#sahl-syncophant

It was on a grey morning of October that Kuwata found himself dragging a sponge and a rusting bucket of brown water through the corridors of the orphanage. The whole 'chore' thing, to say the very least, was beginning to grate. Leon had been at Hope's Peak just shy of a week, and already he was finding that, much to his dismay, he was experiencing regular back pain from scrubbing fucking floors. Back pain. What was he, 80?

He ground his teeth as he wrenched open a side door which took him to a small, cobbled area of the grounds with a small drain. The murky water sloshed over the edge of its receptacle in the redhead's eagerness to finish any and all manual labour for the day, further shown when he knelt on one knee beside the drain and unceremoniously dumped the contents of his bucket, watching the filthy water swirl away with a weak gurgle.

Content with a job 'well done', he hopped to his feet and started at a half-jog back to the cleaning closet. Sadly for Leon, his journey was cut very much short when his shoe skidded on the water he'd spilt near the doorway and he went plummeting to the floor, his chin colliding with the floorboards with a resounding thwack as he executed a graceful rendition of the classic move, 'fall through a door and onto your face'.

"Shitshitassfuckshitfucktits," he hissed, his hand immediately flying to his grazed jaw, only to flinch as his fingers made contact. Instinctive tears sprang to his eyes from the sharp sting, and he had to blink hard to prevent them from escaping. That had hurt. He let out a loud groan and rested his forehead against the floorboards, breathing through his teeth.