|
|
Post by Lucca on Nov 2, 2009 16:30:05 GMT -5
 It hadn't been there a few days ago, but it was there now, on the outskirts of town, and had been since the dawn: a dark green tent with a wooden sign stuck outside of it. Blacksmithing: creation, repairs, advice,[/b] proclaimed the sign in large black letters. Weapons by special request only, it read in slightly smaller letters beneath it. Yes, I do bindings, was added to the sign in red on the bottom in what seemed to be a more recent addition. Behind the tent was set up a makeshift forge, where the fire was merrily burning, though there was nothing currently being made in it. Inside the tent, the sounds of clanking would be heard as the supposed blacksmith arranged his premade wares for those who did not want special requests. Being done with the set up, he peered his head out of the tent. He was a young Tulgey goat, and he had a hard look in his eyes that bespoke a life of troubles and sorrows greater than his young age. It was a small village he'd come to, but he often found that those were in the greatest need of a smith, especially if they had none of their own, which this one did not. His magenta eyes scanned the streets methodically for any potential customers. |
|
|
|
Post by Harpsdesire on Nov 2, 2009 22:19:59 GMT -5
 Dania walked down the otherwise deserted road with a concerned expression. How was she going to break the news to her parents that she was going to Esterberry, didn't know when she'd be back, and oh yeah, she was leaving in five days? There was sure to be an argument, most likely multiple arguments. If there was anything the young rat hated, it was making Mother cry, but if she was ever going to get an education and do something with herself, there was no avoiding it. Just the thought of her father's disapproving looks and her mother's tears was enough to make the young rat cringe. It was a welcome distraction when a good-sized tent came into view. She hadn't seen it before, and squinted to make out the wooden sign, still a little ways out of clear focus. For some mysterious reason, one word stood out more clearly than the others. Advice, she read. That sounded like exactly what she needed. Her steps quickened as she made a greater effort to read the rest of the sign. Although a closer approach revealed that the advice advertised was probably not the kind she was seeking, she was still intrigued enough to stop for a look in the tent. If nothing else, a little gift for Mum might help smooth over the upsetting news of her daughter's departure. The older rat always enjoyed pretty things, and anything for the kitchen was usually a hit as well. She half-smiled nervously at the blacksmith as she entered the tent. A Tulgey-- the only people more cursed than Torquehelms, and they didn't even wear bindings. Dania found them fascinating... and a little intimidating. |
|
|
|
Post by Lucca on Nov 2, 2009 23:02:14 GMT -5
By the time Dania came in, the goat had returned to his tent, a record book open in front of him as he went over the numbers. He'd been doing fairly well this month, apparently; he'd even done three bindings. He didn't get to do those usually, as Torques could be pretty superstitious about only having a registered 'binding smith' do them, even though they were usually just a regular metal worker. But superstitions helped people to cope with life, he supposed. They helped them keep the illusion of some kind of normalcy, some kind of cause and effect in a cruel and chaotic world.
His dim thoughts were interrupted by the soft pawsteps on the ground nearby, the whisper of the tent flap opening up to allow someone access. He turned, eyes narrowing as he let his gaze sweep over the girl. A Torque, but he saw no flash of metal, and for a moment his heart slowed in horror. She wasn't...she couldn't be...? But no. She had the wings, and...oh. Oh, now that was rare indeed. She was bound with her own tail. Presumably by an enchantment. How very curious.
His eyes would flicker slightly, and then resume a disinterested look, hiding his emotions well. Show no weakness. "Can I help you, Miss?" his voice was heavily accented, as if Common was not his first language--which in fact it was not.
|
|
|
|
Post by Harpsdesire on Nov 4, 2009 15:59:15 GMT -5
"Oh, I'm-um, just looking for now." The rat cringed at her own awkwardness. She was terrible at dealing with strangers, and it really didn't help matters that there was a frightening hardness behind the smith's eyes, which were a slightly disturbing hot-pink color to begin with. "F-for a gift... For my mom." She muttered, unable to look him in the face. Dania feared she was being terribly rude, so she attempted to meet his eyes for a moment and smile-- she was only somewhat successful.
