[PU 1/2] I do Implore These Confines // Post Office Construction

[Olalla]

Olalla G. Semenov

Male— Ardent— The Pitt— Bio.— Plot

The sun had yet to crawl over the treetops of the jungle, yet to emerge through the canopy and onto the jungle floor below and for this Olalla was grateful. It wouldn't be as hot as it would mid-day, and therefore he was less likely to overheat even with his thin fur.

But, there were more important matters to attend to for the time being. What were those things, Olalla had no idea but he felt unproductive and wanted to change that. Leftover beams and scaffolding from the Welcome Centre were enough to at least get something started. So he made his way across the plaza to gather the materials. Once collected he made his way back to the open area that fronted the Plaza, closest to the cool shade of the jungle.

Olalla grumbled to himself as he brushed away various jungle debris from his work zone, soon beginning to dig the holes that the beams would stand in, wheezing slightly. One by one he slammed the wooden beams into their places, partially filling the holes with river stones and filling the rest with mud and sand. He sat and stared at the beams, huffing now. Olalla was still very much sick and sore, but as the saying goes; idle hands are the devil's workshop. Perhaps after this he'd see Leon and Oliver, after months of putting it off.

After a few more hours of setting beams and moving scaffolding, Olalla had the right wall up and a window in place. It was a start, but he wasn't anywhere near the finish.

#psychosocial.

[Cobra]

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the noise woke him from a nap and made him yawn rather loudly. he could hear someone out there working. the thought made him shudder as he forced himself up. dirty work was something he hated. the idea of doing heavy lifting or cleaning was not something he favored. sighing, he realized he had to investigate. he had to see if he was needed. he was a high position, thus he wanted to keep face.

so, he left his resting place in the warm sun to find the sorce of the noises. it was olalla that soon greeted his lightning blue optics. it seemed the other was busy building and had a wall and window up. the male hummed and then took a seat. watching the other and tilting his head slightly. looks like you got a wall going at least.

his tone was friendly, almost playful in nature. what materials do you need, or what help can i offer? the lions mane and tail tuft crackled as he settled in. eyes scanning the wall and noting the way it was built. they might need more things. the male let his eyes wander over the materials left over. eyes flicking back to the leader and a frown on his maw.

and are you feeling well enough to be working like this?

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african lion - vampire - taken - bio

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[Olalla]

°• Olalla G. Semenov •°

Male— Ardent— The Pitt— Bio.— Plot

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Night of No Stars was his most recent ambassador, one he put his trust into. Cautious and limited, but trust nonetheless. Something very valuable to him. To both, in every aspect. He was smart, and enthusiastic in his work, something Olalla had not seen - in the Pitt- in years it seemed. It was a breath of fresh, reliable air.

The beast nodded in greeting toward the midnight painted lion as Olalla pulled beams closer together, slabbing a mud, sand, and fiber mixture in-between them; his arms were caked in this mixture, fur crackled and dry with it, and any attempt to flake from it was just early balding, ripping out your coat by the seams.

"I need more wood," Olalla said finally, whistly and strained as he filled in creases and crevices of any and all size. And more fiber from the palm leaves near here." With a flick of his maw, he motion toward the trees that grew toward the east of them, only a few minute worth's walk from him. Night's next question drew his attention, eyes moving from squaring off beams to the dark male, gaze narrowing lightly.

He cleared his throat, pondering whether or not he wanted to answer or ignore him all together now. "If I stop, I won't continue." The behemoth's response was short, to the point, and subtly cryptic - but the truth. If he stopped now, he could not promise his continuation. Not even to himself.
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[member=23357]Night of No Stars[/member]

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#psychosocial.