Whistle While You Work: [Open]

[ford-sawyer-815.livejournal.com]

There was a problem with having big, massive battles that encompassed the entire ship, aside from the whole 'OMG We're Gonna DIE!' thing. The problem: Someone had to clean up after it.

After the battlefields of World War II had disappeared, after the Nightmare King had been destroyed, and after the pissed off bald kid had dropped a damn hurricane into the ship, the city was littered with rubble and debris. Broken sections of buildings lay on the ground, blocking entire streets. Shattered glass threatened to cut open the plant suits--of those still wearing them--and lodge themselves in people's feet. And then there was the dust that had been kicked up by the winds and still hadn't come down. It was a disaster.

But someone had to clean it up--or at least try--and someone was. Sawyer, equipped with shovels, some brooms, rakes, and a couple of wheelbarrows that he'd found in a garden shed in the Vatican, was down in the city getting to the business of cleaning up the mess. With the heat of the city coupled with the physical exertion and the dust in the air, he'd long ago ripped off the top of his plant suit and wrapped it around his nose and mouth in an effort to keep the dust particles from getting into his lungs.

It was a dirty business, but someone had to do it. Although, some help wouldn't hurt.