[Open] [Open - Resistance] Causing a great stink

[Gale]

Vienda Uptown Sewers | Morning

70 ROALIS 2720

There was a gathering of workers that morning by one of the large sewage outlet tunnels in the Soot District, each member of the crew wearing itchy overalls with 'Braze and Co Sewers' emblazoned on the back. To the locals, it was an unusual occurrence, but beyond that acknowledgement, they paid it little mind. Clearly, this company was supposed to be here and the uniform suggested they knew what they were doing. Above the glug of sludge and filth, the totally legitimate sewage cleaning service stood with their covered pull carts and tools, listening to the issued instructions by the pale blond foreman while the world continued on past them.

"There's what the bosses are callin' a Fatburg stuck within one of the wee tunnels. Causin' all manner a backlog, need to clear it out. and ensure the flow continues." The Foreman stood precariously on the first rung of the railings, his head just above the rest of the workers as he organised them for the task for the day. "Gonna split up into two teams, you lot heading east towards the Warf with Mister Jackson as your lead. Rest of you with me going west. Please stick with your leads, do not wander into the labyrinth that is the sewers - we will not come to rescue you. If you do get separated head to the nearest cover and climb it."

There was a clearing of the throat, the Foreman giving a quick glance down to the sewage outlet. He was perhaps a little young to be a foreman, but none of the other workers seemed too bothered by this fact.

"Mister Jackson." The Foreman spoke with such authority and certainty. "Make sure they keep on high ground during the major flush times."

The quick glance back to the faces before giving a firm and satisfied nod.

"Right, synchronise time. Need you all back here by the twenty-second bell. Keep your lanterns closed and your faces covered. Don't want breathing in miasma now, got it? Now go on, get."

The Foreman clambered down from the railings, with it the crew began the slow careful descent into the sewage outlet and onto the narrow brick ledge that ran along the edge. There were a few grimaces as faces were covered, but the workers of Braze and Co Sewers got to work without complaint. If anything they were focused, dedicated to the task set before them as they lit their lanterns and sloshed their way into the dark dripping depths of Vienda's sewer system.

---

It was all a carefully constructed illusion that hid them all in plain daylight.

As Artful posed as their Foreman and set the scene, the rest of the Resistance cadets fell in step - they donned the uniform and looked the part, splitting off into their own separate teams once they were beneath the cover of the dark sewers. They moved then less as a professional body, but more as a mass eager to get the job done and remove themselves from the choking stench of the sewers. With maps and lanterns, they took the march along the tunnels, trying not to slip into the sickening mess created by the population of the city and headed to Uptown.

The plan, the real plan, was ridiculous in every sense of the word. Artful remembered the few scoffs received from their peers as they told them the idea, and the How laughter quickly fell quiet as it was explained in greater detail with the chaos it would cause neatly highlighted. And so here they all were, hand in hand and all equally guilty in enacting their part in it; each being ready for enacting suitable revenge against their supposed betters for the prohibition they forced upon their lesser.

As Artful gave a parting wave to 'Mister Jackson' - not his real name - they lead the group through the squelching depths of the sewers. Old brick made from red clay, the faint glugging of water while droplets echoed across surfaces. Even if they wanted to be quiet here it would have been a difficult task, the tunnel acoustics amplified each footfall as they shuffled their way along the narrow ledges and wheeled the hand cart behind them. Beyond the light of their lanterns was darkness, and the bits they could see made Artful's skin shudder. Smears caked the walls, Artful did not want to know what they were made from, but it had stained the brickwork beneath to an off pale white that seemed to shudder in the glow of lantern light. There were rats too; if they were on the surface, the smith would have smelt them. But down here in the putrid depths they did not want to smell anything. They did their best to breathe through their mouth and the cloth scarf that covered them, but even then it was beginning to permeate their taste buds and sink into their pores.

They were far too sober for any of this, their taste buds hungering for a stiff drink that they had been denied for what felt so long. It did not help that the inside of the sewers felt warm and far from the pleasant sort. A sticky humidity that tried to niggle its way into every opening and cling so tightly that they were certain they would not be able to scrub their body clean afterwards.

Artful's lips smacked for a cigarette; no, not here, not with all the literal shit around them. They had heard enough stories already about what cholera could do to a person and they were not about to expose themselves to it any further just to receive that nicotine buzz.

