with Robyn considering giving up and joining the Guard just to have something to do, when Hamish came knocking on her door.
 
"Oh, good, you're home, I was worried I'd missed you," he said. He waved a piece of paper at her, closing the door behind him. "Found something that might interest you."
 
Robyn took the paper from his hands and skimmed over it. "Freelancers?" She wrinkled her nose. "Oh. Shatterstar won't like this one bit."
 
Hamish huffed and Robyn looked at him, confused. "What?"
 
"You're not gonna like what I'm gonna say."
 
Robyn narrowed her eyes. "What."
 
"Shatterstar isn't your concern anymore. You're not a Skirmisher anymore, Rob. And that's their loss. Ah! Don't look at me like that, I'm just telling you the truth. Besides, do well at this and it'll certainly grab the Council's attention."
 
Robyn forced herself to stop glaring, looking back down at the Freelancer notice. Hamish was right. As usual.
 
"Doesn't look like they give you any gear though…"
 
"Lucky you've got old friends that can help you there then, isn't it?"
 
Which is how Robyn found herself outside of Quinn's office, notice in her pocket, listening as he gave a recruit a dressing down for not looking after his gear properly. Robyn knocked, entering when the old man shouted to enter.
 
He grunted when she stepped in. "You got lucky, lad. I've got more important things to sort out. Get out of here and don't let me see you back unless your armour's been damaged by the Betrayers army, you hear?"
 
The recruit was out as quick as formalities would let him, the door rattling in its frame as it was hastily shut behind him. Robyn grinned.
 
"It's more fun when you're not the one being yelled at."
 
"Aye, well, I've plenty more of that for you," he huffed. "Bloody turning your armour in like you wouldn't need it again." He hefted a chest onto his desk, and then went around the corner to the back room where he kept more important gear. "And this as well you daft girl!" he snapped, coming back around with her bow.
 
"I thought it was Skirmisher issue," Robyn protested.
 
"Then it's bloody well mine to issue. If I want it back I'll tell you. And I don't want to see it back here, you hear?" He smirked, handing over her bow. "Took you long enough to sort yourself out."
 
"What's your take on this whole Freelancer thing then," she asked.
 
"Death sentence for anyone who doesn't know what they're doing," he said with a shrug, opening the chest and loading a bag with her armour. "Good job you learned that much at least!" He punctuated the last statement by pushing the bag into her arms pausing a moment. "Don't you get yourself killed with a pack of amateurs, y'hear?"
 
Robyn smiled softly. For all he could be a cantankerous old man, Quinn did have his moments. "Promise," she said. "Love you, Quinn. Thank you. For everything."
 
"You get out of here with that, you don't need to say it and neither do I, daft girl. Now get, before anyone else sees you're here and there's more noise than I like."