Oct 21, 2017 22:43:45 GMT -7
Post by Ari Halcyon on Oct 21, 2017 22:43:45 GMT -7
Ari was tracking dirt into the city. A little by means of their hiking boots (chosen for friction and proximity from security cams) and hoodie somewhere between a day to week overdue for a wash depending on how much one minded dried mud, but most of the deed was done with the thing they were dragging behind them. That was, a length of canvas running just over twenty-five feet the long ways and about ten on the short, rolled up, tied to keep its shape, and slung over their shoulder. They weren’t quite tall enough to keep the tail end of it off the ground, they were finding, and said tail end was surprisingly attached to some accumulated small clumps of dirt and pebbles it’d picked up and hadn’t lost in the transition from one side of the jungle wall to the other. Surprising, considering the formula that had followed.
Start hauling the thing up a tree. Get a few branches higher than last time. Manage to drop the canvas because of bad grip, loss of balance, or an upset and very territorial bird. Descend the tree, meanwhile cursing self for not coming up with a better plan - or a plan at all - for this. Assure self everything will go smoothly and great after this one step while fishing the canvas out of whatever bush it landed in this time.
But they’d done it. They’d gotten all the way up to the high branches of one of the wall-crossing trees that was an inspiration for all surveyors and gave the rolled canvas a triumphant chuck. They’d even caught themselves after realizing a bit too late that celebrating on a fairly thin branch was a poor idea.
Step “get it and them into the city” had been a resounding success. Maybe a little more time consuming than they’d planned for, but they had plenty to spare. It was still fairly early morning, when most people were pressing the snooze buttons and early rising joggers ruled the streets. Now all that was left was to get the payload somewhere tall and prominent before the morning rush got into swing and too many people noticed too early.
Which posed a bit of a problem, given they were fairly noticeable. Not their appearance; their chest-length brown hair pulled up into a low ponytail was pretty well hidden beneath their hood, along with a longer, angular face and small dark blue eyes that were a little far-set. Minus the general wear and tear, their apparel of a hoodie and jeans were fairly unassuming. The blame for “making things more difficult” could again be pinned on the rolled canvas. It was heavy, awkward, and made a small scraping sound as it dragged along the ground behind them towards one of the larger tram stations. They estimated their timing sweet spot had about thirty minutes left in it, but if they hurried, they were sure they could pull it off.
Start hauling the thing up a tree. Get a few branches higher than last time. Manage to drop the canvas because of bad grip, loss of balance, or an upset and very territorial bird. Descend the tree, meanwhile cursing self for not coming up with a better plan - or a plan at all - for this. Assure self everything will go smoothly and great after this one step while fishing the canvas out of whatever bush it landed in this time.
But they’d done it. They’d gotten all the way up to the high branches of one of the wall-crossing trees that was an inspiration for all surveyors and gave the rolled canvas a triumphant chuck. They’d even caught themselves after realizing a bit too late that celebrating on a fairly thin branch was a poor idea.
Step “get it and them into the city” had been a resounding success. Maybe a little more time consuming than they’d planned for, but they had plenty to spare. It was still fairly early morning, when most people were pressing the snooze buttons and early rising joggers ruled the streets. Now all that was left was to get the payload somewhere tall and prominent before the morning rush got into swing and too many people noticed too early.
Which posed a bit of a problem, given they were fairly noticeable. Not their appearance; their chest-length brown hair pulled up into a low ponytail was pretty well hidden beneath their hood, along with a longer, angular face and small dark blue eyes that were a little far-set. Minus the general wear and tear, their apparel of a hoodie and jeans were fairly unassuming. The blame for “making things more difficult” could again be pinned on the rolled canvas. It was heavy, awkward, and made a small scraping sound as it dragged along the ground behind them towards one of the larger tram stations. They estimated their timing sweet spot had about thirty minutes left in it, but if they hurried, they were sure they could pull it off.