But by Vita it was so tempting.

No, they just needed to focus - after it was done they could smoke themselves into oblivion.

Stopping at a junction, Artful called for a halt and hooked the lantern onto their belt. Their hand gave a quick rub of the dark black signage on the wall, glove smearing away the dirt and revealing 'Caesar Augustus Memorial Sewer Junction XI' painted on a once-white background.

"We're here." They gestured to the crew, their voice muffled by the fabric pulled across their lips. "Get the planks out, gonna need a bit of bridgin'."

The tunnel narrowed nicely here, each side flanked with brick ledges they could barely walk down. As the planks were lifted from the pull cart and laid to create a larger walkway, Artful gave a quick glance down either side of the junction and squinted off into the darkness. Ahead was where one of the Uptown cisterns poured out into the sewers, a welt squelch of spray being audible as it splashed against the surface. The Smith's cheeks puffed as they tried not to gag; they were already hungering for fresher air.

"Right. So. Here's the plan." Artful began. "We need to plug this gap and follow the ring west clockwise to Junction twelve, and then back over the top to one to five. We'll then meet up with Rusty and his team and skip on out of here." Their hand slapped against the sewer sign then. "These junctions are where the Uptown sewage flow joins the Lowtown flow. By blockin' them off, those Golly toffins and their shit gets stuck in the uptown ring and can't escape."

Beneath the cloth, they gave a smile, though their features were no doubt lost in the poor light.

"Then we just need to let it cook for a few weeks in our glorious summer heat before returnin' it to them. Ye chen?"

Artful clapped their hands together. They just needed to get through this; once it was over they could scrub themself raw in the hopes of removing the stench.

"Get the struts in first, then we can bolt in the sheetin'. Sooner we get it done, sooner we can leave." There was a low chuckle. "Keep your ears sharp. Shouldn't be guards here but it's better to be safe. C'mon, it's time to play."

With the planks now lain, the Smith took up one of the iron struts from the wagon and shimmied across the wood to the other side of the tunnel. Once there with their lantern swinging at their side, they gingerly began the process of slowly lowering the length of it into the depths with a grimace.

[Tobias Murdock]

70th Roalis 2720

Finally something was being done. While the prospect of trudging through sewage didn't appeal much to young Tobias, he knew that for every bell they spent clogging up the system, the toffs would need at least a day to clean up the mess. He could barely wait to see their faces when confronted with the stench of their own excrement. They had it coming, even before they'd decided to barge into every tavern and cafe to confiscate all the liquor.

The heavy, damp air clung to every little bit of exposed skin. The bridge of his nose, his ears, his eyes, his cheekbones and the odd tuft of hair poking out from under his cap. The rest of him was protected from the thick, dark blubber by a uniform hastily tailored down to his size. It was a little too large and hung rather loosely on his thin frame but he'd simply tucked the overlong bits in his boots and gloves. He grimaced behind the mask tied over his mouth, even though he'd soaked it in mint tea the day before, the putrid odours of the sewage were overwhelming. It really was far worse than he'd ever dared to imagine. Not just the smell but the filth on the walls, the chunks of hatcher-knows-what drifting in the dark stream. At one point he thought he could make out a bloated arm, or was it a ham gone moldy and discarded? He couldn't be sure, but had to conclude it was far from impossible that chopped up limbs might end up in the sewage.

For a while he shuffled along with the group, sticking close to the old-timer in front of him who had a lantern. His mind lingered on death and decay and he wondered if any of the people the gollies sentenced to death had ended up in the sewage. It was an intensely sad thought to think that anyone might be discarded just like a moldy ham. Discarded and forgotten, denied the respect of a proper burial, abused and mocked by their overlords to the last. He shook his head and tried to think about something else.

Careful not to slip he followed the line of volunteers along the ridge until they came upon a junction. Artful seemed to take some kind of special joy in pretending to be the foreman that Tobias failed to understand. His limited experience with people of a similar title had forever rendered him prejudiced against the line of work and Artful seemed a little too absorbed in his role. Nevertheless, he did his part and carried two struts over to where Artful had started. He made his way across the improvised bridge with befitting carefree ease, then began lowering one of the struts into the goo. When he'd made certain it was at the correct distance to the first, he put a little more weight onto it until he was sure it was well dug in.