She busied herself in examining the pre-made tools and pots that were displayed, and hoped a compliment would smooth over the probably-awful first impression she had made. "This is lovely work."
It was an honest compliment, too. The smith was clearly skilled, since even to her untrained eye his wares looked beautiful. There were no obvious seams, no pits, no sharp edges (except where there should be, and then they were very sharp). Even the shapes of the cookpots seemed a little more elegant than usual.
At first glance, she saw nothing that her mother would really want, since the family's kitchen was already well stocked, even over-stocked, with cookware and utensils. Perhaps she should move on, she thought, before the blacksmith got offended by her sheer awkwardness and tossed her out on her over-long tail.
|
|
|
|
Post by Lucca on Nov 4, 2009 17:40:47 GMT -5
The Tulgey blinked at her as she stumbled awkwardly over her words, the interminable expression still on his face. At the thought of 'Mom', a twinge of sadness tried to come up, but the Goat pushed it down with practiced ease. There was nothing he could change about the past, so he tried not to dwell on it. "I see," he said simply, allowing her to look around while he thought, watching her, scrutiny in his eyes. She was young, younger perhaps than he in years, certainly younger in life experience. But then, he'd been through a lot, and seen more of life than he suspected any number of others older than him had.
He dipped his head slightly at the compliment, it not being unexpected. "Many thanks. It comes of much practice." He watched her for another minute or so. She had the downtrodden look of most Torques, which suited him just fine. She was also embarassingly bad at playing the game, which...was again, not too different from many others of her Realm. It was why he preferred it. There was at least more honesty here, more truth in those who were suffering than the insincere smiles of those who thought they weren't. She didn't seem to be finding what she was looking for, perhaps he should help?
With a shrug of his shoulders, the Goat approached the Rat, hooves echoing oddly even on the cloth surface of the tent in a way that might seem eerie. "A gift, you say?" he asked her, craning his neck to see the pot she was examining. "What sort of gift might your mother like? I do take special requests." He said all this politely, but there was still a distance, a coldness in his tone.
He noticed how...nervous she was, though, and a deeper frown creased his brow. "I'm not going to hurt you, girl! For the Queen's sake," he said gruffly. He shook his head, and then added, almost as an afterthought, "Name's Aberforth."
|
|
|
|
Post by Harpsdesire on Nov 5, 2009 0:55:31 GMT -5
The way the Tulgey goat was looking at her gave Dania something of an uneasy feeling. It seemed he was... judging her almost. Judging her and finding her lacking-- or it could be her own sense of paranoia talking. His short reply did nothing to reassure her, and she shifted uncomfortably on her paws and abruptly replaced the skillet she was examining.
It wasn't long before she heard his echoing steps coming closer, and it was all she could do to keep from cringing. She had heard that Tulgey Cards had a disconcerting aura of creepiness about them, but this was the first time she was experiencing it for herself without the benefit of a parent's comforting presence. It occured to her suddenly that it was strange that she didn't more of the black-winged cards around, considering that Tulgey Wood was just the next realm over. Perhaps they were the sort who generally kept to themselves.
"Yes. She.. likes..." Dania drew a blank for a moment, then remembered herself and hurried on. "She likes pretty things... She likes candles. Do you have any candle holders in stock?" Oh, she felt like a total idiot, and probably looked like one too. A quick glance around didn't immediately reveal any, but there was enough metal odds and ends arrayed about the tent that it would be quite possible to miss such a small item.
Although his words seemed meant to reassure, the goat's frown and rough tone only served to increase the young rat's discomfort. "I'm Dania." She almost squeaked, clearing her throat to add, "Nice to meet you."
|
|
|
|
Post by Lucca on Nov 5, 2009 9:28:57 GMT -5
Pretty things? He felt a flicker of what was -almost- amusement at that, though his stoic expression remained firmly in place. Candle holders? That seemed a curious thing to ask of a blacksmith, but a customer was a customer and he wouldn't question it. He shook his head, beard waving slightly. "No, not at the moment, though I could make one if you would desire it. Today, if it is all right it be made with iron." She'd need to show him she had the money first, of course. His prices were fair, but he was by no means cheap. Good quality workmanship always hurts the purse at least a little bit. He'd found it to be the case everywhere, and with everything: you got what you paid for.
