Post by StaolDerg on Nov 18, 2020 19:03:29 GMT -5
Rain blew against the windows in sheets, the downpour dulled against the thick panes of the brick structure. The sun was blocked by the storm, bleeding through the cloud towards the east like the glare of glowing heavens upon soon-yet wet streets below.
A man sat at the table, half-listening to the outside shower as he paged the newspaper before him under the light of an ugly old kerosene lamp above him. It flickered occasionally, enough to irritate him into looking up from his paper, searching for a spare can to refill the lamp. poking about a cabinet, he emerged triumphant with a rather beaten tin, its paper label long having decayed into cracked and yellowed parchment uneven against the old can. He sat back down, struggling with the cap.
"Again? I thought we refilled it yesterday."
A green-yellow Inselni stepped into the room with a pair of steaming mugs, eyeing the lamp with a critical expression. Not looking up, the man continued to fiddle with the cap, shaking his head. "I don't know what's up with it. Was working just fine earlier."
"Might be a clog in the feeding tube. I'll take a look later." The Inselni seated herself at the table, peering outside with an airy calmness. "Nice weather today." She pushed one of the mugs to him, sipping from her own.
The man nodded, giving up on the tin and placing back in the cupboard. He gave the lamp the stink eye, where it flickered worse, almost giving out as if to retort. He shook the lamp, a clicking sound rattling about inside as the light flickered, finally managing to maintain its brightness. Satisfied, the man went back to his paper, wiping his hands on a towel upon the table before him.
Both were quiet, occasionally sipping from their mugs as the rain drummed outside. The tea was bland and tasteless, but at least it was warm. The sparse herbs added in hardly added any flavor, so they substituted it by pretending it did.
The Inselni turned towards the man, nodding at the newspaper. "Price of rice gone up again?"
"When has it ever gone down in the last eighty years?"
The Inselni laughed at his reply, cupping her mug as she leaned back in the wooden chair. "Fair enough."
Both of them settled into a more grim silence as they drained their mugs, trying to make the heat last. The Inselni's lower horns twitched as a drop seeped through the ceiling, plopping on the ground. She didn't bother looking at the newly-formed leak, only getting up to put an empty scuttle underneath it, returning to her seat and closing her eyes.
An abrupt bang on the door roused both wearily, but no other blows followed when they turned to it.
The Inselni sighed as she looked at the clock, waving him up. "Come along, then. Vacation's over. Back to work."
The man grunted, leaving the newspaper as it was for the next shift, sweeping heavy working gloves off the table. "...That's fifty off our pay, isn't it? For loitering on shift?"
The Inselni grinned, hand on the door. "Ninety-seven now. We're behind on production by three months too, so that's an extra eighty."
"You're joking."
"Of course I am. We're not getting paid this month."
It became the man's turn to laugh, a cough that brought him to blithely slide the gloves on with flat grin as he thought about the extended shift that awaited them. He stepped towards the doorway, looking at the concrete factory floor, pausing.
"Kajen?"
The Inselni raised an eyebrow, holding the door for him. "Hm?"
"Can I ask you a favor?"
"Don't ask. The place was lonely with just me anyway. I'll help you move in whenever we get out and make another room ready for your son."
"...Thank you."
The Inselni nodded simply, waving him through the doorway to the din of machinery.
A man sat at the table, half-listening to the outside shower as he paged the newspaper before him under the light of an ugly old kerosene lamp above him. It flickered occasionally, enough to irritate him into looking up from his paper, searching for a spare can to refill the lamp. poking about a cabinet, he emerged triumphant with a rather beaten tin, its paper label long having decayed into cracked and yellowed parchment uneven against the old can. He sat back down, struggling with the cap.
"Again? I thought we refilled it yesterday."
A green-yellow Inselni stepped into the room with a pair of steaming mugs, eyeing the lamp with a critical expression. Not looking up, the man continued to fiddle with the cap, shaking his head. "I don't know what's up with it. Was working just fine earlier."
"Might be a clog in the feeding tube. I'll take a look later." The Inselni seated herself at the table, peering outside with an airy calmness. "Nice weather today." She pushed one of the mugs to him, sipping from her own.
The man nodded, giving up on the tin and placing back in the cupboard. He gave the lamp the stink eye, where it flickered worse, almost giving out as if to retort. He shook the lamp, a clicking sound rattling about inside as the light flickered, finally managing to maintain its brightness. Satisfied, the man went back to his paper, wiping his hands on a towel upon the table before him.
Both were quiet, occasionally sipping from their mugs as the rain drummed outside. The tea was bland and tasteless, but at least it was warm. The sparse herbs added in hardly added any flavor, so they substituted it by pretending it did.
The Inselni turned towards the man, nodding at the newspaper. "Price of rice gone up again?"
"When has it ever gone down in the last eighty years?"
The Inselni laughed at his reply, cupping her mug as she leaned back in the wooden chair. "Fair enough."
Both of them settled into a more grim silence as they drained their mugs, trying to make the heat last. The Inselni's lower horns twitched as a drop seeped through the ceiling, plopping on the ground. She didn't bother looking at the newly-formed leak, only getting up to put an empty scuttle underneath it, returning to her seat and closing her eyes.
An abrupt bang on the door roused both wearily, but no other blows followed when they turned to it.
The Inselni sighed as she looked at the clock, waving him up. "Come along, then. Vacation's over. Back to work."
The man grunted, leaving the newspaper as it was for the next shift, sweeping heavy working gloves off the table. "...That's fifty off our pay, isn't it? For loitering on shift?"
The Inselni grinned, hand on the door. "Ninety-seven now. We're behind on production by three months too, so that's an extra eighty."
"You're joking."
"Of course I am. We're not getting paid this month."
It became the man's turn to laugh, a cough that brought him to blithely slide the gloves on with flat grin as he thought about the extended shift that awaited them. He stepped towards the doorway, looking at the concrete factory floor, pausing.
"Kajen?"
The Inselni raised an eyebrow, holding the door for him. "Hm?"
"Can I ask you a favor?"
"Don't ask. The place was lonely with just me anyway. I'll help you move in whenever we get out and make another room ready for your son."
"...Thank you."
The Inselni nodded simply, waving him through the doorway to the din of machinery.