Going room by room meant that there were items left over to sort through and make decisions about. What furniture could be reused with just a little elbow grease versus what could be broken down for kindling. Waver liked to do it for each and every room he cleaned out - move everything into the corridor, and divide things into piles. There were usually three. Throw out, keep, and unsure.
The unsure pile was always the hardest to deal with. Scraps of paper that belonged to old residents, books that were falling apart but still might have some use, furniture that needed more work but wasn't something to throw away. A chest that could be used for clothing storage, but had a rusted lock, or a missing lid. He was always careful with those, and in the end, the unsure pile ended up mostly going into the trash. Then the kept items would be moved back into the now clean room, to be used or moved around as needed. Each room had a list too that let everyone know what was in there and that the room had been cleaned.
Today, Waver was sitting down in front of a locked chest, a few metal tools to his right. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was trying to pick the lock.
It also didn't take a genius to figure out that it wasn't going as planned.
"Goddamn piece of rusted shit! Would you just open?!"
II - Gardening
Waver was not good at heavy lifting. It meant he was assigned other duties instead, which included fighting with the overgrown gardens. He was perfectly comfortable using a sharp blade to hack away at the greenery that had long since gotten out of control.
Getting down into the roots of it all though, Waver was elbows deep in old dirt, and his attempt to remove the deeper roots had only one result: the dirt went flying everywhere. There was precious little trying to warn anyone about the incoming bomb of dirt, only the apology that came with it.
Cleaning and gardening
Going room by room meant that there were items left over to sort through and make decisions about. What furniture could be reused with just a little elbow grease versus what could be broken down for kindling. Waver liked to do it for each and every room he cleaned out - move everything into the corridor, and divide things into piles. There were usually three. Throw out, keep, and unsure.
The unsure pile was always the hardest to deal with. Scraps of paper that belonged to old residents, books that were falling apart but still might have some use, furniture that needed more work but wasn't something to throw away. A chest that could be used for clothing storage, but had a rusted lock, or a missing lid. He was always careful with those, and in the end, the unsure pile ended up mostly going into the trash. Then the kept items would be moved back into the now clean room, to be used or moved around as needed. Each room had a list too that let everyone know what was in there and that the room had been cleaned.
Today, Waver was sitting down in front of a locked chest, a few metal tools to his right. It didn't take a genius to figure out he was trying to pick the lock.
It also didn't take a genius to figure out that it wasn't going as planned.
"Goddamn piece of rusted shit! Would you just open?!"
II - Gardening
Waver was not good at heavy lifting. It meant he was assigned other duties instead, which included fighting with the overgrown gardens. He was perfectly comfortable using a sharp blade to hack away at the greenery that had long since gotten out of control.
Getting down into the roots of it all though, Waver was elbows deep in old dirt, and his attempt to remove the deeper roots had only one result: the dirt went flying everywhere. There was precious little trying to warn anyone about the incoming bomb of dirt, only the apology that came with it.
"Sorry! I thought it was a smaller root cluster."
It was never, ever a smaller root cluster.
III - Wildcard
[Missing something? Go for it.]