Family Outing (Uncle Monty)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock was about to make a joke about how Monty could now afford some 'high class' whores, the kind that could afford to bathe, when the little monster came rushing in and nearly tackled him. She stood back and just listened, picking her way through what the girl was saying, something about that sailor that Monty thought may or may not be dead. He cut the girl off long before her mind started making the various connections. Tock might be a genius when it came to engineering and magic, but the more subtle aspects of interpersonal communication were lost on her. But when she realized he was here to spread a little charity, she grinned and punched him in the shoulder. "I done knew ya was good people," she told him. "Best ya not ferget yer roots, aye? Ain't done no good fer ta climb up top an' don't leaves yer friends behind." If she had had any friends when she was younger, she would have been sure to remember them, no matter where she went. She was still grinning when they stepped up to the house and she heard the approach of what she assumed would be another charity case. The grin stayed on her lips until the moment Monty said the word, 'Da.' Her face went blank and she turned a cold stare on the man. The man who was so much bigger than the fragile glassmaker. The fragile glassmaker who couldn't take a hit. Who Tock had adopted as a brother. Tock whose own Da had beaten her nearly every day of her life for her first seventeen years. And he'd just been threatening to wring a neck. Tock very nearly punched the man in the face right then and there. Had she not been supporting Bitey with one arm she might just have. Instead she shoved Monty back out of the man's reach and planted herself protectively in front of him, shaking a fist in the big man's face. "Ya keep yer damn bloody 'ands off him!" she screamed, turning red in the face. "Ya done lays one bloody finger on 'im, I done swears I'll gut ya right 'ere an' feed yer no good innards ta my spider!" Instinctively responding to the aggression, Bitey flexed his legs and raised his fangs, ready to pounce. Naily lowered his head aggressively, his wheels shaking like a dog growling. Tock was shaking with rage, and she didn't care that she barely came up to the man's chest. "Ain't done nobody gonna 'urt my brother while I's 'round!!" she screamed, spittle flying from her lips.

[Montaine]

‘Tock! He’s my Da, he’s my Da! It’s fine!’ Montaine attempted to grab Tock and pull her back, anything to stop her yelling, to stop her from getting into an outright fist fight with his father. Unfortunately, in the kerfuffle the combined movement of his friend , a golem underfoot and a misplaced step caused him to topple over backwards onto the ground, collapsing into a wheezy, breathless heap. Immediately the tower of a man was there, waving his hand in front of the glassworker’s face, ‘Monty! Monty, count the fingers, count the fingers, how many fingers?’ Montaine attempted to push his father’s hand away, complaining, ‘Da, still with the fingers? I ain’t needed the fingers since I were ten an’ even then it weren’t serious,’ he looked up his father’s concerned face, the furrowed brows and tight lipped mouth, and was transported back to his youth. ‘Monty, you’ve got to be careful, yer Mam were just like you, an’ I couldn’ stand it if you went the same way, so just count the fingers!’ Montaine flinched as the fingers were waved in front him again and raised a hand of his own to shield out the sun and count his father’s petching fingers, ‘Three, I love you Da, but I know me own problems by now, I’m a grown man, see? Oh…’ his hand was bleeding, ‘Must’ve been a stone, ain’t no one fixed this road since I were a lad?’ Tiffan Redsun, despite all his impressive stature, squealed, ‘You’re bleedin’ Monty? Get inside! I still got some bandages, you get inside an’ I’ll fix you up an’ you can explain to me why you came round when I explicitly told you not to, I said to you, Monty, I said you’ve got a chance for proper livin’, an’ you come back here an’ bloody up your hand an’ scare the wits out of me,’ he began muttering as he put a hand round his son’s shoulders and helped him to his feet, taking his injured hand by the wrist and gently, but incessantly, guiding him into the house, ‘An’ your-’ a raised eyebrow, ‘-friend can come in too, been a while since I had guests, but any friend o’ Monty’s, no matter how-however is welcome, nice to see he’s hangin’ round with girls anyhow, stop him obsessin’ over that boy,’ ‘Da!’ Monty whined like he was a kid again, ‘Da, don’ say stuff like that!’ Tiffan Redsun frowned and muttered to his son, ‘What? Can’t your old man be concerned, you been followin’ that boy round since you were eight,’ ‘Shut it!’ the glassworker hissed at his father, speaking in whispered tones, ‘An’ he weren’t no boy he were over a hundred,’ he stepped into his old room and looked back at the gadgeteer, ‘It’s alright, Tock, me Da’s alright, I want to show you where I grew up, see? An’ I want you to have a look at somethin’ for me, if’n it’s okay?’

