Irma had never seen such a beautiful sunset before. Bright pink and purple streaks stained the sky like colored glass in the cathedrals back home; and yet it was so...empty here. Even as a great deal of men milled around her, the huge mass of tents felt like a tiny speck in a vast ocean and her a lone little fish in the middle. That was fine though; she was a brightly colored and loud fish, and she was happiest that way. Clad in a bright red gown with silver trimmings and her auburn curls falling freely down her back, the eyes and desires of every man upon her, she was happy.
"Oh my god! Will she ever shut up?" her companion moaned. Irma felt a smirk tug at her lips as she whirled around to face her friend. Her and Miranda Lynins had hit it up instantly. Even when all the other girls seemed to be in competition for the nicest, cleanest, and handsomest john, her and Miranda were giggling in the background. To say the other girl was snarky was a understatement, but that was just how Irma liked her.
"Why no darling!" she chanted, mocking their madams drawl, which she could hear drifting out of the tent even now. Miranda groaned, and held her freckled head with her delicate hands. She was waif of a woman, short and thin but with a pretty face and enchanting green-blue eyes. She was everything Irma wasn't. Irma was full-bodied and boisterous, loud and proud; even now her drawing and exposed bosom captured the eye of many a man as they wandered over to the food tables.
Miranda stretched out her pale legs from under her silver dress idly, and leaned back on a well worn divan.
"We have a new foreman," she stated, sounding bored. Irma waggled her eyebrows, remembering the handsome young man who had strut through town earlier.
"Oh yes," she purred, feinting a sudden rush of heat and leaning dramatically against the pole of their tent. "I'm already picturing our marriage, I want tulips, not roses, make a note of that!"
Miranda ticked an imaginary list before crumpling it up and throwing it in the mud. "I should have married someone like that." she said, her eyes narrowed.
Irma laughed loudly. "Instead you decided to see the grand country of Meridian by whoring across it!"
Miranda brushed her off, looking slightly annoyed. "I told you, it's not such a...bad thing where I come from. It's a respected position!"
"Such a proper lady!" Irma teased while waving at a young men whose virginity she had taken the night before. The young lad flushed red while his companions clapped him on the back.
"It's like seeing a healer or something! Totally normal, no stigma involved."
"It must not be since you know fancy words like stigma."
Miranda laughed. Irma always wondered why people hated whores so much, the boys seemed to like her well enough.
"You have too many stigmas in this land." she commented. Irma's eyes darted over to the south side of the camp, where the galhots had set up their tents far away from any humans. She had never minded the galhots, but the rest of her country men certainly seemed too. In centuries past it had been the shifters, but since the loss of magic and their subsequent loss of their powers of transformation, shapeshifters had been merely seen as a more beautiful aspect of humanity. In fact most people had even stopped calling them shifters, since they couldn't shift anymore; the proper term was now Sevitians. Now the bone-headed and fancy colored-skinned galhots faced the brunt of humanities discriminatory tendencies.
A green skinned man had caught her attention over the past few days. Despite the constant prodding and ugly words hurled at him, he simply kept his head held high and ignored him. Unlike the other men who were constantly picking fights with the humans that had to be broken up by Raythor, their lawman. And she certainly hadn't missed the looks he would send her way when he thought she wasn't looking.
"You ever sleep with a galhot in Sevit?" she asked Miranda casually.
"No, galhots aren't too fond of home. We are loose people after all." she giggled, flashing her dress up past her thighs.
Sevit was notorious for its dreadful stance on morals. People could walk around barely clothed by Meridianite standards, women could court other women, and men other men, and there was no formal religion. Humans and galhot alike looked down on the shifters that lived in Sevit for their morals, though those that converted to the Light were deemed as equals.
"Hey ladies," a gruff voice pushed into their conversation.
"Urg!" Miranda stood up, and pushed a finger into the man's broad chest. "I told you to get out of here Frost! We don't serve your sort here anymore, not after you tore Josie up!"
The mixed breed man crossed his arms, smirking as he towered over Miranda. Though the girl showed no fear, her shifter blood too hot for her own good.
