Completed Production Like Clockwork [Minerva|Montaine]

[Montaine]

‘No,’ he shook his head, ‘No need, I was being an idiot, he’s alive,’ Monty sighed, his heart wasn’t in it, ‘He has to be,’ The sailor was out there. The sailor had lived through death once already and he was out there, wind in his hair and the spray of the sea on his face. He would be standing at the helm during the storm, laughing at the gods pitiful attempts to sink him. Nothing they could do would ever plunge him down below those depths, because they were his to command, the waves, and the winds and the wild gods. And if he had died… Maybe he went home? If he had died, maybe he could finally return. That would be nice. It would be sad for the glassworker, the rebellious eight year old boy he had been was rising in his chest, but if he could send the sailor back to where he wanted, no, where he should be, he would. The sailor didn’t think of him anyway. He was timeless, ageless when Monty was but a flicker, a tiny, ember forever on the verge of consuming itself and he would simply be gone as fast as he had arrived, a blink of the sailor’s cerulean eye. If he was alive, or if he was dead, it didn’t matter. He just wished he knew which it was. The craftsman downed his tools and stood up, catching his breath as best he could and keeping the moisture from his eyes, ‘You can-you can finish up, right? I’ve just got to-’ he mumbled and patted his chest, ‘My crew’ll be at the Councillor’s Head in around six bells, it’s two streets west of the market road, no sign but you’ll hear the drunks,’ Maybe drinking would feel better. He hadn’t thought much about his lost friends for quite a while and though that thought was accompanied with a certain guilt he nevertheless wished so hard he could return to that selfishness. It had been so long since that shyking day, but the city was still recovering, the world was still getting back to its feet. He just needed a little more time before things were back the way they were. Besides, the sailor came by at least once a year. If he wasn’t back in the harbour by next Spring. If he wasn’t back by Spring, Monty frowned, if he wasn’t back by Spring then he was back in the skies, where he belonged.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva shrugged. She didn't know what else to tell the man. It seemed like one of those things that there was no helping. When Monty left, she just nodded and said, "Aye. We got 'is 'ere under control. See ya there!" She worked with Phillip to finish up the carvings, and soon had two full stacks of window frames, ready to be attached. Of course, they had to wait until the glass panes were ready before they could do anything else. The other workers had finished touching up the wall of the house itself, including repairs to the settings where the panes would be placed. Once the glass was ready, it would be set into the wall, and the frames attached over top to hold it in place. Until then, there was little left to do. The completed frames just needed to be painted. There wasn't much to that. The frame pieces were lined up along the table, and they were dusted off carefully to make sure they were clean. Patches of sawdust would cause the paint to clot. With everything clean and ready, Minerva and Phillip worked their way down the line, carefully applying the light blue paint. It didn't need any particularly artistic touch, just uniform strokes of the brushes, taking care to make sure the paint was applied smoothly and evenly. The most detailed part was applying the paint to the fish carvings, which required a little extra touching up to make sure no globs of paint got caught in the carvings. A thick glob that dried in one of the carvings would fill it in, and ruin the design. After all the frames were painted, they secured a tarp over the table, tied to wooden poles that held it up above the painted pieces. It would protect them while they dried, in case it started to rain, or the wind kicked up any dust. Not long after the time Monty had said, Minerva and her coworkers arrived at the Councillor's Head. "Now, you're not going to start another fight here?" Minerva's friend James asked. Two days earlier Minerva had been in a bar fight, and been thrown out, along with her coworkers. She had also suffered quite the swollen cheek. Luckily, a little medication had helped reduce the swelling, though she still had a bit of an ache in that cheek. "Oy, I done told ya, 'e pinched me!" she shouted, glaring at James. She didn't take well to men who got fresh. Not unless it was a man she wanted to get fresh, anyway. Not that she was that sort of girl. She paused outside the tavern, looking at the empty sign post hanging out from the building. She scratched her head, wondering what the deal was. When she headed in she called out to the bartender, "Oy, what 'appened ta ya sign? 'Ow's a girl supposed ta know 'is's the place, aye?"

