A slice of life flashback to an ordinary day on South Beach pre-Beast. Willie tries to rope Wenzel into helping him. Wenzel ends up bonding with Hector, one of William’s adopted sons.
(Thank you to Dion for writing this extended character study with me, while I was figuring out Wenzel’s voice! 💖)
@willieshaw
Wenzelslaus did not want to talk to William today. Most days he did not want to talk to William, but it wasn’t like you had a choice when William caught your eye. Resisting, pretending that he hadn’t looked at William, merely looked through him was pointless, it would result in William shouting at the top of his lungs and causing the whole Island a headache. So, Wenzel sighed and made his way over to William’s site.
“Good morning William,” Wenzel politely dithered, hoping to precede William’s loud salutations. “And what are you working on today?” he asked.
— — —
Willie was lumbering a giant slab of rock for one of them new houses up on the farm. Mrs Maja keeping him busy, it were a thoughtless task but he spotted someone who’d be of no use. Save for maybe abit of delirious delight. “WENNY!” He shouted, which of course wasn’t the lads name but he seemed to affront to duck. “Be a ‘ouse for t’ new lovebirds. You’s met ‘em? Good’uns they are!” Will hefted the slab to one hip to give Wenzel a good slap on the shoulder. Perhaps he could convince Wenzel to be of use. He had two hands after all, even if the slight bugger tried to worm out of everything. “C’mon ducky you’s help.”
— — —
Wenzel supposed he should be happy that he had no special abilities over air or earth, for William’s boisterous temperament would have driven him well past madness by now. Wenzel smiled bloodlessly at William’s preferred name for him. Wenzelslaus was hard for most people, Wenzel was a little more accepted, but William had deigned that he was simply Wenny. Not that Wenzelslaus approved. “Ah, the new lovebirds?” Wenzel repeated, with no idea about who William was talking about. Should he know? “How lucky they are…” Wenzel winced as William slapped his shoulder, pushing his wire-framed glasses further up his nose, the spitting image of a meek, and not physically inclined man. “Yes well, I do not think I can be much help for you William,” Wenzel trailed off, smoothing his shirt. “You do not need my help to move these uh…” Felsplatte…? Rock… “... These plates.”
— — —
Willie laughed, boisterous as he always was and gestured for little Wenny to follow him. “Need you’s wa’er magic. Int’t grand! Look ‘ere.” Will threw the giant slab up without so much of a care and caught it before the giant heft of rock could do damage to the aforementioned structure. Will held it suspended in a pocket of air. Will grunted, and guided it safely to a spot that was adequate for now, he’d have to move it again later. This house was gonna be on stilts. New fangled ideas that had come from one of the new’uns which were good, they needed fresh input and new designs. Willie was eager to learn so long as they spoke plainly, and didn’t scrawl out their ideas into incomprehensible scribbles. “Need you’s t’ whoosh whoosh and clean it all up.”
— — —
Wenzel flinched as William threw the rock above their heads. He scrambled backwards, terrified that this was all some plot to kill him, some foolish, stupid joke that ended with their brains splattered on the ground. William caught it with his powers, but Wenzel's heart was hammering in his chest like miners striking gold, and stayed that speed even as William demanded that Wenzel clean the rock plate. "With… With what water, William?" Wenzel hissed, exasperated and annoyed at William's ceaselessly cheery demeanor. <<Ach, you ignoramous,>> he muttered in German under his breath. "Where is the water for this… whoosh whoosh, William?" Wenzel asked, tension leaking into his tone on account of thinking he was about to have perished.
— — —
Wenzel did articulate a rather valid question. Willie paused, glancing around deep in the farm there were sure to be sources of water nearby. “Get som from t’ oink oinks?” Willie proposed, with a terrible imitation at a wink as he gestured towards the pig trough. Which was still some walk away and not exactly an immediate source for the lad. Well it weren’t Will’s problem, lad should show a little initiative. He was now wishing that he’d dragged Hector out and not just haphazardly stumbled into Wenzel. Least the lad as cautious as he was, was willing. Unlike Wenny.
— — —
William wasn't hard to read. Wenzel knew he was starting to get annoyed, he was leaning back, practically looking around for one of his sons to come and help him and chatter loudly with him. "You want me to… clean… your plate with the water from the pigs?" Wenzel repeated, slowly, because it sounded like a stupid idea.