"Come on now freckles, my golds as good as any."
"Master Raythor don't think so! Now get out of here or I'll go get him and he'll put your fat ass into place!" Frost's face suddenly turned ugly, and Irma felt a speck of fear in her stomach.
"Now you listen here you little slut-"
Miranda had had enough, and stamped her heeled shoe into Frost's foot. The large man recoiled and growled, and moved to grasp Miranda's pale neck but she leapt back and swatted at his hands. Though Sevitians lacked the fierce strength they once had centuries ago, Miranda could still hit harder than most men. Snarling at the women, Frost held his hand and wandered off to join his friends. Miranda and Irma shared a glance before they burst into laughter together.
Frost was one of many gents in this place she could not stand. He ran the logging crew that was always a mile ahead of the actual rail laying; and he was meaner than a hornets nest. He had a bad habit of leaving marks on the girls, and hurting them so bad they couldn't work. Their madame, Sondra didn't seem to care however, as long as she got her cut of the money. Raythor, the towns lawman had a soft spot for Miranda though, and when she had complained to him once, Frost had been promptly banned from their tent brothel. That hadn't stopped him from trying whenever Raythor wasn't looking though; and thanks to their uncaring boss a few girls still came out banged up from him.
She and Miranda had made it their mission to send Frost on their way whenever he came poking around. No man laid a hand on Miranda that she didn't want to, and Irma had made her own connections to keep her safe. She could see one now in fact. Matthew Olsen was handsome man with dark hair and kind blue eyes. Unfortunately he had little interest in the working ladies, save photographing them; with their clothes on…
Yes, Mister Olsen was an ever so noble photographer for the Meridian Times and was charged with chronicling the grand adventure of the Trans-Metamorian Railroad. He could be found whenever something exciting was happening, camera and notepad in hand during the working hours. At night though, the dapper gent could be found strumming his guitar by the fire to the amusement of all the young whores and even some of the higher ups wives. Yet, Mister Olsen "held them all in great respect" and kept his hands off; to Irma's great dismay.
"Miss Lair. Lady Lynins." he tipped his pristine white hat at them, while Irma gave him a terrible facsimile of a courtesy.
"What's your pleasure tonight, Mister Olsen?" Irma asked him in a low, breathy tone. Miranda huffed at her lechery from her ratty divan.
Ever the proper gentlemen, Matthew blushed at the offer and offered a polite decline.
"Hey!" Irma bemoaned. "Are we lovely ladies not good enough for you?"
Matt looked as abashed as a man could, as he fumbled for a reply. Miranda came to the poor man's recuse.
"Don't tease him, Irma. He's a nice boy." she told her stiffly; even as amusement flashed in her eyes. Mister Olsen looked as if he was suddenly regretting his visit.
"I," he cleared his throat loudly and continued, "actually came to ask you a question, Miss Irma."
Irma batted her eyelashes flirty, and leaned in closely, "A question? Oh, I do hope it involves you getting down on one knee? Someone in this town needs to make an honest woman of me."
Miranda finally lost it, rich peals of laughter that seemed so out of place in such a dank town, filled the night air as the poor woman nearly fell off her seat.
"Ah. No, nothing of that sort. Sorry."
Matthew actually had the humor to laugh with the girls at this one, though the flush hadn't left his cheeks. Just as the young man was about to continue, a shrill, harsh voice lashed out of the tent, followed by another young woman.
"Irma, Miranda! Are you harassing our dear reporter here? Don't you know he don't want no scum like you?"
Madame Sondra was beautiful woman with a horrible, thick, accent and attitude that would make larveks run for cover. She was also deeply interested in the young reporter, much to his disdain.
"No madam," he answered for them, as Miranda's face slid into a glare at her bosses back, and Irma stuck out her tongue. "I'll be on my way, I know it's business hours."