OOCA brief description of Tiffan's house can been found at the beginning of Unfaithful Telling, should you wish to use it. I will describe it in greater detail in my next posts regardless.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

To Tock, the words, 'It's my Da,' and, 'It's fine,' didn't belong in the same breath. 'It's fine,' or similar excuses, had been what Tock used to use to hide her embarrassment. When her Granddad would ask about her fresh bruises, she would claim she was fine, that nothing had happened, or that she had just had a mishap in the workshop. And she'd been oh so desperate to keep anyone from finding out, not just because of her embarrassment, but because being confronted out Da into a worse rage. If he thought she'd been blabbing, he'd just shove a rag in her mouth to keep her screams quiet, or lock her in a closet until she learned to keep her mouth shut. Hearing, 'It's fine,' wasn't going to calm Tock down. And when Monty fell and his Da rushed towards him, she only assumed the worst. When she was a little girl and she fell, the only reason her Da might run at her was to beat her while she was down. In an instant her mallet was off her belt and into her hand, raised and ready to strike. She would take him down, and then toss Bitey on his back and tell Naily to... Be careful...? She stood there and stared, dumbfounded, her mallet still raised but forgotten in her hand, as the strange family scenario played out. Monty's Da seemed worried for him, downright concerned for his well being. He helped him up and talked about bandages and... And Tock couldn't understand it, and just stood there and stared. Wide eyed, she followed them into the house, lowering her mallet but keeping it in her hand, trying to keep a grip on the squirming spider against her chest with the other. She struggled to sort through all the talk of boys and girls and hundred year old sailors (that last bringing a nagging sensation go the back of her head), and all the things she felt clicking together in the back of her head now. As she scanned the room hesitantly, without thinking about the words coming out of her mouth (not that she ever did), she said, "I ain't boinkin' 'im. I done gots a boyfriend an' nine babies. Plus 'e done told me 'e's in love wit'... someone..." She frowned and scratched the back of her head with her mallet, thinking about the earlier conversation, and Monty's confession of a lifelong obsession, and his Da's mention of a sailor man... "Oy," she asked Monty, "ya in love wit' a Nuit?"

[Montaine]

