When You Need Something, Suddenly I'm Your Equal (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

21st Day of Summer, 512 AV Someone was knocking on Tock's door. She was trying to ignore it. Tock had been out drinking with her coworkers last night. While this in itself wasn't unusual, last night had been a bit different. One of the men from the crew was getting married (presumably, Tock was quite sure, due to an impending ankle biter his lass was going to spew forth later this year). Impending nuptials and assumed (yet not confirmed) fatherhood had left the man both excited and anxious. This had led to more drinking than usual. As the night waned, and the more lightweight of the crew had gone off to bed, Tock and a couple of others had stayed later to keep cheering the groom-to-be on. Once he was already quite plastered, they had managed to convince him to spring for the rare luxury of a bottle of imported brandy. Tock had never had brandy before. And she would NEVER touch it again. "Unnnnnnhhh..." she groaned and buried her face in her pillow as the knocking at her door continued. "Go away!" she shouted. The banging was made all the worse when Naily decided to start banging on the door from the other side. He thought it was a game. Knock knock knock! Bang bang bang! "Baby, stop it!" Tock groaned. "Mommy's tryin' ta sleep!" Why did people subject themselves to the horrors of brandy? Sure, the taste was a pleasant change from the seaweed swill, but the punishment afterwards... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK! BANG BANG BANG! She threw her pillow at Naily and he rolled away. It wasn't his fault, she told herself. She'd programmed him to be like a puppy. He thought everything was a game. She still loved him. And yet the knocking continued. Whoever was on the other side did NOT have 'but I was programmed that way' as an excuse! She was going to kill them... She'd just pull out the ice picks she could feel stabbing into her temples, and murder the person with them.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK It was a good thing she didn't need to go into work today. It would give her plenty of time to hide the body. She got up and slumped over to the door with no pants on. She really didn't give a damn if whoever it was saw her in her cotton panties, as long as they went away. She opened the door and stared with unfocused vision at the person standing there. He stared right at her panties. "Go away!" she shouted in his face, then slammed the door shut. The knocking continued, more desperate than before. Tock growled, and grabbed Grippy from by the bed. She opened the door and aimed the reaching tool at the man's neck. He held up his hands and said, "Please, Madam, I--" She cut him off by grabbing his shirt collar with Grippy (she'd been aiming for his neck, damn hangover!) and extending the arm to its full twelve foot length. The man was dragged back by the tool into the street, stumbling the whole way and crying out in shock. Tock them released him, retracted Grippy, and shut the door. A moment later the knocking resumed, accompanied by the man's frantic voice from the other side, "Madam, please! I beg of you, I need your help! You're the only person I could think to come to..." Tock groaned, and rubbed at her face. Who WAS this guy? He continued knocking and begging, and it was clear she wasn't going to get rid of him easily. "Choppy," she called out, "come 'ere..."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

When she opened the door, her unwanted guest found himself face to face with a grumpy, sleepless madwoman in her underclothes, holding her extendable metal arm in one hand, her eighteen inch long wooden spider in the other, and with her four foot tall walking axe standing by her side. He swallowed, turned pale, and asked, "Umm, perhaps this is a bad time?" "Oy, ya think?" she replied, glaring at him. "Please," he said, holding his hands up to ward off her ire, "hear me out. I'm desperate. It's my job on the line, you see? My job and my status..." Status...? Tock squinted to focus her vision on the man. He was finely dressed... far too finely dressed to be anywhere near this part of town. Fair skin, soft hands, smug features, though they were softened somewhat by his current desperate state. "Oy," Tock groaned when she finally remembered who it was. "Whadda YOU want?