23.Feb.12, 08:34 AM
Katila’s administration had a talent for assigning people inappropriate chores. Did Talian look like a lumberjack?
He didn’t complain; it wasn’t in his nature. Yes, he had the capacity to complain, but he saved it for close friends in dark places. Complaining about the chores wouldn’t do any good in the first place, and trying to do something about it would only accent his already acute discomfort. It was better to just do it and get it over with, which was exactly what he’d done. He rose early, unable to sleep well as it was, and went out to get the unpleasant work done as soon as possible. After all, he was the Weyr’s property now. They’d punish him if he didn’t do it. Why struggle when you can’t win?
He walked into the craft hall, an axe slung uncaringly over one slender shoulder, and trudged through the first few rooms without bothering to lift his eyes from the space directly in front of his feet. Lumberjacking was not his forte. In spite of a valiant effort, he was exhausted and had managed to tear the palm of his hand open. He wasn’t worried on either count. His own slight frame and the cool weather meant he didn’t sweat much, and he was all but oblivious to the pain in his hand. Having bypassed his medication that morning (for practical reasons; swinging heavy metal objects around requires focus), he was feeling rather numb to the world.
He may have walked past other people as he meandered through the hall, but if he did, he missed them completely. It wasn’t until he turned into one particular room that he finally took notice of another human being, mostly because if he kept going forward, he was going to trample her project.
“Oh,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. He flashed the unfamiliar girl a smile before carefully picking his way around her things. He cast his analytical eyes over her arranged materials and shook his head as he passed. That was the same chore he’d been assigned the previous month, and he didn’t envy her one bit.
“Pardon me.”
He make his way across the room and opened a storage room closet, where he returned the axe. He’d spent quite a while searching for one that morning, until a kind farmcrafter had pointed him in this direction. He shut the storage closet’s door and let out a relieved sigh. Well, that was over.
He wiped his bloody palm on his pants and looked down at it with a discerning, thoughtful expression. It wasn’t so bad as it looked at first glance, it was just bleeding a lot. Content to put some pressure on it and let it be, he started to make his way back to the door. In spite of himself, he flashed the girl a strained but honest smile and gently nudged a bolt of fabric that had managed to roll away back towards her. “Sorry if I disturbed anything,” he murmured, not sure if he was to blame for the errant bolt or not.
I'm totally diving in here, even though I'm in another chore group :3 Seemed like a good opportunity!
He didn’t complain; it wasn’t in his nature. Yes, he had the capacity to complain, but he saved it for close friends in dark places. Complaining about the chores wouldn’t do any good in the first place, and trying to do something about it would only accent his already acute discomfort. It was better to just do it and get it over with, which was exactly what he’d done. He rose early, unable to sleep well as it was, and went out to get the unpleasant work done as soon as possible. After all, he was the Weyr’s property now. They’d punish him if he didn’t do it. Why struggle when you can’t win?
He walked into the craft hall, an axe slung uncaringly over one slender shoulder, and trudged through the first few rooms without bothering to lift his eyes from the space directly in front of his feet. Lumberjacking was not his forte. In spite of a valiant effort, he was exhausted and had managed to tear the palm of his hand open. He wasn’t worried on either count. His own slight frame and the cool weather meant he didn’t sweat much, and he was all but oblivious to the pain in his hand. Having bypassed his medication that morning (for practical reasons; swinging heavy metal objects around requires focus), he was feeling rather numb to the world.
He may have walked past other people as he meandered through the hall, but if he did, he missed them completely. It wasn’t until he turned into one particular room that he finally took notice of another human being, mostly because if he kept going forward, he was going to trample her project.
“Oh,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. He flashed the unfamiliar girl a smile before carefully picking his way around her things. He cast his analytical eyes over her arranged materials and shook his head as he passed. That was the same chore he’d been assigned the previous month, and he didn’t envy her one bit.
“Pardon me.”
He make his way across the room and opened a storage room closet, where he returned the axe. He’d spent quite a while searching for one that morning, until a kind farmcrafter had pointed him in this direction. He shut the storage closet’s door and let out a relieved sigh. Well, that was over.
He wiped his bloody palm on his pants and looked down at it with a discerning, thoughtful expression. It wasn’t so bad as it looked at first glance, it was just bleeding a lot. Content to put some pressure on it and let it be, he started to make his way back to the door. In spite of himself, he flashed the girl a strained but honest smile and gently nudged a bolt of fabric that had managed to roll away back towards her. “Sorry if I disturbed anything,” he murmured, not sure if he was to blame for the errant bolt or not.
I'm totally diving in here, even though I'm in another chore group :3 Seemed like a good opportunity!