Family Outing (Uncle Monty)

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on June 4th, 2012, 11:31 pm

Obviously unaware of the Glassman's internal thought process, Tock would also remain ignorant of any apparent ignorance on Monty's part on the particular subject she was so focused on. She simply assumed his lack of leering looks or any apparent interest in her was a sign purely of respect, and not of a more alternate viewpoint. Which was aside from the fact she knew she wasn't an attention grabber (at least, not where her physical features were concerned). She knew she was cute, and redheads in Zeltiva were quite rare, so she drew plenty of focus under the right circumstances. She also knew she filled out a pair of pants quite well (her backside being what drew men's gazes far more often than her front). But drawing a stare when she bent over was hardly the same as holding a man's interest beyond the immediate moment, and that was what concerned her.

She was worried that Satevis was going to get bored.

She scratched her head, considering the dress. "Aye..." she said distractedly. "I mean, I ain't done never wore one 'fore. So's as I dunno what makes 'em good o' not. But I jus' thought..." she trailed off, shrugging and hugging Bitey to her chest. The whole subject made her somewhat awkward and uncomfortable. She wasn't used to thinking about prettying herself up for a man.

"Maybe I's give 'er a try, aye?" she said, pouting and giving Monty a pathetically hopeful look. "Ya think I could done pulls 'er off?" she asked him. She didn't really have any girl friends to ask for advice about this sort of thing. Nira had moved away just as soon as they were hitting it off, Nai she hadn't really had the chance to get to know so well yet and didn't feel comfortable asking her for this kind of advice, and all the other girls she'd made friends with were back in Syliras or Mura.

So that left her uncertain where to turn for advice on this sort of thing. And since Monty was family, and he didn't make her feel uncomfortable the way some men did, he was the best choice she could think of to help her.

"C'mon," she said, nodding towards the door and heading inside. "Won't take but a tick, an' 'en we can done getcha yer stuff too, aye?" She stepped through the door and right up to the dress, which had a price tag of 5 sm. She remained blissfully unaware of the frowns she immediately got from the shopkeeper, who likely didn't consider Tock's grease- and sweat-stained presence to be appropriate to her boutique.

by **Montaine** on June 5th, 2012, 12:24 pm

As Montaine entered the establishment he received the oddest look he’d seen in a while, not from the woman presumably responsible for handling the payment of goods who stood grimacing with barely veiled contempt at Tock, but rather from a pair of older women towards the back recesses of the dressmaker’s shop. It was a look of confused familiarity; one that he returned for one of the woman looked strangely familiar to himself, yet he couldn’t quite place where from.

His thoughts were disrupted by the high pitched, clipped sound that after a tick or two Monty realised was the shop girl talking, ‘Do not touch the dresses! Do not touch the dresses! Puhlease! Ai think perhaps you have got the wrong shop, lady, we are an establishment of some,’ she sniffed and looked down her aquiline nose, ‘class,’

Monty’s eyes flew wide as he was suddenly hit with a vision of the next few ticks ending in an all out brawl between the garrulous gadgeteer and the squawking shop girl so he stepped neatly between the two and presented a more verbal, less physical, rebuttal, using all the clever, classy language the boss had taught him over the years, despite the boy’s insistence it would never be useful, ‘Excuse me, Madam, but I believe you will find that we are adequately financed to purchase one of your fine dresses and if your discontent is in fact due to our attire I will draw your attention to the fact that we are, indeed, attempting to buy something more fitting from you,’ Monty smiled as sweetly as he could manage as the young woman spluttered her muted rage. The older women in the far corner were whispering intently.

They seemed to reach a conclusion and approached the forefront of the shop. The one with the oh-so-familiar features, squat and busty and draped with an exquisite fur lined shawl, nodded at him with a warm smile and without a word left the premises. The other, tall and thin, a thinness that could only have been achieved with the tightest of corsets, whispered something harshly in the shop girls ear that sent the young lady scampering.

She then turned on Monty and Tock, ‘Greetings, dear customers, I am Yvette Mercer, proprietor of Yvette’s Dresses For All Occasions! I must apologise for the rudeness of my assistant, she’s new and doesn’t know how to recognise someone of such distinction as yourself,’

Monty glanced at Tock, ‘Distinction?’

