sulfur in your chest

Romi

I tried to pick up the broken pieces

The endless Drenak downpour is reliable if nothing else, even if it's a pain in her ass. Why? Because flour, sugar, and salt are all quite pitiful in their endless fragility and hate to be wet. Yeah, well, so does Romi, but apparently she doesn't get a pass because she's only edible in the side-eye sense as opposed to the materials they utilize daily for bread. So here she is with sandbags and a sad old broom restocking the outside defenses against the rain.

And listen, as much as she grumbles and grunts and curses under her breath, Romi will admit it's better than being inside listening to the constant drip and dredge of water. Or, god forbid, dealing with customers. Which is her job. It is.

That doesn't mean she has to like it.

Grunting as her skinny arms work to lug another sandbag up against the crumbling outer wall of the bakery, Romi kicks it with a huff under the pretense of getting it up against the edge. Looking up through the dizzying arrays of structures above, Romi shoves her rain-slick hair off her forehead and scowls. Turning back to her pile, she narrows her eyes back at a pedestrian glaring at her for hogging up the walkway, and is grudgingly grateful that neither of them sees fit to curse each other out for it.

Alright. Next bag.

And only covered both my hands with blood

Help, I'm alive...

I found myself up early.  I had gone toward the Scratch to try to find some game.  Normally, this season would be great - if not miserable - to go fishing in, since the movement of raindrops on the surface of the river or lakes always seem to excite the fish and lower their guard against fishing hooks.

There was no way in hell I was eating fish any time soon though.

The smell of rot and decay permeates even outside of the city proper, as waterways become more and more logged with dead fish every day.  I heard it's an algae bloom, but the water dripping down from the Plates looks more like blood.  Fitting.

However, I make my way back with little to show for it.  A couple of tomi rats are slung across my back along with my bow and quiver.  They would be enough for at least three meals, I guess, but that's still one day.  Maybe I can make some stock with the bones, I wonder to myself as I make my way down toward the Alley.

I needed some supplies to stock my kitchen.  I remember the last time I opened up some of my jars, I could almost hear a mocking laugh ring in my ears as I stared at the bottom of the glass.  I could use more bread for sandwiches and just generally to fill my stomach.  It wouldn't keep me full like good protein, but carbs are better than starving.

So that's how I end up in the alley behind the bakery.  I turn into the alley way to see a small woman lugging heavy sandbags toward the wall.  She looks like a wet rat, frankly, but considering I have two literal ones strapped onto my back, I cannot judge her too much.  It's hard to maintain any sort of kempt appearance in the Drench during the wet season.  She catches me looking at her, and an expression like blades forms on her face.

She looks pissed, I think to myself before putting on a smile and striding confidently toward her.  I think she might be in a bad mood, what having to be outside in the rain, and I have no idea she thinks that I am annoyed at her taking up space in the walkway.

I grab one of the sandbags and toss it with ease toward the wall.  "Want some help?" I ask, already gripping the next bag to toss toward the wall.

Iara

My heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender

Romi

I tried to pick up the broken pieces

The other woman's smile takes Romi off guard, enough to make her hands falter on the rough fabric of the sandbag. The sensation brings her back to her body, cheeks going hot with some hectic mix of regret, shame, and stubborn pride as she is met with kindness instead of the customary wariness of her neighbors on this block. It also strikes her belatedly that, like an unfair double standard, the woman is also pretty. Far prettier than Romi's plainness. Fuck, and she'd just been so rude.

It's similarly difficult to hide her envy at the woman's easy strength, which comes before the offer even leaves her mouth. "Sorry, people keep trying to nick 'em," Romi grumbles her apology, though her clear blue eyes are sincere even as they flit quickly between Iara and the sandbags. Hefting the one in her hands anew, Romi tosses it against the wall with far less grace than her new compatriot. Then she belatedly sweeps her soaking hair back, aiming for some measure of put-togetherness. "That'd be really nice actually. If ya help me through the pile I can send you home with some bread?" Normally she wouldn't offer food so readily, but considering how exhausted this task will make her otherwise, it's a trade that would only benefit them both.

And only covered both my hands with blood

Help, I'm alive...

It is hard to tell across the rain and general gloom of the Drench, but I think after my offer I see the glimmer of a flush across pale, freckle-speckled cheeks.  She needn't be embarrassed, though.  I was easy going and definitely hard to offend - something she wouldn't know, so I'd have to show her.

The apology falls from her dumbfounded mouth after a moment, and I nod in response before tacking on with a smile.  I would think it was not sincere, if not for the softened expression in crystal blue eyes.  "Don't worry about it," my voice sounds oddly quiet due to the steady downpour.  "Everyone's on edge with the plague going about."  I offer up a smile to try to ease the tension a bit and set her more at ease, while continuing the work of stacking sacks of dirt against the wall.

She accepts the offer, and another nod with easy going smile answers at first.  At the mention of bread my dark eyes glimmer with interest.  "Ah, that would be perfect," I say in response.  It's quite fortuitous that she would offer that which I came to buy.  It would save me some lasti to purchase something else.  The crisis of what I would eat this week seemingly solved.

"Is this your bakery, then?" attempting to make conversation whilst working.

Iara

My heart keeps beating like a hammer
Hard to be soft, tough to be tender