Tipping his hat again, Matthew Olsen strolled back to his usual seat by the fire, while Sondra pointed her finger at the women to get back to work. The two, annoyed but obedient, slid back into the tent. After all, Sondra was here by 'authority of Mister Escanor himself,' and pissing her off meant your time in Haven was done. Laura had already been kicked out for smarting off to her, and had been forced to walk to the nearest town naked for it. Rumor said she hadn't made it that far before the Kahedrin got her. Josie had come to her crying after Frost had tore her up, and demanded she do something. Sondra had allowed Frost to buy her contract, and after a few nights of Frost's bed the girl had mysteriously gone missing. Needless to say, all the girls were very much under her thumb after that.
Trying to ignore that fact Miranda turned to Irma and asked,
"What do you think he was going to ask you?"
"To marry him, obviously!"
Miranda could only groan in response.
It had taken three days to make it to the Miagani terminal, and yet another to make it to Haven. Cornelia had found the port city of Longora not at the romantic ocean-side town she was expecting, instead it was dirty and full of such rough looking people she and Elyon had refused to leave the cabin when Phobos had to attend to some business. He had returned with a weather-worn looking man with silver hair and blue tattoos on his face. Elyon had screamed in terror at the man, while Cornelia found herself reaching for Phobos' derringer.
Drake, who apparently had no last name, was to be their bodyguard during the families time in Haven. She quickly found out he was the sort of man who found himself irresistible to women, and had been sending sauve grins to both women on the trip to Haven. Elyon had reciprocated, Cornelia hadn't. She looked to her husband to put a stop to the outrage, but his nose was buried in papers and wasn't paying attention, and when he was, he didn't seem to care. It just wasn't fair, she mourned herself. She was the perfect wife. Tall, fair-haired, well-figured; and her husband could barely spare her a second glance.
She had tried, tried everything to get him to desire her even a little. Even the most expensive lingerie would not turn his eye, nor her naked body, or voluptuous ballgowns and pearls; in fact the only thing he ever seemed to enjoy was stroking her golden hair with a far-away look in his eyes. He must have loved some other girl deeply before her with the same hair, she told herself; yet, another part of her told herself it simply reminded him of real gold.
Still, as...repulsive as she found her new warden, at least he found her as attractive as she knew she was. Once they arrived in Haven, she found he was not alone.
They had arrived in evening right as the workers were returning. They didn't dare try to speak to her with their boss present, but she could feel the eyes upon her. She made her way with Phobos and Elyon to the rail office, to meet with his engineers and new foreman that had been hired before they arrived. If she ran this railroad they would not have hired such an important position without consulting her first.
Haven was nothing more than sticks and mud. The stuff was everywhere, she had been forced to hold her skirts up to nearly her knees as she walked to avoid it. The office was little more than a wooden shack with a massive desk in the middle, and chalkboards on the walls. Martin Tubbs, chief engineer stood waiting at the door for them. He was a lanky, ugly man, Cornelia had thought since she had first met in the capital a year ago, and he hadn't changed. His voice grated on her ears, despite the fact he was a well mannered man.
"Mister and Misses Escanor, Miss Elyon. Welcome to Haven, please, ah excuse the mess. Oh! This is our new foreman, Captain Caleb Hansen-"
"Former Captain." the young man interrupted. He extended a filthy, dirt covered hand to her husband, who eyed it with thinly veiled disgust and gave him a curt nod instead. Caleb looked like he could be good-looking under all the layers of dirt and sweat caked on him. His eyes caught her before any of that though. She had always loved green eyes, and his were a far deeper color than her husbands, like the pine forest they had come through to get here. But they held a deep bitterness in them, she could see that. She wondered if her eyes looked like that to other people.
"Tell me, Mister Hansen how are you finding life on the rail?" Phobos said even as he turned away from the man to pick up some of Martin's latest designs. Caleb eyed her husband critically, seemingly unimpressed by his new boss.
"Very well, thank you." he replied harshly. His eyes landed on her then; his gazed raked over her as if she were nothing more than a juicy bit of meat to be gobbled up. She felt the hairs on her back raise up, but she wasn't sure it was from fear.
"And construction has been progressing as planned?" Phobos asked. Martin suddenly looked worried, his thumbs fidgeting with his buttons as he moved to speak. Caleb broke in before he could speak though.