‘Yes, my dears! You are Calbert’s rising star, are you not? The sickly one, yes?’ she stifled a little giggle with a delicately gloved hand, ‘A veritable diamond in the rough at this stage, my dear, I must say. Mrs Cabersham was just alerting to me that she had recently ourchased one of your pieces in the market, not four days ago. There are whispers about you, young man, just whispers now but with the right backers you could become a name in this town, and I-’ she paused placing a hand to her chest, ‘am one of the right backers,’

The glassworker was disturbed. Of course he recognised Cabersham now, and remembered her making some jest about how she had heard of his work. Had Calbert been talking about him? Was that why he was so insistent on him purchasing new clothes?

‘We’re just here so’s my friend can try on the dress, the green one? In the window?’

Mercer’s eyes flitted over to Tock, she looked her up and down and almost managed to conceal her disdain, ‘Very well, if you would like to step this way, Madam?’

OOCYvette's a snobbish social climber who will do almost anything if she thinks it will help her status in Zeltiva. I'm sure you can write her well so use her how you want. The reason she's treating Monty as she is is because at this point in his chronology I believe he is over 100 SP, and Calbert's been talking about him in higher circles.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on June 5th, 2012, 6:41 pm

Tock completely ignored the snobbish ladies that were staring at them. She was used to people staring at her. Though when the shop clerk started talking down at her, well, that was something she didn't intend to get used to.

"Class?" she asked the girl, stepping forward and clenching her fist, "Oy, I done gotcher 'class' right--"

She cut off in a huff when Monty interrupted. She scowled at him, and was ready to toss him aside so she could get at the clerk (he was scrawny for a boy; she could surely manage to smack the girl down even with him trying to hold her back). But then she was caught off guard by the way he suddenly started talking. Gone was the poor grammar, and even his accent. Tock wasn't usually one to notice accents (being unaware she even had one), and thus had never consciously noticed that Monty had a way of speaking that struck one as being distinctly different from the average Zeltivan (likely, unbeknownst to her, due to his father's distant heritage). But when the Glassman suddenly started talking like... like...

Like one o' 'EM, Tock thought, glaring at the woman.

Well, it was somewhat hard not to notice the sudden difference.

Tock stepped up beside Monty and asked him, "Ya feelin' awright, Glassman?" She reached out to check his forehead for signs of a fever. "Done looks like ya suddenly got yerself a case o' 'stick-up-yer-arse'." She smirked, though she was only half-joking.

Thankfully the prissy little petch got pushed away by her Bosslady. Though when Monty paused on the word 'distinction,' all Tock could do was shrug and say, "Oy, don'tcha lookit me, Glassman. Yer the distinction-ey one."

Then she watched as the woman went on and on about Monty like... like he was some kind of snobby rich boy. She frowned, and her frown just kept deepening the more the woman spoke. When she finally shut up, Tock shifted her baby spider up onto her shoulder the way one would hold a burping baby, and said to the woman, "Oy, lookit 'ere, Whacker, ya can't jus' 'as yer Little Miss Piker 'ere give us a gobful, 'en come 'round treatin' us like no dang frilly-froos, aye? I ain't done gonna letcha 'ave a lend o' my brother, 'ere, jus' cause ya done thinks as 'e can carry yer uptight arse straight ta the top! I ain't no Mug, I can sees right through yas, I can! An' I done ain't gonna letcha!"

She scowled and stroked her baby, which was drawing quite a look from the uptight woman. Yvette seemed torn between being horrified at the sight of the spider that was trying to crawl up Tock's shoulder, and being offended at the spiel that Tock had just spewed out at her. Her jaw was still working, trying to articulate a properly sculpted response that would allow her to save face, when Tock added, "An' don'tcha go callin' me no 'Madam', neither! I ain't done gonna take ta ya actin' like we's only good 'nough fer yer damn shop what cause o' whatcha done wanna get outta Monty 'ere. Ya should be ashamed o' yerself! My mizahs done been as shiny as anyone else's, don't no matter what if I's 'ere wit' no 'risin' star' o' jus' wit' a regular bloke what wants ta buy some clothes! 'Pologize ta 'im!" she insisted, nodding towards Monty. Tock would just as soon buy her clothes someplace else, anyplace else, if the woman wasn't willing to apologize for making her assumptions and trying to use Monty to help get herself to the top.

