S a l e t é I I

XVIII - Pieds - Onze

Zisel had eventually returned to work, at which point the other girls had decided to leave her to it, the three of them heading to the fireside out on the main area of the ground floor. The young tailor had thanked them for their company before they'd left, and Cassia had decided to leave Polina with her for now, as she clearly appreciated the company of the small miss.

She knew that Polina appreciated Auntie Zisel's company too.

From what she'd seen, Zisel appeared to be quite far into the workload she'd been given this time around already, and she was sure that she would be able to get through what remained in the next twenty-four hours or so, breaks included. The way she worked - feeling for each point of interest on each article of clothing, slowly yet closely working on each spot in need of attention - never failed to impress Cassia, even if the girl had once explained that she'd grown accustomed to working with the clothes worn by the factory children. After repairing them many times, she was able to repeat such feats in less time in the future. Her condition naturally ensured that it still took her longer than normal, though she never complained or took pity on herself to any degree.

Back in the main room, the fire had nearly burned out, though this was rectified by both Uliana and Cassia in a quick fashion. The addition of rubbish like empty packets or wrappers made for easy, quick burning, whilst the presence of the scrap wood they'd gathered ensured further longevity once the flames had risen to a decent extent.

After all of the laughter and discussion in the backroom, the three girls were quieter as they took up seats around the old metal drum, it's once silvery colour now thoroughly scarred in rusty brown by the heat contained within. It wouldn't be long until they would need to head out to find another barrel they could use, of which there were still a fair few scattered around the alleyways between the warehouses, ripe for the taking.

It led Cassia down a peculiar trail of thought, however. In the same way she'd often taken the time to observe people - looking out of the car window during a trip into the city, or down at the old street whilst waiting for the other girls - she contemplated the origins of even simple things like those barrels. Someone had put the effort into making or producing them at some point in what was now probably a reasonably distant past. Had they every given them any thought? 

Had they ever imagined that their simple, plain old metal drum would end up as a source of light for a group of lost girls, deep in an abandoned industrial sector?

Everything was tied together like that, in a way. Everything had a story, and everything was tied to someone, somewhere.

The containers around them in the main room, for instance. Someone had put them there. Who'd moved them inside? What had they once held? Where were the people who had once worked in the warehouse now? Cassia found it all too easy to get lost in such thoughts, which wasn't detrimental in any way. She appreciated each new avenue that such thoughts brought her, as they often served to shave good amounts of time off of her day.

For a while, she was again content to mostly listen as Uliana and Klavdiya discussed various things, like what they wanted to find at the old street the next day, or what they wished they had in the warehouse to pass the time. For all their antics, Cassia imagined that they would have made quite the team in a setting like the old street, or anywhere else that required either a decent plan or a dose of courage, for that matter.

Eventually, Cassia decided that it was time to stretch her legs.

"I'll be back in a minute." She announced as she rose to her feet, taking a moment to genuinely stretch once she was up, the other girls acknowledging her with friendly glances.

"Better be!" Uliana replied, getting one such glance out of her in turn.

It was most likely a side effect of being reduced to a single bottle of Honey a day, but Cassia had continued to notice slight changes in herself ever since she'd arrived at the warehouse. Long periods of sitting or laying down would leave her feeling oddly stiff, at least for a minute or two as she got moving again, and there were times when she felt slower in general, or when her limbs felt just that little bit heavier. Such feelings weren't enough to inhibit what she could do in any particular manner, yet they were definitely noticeable. Upon recalling what Monet had said about Honey, and what it did for their bodies, such reactions made sense. Less juice, less smoothness.