Ascension - Book Eight - Man x Man

Chapter 18

I sigh, squinting through the heat the hole in the roof mercilessly let in. Much as I was more fit than I'd ever been in my life, my body was painfully unaccustomed to the labors that building a ceiling demanded. In fact, it was only a painful reminder of exactly how useless I was in a life where I must perform tasks deemed worthy of a man. 

Lacking in masculinity as one might define it, things such as tools, grit, and laboring were met with uncertainty and suspicion as I tried to navigate the delicate waters of proving useful while not killing myself in the process. I'd become the newest aid in the remedial task of handing over tools, despite my best attempt to do more, it would seem my unwilling hosts had realized my danger to them and myself should they keep expecting brilliance from my craftsmanship.

Perhaps they might have been better off asking me to teach them to write or handing over kitchen duty. Using the back of my hand, I wipe the layer of sweat from my brow with a tired exhale. My mental energy drained much faster than my physical ability. While I couldn't put a finger on what the three men were doing on the boat, or exactly what their cargo was, my position to question them was minimal at best. 

What was it any of my business what and why they were out here? 

Judging back their lack of concern in the validity of my story, I could only assume that I owed them the same level of discretion, after all, they had not yet thrown me overboard despite my lack of talents. Handing over the torch, I try and feel as useful as I can as I'm handed back the greasy wrench that causes my nose to involuntarily wrinkle at the musty scent of rust and melted metal. 

The sun beating down on us through the gaping hole caused by my crash-landing was punishment enough for my crime, I couldn't help but muse that my discomfort brought them some form of joy, I had certainly spied the captain of the small group grinning at my obvious fatigue. My olive skin hungerily drank in the rays, welcoming every morsel of vitamin D it could siphon. 

Cutting away the debris was the easy part, the task that came after was not so fitting for one with such sensitive hearing. For the majority of the day, I was tasked with the art of ripping the metal from its crudely cut carvings and stowing them where they could later be recycled. As fast as the metal sliced my hands, splattering blood on the thin sheets and dripping down my arms, it healed and prepared itself for the next slice. The younger man marveled at my lack of consideration for such things. 

While I might be a prude, the pain was no stranger to me. 

Through lunch we worked on the roof, my disappointing height proved to be irritating to us all as I was the only one strong enough to lift the sheet into place as the patchwork began. Balanced on a crate and stretched onto my toes, my body shivered and shuddered under the request to become equipment, as I slumped back to the floor I was reminded that there was a reason my people were persecuted. The war in my time never felt more deserved. 

Panting, my arms threatening to slide out of the sockets and puddle on the ground, the younger man sits beside me and uses his hand to measure the sun. "I think we can be done for today."

"You don't have a watch?" I ask curiously. 

"No." A small smirk curls onto his thin lips, crusted over with grit and black silt. "You knew I was telling time?"

Pursing my lips, I shrug one shoulder, careful to reel back in my identity. "My father was a historian." 

Nodding in acceptance, the man crosses his legs with a yawn. "Well, then you should know owning anything with Artifice leads you open to the ever-watching eye. People like us don't get much for our earnings, alls we can afford is Artifice and I'd rather just do it the way they used to, 'for all this technology choked out the sky. Can be tough with the smog but it's been better these past months."