"It will be." he promised. Phobos narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at the other man, and then his face slid into a smirk.
"Good, I'm glad Martin hired the right man for the job. Tell me, have you had any problems with the Kahedrin?"
Caleb shook his head and said, "No. Miss Sondra sent one of her wayward whores out the other day and it seems they picked her off, but our construction efforts have met little resistance so far."
"Yes, well, that will change once we start trying to bridge over the gorge. The land past that, they still consider theirs. We destroy anyone of those savages who attempts to sabotage my railroad if we have any hopes of succeeding." Phobos said.
Cornelia had heard of the Kahedrin. They were marauders, nomadic brigands who had no concept of ownership save that the strongest takes what they want. Notorious thieves, rapers and savages; they were without a doubt the greatest threat to the railroad, and herself.
"Um, yes, we received a rather...unexpected visitor by trains the other day, sir." Martin started. Phobos quickly looked up, his face almost...panicky. Was he expecting someone he didn't want here? A creditor, perhaps? He owed enough people money...
"Who?" he asked sharply. Martin seemed taken aback by the harshness of his voice and quickly answered.
"A reporter from the Meridian Times, I gave him temporary quarters here, and I told him you must make the final approval on such a thing."
Phobos relaxed, even chuckling at himself for his panic. "That's fine. Yes, yes, good, free press!"
Cornelia wondered what sort of trouble he had gotten himself into now. He had borrowed money from a great many people over the years, but once his latest scheme worked out he always paid them back in full. Surely whatever money he obtained for this project would not need to be repaid already.
Elyon watched the exchanges happily, and she seemed quite taken with Mister Hansen already. Her soft blue eyes watching his every move, Caleb's gaze had avoided the younger girl so far, however. Cornelia caught him staring at her every so often, and when she locked eyes with him, he matched her gaze, refusing to quickly look away. The audacity, she thought to herself.
"Tomorrow, I wish to see the front line," Phobos told Caleb. The other nodded his head, and Elyon perked up too.
"Can we see the lake tomorrow as well?" she asked. Phobos looked bothered by her childish antics for just a moment before the mask fell back into place.
"Of course, dear sister, Mister Hansen would you be so kind as to take my sister and wife to the nearby lake tomorrow afternoon? I imagine you can spare one day of work as a personal favor to me?" he asked. Cornelia immediately bristled, though she wasn't sure why. She wouldn't want her husband to simply abandon her to the wilds, or even worse, go with them; but she wasn't sure she wanted this Caleb to join them either.
Still, she didn't dare to disagree with her husband in front of the other men. He had never laid a hand to her, never had enough interest too, but to disrespect her husband would be to insult herself and her breeding as well. A proper lady would never do such a thing.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please excuse us. I imagine my sister and wife are quite tired after such a long journey, and it is almost supper time. I shall see you in the morrow."
Cornelia didn't spare the men in the room a final glance as she turned on her heel and left. She could feel the eyes burning into her as she strolled out behind her husband.
Their dinner was roasted fowl and fingerlings potatoes, a favorite of hers, and yet she found no appetite within her. She already hated it here, it was dirty and empty, full of men who would happily wed and bed her in an instant, some who were even decent folk, and yet here she was; all alone besides Elyon of course; but how long would that last? Surely some good, honest, man would marry her soon enough, and her claim on Escanor Railroad would be gone, and she would never see her sister again. Then she would really be all alone…
When Phobos joined her in bed later, she found herself reaching out to him for the first time in her life. This place had done it to her, it must have.
"What was she like?" she asked, staring into the flickering candlelight.
Phobos sounded confused, his voice deep with exhaustion. "Who?"
"The woman before me." she told him flatly, not even sure why she was interested. Phobos snorted, and seemed contemplative for a time. Despite the topic, his face displayed no vulnerables.
"She...was nothing like you. Wild, intense, cunning."
Cornelia was certainly none of those things. She had escaped her manor once to pick wildflowers as a child, and been stung by a nest of ground bees, and she had hated the outdoors ever since. Oh, she liked to gaze out the windows of their estate often, but that was as wild as she got.