[Montaine]

In the time between his leaving the worksite and his arrival back at the glassworks a bell struck. He cried. He hadn’t cried in such a long time. He refused to let his father see him that way, crying was a show of weakness. Well, perhaps that was a tad harsh. His father had frequently wept throughout his childhood, and almost certainly continued to do so to this day, and did so in mourning. But tears showed vulnerability, and Monty couldn’t let anyone see that. They all thought him vulnerable enough already. He was fortunate enough to slip into his apartment without making the crew across the street aware of his presence, just as the tears began to roll down his face. He sat there, in a corner between his bed and the wall and pulled his knees to his chest. He didn’t understand it. The lump in his throat was almost painful. His hands shook so he forced them down and sat on his palms. He couldn’t stop, the whimpering and the sobbing occasionally escaping from his clenched lips. It was some time later when he managed to recover his composure and step back out into the light of day, all that remained being a slight redness to his eyes, and the damp remnants of when he had pressed his sleeve to his face. The crew said nothing. The panes were not yet complete and wouldn’t be ready until late evening so it was agreed that as it was his project, Monty would forgo too much alcohol in order to remain partially sapient, so he could return to remove the cooling glass and form the second half of the shipment. Fogle, being the youngest and least experienced, had the worse job of watching the annealer whilst the rest of the crew went drinking, and was to come collect him when the time was right. When the evening came and the workshop closed up for the night the novice saw them off and settled down with little complaint. The crew, numbering four all told, made their way to their regular haunt a little earlier than the predicted time and each purchased a drink. Monty grumbled into his mug. He wanted to really drink himself paralytic, but alas was confined to a single beverage, well, maybe two or three. His reverie was halted, however, with the arrival the eccentric carver. Monty stood up out of his seat and waved. Gertrude’s daughter began her fiddling. She had become quite talented over the years that Monty had frequented the Head, but her music drew him back once again to a memory he didn’t want to contemplate. The place had changed quite drastically since the sailor had first taken him there. No. Stop thinking about the petching sailor. He was there to have a good time, not getting drunk, and hopefully assuaging his guilt at the destruction of two of Gadger’s most expensive bottles through the increased business. ‘You made it then,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

A man what stands up when a lady walks in the room, Minerva thought to herself when she saw Monty, noticing that he was the ONLY man who did so. Not bad, aye? She barely took notice of the redness around his eyes, and didn't really think twice about it. As her crew mates filed in, Minerva stepped up to Monty and popped him on the shoulder with her fist. "Aye," she said. "Ain't gonna miss it! 'Is place any good?" She looked around, curious about the establishment. She took a seat, with James, Phillip, and the other men from Jacques' crew pulling up chairs nearby. About a dozen of them had come down, the rest of the workers having families to get home to or other reasons they couldn't come out. She sat close to Monty, and gave him a nudge. "Oy, buy a girl one o' 'em mugs o' foul swill?" she asked with a smile. "'Is seaweed crap almost starts ta grow on a girl, after awhile..." She hadn't seen a proper type of drink in this city since she got here. Just the horrid concoction called kelp beer. She was still trying to get used to the taste, even after being taken out drinking by her coworkers most nights since she got here. When she heard the music start to play, she was overcome with the urge, and even without any alcohol in her yet she decided to sing, a song often sung by the less reputable women back in her hometown: When I were a wee young lass I'd always give the grown ups sass An 'ey always said ta me "Why ain'tcha act like a lady!?" When I grew up an' went ta class I never thought 'at I would pass I always wondered what would be If I would ever be a lady Well, now I sure 'ave grown up fast A grown girl wit' a real fine ass! But ya surely can now see That I sure still ain't a lady! But don't ya dare say I am crass... Fer I've got what a lady has Sweet and cute I may not be But that ain't what makes a lady! But oy, ya surely wanna ask... If it ain't jus' boobs an' ass Then whatever could it be That makes a girl a real lady? Well, boys, jus' raise yer glass Fer I 'ave got far too much class Ta show ya which part o' me Is the one 'at makes me a lady!

[Montaine]