"You could've picked less scratchy clothes, you know?" He remarked while he moved on to the third strut (he left the hammering in to stronger men). "Or you could've asked Gunner to do it instead, he's always dressed for the occasion." He squeezed his lips together behind his mask as he lined up the strut to the appropriate distance. "Not that he would've done it. He prefers leaving the dirty work to others. Gives me the creeps though… I wouldn't be surprised if he's some kind of serial killer."

[Aodh Elzo]

70th Roalis 2720

Aodh had liked the plan, he hadn't scoffed but seen the merit and the sort of justice to it.

He stood in the crowd of 'workers' as Artful outlined the job. He was impressed and had to keep his face and impassive. But inside he was eager to get to the task at hand.

Aodh had one last drag on his cigarette before dropping it, grinding it out with the heel of one of his heavy high top work boots, he knew he would be glad of them once he was in the tunnels.

The mask over his face lessened the noxious stink of the slow moving effluent that ozed down the channels and caked the walls. It had been a few years since he had worked in the sewers, not that that mattered, it wasn't a smell you got accustomed to, at least Aodh didn't want to be down here long enough to find out.

At Artful's direction Aodh moved off with some of the equipment from the cart and motioned to a couple of the other cadets and went about it.

Aodh caught Tobias' words on the way past and gave the lad a grin and chuckled.

I tell ya, I'm glad he's on our side though, ya chen?"

Still grinning under his cloth mask Aodh went back to fixing the barrier in place.

[Gale]

Vienda Uptown Sewers | Morning

70 ROALIS 2720

Artful said nothing at first; they were too focused with getting started. Leaning over they pushed the iron tip through the sludge, pressing deeper as they held their breath. They did their best to not think too much about the sewer contents, even as they loomed over it and the dull light supplied illusions as to what existed below. They jerked when they hit the bottom, pressed a little harder as it sunk through solidified debris before inevitably hitting the brick base. Releasing it Artful gave it a careful study, leaning down to see that the others were in the process of being lined up. The others were doing their parts too; a flurry of hands that worked around makeshift bridges.

"I picked what was possible on short notice. Not like ye hav' ta keep 'em after. But if ye do, it's a gift from me to you."

Standing, Artful shuffled back to the other side - from the cart they pulled out one of the sledgehammers before making their way back across. Starting with their strut, they measured it up with their eyes.

At the mention of Gunner, Artful raised an eyebrow but did not look to the others.

"I make a habit to stay out of Gunner's way." They mumbled, giving the top of the strut a testing tap. It would be just like smacking an anvil, momentum would do half the work for them. "He's been doin' this game before either of us were twinkles in our parents' eyes. Dunnae about Firebrand though." They turned their head to the Wick. "Ye're what, Five hundred?"

It was a tease, nothing more, nothing less.

Though the Gunner part was perhaps more honest; their father had been the one to wear the mask and be the monster in the Galdori closet before Gale was born. They never really got an idea for how long he had played that part, but they did know it was hard and bloody work.

Satisfied with the strut being in the right position, they grasped the hammer shaft with both hands and with a well-practised forge master's swing they brought it back down. It clanged loudly against the tunnel, high pitched and growing lower as it echoed against the brickwork. They did it again, iron sinking deeper into the brick as it broke the surface - the scar in their shoulder twitching as they brought the hammer up a third time.

A few of the others were doing the same now, iron being sunk into the sewer base to serve as their foundation. Artful had to shake their head; the ringing slipping into their ears as they felt their thoughts teeter to one side.

No. Focus.

The Smith took in a deep breath through the fabric of their mask- and caught a thread in back of their throat. Coughing, they spluttered on the cotton and the taste of the sewer. It was foul, their tastebuds shrivelling up as they spat the globduel away. Lantern light swinging at their waist, they waved the momentary concerned looks away.

"Try to not breathe too deep." Artful wheezed as they took a step on the plank bridge. It bounced a little underfoot, their feet shifting as they lined up the next strut and repeated the process. There was a little bit of wobbling, the grip shifting as they contemplated the next strike.

"Egg. Still Egg, right?" Artful gave the boy a glance. "In the cart, there's bolts and nuts in a big red metal box. Might be towards the bottom. You dig it out, we're goin' to need it and your wee hands in a bit."