"You must have loved her greatly." she said, still facing away from him. She couldn't bare to look at his face, to see what wistfulness she must have drawn up. Phobos merely sighed and told her.
"Not enough."
She didn't understand. "Why didn't you marry her?"
Phobos was silent for a long time; Cornelia was afraid he was angry at her when he finally said,
"I could not have ran the railroad and married them, I made my choice and now I live with it. As do you."
Her husband blew out the candle across from her, turned over and was silent the rest of the night. Cornelia stayed awake, visions of herself in Caleb's arms even though she tried to dispel them. It was strange, when the man reached out to her, she never flinched, no matter how dirty his hands were. They fit together perfectly. It wasn't the first time she imagined herself in the arms of another man, but it was the first time those arms belonged to a lowborn. Truly, she must be getting desperate.
Caleb's first day as foreman could not have gone worse. A flock of chickens had invaded his tent before dawn and he awoke to crowing and clucking at the edge of his bed roll. Kicking a particularly fine-feathered cock with an indignant squawk; he groaned and sat up, the stiff muscles in his back protesting.
He fumbled for his canteen, only to find the water had gone bad. He sat out the metallic tasting water, and settled for washing his face with it. The cool water did little to wash the sleep from him, or his melancholy.
He had not been planning on ascending to such a high position within the railroad. Such jobs required dedication, and most importantly time. Time he had been planning on spending on more important matters. He nestled his leather hat over his wet curls, the hide still carried the distinct smell of pine needles, even as all the foul smells of Haven threatened to overtake the pleasant scent. Pine needles meant home, even here. Caleb didn't shrug those thoughts off, merely stored them in the back of his head to be undercovered later, when he could process them fully. That day would be a bloody, but oh, so satisfying one.
Until that day, however, it appeared he had a railroad to run and build. Caleb wasn't sure how he felt about that just yet. He had blown up a bridge connecting Carhaiz to the mainland during the war, with half a barrel of gunpowder, might he add. He and his father had built stables for their horses many years ago, but he knew little to nothing about railroads, or even trains. In fact, as he thought about it, he didn't even know how a train ran. Still, he was willing to bet that none of laborers knew anymore than him; and he wasn't even a betting man.
When the dawn finally came, Caleb exited his tent with it the chickens following after his footsteps. They were scrawny things, and Caleb felt a prick of sympathy for them as they shadowed him. They would most likely end up as some part of a stew by the end of the night. He really hated stew. He wasn't the only early riser in the town, in fact, most the workers were already milling about, hitting the bottle or strong coffee, and frying near racid slabs of bacon and eggs found under piles of straw.
When he arrived in the office, Martin had already gotten breakfast prepared for him from the 'office chef', a mediocre cook (who at least used fresh ingredients) that made food every meal for the engineers and surveyors. The office was lit with a billowing fire, that radiated warmth and cast off the chill of the morning. The smell of good food, and the sound of sizzling wafted in the back door, and a small spread of eggs, ham, sausage, and thick sweet breads was laid out against the back wall on a large table.
Caleb thankfully gobbled up a large portion of duck eggs and thick slices of spiced ham. Martin nibbled at some bread even while he mapped out plans on graph paper, littering it with crumbs as he went. He was joined by Eric Lyndon, his assistant. Eric wasn't an engineer by trade, instead he had been a man of the stars and skies; but it seemed he was just as happy mapping out paths on land as he was in the sky. Caleb found the road suspiciously curvy in the current flat lands, but the men had already mapped well past that, and currently were debating the best way to climb the mountains to the south and the Gray Woods even still beyond that. His own ancestral house was on the other side of the mountain himself, but both he and the train were still a long way from that. Martin had informed him however planning were they struck the mountains was critical, a mistake here and they miss the prime area by hundreds of miles. Caleb was more worried about the crossing the gorge and the land past it first. Kahedrin lived past the Hoogong gorge, and their little shanty town would be easy and good-looking pickings. And that was to say nothing of building the bridge itself, which was sure to be an undertaking.