Monty laughed. The song was crude, it was rude, it was very much appropriate for the bar. The glassworker shook his head in admiration for the composer, and for the woman who would sing such songs sober. Not that it would be enough to make him buy her a beer. The glassworker was a firm believer in the societal unacceptability of gender related double standards, or perhaps he really didn’t like spending money on alcohol not to be summarily consumed by him. It was doubtful, however, that either Banden or Mory wouldn’t step up and take the financial hit for the girl. Gadger was handling the sudden influx of patronage with commendable ease. The place was twice as packed as his usual fare and the hubbub that rose from the crowded bar near drowned out the fiddler. The mountainous barman moved with uncharacteristic grace, bearing an uncharacteristic grin as he served his customers, and took their money in turn. The waitress, Hetty, was not coping quite so well with the increased workload. The woman was a hair under fifty years and not quite as agile as she had been in her youth, but yet retained the impressive bust of someone twice her size. Mory insisted she stuffed, Banden maintained otherwise. Arguments like these never ended well, and almost always ended physically. ‘I ain’t getting you mugs so’s I can sit ‘ere sober as a stranded sailor an’ watch you drink my mizas away. You’re gettin’ paid for that job, we’re volunteers,’ Monty said with a nod and took a draught, he cringed at the taste and spoke somewhat hoarsely, ‘But either o’ them,’ he said, pointing towards the pair squabbling over Hetty’s hefty bosom, ‘Will buy you whatever you want for a flash o’ either of them,’ his finger moved to indicate her own, ‘So you might have more luck there,’ Gertrude’s daughter, apparently intent on depressing the young man, began to play the swift melody of the perennial ‘monkey song’ to which no drunk knew the lyrics, save for the chorus line. The tune of the song was fast and fun, and created an undeniably cheery ambience to all those merrily drinking away, but Monty’s thoughts wandered back to the day he’d first heard the song. He almost asked her to stop but couldn’t quite bring himself to say the words. His face fell for a second before he remembered his company and forced a smile. Did she see? The eccentric carver seemed wild and irreverent and to all intents and purposes just as bawdy as the sailors down at the docks, but Monty remember the look she had spread across those features, now so warm, when she spoke of her grandfather. Montaine maintained the smile and tapped his foot to the music. He needed to drink, he would cheer up with a drink.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock arched an eyebrow, sporting a bemused expression when Monty explained why he wouldn't buy her a drink. It didn't much matter to her; there were a lot of men in the bar, and Zeltiva was suffering from a shortage of cute, energetic redheads, so she knew she was something of a commodity. Someone would buy her a drink. Though her eyes went wide and her jaw dropped with what he said next. "Oy, what kinda girl ya think I am?" she asked in a mixture of shock and amusement, covering her chest with both arms. She certainly didn't have the kind of 'assets' the waitress did, but she had plenty enough, and wasn't about to show them to anyone. "I ain't never!" she said, giving Monty a playful shove. "An' not fer all the rancid swill in 'is place!" She laughed and shook her head. One of her coworkers ended up buying her a round. "What I can see from here is worth a mug," he said with a wink, earning him a hard jab in his arm from Tock. She held her breath and downed the ale swiftly, wincing at the shock of the taste. She still wasn't used to it yet. When the next song started up, she joined in loudly singing the chorus line along with everyone else. In little time she had downed a second ale, having learned the hard way that the only way to get past the taste was to take the first couple of mugs like a soldier. She was grinning and having a good time. She looked over at Monty. He... didn't seem to be having a good time. She leaned in close to be heard over the singing, placing a hand on his knee and whispering, "Ya awright, mate?" He wasn't singing along, and once she actually paid attention, she realized the smile never touched his eyes. She frowned in concern, wondering what it was.

[Montaine]

The glassworker brushed the hand from his leg, ‘I’m fine, just thinking about work. Can’t have too many of these,’ he lifted his mug, ‘or I won’t be able to make the rest of them windows for you later,’ Montaine drank and looked around the place. He loved this pub. He had been going there some fourteen years, well ten years regular. The old stone walls had been around for a much longer time than that, of course, and Monty sometimes wondered what this building had been used for centuries ago. Perhaps it was a grand house for some rich merchant fella, or a chapel to the gods. It could have been a drinking establishment back then too, he supposed. Undoubtedly, whoever the previous occupants were they would have been horrified by the drunken rabble that frequented the Councillor’s Head most nights. Even if the whole world had come crashing down, this place remained open and just the same as it had always been. Though that wasn’t precisely true, because now the Head was full of fresh patrons and people really seemed to be enjoying themselves, rather than simply escaping into the comforting numbness of insobriety. Tock had been right, the world would recover from this disaster and come out all the better for it. The world would improve, Zeltiva would become greater than it was. The harbour city was changing, physically and just below the surface. People were growing closer, the politics governing the city were altering, power shifting. Maybe the world would be a better place for all this destruction, for all those deaths. They were terrible, sure, and Monty still wished for the survival of his friends, and regretted the passing of those he knew to be deceased, but maybe something good could come out of it. Maybe it wouldn’t be a waste. Monty turned to the eccentric carver, ‘So how long’ve you been in Zeltiva, Tock? You ain’t a local, I’m sure,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva sat back, frowning at the man's reaction. She stared at him for a long moment. He was a curious one. She couldn't help wondering what made him tick. What was underneath that cold glass shell? His question made her stop and think. "Almost... two weeks now?" she said, scratching her head, then shrugging. "'At obvious, aye? Ha! Ya jus' ain't used what fer having a beaut' like me 'round, aye?" she gave him another nudge in the ribs, winking at him. Aside from the red hair, she had fairer skin than the average Zeltivan, so she surely seemed a bit exotic here. She was from a pretty long ways off, practically halfway around the world. She knew she didn't quite fit in here... and frankly she didn't care. "'Ow 'bout you?" she asked. "Local boy, aye? Aye. Ya love 'is place too much what fer ta be a foreigner. I can see it in yer eyes.". Surely he had either been born here, or else had lived here enough years to have embraced the city as his true home. Minerva didn't think of Zeltiva as home yet. She was here to learn... but after she finished at the University, who knew where she'd end up. Still further curious about him, she wanted to learn a bit more. Though considering her own family issues, she wouldn't start off by asking him about his kin. Instead she asked, "Oy, aye, whatcha get up ta when ya ain't bein' a Glassman o' out 'ere nursin' ya drink?" She grinned. He had good reason, sure, but it looked as though he was drinking far less than anyone else, including Tock, who was starting on her third already.

