[Solo] Same, yet Not

Francis at work in a warehouse, mere days after the hanging.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 11:16 am
Topics: 4
Race: Human
Character Sheet: Francis Pusher
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Hollowbreak
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Wed Nov 14, 2018 5:32 am

04 DENTIS 2718
Francis didn't know how long the pusher line stretched, but he reckoned there had to be something ingrained in him other than working day in and day out that working in this particular warehouse building in the soot district came so naturally to him. His da used to work here, as did his grandfather, and now he himself worked here.

He knew almost everything there was about the old place. He knew which stacks was the oldest, he knew which crane had the most worn lifting rope, he knew which section of the wall that was starting to crack and could be broken down to make a hole big enough to squeeze through and just which crate to use to cover it up.

His knowledge extended to the people as well, like when Old Conney's take his patrol and checking up on the lads when not stuffed in his office reading old papers or taking a nap, how long those naps tended to be, and just how early Old Coney thinks he can slip away.


How Davidson, a fellow who worked a slong as Francis, would the time to take a nap or layabout behind a particular stack of shelves just roomy enough when he thought no one was looking, but that refreshed look would give him away to those who spoke with him enough.

Francis reckoned he knew this place by heart indeed, but today felt like a strange day. Thus building felt like a stranger despite familiarity, and some faces he knew were gone.

“Alright Francis, ‘bout to lower the crate on the wagon” Spoke Arty, a human fellow too skinny to look like he'd work hard labor, dressed in overalls, boots and nothing but. Francis nodded as he stood aside on the wagon, hands outstretched as Arty turned the cranks that turned the gears that turned the crate and caused it to lower and carry the heavy crate it usually lifted.


“Careful with that now, lads. In there's equipment thats worth ten of your wages for years” Muttered Old Coney, a portly figure with wasps of hair long gray, in hand a cane that may have been fine once yet like the suit he wore shows that Conny himself was not once the prestige he held with his peers.

“Ain't nuttin’ ta worry about Boss, we's done this times before, an’ with bigger stuff”. Francis said with a winning smile as he glanced briefly at tye older fellow who simply snorted.

“If I'd doubts of that I'd have fired you lot before now...no, thats not what concerns me at”

“Bit to the left Arty, an’ not too fast!” Francis bellowed as he watched the heavy crate being lowered.

“Bad business that hanging, bad enough those accursed riots occurred. Three of our boys dead in the riots, another two run out”

Francis held his tongue, not wanting to add his coins to the matter. It was indeed bad business after all, faces he'd known for years now were simply... gone.

With a creaci of the wagon, the crate reste don the bed whilst Francis distracted himself by unhooking it and pushing it to the far end of the Wagon before jumping off.

That was the biggun, now was time for the smaller boxes….

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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 11:16 am
Topics: 4
Race: Human
Character Sheet: Francis Pusher
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Hollowbreak
Post Templates: [url=http:/fullurl/]Post Templates[/url]
Contact:

Thu Nov 15, 2018 1:00 am

04 Dentis 2718
It was time for smaller boxes now, which was a relative term of course. After that big ol’ crate everything else was by default 'smaller’ and didn't justify the use the of the crane. Parts were expensive to replace after all, and while they were short handed for the moment they would soon have new bodies to replace those lost….

It was a grim reality, but not a new one.


Francis lept onto the driver's seat of the cardiage, earning a neigh of displeasure from the sturdy draft horse affectionately called 'Wilburt’, the brown stallion's muscles bulged as it sniffed out hot ear. Francis merely rolled his eyes as he grabbed hold of the reigns and urged the horse onward whilst Arty climbed on the back if the carriage as they all moved closer to the 'smaller’ boxes. First of these boxes were a couple of man sized crates, no where near as heavy as the other one and it could be lifted by men… just with great effort and as laborers they had nothing but.

“Harold, get yer rear hear!”

Harold was the youngest of the workers it need be said, but he was also the largest it. And despite his size, he was not a tupid man… in fact Francis thought him smart underneath al his math as the large fellow towered over them. There was also undeniably a softness to him, and that made him popular amongst in the warehouse….


