((tied to this playable ))
Not one who's too proud to sweep floors, the Mogul maneuvered the push-broom across the cement, listening to some of the volunteers talk about the dinner tomorrow. Getting all of the little dust particles and bits of paper into a pile he kept humming a soft tune. He didn't know why the urge to help the displaced souls came so strong, but part of him considered it simple the will of another. Using his golden intentions to draw people together in one place. However if he doubted himself now, there'd be no gaining his confidence back.
Propping the broom against the wall he turned to look over the room, still humming that soft tune. A slew of emtpy tables stood along the farthest wall with small signs labeled 'Donations' spread out along the edge. A few businesses had all ready brought in some blankets, children's toys, and shoes. The wall opposite the donations was set to contain all of the food, just one long assembly line. He'd dipped into his own coffers to procure meal trays, not plastic ones, but military issue chow trays.
A make-shift kitchen was all ready up and running with a handful of men and women discussing the menu. Deciding who'd be in charge of making hams, turkies, pheasant, even some venison along with desserts and sides. Taking the broom back up he continued his sweeping, working his way to the other volunteers as the last of the dining tables were put up. All ready others were hauling in benches and chairs from the truck idling.
"Hey Race, I saw you're setting up housing for these people. Don't you think they've gotten more than enough handouts from the Scaths, Batten Industries, and others?" Looking up from his sweeping, Race saw it was one if the volunteers that'd just finished bringing in the last table who spoke.
Choosing his words, the Mogul got closer. "Well, despite everything...they still have their pride. This is a hand up, not a hand out. They don't need handouts. Offering housing along with what the Welcome Centers are doing is to see them back on their feet and take some strain off of the Priestesses of the C.O.S, and other Scathachian temples. It's going to take time to rebuilt their Abbey, if that's what these men and women want. Along with the others."
"So, you're not doing this to help them, but to get them out of the hair of others?" the way the ginger kid narrowed his eyes made Race want to smile.
"Even I'm not that much of a dick, kid." he responded sharply. "They've had their world literally pulled down around their ears. Just helping them rebuild the foundations, they can take it from there when they're ready." the tune returned to his lips as he continued his sweeping. One of the other volunteers smiling a little as he recognized the tune and started singing softly along with the Moguel.
"When push comes to shove, you taste what you're made of..." the man began while wiping down a table. "You bend till you break, and think you've had all you can take. You get mad, you get strong, brush it off, then you stand..."
Not one who's too proud to sweep floors, the Mogul maneuvered the push-broom across the cement, listening to some of the volunteers talk about the dinner tomorrow. Getting all of the little dust particles and bits of paper into a pile he kept humming a soft tune. He didn't know why the urge to help the displaced souls came so strong, but part of him considered it simple the will of another. Using his golden intentions to draw people together in one place. However if he doubted himself now, there'd be no gaining his confidence back.
Propping the broom against the wall he turned to look over the room, still humming that soft tune. A slew of emtpy tables stood along the farthest wall with small signs labeled 'Donations' spread out along the edge. A few businesses had all ready brought in some blankets, children's toys, and shoes. The wall opposite the donations was set to contain all of the food, just one long assembly line. He'd dipped into his own coffers to procure meal trays, not plastic ones, but military issue chow trays.
A make-shift kitchen was all ready up and running with a handful of men and women discussing the menu. Deciding who'd be in charge of making hams, turkies, pheasant, even some venison along with desserts and sides. Taking the broom back up he continued his sweeping, working his way to the other volunteers as the last of the dining tables were put up. All ready others were hauling in benches and chairs from the truck idling.
"Hey Race, I saw you're setting up housing for these people. Don't you think they've gotten more than enough handouts from the Scaths, Batten Industries, and others?" Looking up from his sweeping, Race saw it was one if the volunteers that'd just finished bringing in the last table who spoke.
Choosing his words, the Mogul got closer. "Well, despite everything...they still have their pride. This is a hand up, not a hand out. They don't need handouts. Offering housing along with what the Welcome Centers are doing is to see them back on their feet and take some strain off of the Priestesses of the C.O.S, and other Scathachian temples. It's going to take time to rebuilt their Abbey, if that's what these men and women want. Along with the others."
"So, you're not doing this to help them, but to get them out of the hair of others?" the way the ginger kid narrowed his eyes made Race want to smile.
"Even I'm not that much of a dick, kid." he responded sharply. "They've had their world literally pulled down around their ears. Just helping them rebuild the foundations, they can take it from there when they're ready." the tune returned to his lips as he continued his sweeping. One of the other volunteers smiling a little as he recognized the tune and started singing softly along with the Moguel.
"When push comes to shove, you taste what you're made of..." the man began while wiping down a table. "You bend till you break, and think you've had all you can take. You get mad, you get strong, brush it off, then you stand..."