— — —
Will admittedly, had not thoroughly calculated what it was he was saying, so it took him a good minute to catch up with Wenzel. He huffed, laughed, and took a step back to come and give Wenzel a lighter tap. “Smart one you’s. Fetch us some from t’ sea then.” Willie said, with a big beaming grin, knowing it’d take him time to hurry off down with a bucket.
— — —
Wenzel was not exactly pleased that William was still tapping his shoulder, all bawdy humour. It always felt like William was showing how easy it was for him to literally push people around. “William, I came over to see what you were doing,” Wenzel said, politely ignoring the fact that he hadn’t wanted to say hello to William in the first place. “If I could help you now I would,” he lied, usually reticent at giving out help even in a good mood, even when it was easy. “But you are asking me, ja, to go out of my way to the beach and back hauling up the big bucket of water…? If it rains tonight won’t that do the washing whoosh for you?”
— — —
There he went. Trying to weasel his way out of doing anything. Will huffed again, loud and a little obnoxious as he needn’t breath anyway. One of those delightful little perks of the island. “What ‘ave you’s done today yoof?” Will considered him, folding his arms over his chest as he eyed up Wenzel with an unusually stark look. It weren’t often that Will didn’t have warmth to his eyes. The smiles, the good humour, it all faltered, a little.
— — —
And there William revealed himself, the good nature dropping as he began to throw his weight around, haughty and sure. Wenzel winced and took his glasses off, meekly cleaning them on the edge of his shirt. “William, just because I am not building houses doesn’t mean I am not doing anything.” Wenzelslaus looked up at William, or the blur that was William, more confident when he didn’t have to see William. “You like eating the crayfish, yes? I was baiting the traps.” A task which took Wenzel all of a few minutes, and left him with plenty of time to float in the sea. “I think I saw Hector at the beach. Maybe he can bring up some of the water to do the cleaning?”
— — —
“Willie. You’s call me Will.” No-one called him William. Certainly not a little lad like Weeny-boy. He couldn’t be dealing with that, and he wasn’t sure he fancied crayfish whatever that was. Sure no doubt he’d had it before. “Right-o, right-o. You’s keepin’ busy.” Which was good it was what all of them needed right now. They’d had an influx of people and now things were starting to get busy, a group had branched off and started a new village. A new village! Up in the hillside. “Hector is at beach? Good! Gonna find ‘im then. What you’s doing now?” Will asked, he neatly organised his tools so no-one could be coming and telling him off for being disorderly. Mostly Mrs. Maja. She’d come by and just tut him.
— — —
Wenzel knew he could call William by a nickname, almost everyone did. "Ah, yes," he nodded at William's insistence, not particularly interested in calling him Wilie. He still struggled with getting his Ws to sound right. Wenzel had hoped William would want to send him off to the beach, not come along with him. He suppressed a sigh as Will bounded up next to him, tensing for a 'friendly' slap to the shoulders that would rattle his bones. Surprisingly, it didn't come.
"Now?" Now Wenzel was returning to his hut and going to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling and wonder when he was going to die, if he was ever going to feel different or better, worry at what the Island would throw at them next. "I was going… to get something to eat." Maybe William would understand and appreciate that. Let Wenzel go out of empathy. "Ah I hope Hector is still where I saw him, the tide has started to go out…"
— — —
“You’s cookin’ us dinner duck?” Will asked, with a ferociously foolish smile. Coming down from the farm was easy enough. They’d stripped out of a path to wind down onto the beach. Of course the closer you got to the beach the more it turned to sand. Will had tried to argue that point of bricking everything over but he’d lost that motion. “I’m pulling you’s leg! Don’t have t’ worry ‘bout that.” Will chuckled to himself, beaming out into the sand as he spotted a familiar face. Well Wenzel was right afterall. Hector had been out on the beach.
— — —
Wenzel wasn't a duck, and he most certainly wasn't a cook. He stammered at William's request, his face flushing uncomfortably. "Ah well I wasn't -" William put him out of his misery, another of his endless jokes. "Yes, a joke," Wenzel nervously agreed, not the biggest fan of William's teasing sense of humour. Wenzel let out a rather pathetic, "Ha ha," in agreement with it.
Thankfully William's attention was quickly distracted by Hector coming into view before them. Wenzel squinted at the sharp light reflecting off the waves, looking over at William so he could prepare himself for the imminent bellowing that was sure to begin. Wenzel paused, watching the way William's entire body lightened at seeing his son. The way his smile stretched, his shoulders straightened.
