Factory Talk

``Fascinating...'' Vladimir muttered to himself. ``There seems to be a correlation...''

``What correlation are you referring to?'' Anastacia asked curiously as she looked at the supervisor. It was yet another day at the factory where they were building the various parts of the panzer tanks that were needed on the war front, and there had been some issues relating to the quality of the output leading to Vladimir having to come down for his own inspection.

Anastacia was afraid of the supervisor, not because the latter was actually brutal (many of the supervisors were), but there was a flare in his eyes that seemed to suggest that he had some kind of supernatural experience, the kind of thing that was more likely to be observed in an old crone than in a thirty-something balding male. The look of a Baba Yaga, if the rumours were to be believed.

That he made the comment of correlation was not to be dismissed easily either.

``The House of Uranus is now presiding, and our glorious Tsar has decided to order a winter-based attack upon our enemies. It seems that this is not exactly the best time to launch an offensive, which explains why the quality of the tanks are suffering so much despite our best efforts to control the quality of the iron ore that is used to smelt into the sheet iron.''

Anastacia stared at Vladimir, terrified. The exact words that she wasn't looking forward to hearing, and he had said it all. It was discomforting. But the supervisor seemed to be distracted at the realisation to actually notice that she was there.

``Should I continue work then?'' Anastacia asked, desperate to get out of the way of Vladimir.

He seemed to be brought back to reality at that point and looked hard at Anastacia. She cringed from the scrutiny and could feel herself trying her hardest to avert the stare without appearing disrespectful. He was, after all, a supervisor and had various ranks and privileges over her. He could cost her her job at the very least, and perhaps her life at the very worst.

``Tell me, Anastacia,'' Vladimir began, scaring her with his knowledge of her name, ``do you believe in fate?''

``Fate, sir?'' Anastacia replied in a stammering manner. ``Why would you talk about fate?''

``It just seems so apt,'' Vladimir replied distractedly.

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 2014-08-07 16:47:39)