The men were busy, barely looking up from their work, so he ate in silence. Something he didn't mind. He had nothing to contribute to their work at the moment. Thanking Martin for the food, he ambled out the front door where a small group of men had already gathered, the rails walking bosses. There was four of them in total, and none seemed to happy to see him, unsurprisingly. He wouldn't have been too glad to see what they must see as 'upstart' here to command them. He removed his hat and planted against his chest, eyeing up the other men thoughtfully.
"I'm sure you've heard. I'm your foreman, Caleb Hansen. Any problems or concerns, I'm here to fix them. I'll be in charge of keeping order, but I don't expect my arrival will change your day-to-day much."
The men then introduced themselves and explained their current position. One was huge, mixed breed man with cropped white-blonde hair and an ugly face twisted into what appeared to be a permanent frown. He identified himself as the timber cut boss, Frost. Caleb already didn't like him, he was constantly puffing up his chest in an attempt to make himself look more intimidating; and flexing the muscles in his arms. There was no lumber to cut in this part of the venture so, he and his men had to travel far to find trees to cut for the cross beams. They had a nice collection so far, supplemented by what Mr. Escanor had bought from across the sea, so they had been lingering the rail helping as they saw fit.
The man in charge of laying the rails themselves was somewhat small man, who had more black hair than Caleb had thought a man could have. He had a wild, unruly mane, a long beard, and even puffy chest hair that poked out of his shirt. He spoke with a deep, strange accent Caleb was unable to place. He was mouthy, and eyed Caleb prudently with sharp yellow eyes. His name, Napoleon, was equally as strange as his looks. Still by all reports he handled his job well.
The iron layers, and those that drove the spikes were lead by Nigel Ashcroft, the youngest of the bosses, just slightly younger than himself. He was quiet man with soft eyes and voice, and scraggly dark red hair. The men respected him for lead-by-example philosophy rather than any intimidation or charisma. The former walking boss and his flunkies had been driven out of town after they bullied the workers and took cuts of their pay and the remaining men named Nigel as his replacement, and without a foreman or Mister Escanor yet in town to disagree, the decision had stuck.
Finally the cut crew boss was a older galhot, Aketon. The galhots had been stuck with the worst jobs in the business, breaking stones and leveling the path of the rail. It was back-breaking work that only the galhots did; and no other walking boss would allow galhots on his team. The war was still fresh, even this far North it seemed. Aketon was an unassuming man, who spoke little but nodded respectfully to all of Caleb's statements. Frost would shoot him nasty glares whenever he got the chance and the rest of the men ignored him.
After introduction were done, Caleb followed Napoleon and Nigel to forefront of the road where the daily workers had already started their job. Napoleon pulled out his Werian pistol and fired into the air to attract their attention. The shot was louder than most pistols due to the shorter barrel and it left Caleb's ears ringing. The men looked up at him, bored. Napoleon must have gotten their attention this way often. What a waste of bullets, Caleb thought.
"Listen up boys! This here is our new boss man, Mister Hansen. You better listen to him like he's the Light come down to show you her most Holy Titties, ya hear?"
Chuckles and nods emanated up from the men, along with a few greetings; and Caleb tipped his hat to them. It was the most earnest greeting he knew, after all.
"What's the progress been so far?" he asked Nigel. The young man looked towards the horizon to endless flat land. Caleb looked as well, it wasn't the most beautiful land he had ever seen, that was for certain. The construction had tore up the plains, leaving deep, muddy, scars in the otherwise grassy fields.
"Not bad, maybe two miles a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less."
Napoleon growled, a deep rumbling sound that convinced Caleb right then that he wasn't truly a human. "It needs to be faster."
'Why?" asked Caleb. It seemed a decent enough pace. Napoleon laughed, his voice rough, while Nigel looked annoyed.
"Mister E don't get his extra government funding if we don't reach the gorge by Havestmere 1. That ain't no problem now, o course, but when the big man gets here, he ain't gonna be happy with no two miles a day. You best take note of that, you'll be the one pissed on about it."
There was always a catch wasn't there? Nothing was ever simple.