That sort of thing just pissed her off.

by **Montaine** on June 5th, 2012, 8:41 pm

Monty stared slack jawed at his friend. Petch she had a mouth on her. His gawp gradually transformed into a giddy grin. He had to stop himself from laughing as the prissy old braud was hit with the full brunt of the garrulous gadgeteer’s essential Tockness. He was reminded of the first time they’d met, the intensity with which she had held herself, the passion with which she conducted herself, the sheer strength of her unquestionable convictions. This was why he liked her. She was her and if that wasn’t good enough for you then you weren’t good enough for her. Mercer’s eye twitched.

‘Well,’ she spluttered, unprepared for such an onslaught from one she viewed as so far below her, ‘Well,’ she looked between the two, Tock’s face a picture of outrage and Monty’s one of pure joy and entertainment, she mouthed wordlessly for a few ticks more before settling on a simple, ‘Sorry,’ she spoke to Tock, ‘Sorry,’ she turned to Monty, ‘I’ll just go get that dress, the one in the window is for display only, but I have an identical design in the back room, I shan’t be a moment,’

Without another word she shuffled off through a door in the far wall. Montaine couldn’t stifle his laughter for a moment more and burst out, his smile spread from cheek to cheek.

‘Hah! That was brilliant, Tock! I thought you was goin’ to go’n bite her petchin’ head off! How do you do that? You jus’-you just yelled at her!’ he snorted and burst into a second peal of laughter, ‘At the stall you have to go’n speak all poncy like or they won’t buy a thing, but with you? You jus’ yell ‘em into submission!’ he slowly regained his composure and wiped a little moisture from his eye, ‘Petch it, you don’t need no dress, Tock, any man’d do anythin’ for someone like you, someone who don’t take no shyke!’

Yes, this was why he liked her; this was why he enjoyed her company. There were no games played with her, what you saw was what you got. Perhaps that was why he was so uncomfortable when he encountered the wealthier half of society. With them it was all a grand masque where no one revealed their faces, always seeking to hide their motivations. He could play the game well enough, sure, but it was refreshing to be around someone who didn’t just not partake, but smashed the pieces from the board. She didn’t just walk around unmasked, but tore the masks from everyone as she passed.

She was brilliant.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on June 5th, 2012, 9:59 pm

Tock glared at the woman, bouncing her baby up and down gently, the spider simply clinging to her the way one would if its web were disturbed and it was holding on for safety. Once the woman was gone and Monty burst into laughter, Tock turned her glare on him, and was about to yell at him and demand to know what was so funny.

Then he called her brilliant, and a grin spread across her lips. She shook her head, laughing softly, and said, "Oy, wazzay s'posed ta do, stand 'ere an' jus' take 'at from 'er? Petch 'at, mate. I done took 'nough crap from Da, 'til I done decided 'nough were 'nough, aye? An' if'n I's gonna smack the crap outta my Da, then I's gonna smack the crap outta anybody what done deserves 'er, aye? Dun care none if'n she's rich o' she done gots some fancy people what knows 'er name. An' neither should you, mate."

As the woman came back with the dress, Tock was still going off, not giving one damn that the woman heard her either. "Ya should learn, mate," she said, "what 'ere's two kinds o' people in the world. The kind what gets shyte done," she jabbed a thumb at her chest, "an' the kind what 'spects other people ta do 'er fer ya," she cast a glare at Yvette on this point and snatched the dress from the woman's hands, then shook it at her vigorously. "Yer probably one what 'spects a lass should jus' spread 'er legs fer whatever man's what gonna support 'er, aye?" she demanded. Yvette sputtered and turned red in the face at the very question. Tock didn't even give her the chance to reply. "Course ya do. 'At's why ya done sells dresses. Done been easier fer a man ta get 'tween a girl's legs if'n alls 'e's gots ta do is 'ike up 'er skirt an' pull 'er knickers down, aye? 'At's all ya does 'ere, is 'elp girls what wanna give men easier access."

