Kabaneri of the Iron Fortress: Tardy
May. 10th, 2022 10:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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prose_alchemistTitle: Tardy
Author:jordannamorgan
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Takumi and Ikoma.
Setting: Pre-canon.
Summary: Ikoma is late for work again.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Written for the prompts of “Clock” atfan_flashworks, and “Coworkers” at genprompt_bingo.
“I’m sorry I’m late!” Ikoma panted, breathless from running, as he slid down behind the wheels of a locomotive that the steamsmiths of Aragane Station were cleaning. “I kept working until late last night, and I… kind of overslept.”
Sparing a glance away from the nasty chunk of Kabane flesh he was trying to finesse out of a tight spot, Takumi gave his best friend a flat look.
Whenever Ikoma talked about work, what he really meant was his personal obsession with inventing a Kabane-killing weapon. Not his legitimate job there in the train yard—which he often seemed to treat more like an inconvenient afterthought than a necessary means of providing for himself and funding his little passion project. These days, now that he’d actually built a prototype of his harebrained point-blank gun design, it was not uncommon for him to stay up until all hours of the night tinkering with it. Which led to him oversleeping in the morning, which led to him being late for his shift… which led to scenes of apology like this.
Not that their peers were very forgiving. Many of the other younger steamsmiths scoffed at Ikoma’s noble ambitions anyway. Their having to take up the slack when he failed to be there only made the bullying worse.
Honestly, he was lucky he still had his job. If he wasn’t so brilliant at finding and fixing mechanical flaws and malfunctions… and, well, if he wasn’t so quick and efficient that he did the work of any three average steamsmiths when he did show up… then the senior steamsmiths never would have tolerated the way he arrived late, or suddenly ran off without so much as a word when new inspirations struck him.
Master Yuji was probably the one to thank for all of that tolerance. Despite his outward crustiness, the old man cared very much for his apprentices; and Ikoma was a survivor of a fallen station. Clearly Yuji was sympathetic to the boy who had lost his sister and everything he knew at such a young age. After seeing other survivors engage in even more self-destructive behavior, mere distractedness was at least easier to excuse.
…Still, though. Takumi got the regret and grief that motivated Ikoma—but he wasn’t going to help himself by putting his coping mechanism ahead of everything else in his life.
“Seriously? This is like the third time this week,” Takumi grumbled. “What happened to that alarm clock I gave you?”
Said clock was an old relic Takumi had salvaged from Yuji’s junk shed and painstakingly repaired a month ago. He had hoped it would curb Ikoma’s increasing belatedness… but somehow, it never seemed to have helped.
“Oh, that.” Ikoma rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry… I took it apart.”
“You what?”
“Well, some of those small clockwork parts were just what I needed for the valves of my piercing gun!”
At that point, all Takumi could do was hang his head and loudly sigh.
© 2022 Jordanna Morgan
Author:
jordannamorganArchive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Rating/Warnings: G.
Characters: Takumi and Ikoma.
Setting: Pre-canon.
Summary: Ikoma is late for work again.
Disclaimer: They belong to Kabaneri Committee and other relevant parties. I’m just playing with them.
Notes: Written for the prompts of “Clock” at
fan_flashworks, and “Coworkers” at genprompt_bingo.“I’m sorry I’m late!” Ikoma panted, breathless from running, as he slid down behind the wheels of a locomotive that the steamsmiths of Aragane Station were cleaning. “I kept working until late last night, and I… kind of overslept.”
Sparing a glance away from the nasty chunk of Kabane flesh he was trying to finesse out of a tight spot, Takumi gave his best friend a flat look.
Whenever Ikoma talked about work, what he really meant was his personal obsession with inventing a Kabane-killing weapon. Not his legitimate job there in the train yard—which he often seemed to treat more like an inconvenient afterthought than a necessary means of providing for himself and funding his little passion project. These days, now that he’d actually built a prototype of his harebrained point-blank gun design, it was not uncommon for him to stay up until all hours of the night tinkering with it. Which led to him oversleeping in the morning, which led to him being late for his shift… which led to scenes of apology like this.
Not that their peers were very forgiving. Many of the other younger steamsmiths scoffed at Ikoma’s noble ambitions anyway. Their having to take up the slack when he failed to be there only made the bullying worse.
Honestly, he was lucky he still had his job. If he wasn’t so brilliant at finding and fixing mechanical flaws and malfunctions… and, well, if he wasn’t so quick and efficient that he did the work of any three average steamsmiths when he did show up… then the senior steamsmiths never would have tolerated the way he arrived late, or suddenly ran off without so much as a word when new inspirations struck him.
Master Yuji was probably the one to thank for all of that tolerance. Despite his outward crustiness, the old man cared very much for his apprentices; and Ikoma was a survivor of a fallen station. Clearly Yuji was sympathetic to the boy who had lost his sister and everything he knew at such a young age. After seeing other survivors engage in even more self-destructive behavior, mere distractedness was at least easier to excuse.
…Still, though. Takumi got the regret and grief that motivated Ikoma—but he wasn’t going to help himself by putting his coping mechanism ahead of everything else in his life.
“Seriously? This is like the third time this week,” Takumi grumbled. “What happened to that alarm clock I gave you?”
Said clock was an old relic Takumi had salvaged from Yuji’s junk shed and painstakingly repaired a month ago. He had hoped it would curb Ikoma’s increasing belatedness… but somehow, it never seemed to have helped.
“Oh, that.” Ikoma rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry… I took it apart.”
“You what?”
“Well, some of those small clockwork parts were just what I needed for the valves of my piercing gun!”
At that point, all Takumi could do was hang his head and loudly sigh.
© 2022 Jordanna Morgan