Family Outing (Uncle Monty)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

10th Day of Summer, 512 AV "C'mon, baby," Tock said, "we's goin' ta see Uncle Monty!" She scooped Bitey up into her arms and cuddled him against her chest. Then she made kissy noises at Naily, and he rolled over to her heels. Choppy started plodding over as well, and she reluctantly told him, "No, Choppy, you stay! You and yer brother gotta wait at 'ome. Ya take care o' 'im, aye?" She was still a bit hesitant to take Cutty out in public, due to the malfunctions he'd shown when she first activated him. Plus having Choppy trailing around after her as she walked the city streets tended to draw a little too much attention. Naily, the little hammer on wheels, didn't draw as much fuss as a walking axe. She headed outside, locking the door (she really needed to see about building and Animating a more proper lock sometime soon), carrying Bitey like a baby and with Naily trailing after her like an excited puppy. She hummed happily, glad to be taking her family for a little outing so they could spend some quality time together. Maybe she could let Naily fix the loose floorboards she'd noticed at Monty's last time she was there. Once she reached Monty's place, she knocked loudly on the door. Naily, thinking it was a game, mimicked her and banged his hammer head on the door as well, which made his Mommy giggle. She knocked again and called out, "Oy, Glassman! Ya ain't sleepin' in again, is ya?" Then she held Bitey up to Monty's window and spoke in a squeaky little voice out of the corner of her mouth, bouncing Bitey up and down as if he were talking (which in her mind, he really truly was). "Wake up, Uncle Monty," she squeaked, "yer nephew Bitey wants ta see ya!"

[Montaine]

Monty was mid way through his breakfast when a knocking was heard at his door, followed shortly by the tell tale clamouring of the garrulous gadgeteer. He set his meagre meal down on the table top and strolled over to the shuttered window that looked over the steps up to his top floor apartment. He flicked open the latch and pushed them open, almost hitting the arachnid automaton with the battered wood as it passed. Bitey’s glimmering glass eyes sparkled at him and, not for the first time since their acquaintance was formed some thirty days prior, the glassworker had to remind himself that the creature wasn’t truly alive. It was petching close though. He leaned out of the window and peered round to see the ventriloquist behind Bitey’s banter. There, at outside his door, stood his eccentric acquaintance and another of her mechanical marvels. If he remembered correctly, this one went by the name of Naily. ‘Ho there, Tock! And young Bitey, an’ little Naily too? Not too much trouble getting’ here? From the locals an’ that? I know ol’ Missus Nolty downstairs can be awful trouble round magic an’ those sorts of things. Luca, next door, he once tried to take a copper from her ear and she near pitched a full on fit, cursin’ him as one of Rhysol’s minions,’ he grinned, ‘Right laugh we had. Hold on, I’ll let you in, I’ve got somethin’ I want to show you,’ He left the window and slid out the lock on the door, pulling it open and finally putting a stop to the hammer’s incessant hitting. Missus Nolty downstairs had more than once accosted the glassworker in the street with all manner of accusations, from consorting with magicians, to entertaining guests a little too loudly, to mocking her birds and while he accepted one was true, and that another was a matter of subjectivity he had not gone anywhere near her petching birds. Frequently Monty thanked the gods for providing him with an upstairs apartment, the old hag’s dodgy knees not permitting her to clamber up to his door. Alas, Lhex was not so kind to poor Mister Fletcher and his wife and kids, upon whose door the wretched harridan was perpetually banging. Monty ushered in his guests and slammed his foot down on the floor, hoping the harpy heard, ‘You doin’ fine then, Tock? An’ you two too, o’ course,’ he said, nodding respectfully at her creations, ‘How’s the rest of the family?’