#einrich

And yet it's light that wakes him. Creeping through the crack underneath his door, through the split in the fabric of the shades on the window. It wasn’t too long ago that it would have been the sound of klaxons that woke up, a pounding fist upon the door to a quarters he shared with several others. Now his mornings are met with pale light gently ushering him to open his eyes.

Despite being in this place for a few weeks now (he’d no choice but to assume that was how long it had been), there were still habits not yet willing to die. He was a working man, had been since the moment he was able to acknowledge one tool from another, and so he didn't waste time laying about in bed. There was enough work to be done today.

There are some new things he takes a chance to indulge in. A good stretch before clothing himself, not having to rush as he did so. A cloth soaked in water against his face, helping to rub some of the remaining residuals of sleep away. It wasn’t much, just a small basin in his quarters. The luxury was in the softness of the fabric, its cleanliness each time a new one was given to him. That the temperature of the water that flowed from the spout could be controlled by his hands, no longer subjected to having to guess whether it would be blisteringly hot or blindingly cold.

The baths down the hall would have honestly been a better solution if he’d wanted to clean himself. He’d been no stranger to having to bathe himself in front of the eyes of others before, that was true. But this was enough, more than enough for someone like him.

Einrich is still affixing parts of his clothing together by the time he departs from his personal quarters. The garments they’ve given him for his work here aren’t nearly as thick as the ones from his time as the Inferni Master, but they’re far more durable. Breathability, they’d told him.

He’s not the only one up and about this morning. There are others like him, men and women who wore uniforms like his, who were built from the grime and gristle and heat and smoke like he was. Some wear similar faces to each other, differentiated only by hairstyle and facial markings and the lilt of the tongues they speak.

That was something new as well, seeing so many faces shared amongst so many individuals. He recognizes some, recalls the names of very few. One of them is a brute of a man with thick hair the color of a flame, thick and tall as a space marine he’d once met. The man’s name was Furnul, was one that carried the face of another. He was the one that spoke with him the most, took him under his charge when he was first given to the bellows, taught him the things he would need to become a proficient worker. And, for all intents and purposes, Einrich was just that.

The paths they walked in the great halls also carried a variety of scents and smells. Some were a little more rough on the nose, ozone and soot from those finishing up their evenings in the bellows and beasts. Other’s far sweeter, perfumed oils and body ointments of those that worked in the palace above. Only one mattered to him though, one that made him mouth water.

The room they enter is huge, and already it was busy with other workers in the palace eager to get their morning meal. Most of them from the lower berths, of course. Bellow laborers and beast masters, maintenance workers and servant staff.

That was another benefit - the food. Not just the quality, but the sheer quantity of it as well. Einrich had often heard of the term banquet but rarely had seen such a thing in person until his arrival here. Funrul had laughed at him the first time he’d been brought to the dining hall, eyes staring at each dish and nearly balking when the man had told him to take as much as he’d wanted.

One of the other patrons, a girl who he knew as Siall, hands him a wooden platter. She makes little conversation as she does, already busying herself with stocking her own with as much food as possible.

Siall’s another one that shares a face, her blue locks similar to those he’s seen wearing the uniforms of servant staff. The yellow eyes set within her face aren’t nearly as warm or kind as the others he’s seen before, and for good reason. Given by her pale garb and the red clay markings on her face she was a Sandcat and, while Einrich had yet to physically see them work, had heard enough from the mouths of others that they weren’t a group to be trifled with - a very notion that he’d once openly laughed at before. It was hard to comprehend someone with a build as small and petite as her’s, one that would have effectively been deemed worthless in his previous line of work, as something deadly.

…until he’d watched one of the greenhorn bellow laborers get a bit too handsy with one of them during an evening meal and the lass had ripped the poor bastard’s arms clean out of their sockets for such an affront. Coincidentally, that was the last time he’d ever seen that man, and rumor was that he’d been given a first-person experience in the Maw by one of her sisters.

While Furnul and he take their meals to one of the empty tables, Siall does not. His eyes watch as she’s joined by another Sandcat, a youth with hair like blood and eyes the color of a warp fire. He’s quick in stacking up his own bounty, and the two depart to the Maw.

Einrich, for the most part, is slower in eating. What time he’s discarded in getting ready in the morning is made up for now, giving him the opportunity to enjoy his meal. Even if he knows someone will be making rounds later, bringing him a small dish with some kind of fried creature on it and a cup of broth to accompany it. Even if he knows his working day won’t be nearly as long as they once were and, when it's done, he’ll be free to meander some of the halls, his curiosity letting him roam where he was allowed to go. Or, if he so desired, return to his own personal dwelling and rest for as long as he wants.