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The posh man stammered a bit, having trouble keeping his eyes on hers. His gaze kept roaming between her undergarments and the moving contraptions she'd surrounded herself with. Belatedly realizing that the latter might take issue with his staring at the former, he decided to stare rather pointedly at her ceiling. "W-would you mind," he asked, "perhaps putting on some pants?" Then in a confused tone, he added, "And why are there pictures of wolves on your ceiling?" "Dun gotta wear pants in my own 'ouse, if'n I dun wanna," she replied. Pants would be uncomfortable when she got rid of this man and went back to bed. Plus, maybe her state of undress would make him so uncomfortable that he'd just go away. "An' I done ran outta room on the walls," she added in a tone that strongly implied that should have been obvious. "I see," the man replied, still staring at the ceiling and nervously licking his lips. "I'd heard you were eccentric, but I..." his eyes went wide as he realized what he'd just said, and he very quickly amended, "Not eccentric! I mean... err, I simply meant I'd heard that you were, umm, 'unique'." He laughed nervously. Tock was getting tired of this. She sat in her chair, leaving the man standing in her doorway and staring at her ceiling, and impatiently asked, "'Eard what from who? Who done been talkin' 'bout me...?" The man cleared his throat, briefly glancing down at her, but then looking right back up at the ceiling when he saw she wasn't crossing her legs like a lady should. "Well," he coughed nervously, "I inquired after Master Redsun, and then spoke to a few of his colleagues at the glassworks. When I asked about 'the woman with the wooden spider,' they knew just who I meant. They directed me to this end of town, and, well, your neighbors..." he trailed off. Tock snorted. Her neighbors complained a lot about the noise and some of them gave her babies dirty looks. The man cleared his throat and continued, "Anyway, they directed me to your place of residence, and, well, here I am." He folded his hands at his waist, as if that were that. After a few moments' impatient waiting, Tock raised Grippy, extended him forward, and grabbed the man by his chin. She tilted his face downwards to look her in the eye, and with great irritation asked, "Why. The bloody 'ell. Is ya 'ere so dang early in the morning?" He moved his lips and made an unintelligible sound until she released him. He cleared his throat, twisted his neck to get a kink out, and adjusted his fine clothing, then said, "Madam, it is nearly eight bells. That is hardly 'early'." He had that tone in his voice again. The one that said he was better than her. "Git out," Tock said, snapping her fingers at Choppy. He stepped over to her side obediently.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The smugness vanished (mostly) as the man raised his hands and stammered, "W-wait, wait, wait! I need your help! Please?" Tock just stared at him, silently counting to ten in her mind. At the look on her face, he continued, "I need a job done. A," he waved his delicate hands as if in disgust at the prospect, "building stuff job." Tock stared at him, pondering the question of how much blood was in the human body, and how much of a mess it would be to clean up. "Why ya done want ME ta do it?" she asked. "Ain'tcha got no pish posh artisty type what's got a stick up 'is arse ta match yers? Go call on 'im..." She just wanted to go back to bed... The man cleared his throat and adjusted his fine shirt again, while Tock wondered how he could so much as wipe his own arse with the amount of lace hanging off his sleeves and covering his hands. "I've asked around," he said. "It seems the city is, shall we say, somewhat lacking in persons both prestigious and learned in the finer arts of craftsmanship, most especially of a historical nature." Tock stared at him blankly and said, "Huh?" He cleared his throat and said, "You told me, when you were at the tailor's with Master Redsun, that you knew history, correct?" Tock scratched her head, wondering what he could be getting at. "Yeah, so?" she asked. A variety of historical subjects tended to come up in her studies, particularly of Magecraft. Most everything one learned on that subject came from pre-Valterrian times. "You know architecture?" he asked her. "Aye," she said. "Metalworking?" "Aye, what of it?" Tock demanded. "Well," the man said, straightening his shirt again (how messy could it get when he was just standing still), "you seem to be quite unique in the city, then." Tock just stared at him, petting her spider, until he cleared his throat and continued, "There are many historians in the city who study pre-Valterrian architecture. The styles the artistry, et cetera," he waved a hand as if lecturing her. Tock rolled her eyes. "Yet while many of them can discuss he finer points of the aesthetics for bells on end, none of them, not a one, knows how to actually make such things. Likewise, while there are a great many craftsmen and metalworkers within the city, they have all told me they only build modern, practical," he said this word as if it were dirty, "things. So," he spread his hands out to the sides, "you can see the predicament I'm in..." Tock stared at him dully, waiting for the rest. When nothing more was forthcoming, she growled, "Oy, ya ain't done makin' no SENSE, Guv!" He stared at her like she were the stupid one. After a moment, he said, "The Saville." She continued glaring at him. "I'd like you to fix The Saville." "What the petch is a saveel?" she asked. The man sighed, and Tock rolled her eyes. They could both tell this was going to be a long day.