Oh there were times when it was not possible; information that was sealed to the Flame, Fang, and Blade for instance. Sensitive trade agreements with... certain discerning parties were another thing that had to be dealt with personally. Even missives from particularly vexing nobles that thought their perfumed correspondences deserved his undivided attention... Those he answered as quickly and as briefly as he could, having to remind himself often that ridding the world of pompous idiocy was not sufficient enough reason to justify his actions, should he be caught and subsequently tried for murder. Pity, that.
The rest... it was dependent on his mood, really, whether or not he foisted off the never ending paperwork onto eager clerks. Today found him in just such a mood.
Zeen strolled away from the Band of Brothers, a wrapped parcel of dried meat, cheeses, and bread in one hand while he held a tankard in the other. He had no intention of staying indoors anymore than he had do, the brown haired man reveling in the sensation of something as simple as the breeze gliding over his skin. A cursory check along both bonds showed that nothing was amiss. He smiled then, the Asha’man’s pace indolent and unhurried as he allowed the crowds to swallow him up. He was content to drift along with the ebb and flow of people that filled Hama Valon’s streets.
Eventually he found a stone bench to sit, shaded beneath a wide sprawling oak. It was cool and relatively quiet. Silver-grey eyes watched those that passed as he ate slowly, savouring the taste of his meal, savouring this rare moment of peace. He had not told anyone, not even Red, but Zeen no longer felt quite right while indoors; even when it rained, or stormed... being inside did not feel right. It went beyond the feeling of being stifled, or cooped up. It was as if he was... cut off from part of himself. Perhaps it was related to his Earthsinging Talent. Perhaps it was because of... other things. Long fingers drifted up absently to brush at his throat. Whatever the case, he was reluctant to voice what he felt out loud; he had no desire to spend anymore time in the Infirmary than he already did.
Discomfited, the Amadician resumed his meandering, in no real hurry to reach his intended destination. The fields just beyond the bustle of the city were not as wild as he preferred, but it would serve his purpose today well enough. He had time enough to get there and sit, clear his head, before he would be missed.