Wenzel looked to Hector, who had seen them coming and looked marginally more accepting of William's forthcoming shouting than Wenzel had. There'd always been a level of tension between the two older boys and William, one that Wenzel had quietly watched develop over the years. Despite his own dislike of William's attention, he always thought it was a shame that the two older boys were so staunch against Will. Wenzel knew that William only tolerated him, when compared to the obvious affection he showed to his sons. It would be nice, to be so deeply cared for on this horrible island.
— — —
Willie had beamed, waved and obnoxiously shouted his words incidentally amplified by his excitement. Not that Hector hadn’t already spotted them, and wasn’t already on his way over. Traversing the beach still a little sodden from having gone swimming, or whatever it was his ilk of water folk got up to. Willie didn’t know, and he had cared to ask once, but he had perhaps forgotten everything that Hector had told him.
“Ay’up yoof!” Willie grinned, Hector was now within normal talking distance and not his obscene enhanced magic. “You’s free t’ help?”
Hector looked between them both, carefully reviewing Wenzel and William as a pair - not that Willie noticed. “Yes—“ He said, hesitant and then as if he’d tallied it all up. “Isn’t Wenzel helping you?”
“No!” Will aggrieved with a slap to Wenzel’s shoulder again. He stepped forwards, forgetting entirely that Wenzel was even there as he spoke quickly to Hector. “Lad int’t up for t’ job. You’s bring up t’ water? Need it t’ clean up them stones ‘fore I start t’ rest.” Will gave Hector a touch to the shoulder, a little gentler but no less firm, the bloke didn’t flinch. “Ay’up leave you’s t’ it. Find me when you’d ready.”
— — —
Wenzel had been too busy looking at Hector, forgetting to watch William. He nearly jumped out of his skin as William hollered for Hector, which was pointless since Hector was already coming close to them. Hector looked at them as if William had brought Wenzel home as a love match. Wenzel took a neat step to the side, except William clapped his shoulder hard enough to bruise. Wenzel murdered under his breath as William briefed Hector, leaving as quickly as he arrived, without a care in the world.
"I… ah…" Wenzel gave Hector a polite, grimacing smile, rolling his shoulder out from where William had clapped it. "He wanted to clean the stones with the pig slop," Wenzel weekly offered, taking off his glasses to clean them and neatly avoid Hector's accusatory gaze.
— — —
Hector watched intrigued, as the scene rapidly unfolded. Which of course seemed on par when William was involved. Felt a little odd all considering but Hector wouldn’t get involved in the politics of it. The disparity between his siblings. He did however find himself landing with a moment alone with Wenzel. A true oddity. The man was quiet, a little meek, Hector had scarcely gotten too many words out of him all these years.
“He’s a lot.” Hector offered, with a benign smile that bordered on apologetic. “He means well, I don’t think he strictly…thinks anything through. Are you…” Hector mused over his words, and then asked quietly. “How are you Wenzel?”
— — —
Wenzel let out a long, slow breath as Hector’s voice thawed, all but offering an olive branch to him. Wenzel put his glasses back on and smiled at him, nodding his head along emphatically as Hector talked about William not thinking things through. “Ah yes, it… it is not how I would do things,” Wenzel admitted easily, bobbing his head as they talked. He most certainly wouldn’t feel as if he could ask anyone to casually work alongside him with no warning.
Wenzel sucked his teeth, and then raised his eyebrows at the next question Hector asked. “Oh, me? I am… I am good, thank you,” Wenzel said politely. He had moped about the morning as he struggled to remember his ex-wife’s name, a benign fact that had tormented Wenzel horrifically. It was not the sort of thing one should forget, even if the match had been doomed from the start. “And you, Hector? How are you? I hope William hasn’t derailed you?”
— — —
Hector did feel for him, as quiet and discerning as Wenzel was. He seemed a fragile man on the verge of collapse. “You wouldn’t clean up with pig mess?” Hector teased, a light smile and an air of easiness as he went to sweep up the nets he’d been fishing with. Half expecting, half hoping that Wenzel would follow. “Not at all. Not much this morning, could do with finding something else to keep me busy. Out of trouble as Will would say.”
Hector stood to shield his eyes from the sun. “I’m fine, life carries on doesn’t it?” He said, which was to say that losing his mother was difficult. A tragedy, but a tragedy in a series of tragedies unfortunately. “I’m worried for Chariot though…I haven’t seen him since he took off. I think he’s taking it all the hardest.”
