He was nervous for a time as words were exchanged, sharply spoken and barbed, he worried for a moment that it might go further. But explanations were offered, and seemingly accepted, and he breathed easy again, his sweeping motions uninterrupted.
He didn't approve of the actions either, but he was just so tired, from the grief, from the lack of sleep that grief often brings, that he couldn't muster the effort required to get angry at the perpetrators. He just wanted to get going, to keep busy and to move forward, however painful that process might be.
It was hard. Wessex's form behind the bar played tricks on him, every now and then he'd catch her from the corner of his eye and think automatically that it was Weaver, because it should be Weaver. He shook his head slightly, as if banishing the thought, the trick his mind was trying to play on him.
The other woman was speaking, to him this time. He had caught her name inasmuch as one does when others are talking in an otherwise relatively quiet space. He nodded. "There are other ways," he agreed, grabbing another broom and offering the handle for her to take. "I prefer the way that helps the world move on."
He spoke with a soft tone, not trying to accuse her of anything, merely offering another option rather than to hold onto anger or point blame at those who probably did deserve it - but for Chuy, the kinder route will always out. "I'm Chulane, by the way. Help out in the kitchens here, mostly."
He didn't approve of the actions either, but he was just so tired, from the grief, from the lack of sleep that grief often brings, that he couldn't muster the effort required to get angry at the perpetrators. He just wanted to get going, to keep busy and to move forward, however painful that process might be.
It was hard. Wessex's form behind the bar played tricks on him, every now and then he'd catch her from the corner of his eye and think automatically that it was Weaver, because it should be Weaver. He shook his head slightly, as if banishing the thought, the trick his mind was trying to play on him.
The other woman was speaking, to him this time. He had caught her name inasmuch as one does when others are talking in an otherwise relatively quiet space. He nodded. "There are other ways," he agreed, grabbing another broom and offering the handle for her to take. "I prefer the way that helps the world move on."
He spoke with a soft tone, not trying to accuse her of anything, merely offering another option rather than to hold onto anger or point blame at those who probably did deserve it - but for Chuy, the kinder route will always out. "I'm Chulane, by the way. Help out in the kitchens here, mostly."
chulane