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock raised one of Bitey's legs to make him wave, much to his apparent annoyance as he curled his legs up under himself after. "'Ullo!" Tock squeaked for him. Naily on the other hand was able to 'speak' for himself, bobbing his hammerhead up and down like a puppy wagging his tail, the axle squeaking with the same rhythm as excited panting. When Monty went on about his magic fearing neighbor, Tock clutched Bitey protectively to her chest and said, "My babies ain't no nothin' o' Rice-all." She'd dealt with enough magic-phobia in Sunberth to know it could get a lot worse than this old lady's attitude. "She tries fer ta gimme a 'ard time, I'll pop 'er one, I will!" She shook her fist. She didn't care how old the woman was, she'd still smack her down if she messed with Tock's babies. She grinned with motherly pride at the way Monty greeted her. HE treated her babies like they were alive! Most people didn't so that, and it earned the Glassman a great deal of respect. Only a few small number of people were pure and open minded enough to see past their wood and metal and know that they were PEOPLE, with real live souls just like anyone else. Satevis was one, and it had earned him a special place in her heart. Monty was another, but she had fallen into thinking of him more like a brother. The notion of anything romantic with him, even if Satevis wasn't around, would have been... weird. "We's good, isn't we baby," she said, holding Bitey up to her face and nuzzling him with her nose, without the least bit of fear about the razor sharp metal fangs that brushed her face. "Cutty's still sick though," she said sadly, looking down at the ground. She was figuring out what was wrong with him, though. Soon she'd be able to fix him. "I done left Choppy 'ome ta keep an eye on 'im. 'E's the older one." Choppy was older than Cutty by all of two days, but she felt that was enough that he could have the responsibility of babysitting. Naily was rolling around energetically, always excited when they got to go out. Tock set Bitey down to let him wander, and the spider crawled off towards the corner. Naily nipped at him and the spider crouched down and raised its front two legs, readying its fangs. "Naily, stay!" Tock commanded him. "Leave yer big brother alone!" Bitey was the oldest of all her babies by about a week, not counting Grippy, who didn't have a more real mind. Tock was just as attached to Grippy, but he was still more of a tool than a person. Bitey backed away and slinked into the corner, and to keep Naily busy, Tock pulled out a few nails and tested the floorboards with her feet, searching for the loose squeaky one. "So whatdja wanna show me, Glassman?" Tock asked, bouncing up and down on the loose board when she found it. She set the nails and used her normal hammer to set them just enough to keep them upright. She would never nail one all the way in when Naily was watching; she didn't want him to get jealous. He was already wiggling his wheels back and forth in eager anticipation at the mere sight of them. She stepped back and leaned forward with her hands on her knees, grinning with pride. "Ya want those nails, baby?" she asked excitedly. His wheels squeaked pathetically, but he held still. She had just commanded him to 'stay', and his Directives wouldn't allow him to disobey. Tock smiled and clapped her knees and told him, "Go git 'em! Good boy!" The little hammer eagerly rolled over and started pounding the nails in place. She had programmed him to love his work.