With a roll of their shoulders, the hammer was brought up and then swung down, joining the rhythm of the other workers. Their arms trembled a little as the support was forced into position. It was not just in work they had to take care with, but the conversation too - the balance of identities was nowhere near at risk at the moment. But caution was still needed, a firm misdirect would probably be the best port of call. Their eyes rolled, briefly focusing on the white moss that was growing across the brickwork.

Spreading like a smear, ever-growing even in the dark. Foul putrid. Never touch.

"Now Wisp? That's someone I'd follow if you catch my drift." They gave a wink, the pull of their lips into a smirk hidden by their scarf. One of the others in their group gave a snort. "Would let her step on me. But... well... dunnae think she's into that." The smith gave a shrug. "Still, like Gunner, probably better to stay out her way. That woman is on a mission when her mind is on it and everythin' is all lined up."

They remembered earlier in the month when Egg had called Wisp a coward - but they also remembered the turn of events in the tunnel, on how he rallied to her side when the cold face of Gunner gave logic. The boy, for the most part, seemed to just flit between sides as it fancied him - caught up on the ideals of war without seemingly knowing what that actually required.

He's going to end up getting himself killed young.

Artful released a tut.

"Aye, time for the sheetin'. Start at the bottom. We'll put the rest of the supports in as we go up. How we all feelin'?"

[Tobias Murdock]

70th Roalis 2720

“Thanks, I guess,” said Tobias. He didn’t think he’d need the baggy uniform anytime soon and doubted the stench would ever properly wash out, but it wasn’t in his nature to turn down gifts even if they were of questionable value. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he backed off a few steps back to give Artful space to swing the hammer until he almost stepped on Firebrand’s toes. Mumbling a quick apology he bumped past the big man and simply observed Artful from a safe distance.


“Is Gunner that old? I didn’t think he was, though I suppose… I suppose I don’t really know, what with the mask and all.” He looked to Firebrand here, “can’t rightly tell who’s side he’s on, but I suppose if Jon trusts him, I should too. I just…he seems a bit moony to me.”

A slow shiver crawled down his spine as he tried to put his distrust of the supposed leader of the resistance into words. Who really knew what he looked like? How could someone supposedly older than Artful live like that? Did he ever take off the mask? He’d never seen Gunner eat, or drink for that matter.. Maybe Gunner was a horribly disfigured mutant, some freak experiment gone terribly wrong, or maybe a specter that possessed bodies, or maybe a piece of machinery altogether! It would explain the flat, hollow voice…

Artful’s voice shook him from his thoughts. Tobias gave Firebrand a once-over with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I would’ve guessed a sprightly four hundred actually,” he laughed.

Jokes aside, there was something about Firebrand’s tall, spindly appearance that made him look like an old timer. Maybe it was his habitual pipe smoking, maybe it was the getter-done air surrounding him, or maybe it was just the sense that he’d been places. Whatever it was, Tobias had never doubted Firebrand who'd always struck him like an eccentric but reliable distant relation of sorts.

For a little while longer Tobias observed Artful's handiwork and almost leaned back against the filthy walls in childish boredom before he thought better of it. Thankfully he was soon given something to do.

Keen to be of use, Tobias zig-zagged past several other volunteers to reach the cart and began looking for the red box. After a little while he found it and grinned to himself, red wasn’t that hard to find when you were digging through a dump. The box was marked ‘TOOLS’ in a garish brown cursive script that suggested it was at least two generations old. Groaning, he lifted it out of the cart with both hands and dragged it over to Artful.

“Yeah, it’s still Egg,” he sighed as he dumped the box next to Artful. “What do you keep in there? Lead?” Not waiting for an answer he dropped down to his knees, opened the box and peered into it. The inside paint was mostly faded, but Tobias could still see a chip of red here and there. He pulled out a couple of jars with nails, a hammer, a few shims, a crowbar, a rusty little saw… Not lead then, just junk.

“I know what you mean,” he replied idly as he rummaged through the toolbox, “she likes to get things done. I misjudged her, I really did. You were right… hey Firebrand, can you come over here for a second?”

Tobias pulled his head out of the fascinating box of junk, held out his hand - fingers spread - and asked Firebrand to do the same. He pressed his hand against the old-timer’s, frowned, then let out a deflated sigh. “Tick... I really do have small hands.” he sounded disappointed.

