“Oh, but if it ain’t my friend the courier? Wotcha got for me today, Mushi?” The man’s name was in its full extension Taragobi Mushinamo, but after having been served yet another sealed writ with what he knew was a new mission before he even opened it, Sazawari had grown accustomed to the man, and as such chose to address him in a way he found most comfortable. Not to mention that in the quiet of his mind, he couldn’t help but to think that the man had an awful long and complicated name. It made everything easier to just call him Mushi and leave the grief of it to the counterpart. The strict, official way the other bore himself seemed almost comical in the eyes of the youngling, and he knew that by breaking all social etiquette in his naming of him he was tormenting him in his own juvenile way. “Erhm… Mr. Moroza would have you aid in chopping of logs for his furnace. He expects you there within the next hour.” And with the very short, very efficient message, the academy courier was off.
“The logs has to be split very accurately in order to fit into my furnace. However, they cannot be too small either. I’m not dragging your lazy ass down here to make me kindling wood, after all.” Moroza had lived more or less across the street from Sazawari his entire life, and knew very well what kind of youth he was. Especially the lazy streak in him had been a source of deep frustration for the old man, as he held very strict beliefs about how certain things ought to be. *Oh, I’ll make them fit alright, just bend over and show me how big…* He knew better than to talk back to his employers. Teachers, students, parents, adults in general and people at all was nothing he had any scruples about giving some smack, but when it came to earning money, he had learned his lesson well enough after his mother had denied him allowance for being a smart-ass. However, being on his way to become a shinobi, he made his own money, and thus released himself from those shackles.
The log split down the middle with a crack and the two halves almost jumped off towards the ground. The logs weren’t the most massive, considering the natural vegetation in and around the village, but it was something, and it was inflammable. He picked them up, lined them side by side and slammed the heavy metal edge down again, splitting the two halves into yet two more halves, adding a total of four pieces of wood. Then he stacked them neatly against the wall behind him. This routine continued for almost five hours straight, and by the time he was done, his hands were filled with blisters. *Perfect… If he had taken to chop this shit by himself, he could keep warm without ever igniting a single sliver…* The last log would barely split. His arms were heavy, as if lead weights had been strapped to them. However, he managed to split the remaining halves in a final surge of strength, and as he dragged his worn body home, he couldn’t think about anything but his bed. More than once, he had questioned his resolve towards this profession. Oh well, those were troubles for a later time. The only trouble he wanted now was to wake up the next morning.
WC: 578
“The logs has to be split very accurately in order to fit into my furnace. However, they cannot be too small either. I’m not dragging your lazy ass down here to make me kindling wood, after all.” Moroza had lived more or less across the street from Sazawari his entire life, and knew very well what kind of youth he was. Especially the lazy streak in him had been a source of deep frustration for the old man, as he held very strict beliefs about how certain things ought to be. *Oh, I’ll make them fit alright, just bend over and show me how big…* He knew better than to talk back to his employers. Teachers, students, parents, adults in general and people at all was nothing he had any scruples about giving some smack, but when it came to earning money, he had learned his lesson well enough after his mother had denied him allowance for being a smart-ass. However, being on his way to become a shinobi, he made his own money, and thus released himself from those shackles.
The log split down the middle with a crack and the two halves almost jumped off towards the ground. The logs weren’t the most massive, considering the natural vegetation in and around the village, but it was something, and it was inflammable. He picked them up, lined them side by side and slammed the heavy metal edge down again, splitting the two halves into yet two more halves, adding a total of four pieces of wood. Then he stacked them neatly against the wall behind him. This routine continued for almost five hours straight, and by the time he was done, his hands were filled with blisters. *Perfect… If he had taken to chop this shit by himself, he could keep warm without ever igniting a single sliver…* The last log would barely split. His arms were heavy, as if lead weights had been strapped to them. However, he managed to split the remaining halves in a final surge of strength, and as he dragged his worn body home, he couldn’t think about anything but his bed. More than once, he had questioned his resolve towards this profession. Oh well, those were troubles for a later time. The only trouble he wanted now was to wake up the next morning.
WC: 578