[Montaine]

‘Glass ain’t just a job. Not to me, at least. Pretty sure the others’re in it for the mizas, can get good pay for a piece of glass, see? But for me it’s more’n just work. Glass is special, it’s beautiful,’ Monty’s eyes brightened for the first time since that morning, ‘When I was just a little’n some ten years ago I saw the glass on the market stall for the first time and it was like nothing I ain’t ever seen. Me Da and I were dirt poor back then with nothing but broken shutters over a square hole for windows. I never got out much either, so’s I never saw the fancy panes of ponces like we worked on today,’ Monty wasn’t looking at Tock anymore, his hand tightly gripping his mug. ‘I wanted to be a pirate before that. Quite different careers, but the glass won out. Boss says I have a talent for it but I’m nowhere near his standard yet. He doesn’t really do all that much workin’ these days, just the more detailed bits. He told me about all these amazing techniques that other cities use, like the Akalak glass from Riverfall, or the eagle eye glass of Wind Reach. Did you know, they can paint colours right into the glass! I ain’t never seen that, not even the boss knows how they do it,’ Monty grinned and turned to look his companion right in the eye, lowering his voice almost conspiratorially, ‘And then there’s the Nuit, and golem glass,’ Monty’s discussion was abruptly interrupted by a commotion across the room, when one of the regulars from neither work crew, who had appeared to be in quite a state already when the glassworkers had arrived some time before fell from his chair and hurried to the door. The sounds of fluid hitting the street beyond seemed to resonate through the clamour by virtue of their captivatingly disgusting nature. When the drunkard’s wet retches finally died down to silence, Monty looked back to the carver. ‘Welcome to Zeltiva, eh?’ he raised his mug in a mock toast and drank it empty. It was probably best if he kept it at one, but sitting in a room full of drunk people getting drunker while he remained resolutely sober did not sound like an awful lot of fun. Then a thought struck him. ‘Hey, you want to know what I do for fun, you should come back to my apartment and see my horse!’ Monty grinned and raised an eyebrow.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She smiled softly at the passion in his eyes as he talked about his work. It reminded her of her memories of working with her Granddad. As he spoke, her fingers strayed to lightly brush his arm, then pulled back when the unfortunate retching interrupted the story. It was something else to meet someone who cared about his work as much as Tock cared about hers. She found herself more focused on wanting to hear more of his story than the singing and rowdiness around the bar. She didn't even hear her friend James when he asked if she wanted another drink, nor notice the looks he was giving her. His invitation made her arch a slender eyebrow, then grin. "Ya got a 'orse?" she asked, suddenly quote curious. She was also fairly buzzed from having knocked back three drinks to his one. She stood up and said, "Aye, let's go! Sounds like a right fine time, it does!" She assumed he meant to go right now. Tock was a 'live in the moment' sort of girl, about everything except her inventions. When an urge struck her, she ran with it. She tugged on Monty's arm to guide him from his seat, patting her friend James on the shoulder as she passed. "See ya tomorrow, mate," she told him. She didn't notice the cold frown he cast Monty's way.