![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tekia.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tamingthemuseTitle: Classes
Fandom: Original
Prompt: crushed
Rating: G
Summary: Jacky takes classes in digging up old stuff.
Jacky eyed the old stone bits, a frown on his fine features as he tried to place the black paint all but chipped away with time. The pottery was ancient, and the style odd, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be able to date it. Still, he frowned at the bits and began to chew his lip in concentration.
There were dozens of the pieces, many larger enough to need both hands to hold them, but there were far more of the tiny bits that were begging him to glue them all together and recreated the jar that they had once made. Judging from the thin lines and intricate design, it would have been a looker. His fingers itched to get started.
Still, he had to wash and date the pieces first. Every little bit had to be hand washed, detailed, drawn, charted, recorded and photographed before he could even think about piecing the puzzle back together.
He ran a hand through his hair in much need of a cut he didn’t have time for and continued to frown at the clay pot bits. The art he could see so far had him salivating for more, but he had to pace himself. Nothing good ever came from rushing his job, so he reached for the old worn toothbrush and set to work, starting with the smallest pieces first.
He propped the pieces up under a lighted glass and began the arduous process of scrubbing at the mud with careful strokes that wouldn’t damage the clay. Then he frowned as he realized yet again he hadn’t dated the jar properly. His instructor could probably date it with just a glance, and that grated on Jacky’s nerves that he wasn’t that good yet.
He set the small bit aside and reached for the next, holding the clay gently in his gloved fingers. It really was beautiful. He also knew that the ancients had painted their jars with bright colors and he wished he could have seen it, any of it, the jar, the town, the streets, in their former glory.
As it was, he was stuck with only his imagination. While that could take him many places, it couldn’t take him to the truth.
Maybe his dreams…
He shook his head, calling himself an idiot for even humoring such thoughts and focused on his assigned duties. The pieces weren’t cleaning themselves.
The hours began to pass without Jacky being aware of them as he applied himself to the job, letting his mind wonder off where it will as the task turned tedium. Then his excitement returned, after a brief break for lunch, when he finally reached the larger pieces. The base of the jar had survived the travel through time nearly intact and there was, he discovered, an etching on the underside.
Excitement bubbling inside him, Jacky carefully dug out the caked in mud and exposed the craftsman’s stamp. He grinned to himself and quickly dreamt up a life and history for the man who had made clay pots for his living in this ancient of cities. The man that had put so much into every jar, so that they all left his shop as fine works of art.
Only to be crushed under the weight of time.
Sighing, Jacky turned off the water and pulled his trey out from under the work station and set the pieces out to dry while he fetched his sketch book and pencils.
He wasn’t much of an artist, but he had learned to copy what was before him in well enough detail to pass the class. It shouldn’t take as much time as the cleaning, but for him it always did. He set to work, labeling each piece and copying each line and crack for their records.
He was just finishing the last piece when he heard the instructor call out for all their tools to be cleaned and stored away for the night.
Jacky looked up, startled to find that most of the light had dimmed as the sun had descended toward the horizon. Smiling wryly, Jacky folded his notebook closed and found the lid to his trey. Quickly, efficiently, he cleaned up the work station, and the tools, and hefted it all back to the trailer to be locked up for the night.
The trey with the pot shards were taken into another trailer and stored in a labeled cabinet until tomorrow. He propped his notebook on top and wondered if he would have time tomorrow to work on the shattered jar, or if the thing was going to be forever crushed.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: crushed
Rating: G
Summary: Jacky takes classes in digging up old stuff.
Jacky eyed the old stone bits, a frown on his fine features as he tried to place the black paint all but chipped away with time. The pottery was ancient, and the style odd, but that didn’t mean he shouldn’t be able to date it. Still, he frowned at the bits and began to chew his lip in concentration.
There were dozens of the pieces, many larger enough to need both hands to hold them, but there were far more of the tiny bits that were begging him to glue them all together and recreated the jar that they had once made. Judging from the thin lines and intricate design, it would have been a looker. His fingers itched to get started.
Still, he had to wash and date the pieces first. Every little bit had to be hand washed, detailed, drawn, charted, recorded and photographed before he could even think about piecing the puzzle back together.
He ran a hand through his hair in much need of a cut he didn’t have time for and continued to frown at the clay pot bits. The art he could see so far had him salivating for more, but he had to pace himself. Nothing good ever came from rushing his job, so he reached for the old worn toothbrush and set to work, starting with the smallest pieces first.
He propped the pieces up under a lighted glass and began the arduous process of scrubbing at the mud with careful strokes that wouldn’t damage the clay. Then he frowned as he realized yet again he hadn’t dated the jar properly. His instructor could probably date it with just a glance, and that grated on Jacky’s nerves that he wasn’t that good yet.
He set the small bit aside and reached for the next, holding the clay gently in his gloved fingers. It really was beautiful. He also knew that the ancients had painted their jars with bright colors and he wished he could have seen it, any of it, the jar, the town, the streets, in their former glory.
As it was, he was stuck with only his imagination. While that could take him many places, it couldn’t take him to the truth.
Maybe his dreams…
He shook his head, calling himself an idiot for even humoring such thoughts and focused on his assigned duties. The pieces weren’t cleaning themselves.
The hours began to pass without Jacky being aware of them as he applied himself to the job, letting his mind wonder off where it will as the task turned tedium. Then his excitement returned, after a brief break for lunch, when he finally reached the larger pieces. The base of the jar had survived the travel through time nearly intact and there was, he discovered, an etching on the underside.
Excitement bubbling inside him, Jacky carefully dug out the caked in mud and exposed the craftsman’s stamp. He grinned to himself and quickly dreamt up a life and history for the man who had made clay pots for his living in this ancient of cities. The man that had put so much into every jar, so that they all left his shop as fine works of art.
Only to be crushed under the weight of time.
Sighing, Jacky turned off the water and pulled his trey out from under the work station and set the pieces out to dry while he fetched his sketch book and pencils.
He wasn’t much of an artist, but he had learned to copy what was before him in well enough detail to pass the class. It shouldn’t take as much time as the cleaning, but for him it always did. He set to work, labeling each piece and copying each line and crack for their records.
He was just finishing the last piece when he heard the instructor call out for all their tools to be cleaned and stored away for the night.
Jacky looked up, startled to find that most of the light had dimmed as the sun had descended toward the horizon. Smiling wryly, Jacky folded his notebook closed and found the lid to his trey. Quickly, efficiently, he cleaned up the work station, and the tools, and hefted it all back to the trailer to be locked up for the night.
The trey with the pot shards were taken into another trailer and stored in a labeled cabinet until tomorrow. He propped his notebook on top and wondered if he would have time tomorrow to work on the shattered jar, or if the thing was going to be forever crushed.
