A lonely, protracted whistle disturbed the relative calm of dusk. The sound was familiar to the residents of Garnozok. The whistle blew every day, on several occasions, to signal the change of shifts at the Gartedinun Steel Mill to which the city owed its very existence. The venture was one of many other Eluvataran owned ones like it, established in the wake of the Royal Confederacy's acquisition of Hemland to develop the local coal and iron deposits. The settlement had followed as an afterthought. It showed in the place's labyrinth of hastily constructed slums.
The indigenous laborers began to tramp out of the facility and off the grounds. Their work clothes and fur alike were filthy from their grueling ten hour shift. Most of them, however, were still able to find some solace in the prospect of a meal and rest at home and idle conversation with their fellow workers. Makt Ozvanza was not one of these people.
In no mood to talk with anyone, he broke from the pack as soon as he could and began to trod the dirt road that was his preferred path home. It ran along a shallow channel, making it the closest thing to a scenic route to be found in Garnozok. Makt made a point of keeping his head down while walking along it. If he looked up he'd have to look at the dingy rows of tenements looming across the waterway. The sight was one of the few things he found revolting enough to make him genuinely glad that his nose had been blinded by a gas attack during the war.
But only for a second, because then his thoughts would catch up and remind him that if it weren't for the same war he likely wouldn't have to live in Garnozok. He would never have signed up fourteen years ago and been shipped out of the country village he called home. He would never have been prevented from returning by the crippling shortages and near-starvation brought on by the protracted conflict. Never mind the more obvious point that the detriment of having been completely stripped of what was for a lycanthrope one of the most important senses far outweighed the marginal benefit of never having to have it exposed to unpleasant stimuli. It made as much sense as blinding yourself just so you wouldn't have to see anything particularly unsightly.
Absorbed as he was in his own bitter thoughts and attempt to maintain the illusion that he was in some more pristine, rural environment, he failed to notice the footsteps padding on the gravel behind him until their owner spoke up.
"Makt, wait up!" Makt stopped and turned around. He cringed mentally when the despised panorama drifted into his field of vision for a moment. It was just who had expected, Demi. She had grown up with him in the same village as he had, and was the reason he had ended up in Garnozok after the war rather than any number of other similar, industrial towns. She had gone to work at the steel mill while he was on the battlefield and later, when Makt's third and final tour of duty had drawn to a close, she had found him work there.
"I should have known I'd find you here," she said as she jogged up to him and came to a stop. She looked a touch out of breath but had a friendly smile on her face. Even in his gloomy mood Makt couldn't help but automatically reciprocate it. She was, after all, one of the few good things to be found in the city. "You really do move fast."
"Heh, sorry for that," apologized Makt half-heartedly. "You know I always take this route. Yeah it's longer but I like to be alone for a while. I'd have waited if you'd given me some warning." Demi frowned.
"But I did Makt, I told you there's another union meeting this evening. An important one actually, there'll be socialist candidates for the upcoming municipal elections speaking. You said you'd think about it when I asked if you'd be coming." She looked at him imploringly.
"Oh," was all Makt could muster as a response. "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can make it this time either."
"Makt!" He was taken aback by the sudden and uncharacteristic aggression from Demi. "You keep doing this! I've been able to stick my neck out for you before but I can't do that any longer, I only have so much clout!" She was now noticeably exasperated. "The union does expect its members to give something back from time to time."
"Then they can kick me out if they don't like it." Demi eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
"Are you crazy? You can't get kicked out, you'll be worked to death!"
"I'm already being worked to death, what does it matter? Won't change the owners." Demi grimaced with frustration.
"This again..." she murmured and wound up to retort, but then stopped. Looking at his face she suddenly felt drained of the morale necessary to press an attack. It was full a weary, stubborn resolve that she couldn't match. The break in the argument allowed distant, ambient sounds of the city to intrude on their ears. Finally, Demi acknowledged defeat with a sigh.
"Well, at least think about it, okay? You seem to be good at that..." Makt didn't say anything. He simply nodded his head to make it clear he'd heard her and then without any hesitation turned his back to her and continued walking as if they entire exchanged had never happened. Demi held her ground a while more and watched him walk off, before she sighed, shook her head and went back the way she had come.
