[Witches' Horses] Swallow's Tail
Title: god save me from summer.
'Verse/characters: Swallow's Tail; ensemble
Prompt: 58B "self-esteem", interpreted rather more like comfort & familiarity
Word Count: 507
Notes: coastal_physics said 'Taarstad'; dormouse_in_tea said ". . . a rapidly changing pattern of lights." I figured I could expand this comment-snip. This is after Helena and Taarstad got involved.
God the Father, it was hot out here. "--Remind me again why no-one's fixed the controller?"
"There isn't one to fix," Sascha said in a sour tone from under his draped tarp. "'S just summer."
"'Just'?" he put all the offense he could muster into the word. "Just? My hair's tryin' to melt off my head!"
"Could be worse, sir," Helena put in from the meager shade of the ramp into the Swallow, which was only just barely big enough for her. She looked disinclined to share.
"Oh?"
"You could be naked."
"Don't think I haven't considered it," he told her.
"Ew, sir." She retreated farther under the ramp, muttering "I've seen more'n your white backside for this lifetime and the next. Ew."
Taarstad's voice echoed down from inside the Swallow before he came into view, sweaty but looking happy about it. "Anyone thought of rigging up a water still?"
"--Still?" Sascha raised his head.
"Not that kind of still," Taarstad said in a mildly scandalised tone, continued, "But we can always use more water, right?"
"Ye-es . ." came warily from under the ramp as Sascha dropped his head, no longer interested.
"I'll just go and fetch the pieces." Taarstad disappeared back into the Swallow.
He waited until the kid was probably out of earshot before crouching down to look at Helena. " . . He always like that?"
"Like what, sir?" she replied in that bland tone that might mean she was laughing at you or she had no idea what you were talking about.
"Nevermind." He stood back up, squinted briefly at the sky, then huffed a Mansi curse when sweat ran into his eye.
Metal pinged, somewhere inside.
Sascha raised his head again, obviously listening, then muttered a curse of his own and got up. "Kid--"
"I'm fine! Just trying to figure out how to rig up a fan--"
Sascha muttered another curse, went up the ramp, disappeared inside.
More metal pinged.
He crawled under Sascha's tarp, because the Siberian obviously wasn't going to be using it for a while. It wasn't much cooler, but it was, at least, out of direct light.
He woke up groggy and out of sorts, trying to figure out why he was under a tarp and why the tarp was making horrible snapping noises in a sturdy breeze.
. . . They'd rigged up a fan. By assembling a pinwheel of metal leaves partially in the Swallow's exhaust jets as a turbine, hooking that to a set of gears, and setting up a second fan to circulate air over the Swallow's ramp and open belly-door, and incidentally past the tarp he was still under.
Taarstad was stretched up on his toes, poking at something that was flashing in a rapid sequence of lights that was dangling from a clear sheet he and Sascha had stretched into a funnel shape.
"The basic idea of the solar still--" the kid was explaining to a listening Sascha.
Helena was sacked out under the ramp, he noted. He was going to assume that meant it was alright to go back to sleep.
'Verse/characters: Swallow's Tail; ensemble
Prompt: 58B "self-esteem", interpreted rather more like comfort & familiarity
Word Count: 507
Notes: coastal_physics said 'Taarstad'; dormouse_in_tea said ". . . a rapidly changing pattern of lights." I figured I could expand this comment-snip. This is after Helena and Taarstad got involved.
God the Father, it was hot out here. "--Remind me again why no-one's fixed the controller?"
"There isn't one to fix," Sascha said in a sour tone from under his draped tarp. "'S just summer."
"'Just'?" he put all the offense he could muster into the word. "Just? My hair's tryin' to melt off my head!"
"Could be worse, sir," Helena put in from the meager shade of the ramp into the Swallow, which was only just barely big enough for her. She looked disinclined to share.
"Oh?"
"You could be naked."
"Don't think I haven't considered it," he told her.
"Ew, sir." She retreated farther under the ramp, muttering "I've seen more'n your white backside for this lifetime and the next. Ew."
Taarstad's voice echoed down from inside the Swallow before he came into view, sweaty but looking happy about it. "Anyone thought of rigging up a water still?"
"--Still?" Sascha raised his head.
"Not that kind of still," Taarstad said in a mildly scandalised tone, continued, "But we can always use more water, right?"
"Ye-es . ." came warily from under the ramp as Sascha dropped his head, no longer interested.
"I'll just go and fetch the pieces." Taarstad disappeared back into the Swallow.
He waited until the kid was probably out of earshot before crouching down to look at Helena. " . . He always like that?"
"Like what, sir?" she replied in that bland tone that might mean she was laughing at you or she had no idea what you were talking about.
"Nevermind." He stood back up, squinted briefly at the sky, then huffed a Mansi curse when sweat ran into his eye.
Metal pinged, somewhere inside.
Sascha raised his head again, obviously listening, then muttered a curse of his own and got up. "Kid--"
"I'm fine! Just trying to figure out how to rig up a fan--"
Sascha muttered another curse, went up the ramp, disappeared inside.
More metal pinged.
He crawled under Sascha's tarp, because the Siberian obviously wasn't going to be using it for a while. It wasn't much cooler, but it was, at least, out of direct light.
He woke up groggy and out of sorts, trying to figure out why he was under a tarp and why the tarp was making horrible snapping noises in a sturdy breeze.
. . . They'd rigged up a fan. By assembling a pinwheel of metal leaves partially in the Swallow's exhaust jets as a turbine, hooking that to a set of gears, and setting up a second fan to circulate air over the Swallow's ramp and open belly-door, and incidentally past the tarp he was still under.
Taarstad was stretched up on his toes, poking at something that was flashing in a rapid sequence of lights that was dangling from a clear sheet he and Sascha had stretched into a funnel shape.
"The basic idea of the solar still--" the kid was explaining to a listening Sascha.
Helena was sacked out under the ramp, he noted. He was going to assume that meant it was alright to go back to sleep.