‘Love?’ Tiffan snorted and sat Monty down on an old chair by the hearth, moving to grab an old roll of bandage from the side, ‘He didn’ say love did he? You ain’t never said love ‘bout him before, really Monty,’ he shook his head and smiled, taking his son’s cut hand in his own and carefully wrapping it in cloth, ‘Look, I jus’ want the best for you, just think you’d be much happier with a nice girl, always imagined you as a da yourself someday,’ ‘Da…’ Monty frowned, he glanced over at Tock and looked away, into the old dying embers of the fire, muttering so quietly, ‘Da I don’ like girls, we talked ‘bout this,’ ‘Yes, yes, an’ I’m just an old man, but I ain’t as old as you seem to think I am, an’ you ain’t quite as mature as you make yerself out to be, Monty,’ Tiffan turned his smiling face to his second guest, ‘I ain’t never heard him say love about him before, an’ he don’t talk about the, whatchya call ‘em? Ether-etherfellas, them shiny ones what change at night, he don’t talk about his sailor wit’ no one he don’t like, so please, sit down an’ make yourself comfortable, Monty grew up in this house you know, wouldn’t think him to come from a place like this to look at him now, would you? All dressed nice and fancy,’ he tied the bandage into a knot and tore it off the rest with his teeth, ‘Like you deserve, all the troubles you’ve had to put up with,’ Tiffan stood up straight and looked down at his son, still staring miserably into the fire, ‘I’ll make you some tea, still got some leaves from last time you was round bringin’ gifts,’ he frowned at Montaine and moved to the front door, still ajar, and before he left threw a smile towards Tock, ‘Jus’ got to go get some water, you cheer him up while I’m gone, y’hear?’ and with that the mountainous man disappeared from sight. The glassworker felt wretched. He’d simply wanted to see his old man and show his new friend where he had grown up, perhaps make the place a little nicer, and then the whole sailor thing had gotten raked up. What his father had said was true, he hadn’t ever used the word, the L-word, about the sailor, not once, not directly, before the storm that potentially took everything away. He’d felt so desolate before he couldn’t deny it anymore and yet it hurt all the more that he knew, he knew the sailor, if he still lived, thought nothing of him. He was just some little kid he’d once met in an alleyway. Just some kid. It wasn’t love, it was a one sided infatuation. But that didn’t mean he was just going to go and find some nice girl and settle down and have a family. He’d love kids, he loved kids, but despite it all he just wasn’t…he was a man’s man. Just not that man’s man.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock's mind had been circling around it all day, never quite touching down on that big question. Every time she'd come close, something had distracted her from quite completing the train of thought. But then the words came right from Monty's own lips. Ohhhh... She remembered the first day they'd met, how they'd gone to the bar after. Monty had hinted that his coworkers would be quite interested in a look at Tock's breasts, while implying that he himself wasn't interested. She'd thought it was just because he was respectable, not because he was... that. She also didn't give a damn. "Oy, my boyfriend's an Ethaefal," she said, sitting down next to Monty. "Ain't 'ey done the finest thing ya done ever seen at night? Mmm hmm hmm," she smiled. "Oy, an' 'ose 'orns!" she put a hand to her chest, turning a little red just at the thought. "Oy, gets a girl worked up jus' thinkin' 'bout 'em, aye?" she grinned, slapping Monty on the knee. "Ain't done nothin' fer ta worry 'bout, neither, if'n yer sailor boy's a Ethaefal," she continued, setting Bitey down on the ground so he could explore the house. "My boyfriend done told me what as 'ey gets reborn if'n 'ey die, o' summat like 'at. So ain't no 'ow yer sailors done been dead, no really. Jus' maybe back up wit' the family, s'all." Finding out the sailor was an Ethaefal brought back the memories that had been niggling at the back of her mind. "I done knew an Ethaefal sailor man once," she said. "Saved my life, 'e did. Nice chap. Kinda grumpy, though. Didn't want fer me ta done patch up 'at leaky ol' boat o' 'is. An' I done told 'I'm," she shook a finger at Monty as if he were the sailor man, "I says, 'Ain't nobody done never got nothin' done what by sayin' she's good 'nough as she is.' An' 'e done says," she planted her hands on her hips, raised her chin, and mimicked the sailor's gruff voice as best as she could remember it, "'Petch! She's good 'nough as she is, dun touch nothin' o' ye'll swim the rest o' the way! 'Is ship's older 'an yer Granddad!' An' I done says, 'Oy, don'tcha done talk 'bout my Granddad!' an I gives 'im what for," she shook a fist in the air. "But 'e didn't throw me overboard, an' 'e dropped me off in Mura. 'Twere a good," she thought a moment and scratched her head, "four years ago, now? Nice chap, though, Sailor Man." She shrugged, looking around the room. "'At were the first boat I done ever been on," she said. "Took me away from my Da. I done owes 'at Sailor Man everythin', I does."