— — —
"Ah, no," Wenzel smiled, very pleased that his comment had hit the sweet spot of polite but pointed, that Hector smiled at it. "But I do not wish to judge William. He is less modern with his concepts of hygiene… than you or me?" Which was another way of saying he was something of a mess. Most people forgave him for it, given his skills.
Wenzel had nodded along about being kept busy, not something he was particularly successful in. He didn't need to be pestered to not get into trouble, though he was sure that William thought in this he was lacking. So prompted, Wenzel walked out to help Hector pull the nets in, which meant he had no way of backing out when Hector talked about his mother's passing. Of course he would be thinking of her. Wenzel winced and pulled on the nets all the faster, urging his powers to lessen the drag of the net. "Life…" Wenzel started, and then stopped, trying to find something to say. "Life is strange here… Someone like a William lives a hundred years, but…" Hector's mother had died. It wasn't the right thing to say.
"It makes no sense, just like outside." Wenzel smiled at Hector, nervous and awkward as hell. "Chariot… maybe he needs time, quiet…" he meekly offered, protecting onto the stoic and quieter brother.
— — —
Hector leant over to haul the nets in, watching with slight envy as the ordeal became easier. Wenzel had obviously done something. It hadn’t slipped by him that despite being modestly quiet, Wenzel was capable. Hector hauled the nets and with Wenzel’s help the task flew by. He seized the one or two fish that had been swept up by them. “Chariot…he was the closest with her. You’re probably right.”
He dumped the fish into a small bucket. Hector didn’t have the stomach to kill them himself, but they were nearly dead anyway. “But don’t you think that’s wonderful? That people can live here longer than they would’ve. Don’t get me wrong…” If given the opportunity he’d swap Williams’s life for his mother’s, but life hadn’t worked that way. She hadn’t been well since Sun’s birth. They all knew that even if they wouldn’t admit it. “I miss her. But we have each other, right?” And, by extension, that included Will.
“How old do you reckon he is?” Hector said as a way of distracting from the morbid topic of death. It made him feel like he was drowning. “Hundred? I think he’s older than that. Least three.” Hector flashed him a genial smile. “Predates the Bronze Age, maybe?”
— — —
Was it good to live longer? Their seemingly eternal youth, only it was wasted away on this island. A place that elevated people like William, where Wenzel found himself scrambling for any relevancy. "It is a blessing, but in exchange we must survive the island." It never made sense to Wenzel, why the island would keep them alive, give them youth but try to kill them in its next breath? It perplexed Wenzel, almost as much as their powers. "She would want you to survive," Wenzel said, nodding along with Hector's more inclusive statement about having each other.
Hector asked how long William had been around the island, and Wenzel was glad for the distraction away from death, a topic he preferred to investigate drunk and idly floating in the sea. Wenzel had an idea of how old Willie was, somewhere in the mid 19th century, pre-German unification."Well he is early Industrial revolution," Wenzel began, too soon to see the joke that Hector had set up. "Ah, I mean… yes Bronze age." Hector nodded sheepishly, shooting Hector an awkward smile, like he was always waiting for permission to be jovial. "He speaks like Bronze age?" Wenzel suggested. William was hard to understand, but he'd been one of the first people to talk to Wenzel, and after so many years he was used to his voice. "I used to think all English people must speak like this. Used to say a'yup, thought it was the translation of 'hallo'." Wenzel smiled at Hector, a little more confident.
— — —
“Survive we must.” Hector looked to Wenzel, who seemed to be worried? Or perhaps considering? Hector wasn’t sure. It was hard to get a read really on Wenzel he was one of those enigmas that floated about the island without really ever opening up. He had heard from others that Wenzel hadn’t at one point known much english which was swiftly confirmed from the horse’s mouth. “Just a little joke ‘cause he seems so old. Ancient even. Oh bless – I bet that was real confusing.” Hector hefted the last of the nets in but there was nothing more for them to give. He wound it all up into the neatest pile he could make. “Wait–you’re saying your first exposure to English was Will?”
“Man. I bet that was a trip, huh?” Hector hauls up the nets to sling them over his shoulder, well part of it. They’re too long really for that. He only intended to haul them half-way up the beach and then leave them there for tomorrow. “I don’t think…we’ve ever really spoken.” Not properly at least. Hector had tried to softly and politely engage Wenzel, but he seemed to be on the shy side. “Do you usually hang out with William a lot?”
