Prompt: http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/3961.html?thread=8787065#cmt8787065 "Ah, sanitation. I happen to work for a sanitation department IRL, and I find myself wondering how Finn's old workplace would compare. Harried supervisors running around checking on conditions and keeping an eye on their workers. Instructions coming down from On High that don't seem to make any sense. Squads in competition with each other over who can get more done (or get away with doing less). Stories about the disgusting or dangerous things the workers have picked up, or about the ridiculous things they've done on the job. That one guy who's on a sex offender list or suspected of a murder. The poor unfortunate in the office, fielding calls about how this-and-such location didn't get picked up and it needs to get done NOW. How does this sort of thing translate to the First Order?"
Daily Activity Report Daily Activity Report
"Daily activity reports will be turned in to Recordsman Yera. Your reports will be complete, legible, and promptly submitted. Long live the First Order."
Seated behind the desk is an olive-skinned woman, black hair cropped down to almost nothing, her first wrinkles just starting to develop. She eyes the 'troopers queuing up to give her their reports. Unfamiliar designations on quite a few of them. New meat, then. Is it that time again already?
FN-2187 tentatively slides a card over. Yera frowns as she looks it over, then points to the blank spots that shouldn't be. "Designation, here and here. Distance traveled here, certify beginning and ending inspections of your collection unit here." A few seconds of scribbling. "Acceptable." He realizes the recordsman has turned to the next 'trooper in line and heads for the refreshers.
***
The next day, FN-2187's activity report is filled out perfectly. Yera says nothing as she transcribes it into the aggregation system, but a tiny smile flickers over her face.
***
Days of routine stretch into weeks, stretch into months. The routes through the same sector of Starkiller Base, the now-familiar classifications of garbage—food waste, packaging, recoverable materials, and the remnants of scenes he preferred not to think about—and at the end, Yera at her desk, her face turning a little less grim at the sight of him. He hands today's card to her. She nods. "Thank you."
***
A fixture, a tiny comfort on this rotten detail.
"FN-2187. You are well?" "Satisfactory." "Your squad is well?" "They are." A nod, a smile that borders on kindly. "Long live the First Order."
***
"FN-2187. You are well?" "I am. I see there's a route available in Sector 1 that I would like to be assigned to." "I don't recommend it. Sector 1 hasn't reached its weight targets more than five days in the last thirty. They're being put under extra supervision." "I withdraw my request, then."
***
Yera's face is pinched, her breathing slow and deliberate. FN-2187 brushes his hand against hers as he places the card on her desk, then leaves without speaking.
***
"Changes to the recordsman duty roster have been published, effective tomorrow."
***
"Daily activity reports will be turned in to Recordsman Parker." At Yera's desk—no, not her desk anymore—is a stout, brown-skinned woman with braids hanging down her chest. She reaches over and takes FN-2187's card without sparing him a glance. It's just as well that his helmet hides the pain written on his face.
***
The sanitation duty 'troopers never do see Yera again.
Daily Activity Report (Gen, sanitation detail on Starkiller Base)
Daily Activity Report
Daily Activity Report
"Daily activity reports will be turned in to Recordsman Yera. Your reports will be complete, legible, and promptly submitted. Long live the First Order."
Seated behind the desk is an olive-skinned woman, black hair cropped down to almost nothing, her first wrinkles just starting to develop. She eyes the 'troopers queuing up to give her their reports. Unfamiliar designations on quite a few of them. New meat, then. Is it that time again already?
FN-2187 tentatively slides a card over. Yera frowns as she looks it over, then points to the blank spots that shouldn't be. "Designation, here and here. Distance traveled here, certify beginning and ending inspections of your collection unit here." A few seconds of scribbling. "Acceptable." He realizes the recordsman has turned to the next 'trooper in line and heads for the refreshers.
***
The next day, FN-2187's activity report is filled out perfectly. Yera says nothing as she transcribes it into the aggregation system, but a tiny smile flickers over her face.
***
Days of routine stretch into weeks, stretch into months. The routes through the same sector of Starkiller Base, the now-familiar classifications of garbage—food waste, packaging, recoverable materials, and the remnants of scenes he preferred not to think about—and at the end, Yera at her desk, her face turning a little less grim at the sight of him. He hands today's card to her. She nods. "Thank you."
***
A fixture, a tiny comfort on this rotten detail.
"FN-2187. You are well?"
"Satisfactory."
"Your squad is well?"
"They are."
A nod, a smile that borders on kindly. "Long live the First Order."
***
"FN-2187. You are well?"
"I am. I see there's a route available in Sector 1 that I would like to be assigned to."
"I don't recommend it. Sector 1 hasn't reached its weight targets more than five days in the last thirty. They're being put under extra supervision."
"I withdraw my request, then."
***
Yera's face is pinched, her breathing slow and deliberate. FN-2187 brushes his hand against hers as he places the card on her desk, then leaves without speaking.
***
"Changes to the recordsman duty roster have been published, effective tomorrow."
***
"Daily activity reports will be turned in to Recordsman Parker." At Yera's desk—no, not her desk anymore—is a stout, brown-skinned woman with braids hanging down her chest. She reaches over and takes FN-2187's card without sparing him a glance. It's just as well that his helmet hides the pain written on his face.
***
The sanitation duty 'troopers never do see Yera again.