[Montaine]

There was a ball in his throat, threatening to climb up and force him into desperate tears. He refused to let it up though, he refused to cry in his father’s house. He caused the man enough trouble as it was and no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much he needed to he wouldn’t let it out. No matter how painful his heart felt beating heavily in his chest. Sailing wasn’t so rare a past time amongst the fallen children of the sun and moon as to be remarkable, being, as they were, born in the water. He knew how uncomfortable the sailor was on land. That was why, after all, he was the sailor. ‘Can we-’ his voice broke, he attempted to cover it with a cough, ‘Can we talk ‘bout somethin’ else? Sorry, it’s just-it’s just I ain’t too comfortable talkin’,’ he frowned but didn’t meet her eyes, ‘’bout him. People ain’t often take too kindly to people like-’ he paused again. He looked at her. He hadn’t known her long, two score days, there or thereabouts, all told. Near half a season, at most. But she was so unique, so different from anyone else he had ever met. Well, she bore some resemblance to Lissa, in a way, the same attitude. She was so independent, so outstandingly individual, the precise opposite of the thing that caused her such dislike in the phoniness of the West Street elite. She was so brutally honest. Monty sighed, ‘I met him when I was eight an’ he was, what? A hundred an’ one? A hundred an’ two?’ he swallowed the ball and allowed himself the privilege of nostalgia with no thought to his present predicaments, ‘Bit of an age gap, I know, but back then there weren’t no feelin’s, not that sort anyhow, they came later. Nah, was just awe back then, ‘cause I was sick, you know? All the time I was sick, an’ Da would try an’ make me feel better with all these stories he’d heard as a kid himself, ‘cause Da used to live with the horsemen, the Drykas, an’ all these stories they were my world, ‘cause I were too sick to do anythin’ else, too sick to play with other kids, too sick to learn a job nor nothin’,’ he teased the end of the bandage, his gaze lost in the past. ‘But then he jus’ dropped out of the air, like a petchin’ god outta the sky, an’ he had such stories! An’ not the ones my Da heard as a kid or in the pub, but real stories first hand, ones he’d gone out an’ seen an’ been in an’ I was so jealous of him an’ that night I dreamed, I dreamed of goin’ sailin’ wit’ the sailor,’ his mouth was smiling but his brows furrowed, ‘An’ he’d come see me, whenever he was in port, ‘cause I made him promise, I did, an’ he’d come with all these stories an’ I remember, I remember when I first saw him like I do now, when I first saw his other side, in the moonlight, ‘That weren’t what did for me though, his other side’s nice an’ all, all glimmery an’ beautiful like you’d expect, but it wasn’t him, it wasn’t the sailor, an’ don’ get me wrong, I like that side of him too, jus’ well, it’s more like I’m that kid again, you know? It’s awe, not, not, well I guess you could jus’ say I gots a thing for humans over horns,’ he smiled at Tock. ‘But Da’s right, you know, I ain’t never said that word, not about him, not in all the years I knew him ‘cause he ain’t like me, an’ he don’ like me, not like that, but it’s fine, see? It’s like I said, when you love someone, them bein’ happy is enough, it’s enough,’ It wasn’t. ‘Look, Da’ll be back soon, an’ I don’ want to talk about this anymore, I brought you here for more’n jus’ to bring up memories,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"An' 'e done knew I almost drowned," Tock rambled on, not noticing at first that Monty was on the verge of tears. "I ain't done never learned ta swim. Guess I oughta, one o' 'ese days. 'Cept as 'ere ain't much point, aye? I mean, only time I done ever needs fer ta go near the water, I's gonna take a boat, an' I..." She cut off when Monty started to break down, and asked her to change the subject. She stared at him for a moment, wondering what was going on. He was crying, or just about to. Tock just stared, not sure what to do. She hadn't cried hardly ever since the day she left home. She'd decided to leave that behind. The weak part of her. Sure, there had been moments. She wasn't made of stone. She'd broken down completely when she'd found out Cutty was sick. She'd broken down again when she was trying to fix him. But those had been very difficult, emotional experiences. Her baby was sick. But those rare moments of weakness embarrassed her no end, and she didn't like being seen like that. She didn't like feeling weak. So she could understand why Monty wouldn't want her to see him cry. So she just sat quietly, and listened. It was quite a rare thing for Tock to shut up long enough to really listen to someone else. But she didn't know what else to do, since she didn't know how to handle people who were crying. About the only positive experience she had ever had when she was crying was when her Granddad would hug her, and hold her. He would never even say anything. He would just hold her silently, which was always just what she needed, since there wouldn't have been any words that could help. So when Monty finished, and said he didn't want to talk about it anymore, all she did was scoot closer and put her arms around him. She pulled him close and leaned his head against her shoulder, holding him as tight as she could. She knew he didn't have a mom or a sister or anything, so maybe he hadn't been hugged in awhile. He sure seemed to need it.