[Aodh Elzo]

70th Roalis 2720

For a moment Aodh let himself get lost in the rhythm and the task, enjoying the feeling of his muscles working as he swung the sledge. This was good, the Resistance working together, to strike a blow, it felt right.

Artful's words shook him from his thoughts and he nodded. Yes Gunner was a man to keep on the right side of, or at least out of his way. At Artful's crack about his age Aodh let out a muffled guffaw from behind his mask.

"Me? Naw not a day over a hundred." He chuckled as he swung the hammer again.

"Aye, I've heard tales bout Gunner since I first came ta the city, that's a few maw back now. A proper specter ta put the fear up them clockin jent."

He grinned savagely under his cloth mask, well he had plans to give them some new nightmares.

"Now Wisp her I’d follow into the very Otherworld itself. Done a bit’a work with her a ways back. I trust her."

A few more swings and the support seemed to lodge in place. He rested the sledge on his shoulder, then he walked over to where Tobias was rooting around in the hand cart at Artful’s direction and lent the lad a hand. He chuckled at Tobias’s words and shook his head.

"Ah don’t worry lad, you’ll grow." He holds up his callused and scared knuckled hands.
"After all, took me thirty odd years to end up with paws like these. That an’ a lot of fiddle playin’." He doesn't mention the years of hard and back breaking labour, or the countless gutter fights or desperate escapes and burns from fire bombs.

After the task was done, Aodh lent his hammer on his shoulder and nodded at Artful’s words.

"Aye makes sense, then we dust. Not sure bout the rest of ye but I've a mant thirst on me something fierce. That an’ to fill my nose and lungs with smoke rather than the stink o’ shite."

[Gale]

Vienda Uptown Sewers | Morning

70 ROALIS 2720

With careful shuffling around the others, Artful returned the sledgehammer to the cart. For the moment everything seemed to be moving relatively smoothly, but it was early in the day and there was still much more to be done. They had to stay alert, even if their skin was sticking at the back of their neck. If they could get through the day, they could spend the next wallowing in a state of recovery.

Just got to keep it going for a while in front of the others. You can fight the withdrawal.

They let the others talk among themselves, instead choosing the comfort of silence. The enigma that was Gunner could wait until another day, more so as it had been diverted off to the much more interesting topic of Wisp. Their ears twitched at the various opinions given, while their hands lifted out the first of the steel sheets. Starting at one end, they slid the sheeting down between the struts, the faint grind of metal before it finally reached the bottom. It wobbled a little, their head-turning to Egg as he rummaged through the contents.

"Odds, sods, tools, and nosy children." Artful leaned around the other side of the sheeting, watching it as it sunk into the filth. "With enough focus, ye can probably guess my trade."

There was a small, approving nod - clearly pleased with their work, and there was nothing wrong with having a little pride in one's efforts.

"All comin' together."

Rummaging in the box, they found the bolts and nuts in the toolbox rattling around in one of the small jars. They presented it to the group.

"So, the sheeting and the struts have holes in 'em. Need to put a bolt-" They picked one out to show the group. "- in through the hole. Then on the other side, secure it in place with a nut." They held up a small hexagon with a hole in the middle of it. "Should keep it all nice and tight and pull the metal into a seal. Lemme show."

Resting their lantern on the side of the walkway, Artful leaned over the edge and closer to the sludge line. Their skin writhed, throat closing up as they slipped the bolt in one side. Around the other side, they caught the shape of the nub reflecting dully back in the lantern light and slipped the nut over the end. They finger tightened it and fumbled for a wrench. The smith swallowed down the growing taste of bile in the back of their throat. Why did they suggest this idea? It was gross, dark, stunk - but the repercussions? It was something the Galdori would feel, that was for certain. They leaned in, tightening it off with a grunt.

"Brand's right. Ye're still growin'. Dunnae worries your head about it." Artful's cheek was pressed against the slick brick of the walkway now. "Sure you'll be bigger than the both of us when you're grown- Aye, that's lookin' good. Get the next ones in. This place is fuckin' gross, and I hate it here. Smokin' is the right idea... and now I want a drink."

As far as Artful was concerned, they were said what everyone was thinking. Brushing themself down, they helped in lowering the next few sheets in place, creating a barrier that slowed the flow of the sewer down this tunnel. They wasted no time getting back onto it.

