Originally Posted by Zoerawrr

So Jake, who usually was pretty distracted in classes, was in the ZONE today. Flying lessons, even though this technically wasn't flying, were what he always looked forward to. Right now he had a broom and he was in his place at the faaaaaaar end of one of the workbenches, as far away from everyone else as he could possibly be, staring at said broom.

Ohhhh, how he just wanted to make it better. This was torrrrture. Poor broom.

The boy had run one finger along the broomcare kit, just itching to start already when Vindictus was talking, twirling the tail twig clippers in his fingers. Brooms and flying were his thing, he thought.

When it was time to get started, Jake took a moment and stared over at the poor massacred broom that someone had totally messed up on. Poor thing. It almost brought a tear to Jakey's eye.

Almost.

Keeping to himself as he got started, Jake chose to stand so he could bend over the broom properly, so it was less likely that he'd make a mistake. Jake had a contented little smile on his face as he ran a hand over the broom handle, following the smooth lines until he got to the tail. The first bent twig he came across was deftly snipped off in a way that showed he was a little experienced but no expert.

Again and again Jake cut off the twigs that poked out, until he bent down and looked straight over the broom. The line of the tail was smoother now, not AMAZINGLY so, since he wasn't brilliant. But enough. And anyway, cutting off not enough when he was inexperienced was better than cutting too much off and thinking it was the right thing.

Unfortunately, he'd spent all that time on doing just the accessible fraction of the broom, and as most moved on to polishing, Jake continued to take his time and start on the next third. He rotated to broom so he could see a little of what he'd already done and the next twiggy part. That way, the tail wouldn't be all square.

With this method, it took two more rotations after this, and a loooong concentrated effort. Eventually, Jake held up the broom before his eyes and held the handle so it was held out horizontally in front of him, and he could look left to right and see the whole length. Twirling it round slowly, Jake saw a few twigs that he appeared to have missed, and deftly snipped them off. Again, the result wasn't perfect, but it was good, and Jake was proud of all his effort.

Luckily (it was lucky because he'd been so obsessed with getting the tail right that he couldn't afford to pay attention to anything else) Jake knew the right polishing procedure. It was more or less like polishing boots, so it was.

Setting the broom back down carefully, Jake stretched up as he stood (all the leaning over the broom took its toll) and then twisted from left to right, popping his back in the process.

He put the clippers back and reached for the polish and the rags, checking them to see if they'd been used, because that would influence which rag was used for which function. Mhmm. So it would.

It was easy enough to make a decision, and with one glance up at the really neat broom that was on the mantle as a way of setting himself a goal, Jake began to get to work, starting, naturally, with scooping up a small amount of polish with the rag. As if to brace himself, Jake took a deep breath and began to apply the polish.

Logic dictated that, on a broom, there were certain places that needed polishing more than others, since contact with the broom made it so the shine was rubbed off, such as where the hands held tight and the general area where the body made contact with a broom. On Jake's broom, that tended to be the whole thing, from the footholds to where his hands gripped it, since he was usually pressed down against the broom to gather speed.

Sooooo, because of this, Jake subconsciously focused on these areas, spreading on the polish and hoping he was putting the right amount on. The problem with doing this was that you could spread it too thick or too thin, and Jake usually had trouble. Even this time, as he started from the top of the broom towards the tail, he found himself realising that he'd not have enough to do the whole handle.

Still, not wanting to be one to use up all the polish, Jake began to spread the polish out from the top some more, so that he had some to apply at the bottom, even if it was kind of thin. He didn't want to leave the broom, lest it was sabotaged, and anyway, it had been at least two minutes since he had started at the top of the broom. Sooooo, Jake switched rags and went through the routine actions of polishing it off.

Eyeing the handle, which didn't look anywhere near finished, Jake began again, knowing that you had to repeat this a couple of times to do it right. And hey, at least this time he got the polish amount right. This time, when he started to polish it back off (after admiring the broom for a couple of minutes) the broom was looking noticeably different. Nothing like the one up on the mantle, but hey... his own broom was in pretty good shape... errr... wherever it was.

Starting to get pretty tired, but quite willing to repeat this procedure over and over again, Jake began the third and final round of this, tuning out everyone else, but keeping his ears open for Vindictus. Since this was the last time he did this on this broom, Jake made sure to be extra careful and precise and keep the polish even. When Jake finally got around to using the rag to buff the polish off, he gave a tired smile. All over the broom, he felt he'd done a pretty good job.

Fiiiiiiinally finished, Jake set the polish and rags to one side (he didn't put them away in case he was asked to go over the last coat) and sat back down in his seat, giving the broom a last cursory look, making sure he hadn't missed any polish that needed wiping off. He WANTED to carry on, but Vindictus said THREE times. No more. So he'd only do four.

Plus, the polish smelled bad after a while.

Sooooo, Jake let himself stare up at the broom on the mantle. Yeah, his broom would still be in good condition when he was as old as Vindictus.

... Best not think about getting old.