"Of course. It's not like we should take our time on such a grand venture." he joked. Seriously, he asked. "What will it take to get us there by there, then?"
Napoleon shrugged. "I ain't no numbers cruncher, ask them stiffs in the office tonight. But I know it ain't no two miles."
"Why haven't I heard of this before?" he asked.
Nigel answered this time, "It's not the engineer's concern when the trains gets there, it's ours. We've only been at this for two months, the men are still getting in the swing of things."
Napoleon snorted, "Two months is more than enough time to learn, they ain't got no fire. You yell at em, and they just trod along. Mr. E ain't gonna like that, and I don't either."
Caleb could care less if the owner got his extra funding or if Napoleon liked his men, but was being paid to care. Besides leaders didn't simply disregard their workers complaints, even if he didn't agree with them.
"Alright, think of some suggestions both of you, short of hiring a new crew because that isn't going to happen."
Before either of the two men could speak, Frost pushed in behind them and added his own (unwanted) voice.
"It's the galhots fault. They don't work fast enough, they are holding the rest of the crews back."
Caleb gazed over to the cut crew, where many huge galhot men were toiling away, breaking massive rocks they undercovered as they tore open the plains. Caleb had as much love for galhots as any northerner, but even he could see they were working as fast, or faster than the other men. They had erected a bank and had created a huge pile of smaller boulders to be crushed into gravel later.
"Food that wasn't half rotten might help." Nigel murmured, "half my men have got the stomach flu already."
Napoleon nodded in agreement. "Yeah, its piss poor food." Caleb's eye twitched, and visions of tiny chickens danced in his mind's eye.
"Alright, I'll make sure fresh food is in on every weekly train drop, raising the animals here isn't good, they all look like shit. Maybe new cooks too. Think about it today and bring me some more ideas tomorrow."
The two men looked well-pleased, but it was short lived as Frost snarled and pushed his face into Caleb's. He held himself back from pushing the other man back, or slamming a fist into that jutting jaw. Something about this man irked him instantly.
"And what about the galhots?" he spat.
"Ain't you half a greenie yourself, boy?" asked Napoleon asked, and Frost turned a deep red, a muscle in his neck twisting violently.
"Listen here you slimy, backwater, cunt. I'm no galhot. I'm a half human and fairy folk, see me ears?!" he roared. Napoleon looked amused by the larger man, and merely continued prodding. Caleb doubted the other man would do anything physical with him there, and chuckled with Nigel. He had dealt with many a man like Frost in the army, men too puffed up on their own ego and muscles and no skill to back it up.
"You awful big to be a fairy folk; was your momma the whole fairy town?"
"That doesn't even make sense!"
Caleb and Nigel were in stitches regardless, even if Napoleon's jokes were lacking, the look on the Frost's face made up for it. The big man stormed off down into the cut, hoping to find some slacker to pound on instead off the other bosses.
"What a crashing bore." Nigel said. Napoleon finally laughed himself.
"A what?" he howled. "Forgive Nigel here, I'm sure he's the king of some damn lost kingdom the way this one talks. Real proper, ya?"
"Even a gutter rat should learn to mingle with the fancy mice." Nigel said, shrugging. There was no resentment in his tone. Napoleon pushed the younger man, in a way that could only be interpreted as friendliness.
Caleb was trying to put his 'boss' face back into place, and return to his assessments, when a loud crack split through the air like thunder, a shout, and roar of hundreds of rocks crashing against each other. Caleb jerked his head towards the sound of the noise, only to witness several men jumping out of the way of a rock slide from the galhots stone bank. There was silence for a moment, as everyone turned to look at the commotion. Frost was dusting himself off at the foot of the pile, nearly crushed himself; but that wasn't what made Caleb's stomach sink and twist.
There, under the pile of stones was a bloody, green, hand.
POVs are out of order, as you can tell. Caleb's first day happens a few days before Cornelia arrives at Haven, and Irma's the day Caleb arrived. Thanks for reading, and a special thanks to Yellow, and Dark Cat for the reviews! They are always appreciated. RoR out.