He couldn't exactly blame her for not trusting him, since he didn't trust her. Or anyone, for that matter. People were unpredictable, fickle beings, always double crossing you at a moment's notice, and were all selfish at heart. So-called 'selfless' behavior was usually just a ploy to get attention, or to be thought a better person, or else to protect your loved ones so that you could continue to get enjoyment from their presence. Cynical, some called him, or pessimistic, but they just refused to accept the cold hard truths of life.
"Very well, Dania." He waited patiently for her to either request his work, or leave. He didn't care much either way. He never did. If not her, than another customer would come along. What was the difference between one person and another when you kept them all at an arm's length?
|
|
|
|
Post by Harpsdesire on Nov 5, 2009 17:33:52 GMT -5
"I'm not sure, yet." She waffled a bit over the purchase-- would something more practical be a better choice? Although her family was by no means destitute, father was never one to approve of a frivolous purchase. With this in mind, she continued to browse.
At least she was growing more relaxed in Aberforth's presence. As a few moments passed in reasonably comfortable silence, Dania's tension eased. Although her voice was still quiet, she asked him with more confidence, "What kind of gift would you sugguest? She likes to cook, and she has all the standard things already."
Curiousity about the blacksmith himself would have to wait, since he didn't seem like the type to welcome personal questions or excessive smalltalk. However, she knew that very few skilled tradesmen could resist talking about the work they excelled in.
"There are so many choices. You can certainly make a lot of different things!"
|
|
|
|
Post by Lucca on Nov 5, 2009 20:15:09 GMT -5
Indecisive, wasn't she? It was all right, though, since Aberforth had nothing pressing he needed to do. With more ghostly echoing of hooves, he walked back to the record book to continue balancing his accounts. No use hovering over the poor girl while she looked around and tried to come to a final decision. When his advice was asked, he turned back, eyes inscrutable as ever, and looked at her for a moment before answering.
"What sorts of things does she have, or cook? Forgive me, but what's standard for one household may not be for another. Or perhaps, is there a favorite pan that is wearing out? We have several very durable ones..." The goat moved with practiced ease over to one section of the tent, the next table over from where Dania currently was, and nudged one of the pans a bit closer to the edge.
"This one is quite popular." He bowed his head slightly at her statement to show her he was listening, but his tail flicked idly. "It's a living. Anything, as long as it's made from iron, I've attempted it." How else would he spend his time, after all? Entertaining useless people? Bah!
|
|
|
|
Post by Harpsdesire on Nov 7, 2009 3:16:40 GMT -5
Hm. It seemed Aberforth was determined to be one of the least helpful people Dania knew. So much for the advertised advice that had first drawn her into his tent, she could barely drag a word from the goat, even on the subject he specialized in. On the bright side, he didn't seem like the kind of guy who would push his own opinions upon others, either, and he wasn't at all the sort to pry into her life with insincere questions and falsified concern. That was a mark in his favor, definitely. He was honest about who he was, even when it didn't please people. When she looked at it that way, she could almost begin to like the grumpy metalworker. He was, at least in some small way, rather like her.
"That one looks perfect, actually." It seemed wise to take the advice he grudgingly offered, and the pan did look nice, smooth and glossy black, the perfect size for a small family's dinner or a big batch of cornbread. She was glad that her coin purse hung more heavily than usual around her neck in preparation for her upcoming trip-- it would be a little humiliating if he quoted a price for the pan beyond what she was able to pay. "How much do I owe you?"
Her smile was now genuine, for once touching her violet eyes. Dania's smile was never a giddy or goofy one, but an almost wistful expression of friendliness, more than joy. The smith's hollow hooves and hard eyes really couldn't much phase her now that she thought of him as the sort of fellow who wouldn't subject her to any sort of social discomfort or fake sympathy.
|
|