Yvette was absolutely mortified and looked like she was about to faint. After all, ladies just didn't discuss this sorta thing in dignified company. But Tock just held the dress up against her front and stood in front if the mirror. Switching without thought back to a conversational tone, she asked, "Ya think I should gets matchin' knickers ta go wit' 'er? O' is 'e gonna 'as 'em off so fast what as 'e won't care what color 'ey is?" She had no illusions about why she was buying this dress. She wanted it for the exact reason she had just accused Yvette of selling them for. She just had a certain particular man in mind she wanted to offer easy access to.

by **Montaine** on June 6th, 2012, 3:35 pm

Montaine’s grin remained stolidly plastered across his face but internally he blanched at the prospect of Tock’s knickers. An image of her, legs akimbo and wiggling her eyebrows suggestively suddenly blossomed in his mind and caused his eye to briefly twitch. The glassworker thoroughly enjoyed her company and her brusque, offhand attitude and his delighting in her on a social, personal level might have suggested that had he possessed an attraction towards her and hers, had he been particularly that way inclined, he might have found her deeply alluring yet the concept seemed so utterly, unabashedly wrong.

Just imagine the children.

Monty shook the horrifying image from his head and brought his wayward consciousness back to the situation at hand, the situation regarding Tock’s knickers, ‘Nah, needn’t bother I shouldn’t think, by the time he’s reached your knickers he ain’t goin’ to care one way or the other what colour they are, I s’spect, right Missus Mercer?’

The prudish proprietor startled slightly at the mention of her name, finding herself inexperienced in the new social terrain she found herself in. She gritted her teeth into a grimace and nodded.

‘I’m afraid we do not sell undergarments either, though might I suggest Tranelle’s across the street, I believe she holds quite an extensive range, should you so desire it,’ Yvette spoke through her clamped, forced smile. Her advice was truthful, as Tranelle indeed sold a vast selection of various forms of underwear, and the comment was naturally entirely motivated by her desire to help her beloved customers, and not simply remove them from her premises to a shop owned by a woman for whom she had no great fondness.

Monty cocked his head and looked Tock’s reflection up and down in the mirror, ‘So, want to buy it? It looks really good, an’ I bet most any man’d go for it,’ he nodded reassuringly.

OOCShort, I apologise. Hopefully Monty's disturbing vision of an alternative future makes up for it.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on June 6th, 2012, 4:52 pm

Thankfully Tock was unaware of Monty's particular train of thought. She much preferred building her children out of wood and metal, and would have likely been quite disturbed at the idea of sickly, redheaded children with pidgin accents, their energetic rambunctiousness punctuated by endless sessions of asthmatic collapses and the inability to learn better from their past mistakes. And the poor, poor neighborhood pets that would be endlessly harassed despite the inevitable allergies to their fur. The family life thus envisioned would likely have driven all thoughts of skirts and sexual allure right from Tock's mind.

Instead, blissfully ignorant of such fantasies, she simply said, "Nah, I think I jus' won't wear none. 'Ey's jus' gonna get in the way and wind up on the floor anywho."

More than ready to be on her way, she bought the dress and stowed it, without a care for the resulting wrinkles, in her backpack atop her tools.

She then turned to Monty and asked, "Looks like she ain't done got nothin' fer you, though, aye? 'Less ya like ta dress like a lady." There was no joking or judgment in her tone as she said this; she'd been around the world, and knew places where that sort of thing wasn't unheard of. "So's where's ya wanna go getcher rags from?"