"Everyone, pair up. Be easier to have one side stick the bolts in and the other tightened it off. Then, we just start layering the panels off until we hit the roof."

Artful nodded to Egg. Young, would get himself killed, would probably do something stupid.

But perhaps that path could be diverted... Just a little, to something more constructive.

"If yer still worried about being wee, I do need an extra set of bellow hands. Would probably bulk you up big in time. Though..." Behind the scarf came a chuckle. "Ye dunnae look like the mornin' type to me."

It was a partial truth for Gale, they had toyed with the idea of getting an apprentice - someone else to train and attend to the duties of the Forge while they worked on projects. Finding the right candidate for it though was a risk; another point to balance against the duties as a member of the Resistance, but also their face in society and the public. More so with the patenting of the Steel Horse.

Pushing another bolt through the hole, they looked up to Firebrand as he worked.

"So, a Fiddler, eh? Played so fast you set the strings on fire?" They gave the sheet a testing knock. It was holding for now. "Never would have pegged you as one. Does this make you a singer too?"

[Tobias Murdock]

70th Roalis 2720

“You really think so?” He sounded relieved, though part of him knew Firebrand just said it to be nice. The man’s hands were big, calloused, blistered, healed, then blistered again and felt rough against his palm. His time spent in the Warren & Sons’ shoe factory had done some damage, but he couldn’t begin to compete with the lived experience written in the creases of Firebrand’s hands. ”I’m not sure…” his voice trailed off into nothingness and he gladly let the conversation shift to other subjects.

He resumed rummaging through the box for a little while, found nothing of real interest and bobbed his shoulders at Artful’s question. “A really bad poet?” he hazarded to guess. Frowning, he made a secondary, more serious attempt at guessing Artful’s trade. “A mechanic, I guess. I recognize some of these,” he continued, gesturing vaguely to some of the tools on display. “They used to send me and Felix into the sewing machines because the valves always got loose and we could crawl through to tighten them.”

Felix… Strange how he’d almost forgotten about his companion. So much had happened since Jon Serro’s rescue, so much had changed for the better that he’d all but forgotten about the miserable life his friend was most likely still condemned to. Tobias made a mental note to return to the factory soon, no matter how much he wanted to stay away from it, no matter how dangerous Felix was, he couldn’t just abandon the passive.

Unwilling to dwell on the misery of his friend's circumstances, Tobias forced himself to listen in on the surrounding conversation instead. The talk of smokes and drinks mystified him. The very last thing the stinking sludge inspired in him was an appetite and he couldn’t imagine longing to eat or drink in a place like this. If anything, the mere thought of food made him nauseous.

He’d really only half paid attention to Artful’s explanation but the process was so simple that it didn’t really matter. Picking up a small wrench he got to work tightening the nuts whenever a bolt had been pushed through. After a while he decided he liked working in the stench of the sewer better than laying on his back in the middle of a groaning, hissing bit of machinery that could crush any of his limbs if he made a mistake, but not by much.

The offer Artful made was so unexpected that Tobias physically halted. “Uh…” he scratched his ear. It was a job, a real job, something he’d longed to have since he’d first arrived in Vienda. Besides, Artful had proven to be good company and he was quite certain he could learn a lot from the man.

But working with tools all day? Was that really what he wanted? He’d enjoyed the relative freedom he’d gained since he joined the Wisp, though it sometimes poured over into boredom and long, pointless walks through the city.

“I could try,” he concluded with a shrug. “Guess it depends on what you mean by early,” he added with an apologetic smile. It was eerie how sometimes, just sometimes, he got the feeling Artful could see right through him.

[Aodh Elzo]

70th Roalis 2720

Aodh made a start on the next barrier working alongside the other members of the crew.

He glanced at Egg and a slight smile on his face.

"Aye lad, you'll grow. Why when I was your age, I was half your size I reckon."

He gets a far away look in his eyes then, remembering his youth on the caravan with the rest of his tribe. Always getting into trouble with his brothers and cousins.

When Artful speaks to him he pushes the memories back down and locks them away, making sure to blink away the tears that threatened to fall.

When he looks up he has a grin under his mask and head nods.

