Sahti stares at the bucket of water and the accompanying mop in front of him accusingly, evening his breath as the time goes on, like he’s getting ready to face a strong opponent in single combat.
The bucket is formidable, and doesn’t move.
Sahti doesn’t move, either, eyes fixated on the water that brushes the edges of the wood. It’s the only thing keeping it contained for a little while longer.
“Are you going to mop?” someone says beside him, exasperated, holding the offending mop in their hands. The other half of the hallway they’re in charge of seems to already be sparkling clean.