Cassiopeia finished sweeping the wooden boardwalks of the dockyard at about five in the afternoon. She didn't have her watch, but her boss, Mayra, had come over to inform her that once the walkway was swept, she was off for the day.
It was a clear, sunny late-summer afternoon. Cassiopeia was dressed appropriately: wearing a sun hat, knee-length red dress that matched the strange bright crimson of her irises, and a sturdy pair of shoes. Her waist-length green hair had been pulled back into a braid, with stray strands escaping and clinging to the sweaty skin on her face and neck after a day of hard work.
It had been almost two weeks since Cassiopeia's interview; after her nap, she'd awakened refreshed, had a short pee, and made her way back to the stairs snaking down the sheer side of the plateau. Since then, she'd still been staying at the inn near the base of the plateau, but it was beginning to get expensive. She'd needed to spend her first paycheck on new clothing and supplies, and found that morning that she hadn't had enough to stay another night at the inn. It was for that reason that her scant belongings were stowed in a backpack in the supply shed nearest to the entrance to the docking yard. Cassiopeia had figured she could camp in the trees somewhere around the docking yard for a few days, as long as it wasn't on her employer's property. She'd miss bathing, she supposed, but she'd always liked peeing outside.
As Cassiopeia stowed the broom in the supply shed near the dockyard's radio tower, she pressed her legs together. She needed to pee again for what felt like the dozenth time that day. Pushing past the urge, Cassiopeia turned to a blue cooler on a narrow work table next to the brooms and retrieved a water bottle from it. The sides were cool and wet with condensation, contrasting the burning afternoon sunlight outside. The water inside was even cooler when Cassiopeia tipped her head back and took a long drink from it. She was tired from the long day and still needed to scout out a campsite, but she needed to relieve herself first. She'd held out so long that when she finished her drink, she had to press her legs together harder to prevent a leak.
Cassiopeia exited the supply shed and hurried toward the closest trail into the trees.
"Miss? Miss?! Hello, are you the owner of this docking yard?" asked a voice somewhere behind her as she hurried along the grid of raised boardwalks that crisscrossed most of the docking yard. "Miss?"
Cassiopeia froze and turned around. Behind her was a woman who appeared to be slightly older than she was, in her early to mid-'20s. Cassiopeia couldn't tell whether the newcomer was renoige or human: she looked human for the most part, with tanned skin, round blue eyes, and a slightly upturned nose, but her ears were pointed and catlike, the same yellowed white as her coarse shoulder-length hair. Her clothes were formal but crumpled, as though she'd slept in them, and she had a fluffy knee-length ringed tail that swished subtly behind her as she jogged along. Cassiopeia glanced around, figuring that she could point the newcomer to Mayra and get away to relieve herself, but her bird-winged employer was nowhere to be seen. Cassiopeia's bladder gave a throb of protest. She had to clench up her kegel muscles, and to her vague dismay, it felt good.
"I'm not the owner, no. That's Miss Mayra," said Cassiopeia, walking forward as casually as she could while trying not to pee herself. "Have you checked the airship at the entrance?"
The woman shrugged. "It's the first place I went. I knocked at both the front and back doors but nobody answered."
Cassiopeia bit back a groan. "She's probably in her workshop."
"Where is it? Can you show me?" asked the woman, pulling a small notepad and a pen from her hip pocket.
Cassiopeia wanted to ask about the notepad, but she had to clench up again as another urge to pee hit her. She avoided leaking, barely, while trying to navigate the raised grid of boardwalks. The small outbuilding that housed Mayra's workshop wasn't far, but the maze of paths leading up to maintenance docking structures and around the larger stalls made it difficult to approach without finding oneself at a dead end four meters above the ground.
"My name's Saoirse, by the way. Saoirse Sylls," said the woman, falling into step next to Cassiopeia. She'd pronounced it "seer-sha," and Cassiopeia immediately knew that she'd never be able to spell it.