She followed him out, unknowing and uncaring about the relieved sigh that escaped Yvette as the source of her discomfort finally left. She then jabbed Monty in the ribs and asked, "Oy, ya lookin' ta git some digs what fer more'n jus' whatcher Bossman done wants, aye? Maybe lookin' fer somethin' what shows off yer attributes too, aye? Ya ain't mentioned no romance never. Ya got anyone? O' lookin' fer one? O's ya more of a love-em-an-leave-em sorta chap? I ain't done never 'ad no man 'fore Satey... Ain't so sure 'ow ta 'old onta 'im, know what I mean?" It was a concern that she hadn't voiced out loud before now. It was part of what had motivated her to buy the dress, and part of why she was so strongly considering offering her virtue to him. Part of it, of course, was mere desire and curiosity about what it would be like. But another part, deeper and more hidden even from herself, was the thought that she just wasn't good enough for the divine man fallen from the skies. That maybe if she didn't give him that little something extra, he'd lose interest and find someone... better.

As the thought crossed her consciousness and was acknowledged directly for the first time, her expression darkened and a frown touched her lips. "'Ow's ya keep someone 'round?" she asked Monty in a lost, wistful tone. "Like... keep 'em 'round longer an' jus' while yer 'avin' fun? I ain't done 'ad nobody stay since..." She trailed off, looking at the ground and clutching Bitey more firmly to her chest. He was programmed to love her, and to desire to stay with her, just as Naily was programmed to stay right on her heels. She didn't need to worry about keeping them around. They were desired to always love her and never leave her. They didn't age and couldn't catch a disease. She didn't have to worry about losing them like she had lost her Granddad. She didn't have to worry about them leaving her behind the way everyone she'd ever met had.

But how did she get a real man to stick around?

OOC-5 SM marked off for one green peasant dress.

by **Montaine** on June 6th, 2012, 7:56 pm

‘Love,’ Monty said the word, ‘I ain’t necessar’ly the best person to ask ‘bout love,’ he watched his feet as they walked, it was easier than looking at her, ‘I been trailin’ the same person since I was eight, to be honest. Never goin’ to happen though, they’s ain’t int’rested, sometimes that’s just the way it is. Don’t get me wrong,’ he attempted a smile, ‘I been plenty lucky, jus’ no one quite matches up to h-’ he cut himself off.

Not yet.

The glassworker frowned, ‘But I figure it’s like this, see? Love means more’n just likin’ someone, more’n just wantin’ to shack up, I mean that’s a part of it sure, but there’s a thing what makes love different, sep’rate from jus’ wantin’ to get ‘em in the sack, or jus’ likin’ ‘em round you. Love’s when you-when you-’ he looked round the street for inspiration, finding none he frowned and returned his gaze to his companion, ‘The way I see’s it, all we’re tryin’ to do in life is get on with it an’ find as much happiness as we can with whatever time we got, right? Well bein’ in love with someone is when them jus’ bein’ happy is all you need, them bein’ happy is what makes you happy,’ his gaze dropped and his face darkened almost imperceptibly, ‘Even if’n it’s not you that makes ‘em so,’

He inhaled the Zeltivan air deeply, even the smells of this street seemed somewhat alien and too clean, situated as they were generally out of the main path of the putrescence of the fish market, the smell was still detectable, just not as strong as it should have been, ‘But love’s a two way street, see? Jus’ like you or I might feel about someone else, someone might feel ‘bout us, jus’ wantin’ us to be happy no matter what, an’ that’s them lovin’ us. When it’s just right, two people’ll be in love wit’ each other, an’ one’ll be happy an’ the other’ll be happy an’ they’ll just be happy together an’ when it’s like that you don’ have to worry ‘bout losin’ them ‘cause they won’t want to lose you neither,’

Monty glanced to his left and spotted a suitable looking tailor, ‘Look, this talk’s depressin’ me somethin’ awful, can we have a look in here? They seem as good as any other place round here,’ The mannequins in the window were arrange in elegant poses and attired in fine brocade vests that reminded him of slimmer versions of Calbert. A snooty looking man was adjusting the collar of one and noticed them, raising a thin eyebrow of curiosity.

‘’Fraid you might have to yell at some more poshies though,’

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on June 6th, 2012, 9:43 pm

"Since ya was eight?" Tock asked, arching an eyebrow and studying Monty curiously. "Whatcha like, child'ood sweet'earts o' somethin'? 'Ow come ya jus' chasin' an' not goin' fer it?" She couldn't imagine having feelings for someone for, what, ten, fifteen years? It sounded almost hopeless.