"Aye, can't be fire bombs and house breaking all the time, gotta make a livin'."He laughs then as he goes back to the task at hand.

"But aye, I'm a singer, would even call myself a musician... Though not had much call for music these days..."
Again the sorrow threatens him, he remembers his grandmother teaching him how to sing and the old songs that had been passed down to her, and how music and laugher would fill the nights around their fires. Once more he pushes it away and his mask falls back into place.

"I play the fiddle and the banjo an' all, even wrote a few songs." He thinks then and clears his throat, still trying not to breath to deeply. He starts singing, his voice is clear and the words flow down the filth encrusted tunnel,

"So take me down to where the worlds collide
I need to be here 'till I'm satisfied
There'll come a day when all of us will show
We all feel free!

Although we may crash, and we my burn
Let the revolution
The revolution begin.
There'll come a day when all of us will show
We'll all feel free
'Cause from the ashes we will grow!
So let
The Revolution, the Revolution, the Revolution
Begin"

Once he finishes the song and gives a slight shrug and nods to Artful as he carries on with the barrier.

[Gale]

Vienda Uptown Sewers | Morning

70 ROALIS 2720

"I'm a worse singer. And I'd probably make Firebrand sound like somethin' divine."

Artful shuffled along the wooden bridge as another metal sheet slid into place. They popped a bolt into the lowest hole and held it in place while it was tightened.

"Aye, I work with tools and dabble in mechanics and machines. Nay my main trade. Least not yet." An understatement, but Artful did not dwell on it. Their knuckle wrapped against the sheets and struts. "I'm a Smith; a worker of metal into shapes through intense heat and repetitive hammering. Your knives, your pipes, your barricades. I'm a creative, and arguably artful."

They gave a shrug, their eyes scanning the tunnel and the surrounding gloom. The rats were still squeaking, the drips of moisture echoing alongside their own voices. They paused briefly, catching the faint reverb of their voices humming back at them. Artful's head tilted as they listened, less catching the words of the song but listening to the different pitches as they vibrated through; their fingers pausing their twiddling while the mind received a different kind of stimulation.

Their expression, unknowingly to Artful, fell mostly into neutrality; their eyes pinched as if trying to understand what was being said, but the words for the moment slipped past. It was a small nudge from one of the other workers made them open the rest of their senses. The next sheet was being eased into place.

Of course, both of them would burn this city down given half a chance. Not that you are doing much different, you are simply taking a slower, more patient tact to catch more within your net.

Sighing, Artful lifted the sheet into place.

"There's always a call for music and song. Brings people together and helps keep sparks bright. Or keeping time, or somethin' like that." Artful shook out their head. "Me, I only know ones with the same beat throughout. Y'know, for forging."

Another bolt was slipped into the hole, their shoulder pressed against the metal to keep it in place. Soon they would lose sight of the other side of the tunnel, and then the process would repeat itself until they were done.

"This is going to be a long day." They muttered as they studied the top. "Almost there on this one, lads. We can keep at it."

Just like they had to keep going with everything else. They could not afford to fail now, not yet at least - not even when the stale, acid taste rested in the back of their throat and the stench mingled in with sweat.

Bath. Have a bath after this.

"Early is dawn or before mostly. Forge needs to get hot and that takes a long time, meaning early mornings and early nights for me. Less it's dry season, then it gets shuffled to work in the cooler parts of the day." The sheets squeaked as Artful held it in place, the individual pieces of steel growing flush with each other. "Course, means more time in the afternoon t' do other things. But... I'll let ye think on it. Dunnae think too long though, certain there are others who'd take it up."

Some of the others were in the process of fitting the topmost panel, awkwardly reaching up to the ceiling as they attempted to put screws into the brickwork. A not an impossible task, just a difficult one that would probably require more brute force than dexterity.

"Everyone needs to make a livin', but each of us has to find our own ways of getting to it-" Artful was looking up at one of the others as the curved lip of steel was brought flat against the roof. "Vita. Just hammer the thing in. Should hold fine by the time the rest is bolted. Rest of you, get on the same side as the cart side before we seal up completely."

There was just a single panel on the left of the walkway that had yet to be fitted. Picking up the tools and pieces, Artful began the process of doing a final sweep of the area, before ducking beneath the sheeting and joining the others.

Everything will be fine. It will work. It just needs time.