[Montaine]

‘You know, I ain’t averse to redheaded grandchildren, if’n they’re as feisty as your friend an’ stubborn as you, even the Green boys wouldn’t stand a chance,’ Tiffan stood in the doorway with a dirty old pot of well water and a highly amused look upon his face, ‘Now shift it so’s I can put this on the boil, I think we’ve got enough cups, go’n check would you?’ Monty looked up at his Da and sniffed, nodding. He smiled at Tock and carefully disentangled himself from her embrace, walking over to a little chest in the corner, inside of which were a number of cooking utensils and three slightly chipped cups. They would have to do. ‘Monty used to sleep right there, y’know?’ his father smiled at the gadgeteer as he stoked the fire, ‘I mean, there used to be a bed o’ course, but when the boy up and moved out for better things he made me sell it, always worryin’ about his old man, this one. Always comin’ back to these parts even though I told him not to, I said to him, Monty you don’ keep comin’ back here, your life’s up there wit’ the rich folk where you can afford to live like you oughtta, like you deserve, I said to him, you go an’ do that, an’ he did,’ Tiffan ruffled Monty’s hair as the glassworker passed to give Tock her cup, ‘Ain’t no one from Kova Street, not in all the twenty-two years I been here, done near as good as me boy here. You seen his place? It’s got stairs, it has,’ Monty rolled his eyes at Tock as he handed her the chipped container, ‘Da, it ain’t like I got no manor up in the foothills, it’s just a poky little room, smaller’n this place,’ ‘Don’ sell yourself short, Monty, your work’s what matters, right? You always say that, an’ look, I still got your first piece,’ the horseman pointed over at the ledge by the window with a grin plastered from ear to ear in paternal pride, upon which stood a very, very small, very very droopy looking vase. The glassworker’s eyes widened in horror. ‘You still got that petchin’ thing?’ ‘Don’ use words like that in this house, Monty! I won’ ever forgive that boy for teachin’ you those things, you know what it’s like havin’ an eight year old son who won’ stop petchin’ this an’ shykin’ that, Miss? He told poor Missus Adwell to petch off, she was seventy-three!’ Monty sniggered. ‘So, Miss Tock was it? Ain’t often we get to see djed users down these parts, normally stay up at the university,’ he nodded at her beloved contraptions, ‘An’ I think I can say with some certainty we ain’t had things like them down here before,’ he spoke as he added the tea leaves to the brew, ‘What’s your story then?’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock looked up at Tiffan's comment, frowned, and shook a fist at him. "Oy, don'tcha go gettin' no ideas," she told him. "I done told ya, I's got a boyfriend an' babies o' my own already!" One of those babies, Naily, rolled over and harassed Tiffan's ankles, rolling around him and brushing his hammerhead up and down the man's pant legs the way a puppy would paw at someone for attention. She took the cup, a bit irritated at the man's continued presumption, trying not to let herself fume too much. At the mention of the young Monty's foul tongue, her mood lightened somewhat and she snorted, "Oy, petchin' ol' 'ag prolly 'ad it comin', aye? I song done never met no one what couldn't use fer ta be taken down a peg o' two, now an' 'en. An' ain't don't nothin' wrong wit' some bloody language, neither. I done learnt worse 'an 'at from me own Da, fore I could done dress myself. Petchin' 'is o' bloody bludgin' 'at were prolly my first damn words." Part of her hoped that seeing she had a sailor mouth would help discourage Tiffan of any notions of romance between her and his son. Aside from her own boyfriend and her recent discovery of Monty's alternate preferences, it would just be weird. She sat back and looked down at Naily, patting her leg and making kissy noises to summon him over. He rolled over to her and she scooped him up into his lap. She petted him, and he let out a contented shiver. "Story?" she asked. "I ain't got no story. Jus' a workin' girl, s'all. Buildin' 'ouses an' fixin' stuff an' makin' my babies..." She lifted Naily up to her face to nuzzle him and kiss his little claw. "I's gonna 'as my own city, one day. Done where everythin's runnin' 'erself, aye? An' ya don't done gotta worry 'bout no crime, what cause me Golems, 'ey's gonna keep 'er safe, an' ain't done nobody gonna mess wit' 'em. An' ain't gonna be no poshed up chumps what's welcome 'ere... No offense, Glassman," she added with a smirk. "Ye'll jus' done 'as ta make sure 'at stick don't go too far up yer skinny arse, aye?"