[Montaine]

Montaine almost laughed when Naily set about his business, hammering the floor. The old crone downstairs would have a lot to complain about today. Maybe this was the sort of thing that led her to accuse him of interfering with her filially favoured flocks. People possessing her fears were never rare in Zeltiva. The presence of the university, or more accurately its College of Scholars, had the unpleasant habit of pushing people to either extreme, tolerating the magic arts as a necessity of the intellectual exploration of reality, or despising it as Nolty did, as something unnatural and dangerous. Monty tried to ignore it as best as possible but his growing acquaintance with the garrulous gadgeteer was certainly swaying him more and more in favour of the academics, much to the chagrin of his rickety old neighbour. Things hadn’t gotten better for the public acceptance of the Djed disciplines in recent times, particular after the whole debacle in spring with the escaped wizards of the Scholar’s Asylum and all those deaths. But time and patience and a little understanding could go a long way to healing wounds and closing the rift between Noltys and the Tocks. It was simply unfortunate that so few people seemed to possess any of the three in much abundance. Monty walked over to his chest. It was one of the few pieces of furniture contained in his small abode and sat in the corner between the bed he used for sleeping and the table he used for near everything else. It contained his belongings. It was usually empty. ‘What I wanted to show you, right, yeah,’ the glassworker shuffled uncomfortably, a frown adorning his features, ‘You got to promise to laugh or do anythin’, well, anythin’…I don’t know, I don’t know how’d react,’ he knelt down in front of the chest and unlocked the simply latch that kept it closed, ‘See, the thing is, Calbert’s been payin’ me a proper wage now, what with ol’ Joey passin’ an’ all. Says I gots to get more than jus’ an apprentice wage, ‘cause ain’t jus’ an’ apprentice no more. But, the thing is, I don’ know if you know this, but the thing is glass is quite expensive, see? An’ so a proper wage is,’ he fumbled for an appropriate word, gesturing with his hands, ‘It’s a bit more’n I’m used to,’ Monty heaved open the old chest, its big wooden lid banging against the wall. The glassworker beckoned Tock over to gaze in at all the belongings he possessed in the world. Shoved against the left side were a small batch of items used for washing and general personal maintenance, a comb and a razor and an old piece of soap, next to it in an unceremonious heap lay Monty’s coat, disrespectfully discarded for the summer. On top of the jacket lay the pouch containing his horse and a bundle of foodstuffs, the assorted ingredients of what would make up his nutrition for the at least the next few days. These were the things that took up the left hand side. On the right was a sack. It was a sizeable sack. It was a lumpy sack, a jingly sack, a sack that sat so slightly open and contained an unreasonable amount of money for who lived such a meagre, minimalist existence as Montaine Redsun. ‘It’s a score over five hundred gold ‘uns, I think,’ he muttered, looking hesitantly and his guest for any sign of a response, ‘There or thereabouts, I haven’t counted,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock wasn't one to be impressed with money. She wasn't a girl one could buy. She had no interest in material things (and neither her tools nor her creations counted as 'material things'; the former were extensions if her body, and the latter were her living babies). But despite this, she had never seen that much money before. "Woah," she muttered, her eyes going wide. She'd been saving up all spring, and that was still easily twice as much money as she had to her name. She plopped down on Monty's chair and thought about everything she would buy if she had that much money. Tools. Supplies. Maybe some new (functional, practical) clothes. "Whatcha gonna do wit' 'er?" she asked. A simple glance around Monty's place showed his living conditions were quite meager. She could imagine a long list of things he could get, from new clothes to replace his threadbare coverings, to sturdier furniture, to a fully equipped carpentry workshop... Okay, maybe not quite that, and she doubted that was the direction Monty's thoughts were headed in, but that's what she would do, if she could afford it. But she didn't know what Monty wanted in life. She knew his passion for his work, and he had mentioned wanting to travel to Sahova, but other than that... What did the Glassman want? "Oy, well," she said, "if'n yer gonna get new stuff 'round here," she patted his table, "don'tcha go buyin' 'er in the market. 'Ey's rip ya off, 'ey will. Jus' getcha some wood an' stuff, an' I's build 'er fer ya. Done better 'an anythin' ye'll find 'round 'ere, 'at's fer sure. I's build ya anythin' ya done want, mate." She grinned. Uncle Monty had earned some favors for her, for sure. "So, what's the Glassman done wants ta spend 'is fortune on, aye?"

[Montaine]

