the usefulness of this uselessness

around him, his siblings work dutifully, each putting their own spin on the task. Las smiles, soft and fond. he loves his siblings, loves each of their big personalities and little quirks, loves that they’re all their own people. he nods to Modesty as she passes, quickly basking in his mother’s praise. her approval fills him like sunlight, warming him from the inside and spurring him to complete his basket as quickly as possible. working steadily, blocking out the rest of the world, Las ties off the final cord and steps back to admire his creation. it’s not…perfect, but it’s at least his. and it’ll hold stuff, which is kind of the purpose of a basket, right? Las spins it in a circle, skimming it for every flaw and imperfection. he makes a mental list of everything he’ll do better next time, then sits and lets himself bask in the simple satisfaction of a task complete. he’s not the most creative, but he’s determined, and sometimes that’s not so dissimilar.

"Cutlass Fallen"