She listened to his attempted explanation without fully understanding. It made sense, sure, but she didn't know love, wasn't even sure if she was in love, and thus wasn't sure if Monty's 'rules' applied. Plus, his explanation was about how someone would want to stick around if they already loved you, not how to make them love you.

Maybe she could stick Satey in an Animation circle and program him to love her.

She wanted to ask more, but Monty asked to change the subject, so she sighed and let it drop. She was getting in a bit of s foul mood herself, due to her frustration about the subject of love. Venting that frustration with some more yelling sounded like exactly what she needed.

She stomped into the shop, practically taking the bell above the door off its post when the door slammed into it so hard. She set Bitey down on a pile of folded shirts and lifted one up, holding it against Monty's chest. "Meh," she muttered, tossing it on the floor and pulling out another.

"Madam," the stuffed shirted man said, stepping over and reaching for what he thought was nothing but a wooden toy, "this is a place of business! You cannot just leave your-- Gah!" he snatched his hand back in shock as Bitey crouched down and raised his two front legs, raising his fangs into striking position.

"Don'tcha 'urt my baby!" Tock snapped at him, slapping the man's hand away. "'E's a infant!" She kept tossing away shirts until she found one that more suited her tastes, without the excessive lace and frills most of them had. To Monty she said, "I ain't done gonna letcha get too poshy, aye? Ya done gets too much lace stuffed up yer arse, ye'll done ferget yer roots..."

by **Montaine** on June 7th, 2012, 4:06 pm

Monty chuckled and took the shirt she offered. If Calbert had hoped to raise the boy’s profile amongst the classier sort of citizen with a classier sort of look, the glassworker feared the stories of the garrulous gadgeteer and her mechanical monsters might somewhat hinder his hopes, though the boss had claimed a certain sort of eccentricity was welcomed, lauded, by the fusty, old elite. Montaine was still rather uncertain as to whether or not he wished for further attention from the sort of people Calbert associated with yet he was forced to admit that patronage of such members of the mercantile fraternity assuredly couldn’t hurt his endeavours towards glassworking excellence. As the dressmaker had said, everyone needed backers, and boats weren’t cheap.

The shirt fabric felt soft and downy in the glassworker’s fingers, a sensation somewhat unfamiliar to his calloused hands. His clothes had always been scratchy, cheap linen from the most suspect of sources as money had always been rather sparse. Now he had some mizas. He slipped his bag down to the ground a short distance from where Bitey sat, trusting that while theft in such a lofty establishment was unlikely, theft from Bitey was nigh impossible without submitting to his pointed fangs. His satchel jingled with its load.

He held the shirt up to his chest and let it hang down, turning to the shop keeper, ‘What d’you think? This the right size?’

The man unwillingly drew his eyes from the spider squatting on his shirts to consider the glassworker with his practiced tailor’s eye, ‘A little big sir, and quite expensive, that is velvet, sir, I assume you can,’ he cleared his throat and spoke an quietly, fearful of reprisal should he offend the friend of the terrifying woman now rootling through his wares, ‘pay?’

Monty narrowed his eyes, ‘Course I can pay, else I wouldn’t’ve bothered comin’ in here,’ he shook his head at Tock and rolled his eyes, before turning back to the tailor, ‘You got anythin’ like this for me, then?’

The tailor looked him up and down and folded his arms, taking a few ticks to mull over the glassworker’s shape, ‘You know, I think I might have something that will do the trick, are you looking for an ensemble?’ he asked, and faced with Monty’s blank look tried once more, ‘An outfit, or just shirts?’

‘An outfit’ll do me fine, if’n you’ve got something? No frills mind, or my friend’ll cut ‘em off,’ he flashed a grin at Tock before following the tailor into a back room, leaving the garrulous gadgeteer to the shop floor.

OOCMonty'll be gone for your entire next post, getting dressed, so have fun doing some commentary or internal monologue with the shop, whatever you fancy. J-just don't set any fires.