Fletcher
Process to process/ the halting of pace
- Location
- Philippines
...Why not just take the legal route?
[X]Pay for them like a normal citizen would. There's no reason not to.
And you've got enough money. It might be a little- well, a lot- waterlogged, but that's perfectly okay. Everything is in these times, as the world drowns in its own misery.
You've been told you're pessimistic. You're pessimistic enough to believe it.
You carry the cage and jar to the man, who's still watching you cautiously, and you reach into your pocket. Meeting his gaze head-on, you dump the driest bills you have onto the counter. "I'll take these two, if that's fine." And why wouldn't it be, you challenge him, am I too small to buy this? Too young, too uneducated, too poor, too wet? Because I will shred you like paper if it's the last one.
"You sure?" The cashier worker's very tone drips contempt, although whether it's for his job or for you, you can't tell. It should probably be an unwelcome change from the general calm of finding your blessings. It would have been if the pointy-eared girl hadn't stuck her tongue out at him, signing what are probably curse words and exuding laughter that sounds like bells. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold back a tiny snort. So your blessings don't like him much, huh.
The sentiment's clearly returned. He glares back at the girl you decide you already like, flipping her the bird. "I'm sorry, it's just that the two in the glass cage have blackmail on every worker here and we've lost the one in the jar so may times after the flooding started. It always came back with far too many wounds and someone else's blood on its hands. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." If anything, that means the water-blessing could kill you itself if you tried to run before the gods got around to it. "Do I have to sign any papers?"
"Right, papers, hold on." The man takes a laminated page from the drawer. "We've got a pen that writes past the lamination. Full name, age, gender, and criminal record, please."
...This is a little simpler than you think it should be.
You sign everything.
[ ]Name, age, gender, and criminal record.
The man doesn't even glance at the papers as he hands over a handwritten receipt. "Okay, then, have fun with your new blessings. And, uh, let's hope you survive out in that flood today." As if on cue, a crack of lightning sounds from above. The water's up to your stomach. He winces. "Or, if you want, you could stay in here until the rain lets up a little? That should be fine."
[ ]Stay until the rain slows.
[ ]Leave anyway.
[X]Pay for them like a normal citizen would. There's no reason not to.
And you've got enough money. It might be a little- well, a lot- waterlogged, but that's perfectly okay. Everything is in these times, as the world drowns in its own misery.
You've been told you're pessimistic. You're pessimistic enough to believe it.
You carry the cage and jar to the man, who's still watching you cautiously, and you reach into your pocket. Meeting his gaze head-on, you dump the driest bills you have onto the counter. "I'll take these two, if that's fine." And why wouldn't it be, you challenge him, am I too small to buy this? Too young, too uneducated, too poor, too wet? Because I will shred you like paper if it's the last one.
"You sure?" The cashier worker's very tone drips contempt, although whether it's for his job or for you, you can't tell. It should probably be an unwelcome change from the general calm of finding your blessings. It would have been if the pointy-eared girl hadn't stuck her tongue out at him, signing what are probably curse words and exuding laughter that sounds like bells. You bite your lip in an attempt to hold back a tiny snort. So your blessings don't like him much, huh.
The sentiment's clearly returned. He glares back at the girl you decide you already like, flipping her the bird. "I'm sorry, it's just that the two in the glass cage have blackmail on every worker here and we've lost the one in the jar so may times after the flooding started. It always came back with far too many wounds and someone else's blood on its hands. Are you sure?"
"I'm sure." If anything, that means the water-blessing could kill you itself if you tried to run before the gods got around to it. "Do I have to sign any papers?"
"Right, papers, hold on." The man takes a laminated page from the drawer. "We've got a pen that writes past the lamination. Full name, age, gender, and criminal record, please."
...This is a little simpler than you think it should be.
You sign everything.
[ ]Name, age, gender, and criminal record.
The man doesn't even glance at the papers as he hands over a handwritten receipt. "Okay, then, have fun with your new blessings. And, uh, let's hope you survive out in that flood today." As if on cue, a crack of lightning sounds from above. The water's up to your stomach. He winces. "Or, if you want, you could stay in here until the rain lets up a little? That should be fine."
[ ]Stay until the rain slows.
[ ]Leave anyway.
