This is what you had pictured: two kids, frolicking through the streets of Capitol City.
It's a nice image, and you hold it firm in your mind, keeping the edges tightly wound and the picture firm. The streets are clean, the sun high in the sky: one of the children is swathed in ratty oiled cotton that must be older than they are, but the other is bare-skinned, her gray skin flushed with a healthy green. Their lusii are playing behind them. They're probably laughing.
Unfortunately, that's not what's actually happening. But it's a wonderful thought, and you clings to it. Maybe if you picture it for long enough, it'll become real.
The reality, of course, is that you're currently sludging through the city's millenia old sewer system. If you had ever contemplated going through the underground waste transportation system before, then perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible: you would've had expectations that would've been flouted and surpassed in turn.
But you've never thought about it much, something that you're sincerely regretting now. When your thoughts did stray towards the waste management transportation system, it was only fleeting, never really serious. Perhaps the sewers were metal! Perhaps all of the city's waste was carried away by trolly, or by drones, or by the fervent wishes of those involved: it was all equally likely, as far as you were concerned, and as it turns out, it was all completely, entirely wrong.
Every new thing you've encountered down here has come as an unpleasant surprise. It took you awhile to realise that you needed to keep your skirt hiked up around your knees, so the bottom is all soggy and wet, and you hadn't thought at all to dress down, so of course it's one of your nicer skirts, too.
At least you had the wisdom, when Hinnom first led you down to the sewer grate, to immediately hide your sash away in your sylladex. Proctor Sungazer is lenient in some ways, but coming in with a sash stinking of waste is not one of the things he would tolerate. Unfortunately, there's still damp all across your shoes, and things keep dripping in your hair: your sash might not smell of waste, but it hasn't even been an hour and you already stink of it.
Everything is terrible. When you see Sipara, you're going to give her some very stern words on maintaining contact with her own moirail, if she's so desperately concerned.
(You won't. Sipara is your friend, for all that she is prone to take advantage, and you wouldn't want to upset her any further than this day already has.)
The air reeks of chemicals strong enough to make your eyes water, but it's not as if it matters much: you can't see a damn thing down here anyway. Trolls are hatched to see in all levels of the dark, and so there's no lights built into the walls, no light at all but the occasional streamers from the sewer grates far above. Unfortunately, jadebloods are the exception. Some low or high jades can see well in the dark and in the daytime, well enough to be at constant ease, but you're solidly in the middle. Your eyes are built to handle the bright light of the daytime sun, and you can barely see in your own respiteblock if the lightgrub is hibernating. Down here in the sewers, with no lights at all, you might as well be blind.
If it weren't for the hand you're keeping clamped on Hinnom's shoulder, you'd have already fallen into the water and died. The sound of rushing of water to your left is the only way you know it's even there: there's nothing to reflect off of the water, and no way to tell when the floor changes from the rough stonework to the sheer drop of water without light to guide you.
If you did die down here, you reflects glumly, would Hinnom even remember to go tell your lusus?
"Hinnom," you say, trying your best not to breathe between words, "I don't ask as a discourtesy, but -- are we there yet?"
no subject
It's a nice image, and you hold it firm in your mind, keeping the edges tightly wound and the picture firm. The streets are clean, the sun high in the sky: one of the children is swathed in ratty oiled cotton that must be older than they are, but the other is bare-skinned, her gray skin flushed with a healthy green. Their lusii are playing behind them. They're probably laughing.
Unfortunately, that's not what's actually happening. But it's a wonderful thought, and you clings to it. Maybe if you picture it for long enough, it'll become real.
The reality, of course, is that you're currently sludging through the city's millenia old sewer system. If you had ever contemplated going through the underground waste transportation system before, then perhaps this wouldn't be so terrible: you would've had expectations that would've been flouted and surpassed in turn.
But you've never thought about it much, something that you're sincerely regretting now. When your thoughts did stray towards the waste management transportation system, it was only fleeting, never really serious. Perhaps the sewers were metal! Perhaps all of the city's waste was carried away by trolly, or by drones, or by the fervent wishes of those involved: it was all equally likely, as far as you were concerned, and as it turns out, it was all completely, entirely wrong.
Every new thing you've encountered down here has come as an unpleasant surprise. It took you awhile to realise that you needed to keep your skirt hiked up around your knees, so the bottom is all soggy and wet, and you hadn't thought at all to dress down, so of course it's one of your nicer skirts, too.
At least you had the wisdom, when Hinnom first led you down to the sewer grate, to immediately hide your sash away in your sylladex. Proctor Sungazer is lenient in some ways, but coming in with a sash stinking of waste is not one of the things he would tolerate. Unfortunately, there's still damp all across your shoes, and things keep dripping in your hair: your sash might not smell of waste, but it hasn't even been an hour and you already stink of it.
Everything is terrible. When you see Sipara, you're going to give her some very stern words on maintaining contact with her own moirail, if she's so desperately concerned.
(You won't. Sipara is your friend, for all that she is prone to take advantage, and you wouldn't want to upset her any further than this day already has.)
The air reeks of chemicals strong enough to make your eyes water, but it's not as if it matters much: you can't see a damn thing down here anyway. Trolls are hatched to see in all levels of the dark, and so there's no lights built into the walls, no light at all but the occasional streamers from the sewer grates far above. Unfortunately, jadebloods are the exception. Some low or high jades can see well in the dark and in the daytime, well enough to be at constant ease, but you're solidly in the middle. Your eyes are built to handle the bright light of the daytime sun, and you can barely see in your own respiteblock if the lightgrub is hibernating. Down here in the sewers, with no lights at all, you might as well be blind.
If it weren't for the hand you're keeping clamped on Hinnom's shoulder, you'd have already fallen into the water and died. The sound of rushing of water to your left is the only way you know it's even there: there's nothing to reflect off of the water, and no way to tell when the floor changes from the rough stonework to the sheer drop of water without light to guide you.
If you did die down here, you reflects glumly, would Hinnom even remember to go tell your lusus?
"Hinnom," you say, trying your best not to breathe between words, "I don't ask as a discourtesy, but -- are we there yet?"