8th of Vortas, 2719 - Dawn
The Docks, Old Rose Harbor
The Docks, Old Rose Harbor
Nice thing about not sleeping was that it weren't no trouble to be up at some godsforsaken hour to line up for work.
Thing about working the docks that Peregrine liked, other than how nobody cared overmuch who you were or whereabouts you came from as long as you had hands and arms and the common sense the gods gave a fucking potato, was that there weren't no consistency. Oh the work was steady, and it didn't change much from day to day. Always the fucking same. But it weren't like a body had to show up every day. Weren't there? Nobody missed you. Suited them just fine.
Dawn was breaking over the harbor--pretty, maybe. Fair poetic, if you were so inclined. All rosy-fingered with touches of warm orange at the edge of clouds, shit like that. Poetic and clocking cold, too. It weren't snowing now, though there were clouds full of dark promise, but it had yesterday. A thin crunchy layer of it was still settled over everything, churned to filthy slush by all them Rosie feet and frozen overnight into treacherous ice. Peregrine had bought Gideon a nice new sweater, nice new coat, but they hadn't remembered to buy any gloves to protect those long-fingered hands. Circulation weren't never so good in these faces lately, and Gideon weren't no exception. They flexed his fingers, almost frowning. Tried to warm them with their breath, but it only lasted so long. Weren't no fixing a coldness of the blood, they supposed.
Shouldn't have shown up so fucking early. They were just awake, and had nothing better to do, so they thought: go to the docks, hey? Get a jump on lining up for work. Maybe get an interesting one. See if anyone showed up as they would rather have avoided, too, and not get surprised. Weren't too many folks like that, of course. Usually tended to work more the other way 'round. More who wanted to avoid Peregrines than people Peregrine wanted to avoid personally. So there they were, standing around like a great clocking idiot, freezing to death while they waited for someone to show up and assign them somewheres. Fucking stupid.
They peered out over the small crowd what had gathered already. Similar-minded individuals, they thought. Though unlikely any of them had shown up having not yet been to sleep like Peregrine had. (They would sleep later. When? They'd find that out when they slept, wouldn't they? Gideon weren't so cooperative in that way.) Nobody caught their eye; when that dark gaze settled on them, most flinched and looked away. Ah well. Weren't likely to strike up no small talk, was they? Peregrine weren't ever likely as to do that. Tried, but couldn't ever think of nothing to say that didn't seem as to bother folks.
Gideon shivered; Peregrine tucked their coat in closer around them. Shoved their hands in a pocket. Doing so, they closed their fingers around some small, weighted bags they didn't remember putting there. For what purpose? When had they--oh, that was right. Gideon's hands were too clever to waste on just hauling crates around on the docks. So Peregrine had thought: give them something better to do, hey? Once upon a time, some face or another had been clever too when it came to using their hands. Couldn't exactly remember which face it was, but one of them had picked up juggling. Been good at it to, at least Peregrine thought so. Weren't the sort of thing that carried from face to face, being as it was all in muscle memory, but they thought they could do it again now. Something to occupy them, leastaways. The weighted bags were for practice. The placement in their coat pocket was more mysterious, but Peregrine did lots of things for lots of reasons they couldn't as quite remember. This was no stranger than most of those.
Peregrine didn't smile, on account of how it was too much work to make the muscles move. But they felt fair jubilant, having something now to do. Should keep the muscles warm, they thought. Make the blood flow, keep them from fucking losing their mind to boredom. Ha! Weren't going to be boredom what got the shreds left of their mind, no. They took the weighted bags from out of their pocket with a little hum. Tuneless and strange, just like always. Even Peregrine didn't know what the song was supposed to be. Just liked doing it.
There was no self-consciousness in the way they took the bags out, two in one hand and one in the other. Deep breaths, yeah? Stay stead, loose. Just a light toss, back and forth. Simple--leastaways, they remembered it being simple enough. For a moment, it was. They were pleased with the way Gideon's clever hands took to the task, light easy tosses back and forth. Even almost added a rhythm to the humming, although it weren't the same rhythm as they were keeping up with Gideon's hands. Pleased, that was, until them pretty hands suddenly weren't taking to it no more. Dropped one right into a puddle of half-frozen, filthy slush. Titters of laughter from somewheres--Peregrine looked up sharp and glared, trying to find the source of it.