— — —
Wenzel had eventually realised Hector was joking, but he bit his tongue to stop himself from lamely repeating that fact as Hector kindly explained it. He focused instead on where they were going now, the humourous revelation that William had been part of his first exposure to English. "Yes well, I am German… I arrived at an… unpopular time to be German. Even though I never fought in the Great War, and I was not a brownshirt." Sandwiched between two horrible wars. He'd been horrified to learn that the fringe political group he'd scoffed at had taken the reigns of his country and caused such harm.
"William does not know what Germany is," Wenzel weakly offered a counter. He'd been aware that there was the Austrian-Hungarian empire, at a very tenuous stretch, but being a Berliner Wenzel identified more as an ex-Prussian. "And I do not think it matters to him if you understand what he says when he speaks to you." That had certainly been Wenzel's experience, intimidated by the large, muscular man who had sat down at him and chatted his ear off with no fuss about the fact that Wenzel didn't understand a word he said.
Wenzel was mortified when Hector pointed out that they hadn't had much conversation before. He kept mainly to himself, a lingering remnant of how he'd first felt when he'd arrived on the island. "No," he quickly said when Hector asked if he often spent time with William. Wenzel grimaced and crossed his arms over his chest. He most often spent his time blissfully alone.
"I have some time," Wenzel offered, a rare motion indeed. He liked how easy it was to talk to Hector, which was surprising. Sun was the most boisterous of the brothers, and set a bad example in what Wenzel could predict. "If you would like help with carrying the water?" Wenzel added on, shrugging his shoulders.
— — —
Hector quirked a brow as if surprised to hear that Wenzel was German. He and Chariot had been young when they’d arrived on the island, but not young enough to be totally ignorant to new accents. Still it was charming to have it confirmed. “How old are you Wenzel?” Between the two wars. That certainly pegged him as much older than he looked, but not quite as ancient as some others. “No, you’re right, I think William likes to talk to people. He means well…”
Or at least Hector thought he did. Will was impassioned and had a narrow range of focus, but Hector had seen the way him and Sun were together. Sun reading to him, bringing him salvage to examine, and trailing behind Will like a pup. “Sure thing, any help would be great.”
“You’re good with water, aren’t you?” Hector despite not being the youngest had been the last to discover his attunement. It had laid in waiting for him. He didn’t mind so much. Instead he’d spent the last year religiously cataloguing every instance of attunement use. Particularly water because he was biased. Except he’d run out of space in the little pocket notebook he’d washed up with, and then had meticulously dried out. “What’s it like? Your connection to water? Can you feel it all across the island?”
— — —
How old was Wenzel, now there was a question he could answer well enough. "I was thirty one when I arrived here in 1929. I think someone came here and said we have moved to past the year 2000? So I am at least one hundred and two years old." Which was a dreadful thing to live with. Living old enough to be considered an outlier, a true anomaly, his years on the island an endless blur of lifetimes of beach and sand and chaos. "It makes you wonder what it is all for, hmm?" Wenzel nervously tittered, trying not to become overwhelmed. He had decided he would only truly let himself be morose if he lasted past one hundred and forty four years old. That was the twelfth in the Fibonacci sequence, and the thirteenth came at two hundred and thirty three, which seemed an outrageous amount of time to be alive, even more outrageous than one hundred and forty four years. "I hope you do not think that is the Bronze Age..."
Wenzel didn't think too highly of his abilities with water. He ducked his head at Hector's keen interest, wishing he hadn't decided to be altruistic and offer his help. "Ah, I have my abilities, yes." There were a few spare buckets a little up the beach. Someone was optimistic about the haul of fish from the nets. Wenzelslaus pulled the water from the surf into a flowing sin-function wave, arching it carefully into the buckets. A rather extravagant display for a mediocre result. Water in buckets, to wash some stone.
Wenzel sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Salt water is the best for me. Not good for much." He couldn't water their fledgling farm, or help direct and gather rain. He could fish half-decently, if pushed to it. His latest party trick was desalinating seawater and drinking it, a trick with a variable success rate, and one Wenzel felt like might sign him up for more work than necessary. "I can feel the ocean, but not very far." Wenzel shrugged, hoping that would be the end of Hector's questions. He did not feel qualified to talk about his abilities, at all.
