[ slave house mess hall | open to: all ]
If there’s one thing Nic had learned in the past three days, it was that whatever passed as food in the slave house mess hall was a bit on the dubious side. Today’s dinner was apparently trying to be steak, but whatever sad, grey meat cube they’d slopped onto the plate wasn’t worthy of the title. Instead, Nic was spending his dinner hour doing something much more worthwhile. He’d gotten himself an empty table off in the corner, and, armed with a purloined rock from an hour outside earlier, busied himself with carving a message.
It spanned the width of the table, three feet wide: EQUALITY FOR ALL.
He was just finishing off the last L when he heard someone approach. “I’m not exactly an artist, but I feel like what it lacks in finesse, it makes up for in some real gusto,” he greeted cheerfully, uncaring of the status of whoever he was talking to. “Hard to scratch in on the metal, though. Bit rude, you’d think they’d provide wooden tables. Much easier to vandalize.”
