Post by kristmar ármannsson on Sept 16, 2014 23:32:05 GMT
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IN A CITY OF FOOLS I WAS CAREFUL AND COOL BUT THEY TORE ME APART LIKE A HURRICANE |
Autumn was stealthily creeping its way in; the morning chill was gradually becomg more bitter and persistent, taking longer for the sun to chase away the biting air. Frosts would eventually accompany the early mornings hours, spelling trouble for the settlement's few vegetable plots and anyone whose health was verging on frail already. Winter, while not close enough to be considered lurking just around the corner, was surely on its way. It was going to be tough on a lot of inhabitants but Kristmar, for the time being, wasn't particularly worried; the cold wasn't a problem for him, he was acclimatized to the harsher winters of his homeland and, as for food, he was already planning to stockpile a little extra. Just in case. The kid had a gut feeling that prices were going to spike once vegetables could no longer be grown and it wasn't like he was the only one aware of this either, the mission that'd been entrusted to him was from a family preparing themselves for winter, too.
Well, mission probably wasn't the proper word for it. Task seemed better suited. But, either way, this little job he'd been given was the reason why the teenager was here at the settlement's farming plots so early in the day. Usually Kristmar wouldn't even sign himself up for missions since almost all of them involved leaving the snug safety of the barricades, something which meant that he was often pressed for extra money in his pocket, but when he saw one that consisted of just growing twenty batches on vegetables he jumped at the chance. The reward was a bit disappoiting though; he honestly had no use for a firearm and especially a broken one, but maybe someone, somewhere, would snap it out of his hands on the market for some quick money.
The earth, long since stripped on its grass in favour of using it for farming, felt like it was optimal for seeding this morning under the rubber soles of Kristmar's dark grey canvas shoes. It'd rained lightly the previous night and the cool, watery sun hadn't been up long enough to dry out the moist, loamy soil. There was still even a faint whiff of petrichor in the air which the teen savoured as he filled his lungs with a large, relaxed breath. This was miles better than risking his neck on the other side of the walls for money.
His fabric backpack was dropped to the ground with a heavy 'whumph' and, combing his fingers through his honey locks, he messily tied in his shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. He wasn't exactly dressed to impress today; Kristmar had gone for some stone-washed denim capris folded up to just below his knee and a thin, cream tank top that hung from his slim shoulders. It was the closest he wore to actual working clothes without looking too slouchy. He gave his arms a vigorous rub, calming down the goosebumps peppering his skin (used to the cold or not, it didn't stop it from being chilly), and looked over the patch of land he had to work.
From what the blond teen could tell, it'd been used recently; there weren't many large weeds and the soil was disturbed. There was even a small, decaying vegetable near his feet which resembled a twisted and deformed carrot. With a faint twist of his thin lips, Kristmar toed it away to the plot next to him, marked by little rocks and sticks driven into the dirt. Dusting off his hands, he turned to his discarded backpack and decided to get to work while the sun was still low and cool.
Well, mission probably wasn't the proper word for it. Task seemed better suited. But, either way, this little job he'd been given was the reason why the teenager was here at the settlement's farming plots so early in the day. Usually Kristmar wouldn't even sign himself up for missions since almost all of them involved leaving the snug safety of the barricades, something which meant that he was often pressed for extra money in his pocket, but when he saw one that consisted of just growing twenty batches on vegetables he jumped at the chance. The reward was a bit disappoiting though; he honestly had no use for a firearm and especially a broken one, but maybe someone, somewhere, would snap it out of his hands on the market for some quick money.
The earth, long since stripped on its grass in favour of using it for farming, felt like it was optimal for seeding this morning under the rubber soles of Kristmar's dark grey canvas shoes. It'd rained lightly the previous night and the cool, watery sun hadn't been up long enough to dry out the moist, loamy soil. There was still even a faint whiff of petrichor in the air which the teen savoured as he filled his lungs with a large, relaxed breath. This was miles better than risking his neck on the other side of the walls for money.
His fabric backpack was dropped to the ground with a heavy 'whumph' and, combing his fingers through his honey locks, he messily tied in his shoulder-length hair back into a ponytail. He wasn't exactly dressed to impress today; Kristmar had gone for some stone-washed denim capris folded up to just below his knee and a thin, cream tank top that hung from his slim shoulders. It was the closest he wore to actual working clothes without looking too slouchy. He gave his arms a vigorous rub, calming down the goosebumps peppering his skin (used to the cold or not, it didn't stop it from being chilly), and looked over the patch of land he had to work.
From what the blond teen could tell, it'd been used recently; there weren't many large weeds and the soil was disturbed. There was even a small, decaying vegetable near his feet which resembled a twisted and deformed carrot. With a faint twist of his thin lips, Kristmar toed it away to the plot next to him, marked by little rocks and sticks driven into the dirt. Dusting off his hands, he turned to his discarded backpack and decided to get to work while the sun was still low and cool.
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tagged: lorcan | words: 612 | notes: 10 years later i post
current inventory: basic backpack x 1, seeds x 5
current inventory: basic backpack x 1, seeds x 5
© CUTEMACHINES
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