Laurence rarely has free time. His job - Uriel's job - is simply too large for that; he is Lord Commander in a war that has been continuing for approximately two and a half millenia. He gives the orders and they are obeyed.

His free time comes in drabbles. Janus once joked that he was well and truly due for a vacation and he'd stared blankly at the Ofanite until it had gone away. A vacation? He has responsibilities.

He has to focus on his responsibilities.

But sometimes he'll find himself - for a minute, rarely more - with free time. Nothing to do. He'll breathe and breathe, though he doesn't have to, let it fill his lungs and then exit.

Laurence hates his job, but it is better than being at loose ends.

He is not meant to be in command; not at the very top. Everything that makes him up is intended for a second-in-command. His dissonance is for orders; he follows them. He has been following orders since he was made. He is the Sword.

Any swordsman uses their sword as an extension of themselves. To be truly great in battle, they must have their weapon respond immediately, precisely, without deliberation. Thus he follows orders. But he is missing his other half, his commanding half, his wielder.

He is wielded by God now, he tells himself, but really, it doesn't help. God gives him no commands to obey.

Still, he tells himself, breathing in, out, in, out, waiting for the minute to pass - Still. It is better than being put down to gather dust. Uriel would regret it should his weapon be treated like that during his absence. So he ignores the terror that constantly lurks in the background, the terror of wielding himself. He ignores it and remains in use. Held by God.

He wishes somebody would give him orders.

And then the minute is past and he throws himself into his work again, fast, working hard, not thinking too much about it. It is as if staying one step ahead of all of God's and Hell's armies alike will keep the Symphony from realizing that there is a sword in the air, no hand on its hilt, ready to fall.