the prejudice of pride \\ weekly tasks

[eliza]

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there were dark circles beneath her eyes, most days, and today was no different. the blonde stood in the same position she had during her husband's meeting the prior day, feet planted in the same place his own had been, though she carried a different air to herself. not so much authoritative or commanding, more so a silent confidence. one of a woman, nearly thirty years old, who'd lived a life twice as long as that. her soul, it seemed, was old enough to have gone gray.

[color=#C591A5]❝alright, tasks time,❞ carter called out, voice steady, revealing nothing, [color=#C591A5]❝c'mon, there's shit to do.❞ as it turned out, from her recent surveying of shit-to-do, there was a whole lot of aforementioned shit, and a limited population of do-ers.

[ABD AL-MALIK]

[align=center][div style="width: 530px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .3px; line-height: 1.3; padding: 4px;"]'Seemed like these people were learning: wilting pansies didn't get anywhere around here. Someone could easily argue that Abd al-Malik's sort didn't belong either, but he'd seen the underbelly of many a place before, and he wasn't so much a stranger to groups like Los Santos as he sometimes seemed. He didn't doubt that the man — Josiah, was it? — had experience with gangs and their type, but this woman was harder to read. He couldn't tell if her anxiety was a front or a genuine setback, if she didn't like violence or if it was just the spotlight she recoiled from. Either way, neither trait was good for a leader, least of all a leader of Los Santos. He hoped this straight-spine rigidity was the start of strength, for her sake.

"I can take one," Abd al-Malik called, hands in his pockets to limit movement. "Whatever you need." Mundane, heavy, diplomatic, not so much. He was planning on sticking this out, sticking Los Santos out, and he wasn't about to shy away from a bit of hard work.

[shizuknya]

[align=center][div style="background=transparent; bordercolor=transparent; text-align: justify; width: 435px; font-size: 8pt; color: #808080; line-height: 130%; font-family: arial; text-transform: lowercase; letter-spacing: 1.5px;"]perhaps he should be the one helping to give tasks out, but a part of him realized how short of hands they were and they needed to get things done with as much ease as possible - which he hoped this group knew how to do considering their almost violent energy. jo stepped up a few feet beside malik, giving the man a single nod, before turning to carter. as usual, his expression was blank but there was almost a sort of softness in his gaze when he looked at the blonde. ❝ malik, perhaps you could help in cleaning up the graveyard? i can come along if you need the help. it's been a while, i believe, and i think it would be good to help it out. ❞

[ABD AL-MALIK]

[align=center][div style="width: 530px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: .3px; line-height: 1.3; padding: 4px;"]The graveyard was a safe space for Abd al-Malik and a sacred space for Los Santos. It wasn't the first time he'd been trusted with its maintenance, and he anticipated it wouldn't be the last: diligence was imperative in the duty, and he dedicated an unrivalled thoroughness to its upkeep whenever the job fell to him (or so he thought). There was something therapeutic about the task, too; it was quiet without being irritating, and acted as a few-hours' reprieve from the rest of Los Santos. There were no bloody knuckles and broken bones hidden amongst those headstones.

"You can help if you want, but I can do it," he said, eyes flitting over Josiah. It was better to give the man a choice than push him into a decision. "Thanks."