— — —
“No, no not at all.” Hector is quick to add as Wenzel implored whether he was Bronze Age or not. The joke clearly well and truly lost on him. “Fascinating…” He had learnt a little but not enough to know what Germany was like in the 20s. Life beyond the small young and childish bubble that he had lived in was largely unexplored. The island had shut one door of learning, but opened up another to those that had the aptitude. “Where abouts where you from, before here, out there?” Hector found that he was fascinated with Wenzel. Who by in large looked not much older than himself, even in some ways, acted like it too and yet he was far wiser, and older beyond his years. Hector wished to study him, he wished to befriend him, and most of all he couldn’t understand why William was inclined to bad-mouth him in his jovial overzealously friendly manner.
Hector had to stop and watch in awe as Wenzel did an impressive display of his powers. “Incredible.” He whispered. “You’re too modest Wenzel, this is amazing.You are amazing.” He wished he had something to scribble down against, to make notes of the ease in which Wenzel had done this. No incantation, not even so much as a hand gesture save for the slow flick of his hand towards the buckets. “Just because you’re a little salty, doesn’t mean you aren’t useful.” Hector just couldn’t help but marvel at him.
— — —
"I am from Berlin, beautiful city." Wenzel had fallen in love with it over and over again. A child running and biking through the streets, then a young man finding night clubs, more and more fun. "Ah but that is in the past now." Wenzel tightly smiled, looking out to the sea. There was no point thinking about it too hard. They were here now.
Wenzel was defined by regret, his current situation was no different. He shouldn't have moved the water, if he did he should have done it in a normal, direct, brutal way. His heart skipped a beat at Hector's open admiration, flattered by the attention, but growing dread at the thought of Hector spreading word of his amazing abilities. "Nein, nein, nein- no," Wenzel emphasised, holding up his hands to Hector. "It is not amazing… I am not amazing. I am barely good at it." Wenzel wouldn't hear a word of it. He was not talented or special, but he was capable of working hard. "It is just practise. You will far surpass me, Hector," Wenzel smiled anxiously, his face dropping fast. He did not want to be constantly nagged to do something. He would rather decide to do it on his own (which rarely happened). "Please do not go around and say I am amazing." Because demonstrably, he wasn't.
— — —
Hector watched as Wenzel devolved into a fast declaration that he was not in fact amazing. Not talented. Not anything at all really. He was such a curious oddity. If the little exposure Hector had, had to him meant anything. “Hell yeah, it’s over for you once I’ve got the hang of it Wenzel.” He teased, though it was abundantly clear that Wenzel didn’t seem to latch very well onto humour. So far Hector had amassed that Wenzel tended to take everything at face value. “Seriously, there aren’t many water folk are there? So I need someone to look up to and admire.”
Hector dumped the nets a safe distance up the beach so they wouldn’t get washed away. Swapping them instead for a bucket, in each hand, of salt water. Leaving one for Wenzel. And, of course the fish bucket which Hector would have to come back for. “Why don’t you want people to know?” Hector asked, though he had a feeling he knew why. Along the same lines of why Chariot never wanted to help much of anything. In Hector’s opinion it was selfish, but he didn’t want to make assumptions without first asking.
— — —
Hector was eager to surpass Wenzel, which was good, very good. Though just as the tension was leaving Wenzel, Hector made a comment about wanting someone to look up to. Wenzel winced at the very thought of being a role model, his shoulders moving like he had a spider crawling up his back. “Ah yes… well…” Wenzel looked at the bucket he had to carry, at once bone-weary at the thought of taking it to William and doing his chore for him.
Why didn’t he want people to know? Wenzelslaus cleared his throat, took off his glasses to clean the spotless lenses. A stalling tactic. “I am not amazing. It is the truth,” he said in a hushed whisper, revelling in the easy way the world went blurry around him. Nothing to put pressure on him, just a comforting mess of shapes and light. He’d raised himself up once before, been at his own peak, climbed to the top, lived the high life. And the second he’d seen the house of cards wobble, he’d taken drastic measures so he wouldn’t have to live with falling from grace. His retribution was being here. If he let himself think he was good again, if people relied on him, he would just let them down again. Send them all crashing and burning to ruin. Wenzel affixed his glasses, and gave Hector a humble roll of the shoulder. The best thing he could do would be not to get in anyone’s way. “William will be waiting for us,” he said calmly, picking up his bucket and heading towards the building site.
END.
