(no subject)
It's taken most of a month, but the rains have finally stopped.
Duck doesn't know what to do with himself. Weeks of being stuck indoors, weeks of fixing every last thing he could inside the hut, then breaking it and fixing it again, and now that the entire island is fair game again, he hardly knows where to start.
God only knows what the damage is. Duck's not a stupid man, not when it comes to building, and the huts he's had a hand in are sturdy and more than equipped to deal with the elements. That doesn't mean something couldn't have gone wrong somewhere, and it doesn't seem to matter how many times he'd been out in the rain to check the barn, the shed, the stage, the playground, the boardwalk, or the huts around him, Duck can't stop feeling like something, somewhere, needs work.
He thinks it might be him.
Standing in the tool shed with the sun pouring through the open window, Duck thinks of Tom Hansen and what he'll bring to the building crew now that the rains have stopped. It isn't that Duck thinks that what he'll bring will be poor, it's that he doesn't know what it is. He can't even guess. Duck's a professional not by way of education or degree, but by the fact that he never stops working or puzzling things out. What he knows, he's taught himself, and maybe that ought to make him feel accomplished, but all it really does is make him wonder and worry over how much he doesn't know, and when exactly it will be when the other islanders wise up to that. If this Hansen kid knows his stuff like he seems to, Duck figures that'll be sooner rather than later.
Restlessly, he passes his hands over his work bench, calloused fingers finding the grooves in the wood, and sighs. It'll be all right. On the island, so long as he has Geoffrey and Sunny, Kate and Sam, it always is.
Still, it's with an uncharacteristically deep scowl that he exits the shed again, tying his work belt around his waist. "The hell do I even start?"
[ooc: the tool shed is located right next to the Compound]
Duck doesn't know what to do with himself. Weeks of being stuck indoors, weeks of fixing every last thing he could inside the hut, then breaking it and fixing it again, and now that the entire island is fair game again, he hardly knows where to start.
God only knows what the damage is. Duck's not a stupid man, not when it comes to building, and the huts he's had a hand in are sturdy and more than equipped to deal with the elements. That doesn't mean something couldn't have gone wrong somewhere, and it doesn't seem to matter how many times he'd been out in the rain to check the barn, the shed, the stage, the playground, the boardwalk, or the huts around him, Duck can't stop feeling like something, somewhere, needs work.
He thinks it might be him.
Standing in the tool shed with the sun pouring through the open window, Duck thinks of Tom Hansen and what he'll bring to the building crew now that the rains have stopped. It isn't that Duck thinks that what he'll bring will be poor, it's that he doesn't know what it is. He can't even guess. Duck's a professional not by way of education or degree, but by the fact that he never stops working or puzzling things out. What he knows, he's taught himself, and maybe that ought to make him feel accomplished, but all it really does is make him wonder and worry over how much he doesn't know, and when exactly it will be when the other islanders wise up to that. If this Hansen kid knows his stuff like he seems to, Duck figures that'll be sooner rather than later.
Restlessly, he passes his hands over his work bench, calloused fingers finding the grooves in the wood, and sighs. It'll be all right. On the island, so long as he has Geoffrey and Sunny, Kate and Sam, it always is.
Still, it's with an uncharacteristically deep scowl that he exits the shed again, tying his work belt around his waist. "The hell do I even start?"
[ooc: the tool shed is located right next to the Compound]