Thing about working the docks that Peregrine liked, other than how nobody cared overmuch who you were or whereabouts you came from as long as you had hands and arms and the common sense the gods gave a fucking potato, was that there weren't no consistency. Oh the work was steady, and it didn't change much from day to day. Always the fucking same. But it weren't like a body had to show up every day. Weren't there? Nobody missed you. Suited them just fine.
Dawn was breaking over the harbor--pretty, maybe. Fair poetic, if you were so inclined. All rosy-fingered with touches of warm orange at the edge of clouds, shit like that. Poetic and clocking cold, too. It weren't snowing now, though there were clouds full of dark promise, but it had yesterday. A thin crunchy layer of it was still settled over everything, churned to filthy slush by all them Rosie feet and frozen overnight into treacherous ice. Peregrine had bought Gideon a nice new sweater, nice new coat, but they hadn't remembered to buy any gloves to protect those long-fingered hands. Circulation weren't never so good in these faces lately, and Gideon weren't no exception. They flexed his fingers, almost frowning. Tried to warm them with their breath, but it only lasted so long. Weren't no fixing a coldness of the blood, they supposed.
Shouldn't have shown up so fucking early. They were just awake, and had nothing better to do, so they thought: go to the docks, hey? Get a jump on lining up for work. Maybe get an interesting one. See if anyone showed up as they would rather have avoided, too, and not get surprised. Weren't too many folks like that, of course. Usually tended to work more the other way 'round. More who wanted to avoid Peregrines than people Peregrine wanted to avoid personally. So there they were, standing around like a great clocking idiot, freezing to death while they waited for someone to show up and assign them somewheres. Fucking stupid.
They peered out over the small crowd what had gathered already. Similar-minded individuals, they thought. Though unlikely any of them had shown up having not yet been to sleep like Peregrine had. (They would sleep later. When? They'd find that out when they slept, wouldn't they? Gideon weren't so cooperative in that way.) Nobody caught their eye; when that dark gaze settled on them, most flinched and looked away. Ah well. Weren't likely to strike up no small talk, was they? Peregrine weren't ever likely as to do that. Tried, but couldn't ever think of nothing to say that didn't seem as to bother folks.
Gideon shivered; Peregrine tucked their coat in closer around them. Shoved their hands in a pocket. Doing so, they closed their fingers around some small, weighted bags they didn't remember putting there. For what purpose? When had they--oh, that was right. Gideon's hands were too clever to waste on just hauling crates around on the docks. So Peregrine had thought: give them something better to do, hey? Once upon a time, some face or another had been clever too when it came to using their hands. Couldn't exactly remember which face it was, but one of them had picked up juggling. Been good at it to, at least Peregrine thought so. Weren't the sort of thing that carried from face to face, being as it was all in muscle memory, but they thought they could do it again now. Something to occupy them, leastaways. The weighted bags were for practice. The placement in their coat pocket was more mysterious, but Peregrine did lots of things for lots of reasons they couldn't as quite remember. This was no stranger than most of those.
Peregrine didn't smile, on account of how it was too much work to make the muscles move. But they felt fair jubilant, having something now to do. Should keep the muscles warm, they thought. Make the blood flow, keep them from fucking losing their mind to boredom. Ha! Weren't going to be boredom what got the shreds left of their mind, no. They took the weighted bags from out of their pocket with a little hum. Tuneless and strange, just like always. Even Peregrine didn't know what the song was supposed to be. Just liked doing it.
There was no self-consciousness in the way they took the bags out, two in one hand and one in the other. Deep breaths, yeah? Stay stead, loose. Just a light toss, back and forth. Simple--leastaways, they remembered it being simple enough. For a moment, it was. They were pleased with the way Gideon's clever hands took to the task, light easy tosses back and forth. Even almost added a rhythm to the humming, although it weren't the same rhythm as they were keeping up with Gideon's hands. Pleased, that was, until them pretty hands suddenly weren't taking to it no more. Dropped one right into a puddle of half-frozen, filthy slush. Titters of laughter from somewheres--Peregrine looked up sharp and glared, trying to find the source of it.
Roll
