The Last Red Year

TWELVE: Citrine

 "What in the Angel's name, Sorine," Kas mutters, poking their head into the laundry chute. They tried to toss their dirty robes down, only to hear them land on something soft, far too soon, and they're pretty sure it's Sorine's doing. This has happened twice before--the laundry chute is pretty wide, but Sorine has a habit of not throwing any of their clothes down to be washed until they have nothing else to wear, and having to borrow robes from the other purple mages. They're short and rather widely built, and most clothes that suit their height are too tight on them, so they always have to borrow from someone much taller. It's a little funny seeing them wandering around in a vest that goes down past their knees.

The impaction is much farther down than usual. They've normally gotten away just poking at the wad of clothes, but they aren't sure they can reach this time. It's a dangerous game they're playing. One wrong move and they become laundry.

They lean forward, certain they can reach it if they just stretch their arm a little further. They wonder how these chutes get cleaned...or if they get cleaned. They suppose since the clothes get washed once they're out anyway, there's no real use in it. But now they're going to need to bathe. They still can't quite reach the lodged wad of clothes. They genuinely don't understand how Sorine does it--the chute is wide enough to fit them twice over, and somehow their clothes get stuck. It's ridiculous. Kas wiggles a little, pushing themself further into the chute and straining to try to poke at the wad of trapped fabric.

And then they lose their balance.

They tip forwards, waving their arms about to try to stop their fall to no avail. They slam into the wad of clothes, dislodging it and rocketing down the chute at breakneck speeds. They don't even have the presence of mind to scream--the fall is so fast and so startling that they don't know what's happening until they're in the hamper at the bottom, staring up at a network of chute exits from a pile of mismatched robes. They're in too much shock to move for a good few minutes, just staring upwards and trying to process what exactly just happened to them.

They eventually pull themself out of the hamper, flopping over the side and onto a grated metal floor. They can hear water trickling below them--there must be some kind of underground river beneath the grate. Probably smart, if this is the laundry room. That means there's a constant source of water to wash things in. They push themself to their feet, taking in the sights of the room around them. It seems that all the laundry chutes in the building dump into the same hamper. In front of them, a hallway leads to what must be the actual washing-room-- empty metal wash basins glint in the light of a bluish crystal sconce, and washboards hang from the walls, looking like torture implements in the dim, haunting light.

Kas steps forward, careful to tread as quietly as they can. They aren't wearing their boots or their vest--only their tunic and trousers, and a pair of thick woolen socks they pilfered from Sorine's floor pile. At least that makes it easier for them to keep their footfalls soft and gentle. They don't want anyone to know they're here. It's just the laundry room--it's not some secret laboratory or hidden library of forbidden knowledge. But they figure it's best to be careful anyway. They've never been down here, and they don't want to have to explain to anyone that they fell down the laundry chute.

There's a schedule tacked to the wall in the actual washing room--according to it, the washing is done during the night by workers from the outside city. Kas hopes they're compensated fairly. Waking up once it's dark out, rubbing your hands raw in a dreary, creepy basement...it doesn't sound like a fun job at all. Especially because the metal tubs look ridiculously heavy. Kas peers into one of them--there are four big, round nailheads at the bottom of it. It seems to be bolted to the floor.

They check the other basins--they're all bolted similarly. It makes sense. No need for all those big basins to be moving around constantly. The noise it would make must be horrible. There's a folding sign propped up in the center of one of them--LEAKY, it reads. DO NOT USE. The paper on it looks old, all yellow and wrinkly. Maybe it's just from the damp conditions of the laundry room.