[PQ] save what has been lost

With relief clearly evident in the set of my shoulders, I finish the task laid before me. It was tedious, time-consuming work, and my hands ached from it, and my mind was foggy. Perhaps it was fatigue, perhaps it was something in the herbs I was handling, but I was finally done.

I stretched and rolled my shoulders, accepting the rag that Kia handed to me with an easy smile, getting to work to finish up here. I had no idea if this would put me in better favour with Korbin, but the boy was so determinedly apathetic towards me, I doubted it changed anything. Still, at least he couldn't honestly say that I was completely useless - despite many distractions (also known as Kia), I had managed to contribute to the infirmary today.

Before I know it, time has passed again and we have completed the final tidy up of the place. I turn towards Kia, automatically seeking her out, managing to catch her hand in mine before she slips it through my elbow, and divert it upwards and around - a playful twirling dance step. Once complete, I let her arm slide through mine, smiling happily at her idea, more pleased than I could express that she would think to invite me on an outing.

[say]"I'd love to."[/say] With my free hand, I try to make eye contact with Korbin, and wave a quick farewell, as we make our exit back into the palace grounds and towards the citadel, seeking something to sate my suddenly ravenous appetite.

The infirmary was clean again. A crisis averted, a difficult task completed. Korbin was relieved, though it didn't show. His face was impassive, the posture straight and business like.

Was he supposed to care that the girl he had shared a bed with for a night now left arm in arm with a guy he had been mercilessly cruel to? Probably. But as he watched them go, watched Chuy turn and wave, saw Kiada's casual smile, all he felt was indifference. Relief, even. Once the door closed behind him Korbin let out a long sigh and relaxed for the first time since he arrived in the morning.

Only slowly did he turn back to the tasks he had yet to finish. The seeds would need to be sown, the harvested plants laid out to dry, the pots stored away. But before he could tend to that, there was a knock on the door; a cooks aide with a sliced up finger. Korbin took a deep breath, straightened back up and slipped on the smiling mask he usually wore. It was familiar, comfortable; something to hide behind.

There really was no rest for the wicked.

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- Fin