[Montaine]

Tiffan nodded and smiled and poured the tea, ‘Golems, eh? Sounds like tricky business, but least you got somethin’ what to work towards, like Monty,’ he said, taking the opportunity to tousle his son’s newly sorted hair back into a messy state, ‘I like you, Miss Tock, when you’re not threat’nin’ me with hammers. You’re a lively sort and seem to look after what you care about, an’ if in the future you gots a pack o’ golem men behind you then well, all the better. I think I can trust Monty to you,’ ‘Da!’ ‘Not like that, I get it, I get it, I were jus’ teasin’,’ the man chuckled, ‘Zulrav’s blessin’ you’re easy today. All I’m sayin’ is, Monty’s a delicate boy, always has been, jus’ like his mother, an’ he needs takin’ care of,’ ‘Da I can look after meself, an’ you besides,’ the glassworker wandered over to the door between the front room and his father’s bedroom. It was old, incredibly old, whatever had been used to protect the wood when it had first been constructed had long since peeled away. It was the wrong size for the frame, leaving a good few inches of gap beneath, and when Monty pushed it open it creaked like a dying cat. ‘This is why I brought you here, to see me Da’s door, all splinters an’ rot. I wanted to get you somethin’, Tock, but I figured you ain’t the sort to take somethin’ you didn’t earn with your hands, an’ I’ve been meanin’ to get Da’s door fixed up proper for years, jus’ didn’ have either the money nor know anyone who would do it,’ he knocked on the old wood, ‘I’d pay for the materials, an’ your time, an’ I’d want a proper job of it, too. Me Da can’t go on wit’ no piece o’ shyke like this,’ ‘Hey!’ Tiffan sniffed, ‘You used to like that door, said it were right fancy, you did. An’ ain’t it my door? Ain’t I get a say in whether or not you go wastin’ money on sommat don’ need repairin’?’ ‘It’s as much my door as yours, this was my room, weren’t it? Now sit down Da, you took care o’ me, now I’m takin’ care o’ you an’ what’s more-’ the glassworker walked over to where his bag was slung unceremoniously on the table and slapped its unshapely mass to be rewarded with the jingle of coins, ‘There’s some fifty gold’uns in there, I want you to spread it round where it’s needed, aye?’ ‘Monty, I can’t! We ain’t no beggars!’ ‘An’ I ain’t no rich petcher, I’m just another skinny little rat from Kova Street, an’ you’ll do what I say or petch it by Lhex I’ll spend every last breath I have puttin’ one o’ them coins into every hand north of the Market Road,’ Tiffan opened his mouth to respond but caught Monty’s glare and was struck. He had his father’s eyes but he truly was his mother’s son. He shut his mouth and nodded. The glassworker exhaled and flicked open his satchel. ‘I’ll dump it in your room, okay? S’been a right pain to carry round anyways,’

OOCMonty'll put the money in his father's room during your next post, so feel free to mention it as you respond to the request to fix up the door.