Extra 13: A Stressful Role

Warm sunlight, filtered red and white, drifted in through the canvas ceiling of the tent, accented by motes of dust floating in the air.

The air had the aroma of moths and old blankets, as was expected of a place that had spent so long under the sun, completely untouched.

Herukah reached out and ran her fingers over the fabric of the cloth shelter, admiring its sturdiness.

It would be a pain to work with, but she could make some really good stuff out of this, it was a shame it had to be wasted on such a silly thing as serving as an emergency hideout.

She laughed a little at her own joke, it was a shame everyone was too panicked to talk to her, or else she might have snuck it into conversation.

The space was alight with the sound of confused shouting and hushed whispers, as people rushed to and thro, looking for instruction, or rest, or nothing at all.

Snapping the tailor out of her reverie, a man carrying a crate of supplies addressed her.

“Excuse me, Herukah, but we need to move stuff here and you're in the way.”

The woman in question quickly jumped off the box she was sitting on with an apology, and after offering help that she didn't really want to give, and receiving a well welcomed dismissal, she strode off into the crowd.

A veritable horde of Orshraka, about half of all people involved with the rebels, were trying to fit themselves in the tent, and miserably failing to do so.

There was enough room for the people and there was enough room for the supplies, but fitting both was proving to be a challenge.

If Herukah devoted just a little brain power to listening in on a conversation, something she was not very inclined to do, there was a decent chance it would be about what should be done with the space, and why so and so had no idea what they were talking about.

Already, she was hearing whispers of fast forming factions about who wanted what where, which would be hilarious over a problem so minor, if it were not for the fact the many arguments were quickly turning heated.

Up ahead, two men were shouting at the top of their lungs at each other, a small circle of people gathering around to investigate.

The man on Herukah’s left was a newbie, son of some blacksmith who was kicked out of the family for wasting the family’s savings on gambling.

He had joined the cause to escape being sold into slavery so that his family could recoup their losses, and now he fancied himself a head above the many members of the rebels who were former slaves.

He was arguing with an older man who often visited Herukah’s workshop just to chat, Harhska, she believed his name was, over what supplies could be placed outside in the heat and what had to come in and take up precious room.

In truth, despite both combatants yelling at the top of their lungs, Herukah could hardly make out a word of what was being said.

Nonetheless, the argument was getting heated and the tent was already boiling hot, so the tailor decided to intervene.

“Boys, can’t you stop the arguing and cool it a bit, in case you havent noticed people are already moving the supplies irrespective of what is best, you two are just wasting time blowing around hot air!”

Harshka, for his part, instantly shut up, though if that was because he saw reason or the infatuated blush on his face was another matter entirely.

His opponent, however, had an entirely different reaction, face morphing from frustration to indignant rage.

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“How dare you tell me what to do, you half-blooded shektrakrah, people like you sho…” the man frothed.

Herukah, in truth, stopped listening to what was being said after the racial slur and merely waited for him to run out of insults so she could convince someone to deck the idiot, or even better, do it herself.

Once upon a time, such a confrontation would have angered the tailor like nothing else, drawing on her temper like wood to a flame.

But she had been through alot since then, and nothing the man was saying was particularly new.

There was many people who held identical opinions to the man in front of Herukah all across the desert, those that took the mixing of Earliag and Orshraka blood to be a heresy against all humankind.

There was no true rule saying that a simple-lander and a servant of Orsha could not have a child, but there was a lot of hate for the Earliag and a divine decree that stated that such hate could not be given, so it fell upon the unfortunate few who were a product of taboo to take the blame.

Down here, amongst the rebels, such people were fewer, most either uncaring or disillusioned of Orsha’s commands, the rest kept in line by peer pressure and harsh regulation by Keshte and Detlashra.

It was one of the many reasons she joined the group, and plied her trade so tirelessly for them.

Herukah was snapped out of her reflections by a physical shove pushing her back a few steps, the man in front of her apparently having taken badly to her ignoring his provocations.

A roar went up through the crowd, predominantly in outrage but with notes of support by those who were proud enough of their bigotry to speak up.

That roar increased as the assaulter was catapulted backwards by a brutal punch to the face from Harshka.

Herukah pulled the older man from the fight immediately, berating him with all the righteous indignity she could manage and signalling others to check on his victim.

“What do you think you're doing!” she scolded, “Have we not had enough death and pain today for you!”

“He had no right to touch you like that, I was just protecting y-”

Herukah scoffed, “Do I need your protection? Do you think I have not dealt with that a hundred times!”

She shook her head and willed herself to calm down as best she could.

“Look, I appreciate the concern and I know you were just trying to help, but I value this organisation, what we are doing here and now, more than any minor insult. He, despite being cruel and ignorant, is still a member of this organisation and we can't afford to have infighting, especially not now.”

As Herukah was saying this, the offender in question slowly got up, rubbing his jaw, and after sending a hateful glare at the two, slunk off into the crowd.

Hashka nodded and apologised, and with a promise to talk later in more privacy, made his way away as well.

By this time, most of the crowd had disappeared as well, with only a few acquaintances sticking around to say a few words before disappearing to go help out.

Herukah figured much the same and began to reluctantly make toward the exit when a sight in the (fortunately) exact opposite direction caught her eye.

Standing above the crowds on a large box was the leader and founder of the rebellion, Keshte, imposing form towering over his subordinates.

He was attempting to do some combination of give out orders about where to put what and deliver an inspirational speech, but was, either for lack of care or lack of noticing, being entirely ignored by a great many people.

Even from here Herukah could see he was sweating stones at having to handle such a direct, important role, and the lack of response was only making things worse.

Detlashra was standing next to him and would occasionally attempt to gain control of the crowd, but what Detlashra gained in presence they lost in volume, and his words were being drowned out thoroughly.

It seemed the duo needed a girl with a temper to take control of the situation, and if nothing else, Herukah had a temper.

She sighed at having to rescue two people well, well above her station, but she knew Keshte would appreciate it and Detlashra would suffer it, so for the good of the organisation, it needed to be done.

She swiped some sweat off her forehead and headed over, standing just in front of her illustrious leader, who despite his imposing figure, came off as thoroughly pathetic.

“No matter what you believe in, or want to believe in, I guess… it doesn't matter! Whatever you want to believe in, something is looking out for us, why else would that earthquake have come at such a perfect time to block out pursuers. I mean, I suppose it did cut us off from our connect- Hey! You, leave the light sources outside, we need to prioritise food and bodies, Hey!”

The tailor chuckled a little bit at Keshte’s effort, he was doing his best but he had never been a socialite, and a great many doubted his abilities.

With a shake of her head, Herukah took off her hat and cloak and set them on a nearby box before putting her hair up into a bun, she needed to look imposing if she was going to wrangle the crowd.

With a final deep breath she stepped up onto Keshte’s box and prepared to get things in order.