Work Text:
It’s only a bell after sunrise and Fufucha’s already down to work. This is about the fourth or fifth day of this, actually, and she only just got promoted to Guildmaster before the Calamity happened and…. And now she’s here, standing on a platform, clapping sharply for attention in front of a large gaggle of guild members and volunteers.
“Alright!” She’s projecting her voice as best she can, but still worries it won’t be enough. This whole task isn’t her favourite anyways, there’s too many unvetted people, but what can she do… “Listen up! Thank you all for coming to help rebuild. Experienced botanists, take a few newbies and teach them as you go. Remember, we are only cutting trees marked by the Guild professionals. We live here by the grace of the Twelveswood, and we’re going to remain good guests within it even during difficult times. This is for the elementals, and it is also for safety. If any of you try to sneak and cut lumber from a tree that isn’t marked, you could damage the forest or your fellow botanists. Some of you will be transporting felled logs, the farm’s arranged some draft chocobos for us, so talk to the handlers. For injuries, water, and food, there are mages at all gates.” It still stresses her ut to have to deal with this, even though she’s been turning over the words in her head for the past week.
It’s not that complicated. Almost everyone here is a native to Gridania, and those that aren’t are refugees from the disparate settlements in the wood. They should all know well enough how to log, how to be respectful of the trees, how to get the most out of what they can do. But she hasn’t been able to vet them….
Fufucha reminds herself that still, the most important thing is that lumber is needed for rebuilding. People need houses. Broken walls need rebuilding. Another deep inhale. “Most importantly: Be safe ! Thank you!” A bow, and she hops off her perch. Those in charge of heading units will take care of individual instruction, and Fufucha’s gone over and over in her head already making sure things are as streamlined as possible.
She bites her thumbnail, casting gaze over to the wrecked fields just in front of the guild building. Just a while ago, they had been flourishing flowerbeds. A handful of which, Fufucha had even helped plant. Now, though, there’s the concern of planting on a much larger scale, harvesting what can be sustained, and the hurt travelers her heart bleeds for. Nothing to do but get to work. She watches as the large group of people splinters into smaller and files to the gate, the blabber of talking as they leave. And, hold on, there at the tail end… Fufucha hops into a jog so she can catch up and grab the last person in the group by the collar.
He yelps and stumbles. “What are you doing here?” Fufucha asks.
This is just a kid she’s grabbed, wearing gardening gloves that are too big for him. He’s not familiar to her, so he must be one of the outpost denizens. A little miqo’te who’s even got a missing tooth when he responds to her, making him come across as even more of a little whelp. “Helping!”
Fufucha lets him go, now with her hands on her hips. “How old are you?”
“Ten.”
She sighs. This is a kid, she can’t morally have a child setting out to work. “You have to be fifteen to do official guild work. Are your parents volunteering? I can find someone for you to sit with.”
The kid puffs his chest up, trying to look more capable. His tail even fluffs itself up. “Da’s working with the carpenters, and I can’t do that work. Ma said I could help you if I followed all instructions. I know every plant in the forest that you can and can’t eat. I can’t take a tree down, but I can gather anything useful that comes down with the tree! I’m not gonna be underfoot, and I’ll be helpful. I promise.”
Fufucha looks at him. The kid’s clearly determined, and… well, she can’t lie. There’s something in the gleam of a kid who’s simply excited to help people with the aid of the forest that speaks to Fufucha’s own past. “It’ll be hard work,” she says as a last warning. “It’ll make you tired and your arms hurt, and it probably won’t be fun at all after a while.”
He grins at her. “I know. I want to help.”
Someone who wants to help, no doubt soon to be sprinting over forest floor and clambering up trees to take lookout positions for the next mark… ah, she really can’t argue with that. “Promise you’ll stay hydrated. Make sure whatever group you’re with is okay with you, and look out for them, too.” The kid promises, sobering at the concept of a real responsibility. Now, she can’t just… Fufucha smiles, takes off her straw hat, and plonks it on the kid’s head.
It’s about the right size, since he’s young and she’s a Lalafel, and it might squish his ears a bit but he looks a bit more prepared now. She can’t help but see herself and feel that maybe, despite all her nerves, things will probably end up fine. Even after the sky itself falls down and the entire Twelveswood changes shape, there still are people who will look out for both other people and the plants themselves, and there’s kids who will grow up to do the same, and maybe with that promise they’ll be able to make things good and green and growing. No matter what might fall.
“A good botanist always has a hat. Keeps you from sunburn and sawdust in your hair. Now, go along, and I’d best see you back here at the end of the day.”
He nods, looking almost overwhelmed with the glee of approval and seriousness of being given something by the Guildmaster herself and, with one hand holding Fufucha’s hat down secure on his head, sprints off. “Yes, ma’am!”
Fufucha watches him run until he’s joined with the tail end of the logging party just now getting out of her vision range. Then: a smile, a stretch, and she rolls up her sleeves. Better see if there’s a replacement hat in the guild’s storeroom and then get going herself— there’s plenty of hard, hard work to do. But it seems a little less arduous knowing she didn’t do too bad as guildmaster if she’s got a good chunk of the people and at least one of the next generation motivated by her.
There’s a lot of cleaning to do, and she may as well start with what her voice can ask for and hands can carry.