‘Want? Nothing,’ he shut the chest and sat himself down, bracing his back against its wood, ‘That’s the problem, I ain’t got that many needs, an’ what needs I do got ain’t all that pricey. The boss wants me to buy meself some new rags, proper fancy like, you know? I think he just wants me to look presentable in case some rich petcher an’ his snobby li’l wife come callin’ and he feels like showin’ me off. I mean, I ain’t go nothin’ against wealthy folk and their wealthy clothes, I mean,’ he paused to ponder his point, ‘I mean I’ve got some problem with it, what when there’s people starvin’ on the streets an’ they’re off stuffin’ their faces but I s’ppose there’s always goin’ to be starvin’ folks and rich prisses an’ there ain’t nothin’ much I can do. It’s just I don’ think that’s the sort o’ life I’m best suited for,’ he sniggered, ‘I mean, can you imagine me in one of Her Ladyship’s swanky dos?’ The concept of him gracing an upper class soirée up at the councillor’s manor, or rubbing elbows with the Board of Regents was frankly laughable to the young glassworker. He was the son of a glorified stable boy, an artist by sheer accident. By all rights he should be dead by now. Perhaps there was something in his father’s Lhex worship after all. Perhaps it was destiny, and he was fated to rise to great heights amongst the city elite and attend mind numbingly tedious parties, discussing politics and the peasants in the city below. He shuddered at the thought, ‘I think it’s probably best if I do what he says though, can’t hurt to have the boss lookin’ favourable an’ my current fare’s probably reachin’ its natural death now,’ Monty poked his finger through a worryingly large tear in the seam around one of his cuffs, ‘Figured you might want somethin’ too,’ his eyes widened and he quickly added, ‘Not that I think you need new clothes or nothin’, I meant you might be able to think of somethin’ better, more useful, can’t be cheap makin’ golems an’ all that,’ The glassworker scratched the end of his nose, ‘Think I might give some to the city, so’s they can use it to actually help people, you know, people who could use better’n me, people who actually need it,’ he nodded to himself, ‘An’ I’ll put some to one side too, for Da, an’ for…for the future, you know? Future plans can be awful pricey,’ Of course the kid he’d been had always planned to actually buy a ship, not just a place on board one, but there seemed little point now, and it’d probably be cheaper anyhow.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock snorted and said, "Pfft, 'ere's somethin' ya done wants, mate." She pointed a finger at him and gave him a serious look. "Either somethin' what ya ain't knows yet, o' somethin' what ya ain't admittin', maybe not even ta yerself, aye?" She knew all about secret wants. She had a lifetime of them in Sunberth, and fear or shame had stopped her from admitting them to herself until the day she clocked her Da on the head with a frying pan and jumped on Pash'nar's boat (little did she know her friend the Glassman had a certain longing for the very Sailor Man upon whose boat she'd stowed during her escape from Sunberth). "Maybe ya jus' done gotta find out what she is, aye?" she asked. "Jus' cause she ain't no fancy clothes o' trappin's, don't done means 'ow ya can't want somethin', aye? But I ain't no more keen on some frilly lacey crap 'an you is." She well remembered the last time she'd worn fancy clothes, and it hadn't ended well for the clothes. She considered Monty for a moment, remembering the first impression she'd had of him. She scratched her head, tying to figure out how to articulate it. "I dun think ya done never fit in what wit' 'ose, whatchacallers, snobby rich folk," she said. "But, ya ain't 'is," she gestured around to the poor shamble of an apartment. "Yer a proper artist, mate, an' a fine gentleman. Maybe not one what's got stuffin' in 'is shirt an' a pole done shoved up 'is arse, but yer somethin' more'n 'is. I can tells, an' I's a genius, so's as I should knows, aye? Aye." He treated her, and her babies, with too much respect and dignity for her to see him as anything less than a gentleman. He was one of the few men she knew that didn't leer at her or make her feel like she should only be doing what women were 'meant' to do, spreading their legs and suckling babies. She didn't know how to explain it any better than that, but there it was. Words weren't her thing, but she knew the Glassman was something more than a mere peon. She just didn't know what that something more was. She looked down at her own clothes and said, "Aye, I's done lookin' a tad shabby lately, myself. Done borrowed my boyfriend's shirt the other day what cause mine were a mess." She blushed slightly as she thought if Satevis. "Though might not be so bad what fer ta pretty myself up a little..." She'd liked the way he had looked at her when she was all made up. She wondered if he'd like to see her in a skirt, and started arguing with herself internally about whether the look on his face would be worth the embarrassment of dolling herself up like some fancy lass. Maybe she could get some ribbons for her hair, or something like that...

[Montaine]

Monty mulled it over in his mind. He didn’t like owning so much money; he didn’t like having it within his home. He might have been able to accept had it been rightly his but every time he remembered it was there, the gross, bulky sack, squatting like some bloated monster in the back of his brain, in the chest in his bedroom, every time he remembered just how he had earned it. It was because Joey was dead. If Joseph hadn’t gone missing in the storm, if he hadn’t have died out there that night then Monty wouldn’t be earning this much, he wasn’t earning it now. He had gone to the old man about his worries but the petcher had just laughed it off and told him to enjoy it, in the spirit of Joey. He sighed, ‘Alright, how about we go down West Street, it’s where Calbert get’s his rags, an’ you can spend some more time tryin’ to get me to replace my…’ the glassworker looked around, really looked, ‘Table? Petch, okay maybe I might take you up on that offer, we’ll see,’ He got to his feet and opened up the chest again, grabbing his bag from where it lay on the floor by his bed. He loosened the drawstring on the sack a little and scooped up a few handfuls, depositing it into his satchel. He repeated this until his bag was heavy and jingling with cash. He would have to ensure they made their way as swiftly as possible to West Street, and stayed there. Every city had its crimes and Zeltiva was no different. In certain parts of town where the rowdy and the drunk and shadowy lived and cavorted someone carrying even a small fraction of the wealth he currently possessed on his person was at great risk of robbery. Even down the Market Road, particularly down the Market Road, with all its crowds and people milling about it would be easy for a sly pickpocket to take their share. West Street, however, was a place of relative security. Upwind of the fish market, it was where the shops and boutiques popular, and expensive, enough to afford permanent leases on buildings made their homes. They’d still each hold a permit for a stall in the marketplace but the bulk of their more exclusive business was centred on West Street. Clean paving and glass in the windows and only open to people of a certain level of respectability. Respectability being a euphemism, of course, for cash. Monty stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder, ‘We’ll head through vegetables and be there in five chimes,’

