That’s another chilling proposition right there — what if all of the others don’t make it back? what if they don’t have enough people left to sustain the village?
But Wash’s point is pragmatic, too, and therefore gives her something to concentrate on. Keeps her centered. Brigitte gives a firm nod, agreeing with him: “Then we need hunters for food. Are you guys any good at that? Someone will have to cook at the inn, too, but that’s easier.” The communal meals had been such a steadily reliable thing; she’s kicking herself now for having taken them for granted. “Foggy’s still here and he can butcher the meat. We might have a fisher and farmer left. I can be a medic, if anyone gets injured and we don’t have anyone better.”
She’s mentally running through the list of people she knows and recognises in the village. There’s some unfamiliar faces, though, and she’ll have to remedy that. Brigitte draws in a deep breath to steady herself. “At least nothing’s actively attacking us or anything, I guess?” It’s meant to be a wistful joke, a pick-me-up — but after a pause, she raps her knuckles on the nearest heavy Edwardian tabletop. Touch wood. Just in case.
They’re not village leaders, but they can at least focus on the problem of food. It breaks the overwhelming shitshow down into one solvable problem to start with.
no subject
But Wash’s point is pragmatic, too, and therefore gives her something to concentrate on. Keeps her centered. Brigitte gives a firm nod, agreeing with him: “Then we need hunters for food. Are you guys any good at that? Someone will have to cook at the inn, too, but that’s easier.” The communal meals had been such a steadily reliable thing; she’s kicking herself now for having taken them for granted. “Foggy’s still here and he can butcher the meat. We might have a fisher and farmer left. I can be a medic, if anyone gets injured and we don’t have anyone better.”
She’s mentally running through the list of people she knows and recognises in the village. There’s some unfamiliar faces, though, and she’ll have to remedy that. Brigitte draws in a deep breath to steady herself. “At least nothing’s actively attacking us or anything, I guess?” It’s meant to be a wistful joke, a pick-me-up — but after a pause, she raps her knuckles on the nearest heavy Edwardian tabletop. Touch wood. Just in case.
They’re not village leaders, but they can at least focus on the problem of food. It breaks the overwhelming shitshow down into one solvable problem to start with.