Everyone liked puppies after all.

“ 'M here, is it work?” He asked in quiet tones as Francis lept off his seat, Arty giving the giant man a nod as he motioned him to follow Francis.

Francis for his part approached a couple of the man-sized crates stacked arop each other. Looking at their length and width they grimly remindedly him of coffins, and after the hanging he wasn't sure he needed that. Still he turned around one end and waited for Harold to approach the other.

With the a crouch and bent of their knees they slipped their fingers under the crate and lifted. Harold with his back turned as he deigned to take the lead back to the wagon.

Arty loosened and knock down the wood plate that normally prevented the boxes from slipping out during transit, in time for Harold and Francis to lift the side onto the wagon, Arty taking it from there as he slid the crate to its bigger brother and stopping with a thud if wood against wood.


There was familiarity in these actions, Francis realized and not for the first time. It brought no real comfort though as there was something missing, undeniably so. There was no jokes thrown about, no mumbling complaints, the promise of a pint at the end of the day, none.

Only silence as they worked.

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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 11:16 am
Topics: 4
Race: Human
Character Sheet: Francis Pusher
Plot Notes: [url=http:/fullurl/]Plot Notes[/url]
Writer: Hollowbreak
Post Templates: [url=http:/fullurl/]Post Templates[/url]
Contact:

Thu Nov 15, 2018 7:39 am

04 Dentis 2718
Soon came the loading of the second crate, much like the first Francis amd Harold lifted the heavy thing, much of the effort put by Francis as he let out strong breaths while Harild was barely winded on his side the big lug. With a familiar thud it rest on the carriage before Arty pushed it to the back, then lifted one end atop the kther crated before pushing the other onto it so that the two crates would be stacked neatly. It was Arty's turn to take the reigns then as he climbed onto the driver's seat to mush the horse to the next bit if shelves for the actual small boxes that needed only one bloke to carry, yet two would speed things up.

“ S’ bad times ahead comin’, Arty?” Harold began questioningly, a somber tone in his vlice as the large fellow trailed on the side.

“ oh I reckon it'll get better Harold, ain't luck bad times ain't happen before” Francis spoke up, smile plastered on his face as he oat the fellow on the back.

Arty didn't look convinced and neither did Harold, and truth be told Francis didn't believe his own words either.

“ ain't gonna make much a difference, lads. So long as Ol’ Conny is kickin’ we still got our work, so long as we still got our work reckon we can still feed our mouths an’ the mouths relyin’ on us” Arty said simply, which meant the one thing thing he reckoned they could do was simply… go on. Unsaid perhaps but Francis reckoned he understood, he'd been just 'going on’ with his life forever now after all.

Soon the reached the rest of the crates, heavy buggers but that's what they were here for. As soon as he approached the first box Francis bent his knee as he slid his fingers under a crate, with a huff he lifted it upwards as it rested against his chest, lifting with his back as he trudged back to the wagon, Harold passing by heading for his second box already.

Francis placed the box atop the wagon to be sorted by Arty, ready for the process to be repeated for the next few boxes. And so it was repeated.


Again.

And again.

And again.

…..and again.


Francis let out a breat as he flipped up the back board upon the wagon and secured it, with Arty left to tie it all up and secure the crates, before hiding and securing them further with a tarp.

“Right, time to let the boss know we're done stackin’”. Arty let lut.

“I can see that Arty” spoke up the old man appearing like a ghost as Francis junoed and osun to see the old fellow right behind them as if he was always there… and perhaps he was.

“Now that its all packed together nice, Arty I need you to pick the signinng papers. Gerald will give them to you, and head for the cannery and the brewery respectively. Smaller vixes are for them, the larger ones for the brewery”. He barked out the the words quickly as he pulled out his time piece, giving it a quick look beofre turning to Francis “Take Harold with you, with him abkut I suppose you'll likely run into less trouble with vagabounds”.

His gaze then snapped to Francis.

“You in the other hand, Pusher, I need you to stay”
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