OOCFeel free to take us to West Street.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"'Ead through veggies?" Tock asked, scratching the back of her head. Then she shrugged it off. Must be some more of that local lingo she wasn't familiar with. "Aye, les'go, mate," she said, beckoning her babies over by making a clicking sound with her tongue. She scooped Bitey up into her arms and let Naily rolled along at her heels as they headed down through the streets to take Uncle Monty shopping. "An' don'tcha worry none 'bout cutpurses, mate," she told Monty as they headed down the streets. She patted the mallet on her belt and said, "Ain't done nobody 'ere in Zeltiva what knows what tough done really is. Buncha uptight wannabees, 'at's all. Naily'll bash 'eir feet up right good, if'n I tells 'im ta, an' my baby Bitey 'ere," she held up him towards Monty's face, "'e's done got nice fangs on 'im, see?" She pointed them out, as if there was some way Monty might never have noticed the two inch long twin blades jutting from the spider's face. "I's still tryin' ta figure out what 'ow ta make 'em poison, though..." she frowned. Her baby deserved some nice poison fangs. She'd figure it out soon enough. When they reached the market, she glanced around without much interest. Clothes were just clothes, and Tock tended not to care much about fashion. They were just a way to protect one's naughty bits from leers and bad weather and the heat of the forge. Though she did give pause when she spotted a rather low cut green dress, caring not about the cloth itself, but wondering what kind of reaction such a thing could draw from Satevis. Maybe she should get a man's opinion. She nudged Monty with her elbow and asked, "Whazza bloke like best in a lass?" She'd never paid much attention to such things, before she found a certain bloke that she enjoyed the attention of. "Ya think somethin' like 'at what would get a boy all riled up real good like...?"

[Montaine]

West Street was a place Montaine rarely found himself in. It was, despite the apparent suggestion in its name, located largely south of the great markets reaching from the stretch of the Market Road where the vegetable sellers usually set up their stalls and curved in a great arc to meet the road once more some ways further into the city. It had earned its name due not to its geographical position within the boundaries of Zeltiva but rather due to the nature of East Street, which was indeed in the eastern half of the city but north of West Street, being somewhat notorious for its cheap and cheerful sleaze. Confusing nomenclature aside West Street was in fact the best place to find fine fabrics and finer physical attire for the esteemed and discerning gentleman or lady of the city. These were not the things currently on Monty’s mind. He stared blankly at the item of clothing adorning the dressmaker’s mannequin in the window of a shop baring the sign Yvette’s Dresses for All Occasions! It was green. It was, presumably, for sale. It was a dress. He gave Tock a sidelong glance to see if she was looking at him. What he knew of men’s taste in women came largely from two highly unreliable sources. Mory and Banden frequently recounted their respective carnal exploits in intense, visceral detail in the workshop, or at the pub, or on the road between the workshop and the pub. Banded insisted he had once entertained three young ladies simultaneously, on the boss’ desk, and Mory claimed to this day to have once seduced Her Ladyship and carried off a riotous affair that for a dignity’s sake she couldn’t possibly acknowledge in public. Between the two of them they had conceived enough sordid lies of sexual conquest to more than cover half of Zeltiva. It was probably best to ignore their influence when endeavouring to advise the garrulous gadgeteer on matters of intimate attraction. His lack of personal awareness of what made a woman attractive could hinder his capabilities as an advisor too, he wanted to say that it didn’t matter, that what a woman wore had little bearing on if a man was attracted to her or not. But after a little consideration he realised that there were certain things that set everyone going, no matter how moral or righteous the person. Even Priskil had to have kinks. Like tattoos. He spluttered slightly, but turned it into a cough and cocked his head, pretending to consider the dress. He’d always had a thing for a certain type of person. It was his fault probably. Needless to say the sort of features that attracted the glassworker were not found in any great quantity in his companion. He waited too long. He looked at her and eventually decided upon a questioning, ‘Yeah?’