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"The Saville is the name of the rather prestigious tailors' shop you accompanied Master Redsun to," he explained. "No doubt you heard it was damaged." "Lotsa stuff done got damaged in the storm, Guv," she told him. "Jus' git 'er fixed. Yer place ain't no better an' no others..." "But this is The Saville," he protested. "Ya keep sayin' 'at like she done should mean somethin' ta me," Tock replied impatiently. The man sighed again. "I thought you knew history," he said. Tock was really starting to lose her patience with him. "Oy, 'less yer saveel done been part o' the big war o' she were made by some Alahean wizards, 'en no, I ain't done know whatcha talkin' 'bout..." He took a breath and said, "Heinrich Saville was one of the greatest artisans of the cloth known. We have the honor of housing our shop in what is believed to have been his former workshop." Tock rubbed her eyes. The things some people considered important. "So, why ya done want ME ta fix 'er?" she asked. "People done been fixin' everythin' since the storm." The man flushed slightly and said, "Well, err... the damage wasn't caused by the storm. I'd assumed you'd heard..." Tock's stomach was starting to grumble. She got up and walked over to the chest she had all her food tucked in, not noticing the way the man turned red as she bent over in just her panties in front of him. She pulled out a few pieces of dried fruit and tossed one to the man, just to be a good hostess. Not surprisingly, he fumbled the catch and dropped it on the ground. He picked the fruit up, brushed it off, and set it on the table. Tock plopped back in her chair and said, "'Ow's 'bout ya jus' start at the beginnin', aye?" "Very well," the man said. "Since you apparently don't keep up with current events... The Saville was damaged last week after the sign post out front rusted through." Tock remembered that sign. It had been well carved. "The sign post fell into the building, chipped the stone, and broke off a rather large piece of the carving on the finial. That's the top of the pillar," he said with a touch of smug pride. Tock just snorted. She could tell by the look on his face that he'd just learned that word and was trying to use it to sound smart, as if he knew what he was talking about. "The Saville is pre-Valterrian," he continued. "Well, mostly..." he looked at bit embarrassed about this point. "The facade out front is an add-on. That, err, is not common knowledge," he cleared his throat and tugged at his shirt collar. "When the first modern owner originally acquired The Saville, there was extensive damage to the front and sides of the building. He hired a master architect to add a facade to cover the damages. To the best that anyone knows, the entire structure is still pure, pre-Valterrian art." Tock yawned. "Oy, so," she said, munching on her breakfast, "'ere done been plenty o' craftsmen in the city. Can't done tells me ya came down 'ere jus' cause I done knows 'istory, aye?" The man nodded and continued, "We attempted to get craftsman and historians together to collaborate on the project. But it's as if they don't speak the same language. The historians only speak of the meaning and aesthetic appeal," he said this as if it were the more important thing, "and the craftsman only want to know practical things like what size chisel they need," he waved his hand dismissively. "It's been a rather frustrating week. If I don't find someone capable of making the repairs, it'll be my job!" Tock frowned and scratched the back of her head. "'Ow's it YER job, Guv?" she asked. "Ain't done like ya been the one what rusted 'er through..." He cleared his throat and tugged at his collar again. "Well, err," he said, "I need to make sure the owner doesn't discover that..." he cleared his throat again, "that I saw the rust some weeks ago, and merely hired a man to cover it up." Tock laughed out loud, slapping her bare knee. "Oy, 'at's 'ilarious, Guv!" she said. "Ya done screwed the pooch right good, an' now she's yer arse on the line, aye? Bloody brilliant, Bludger!" The man turned red in the face. "Be that as it may," he continued, "the repairs need to be done. And while I'm sure there are more skilled craftsmen in the city than yourself..." Tock frowned at him and jabbed a finger at him, "Don'tcha go comin' in my own 'ouse an' insultin' me, Guv!" He held up his hands and said, "My apologies, Madam." "Tock," she said. "Excuse me?" he asked. "Ain't no 'madam' 'ere, Guv," she said. "My name's Tock." He nodded and replied. "Very well, Miss To--" "No 'Miss' neither," Tock interrupted. "Jus' Tock!" He sighed and said, "Very well, 'Tock'. You may call me Reginald." Tock nodded and said, "Awright, Reggie..." "Reginald." "Aye, Reggie. Git on wit' it, aye?" Reginald sighed yet again and continued, "As I was saying, nearly every craftsman in the city, while certainly competent in their craft, don't know enough about proper designs of historical architecture to make the repairs, and every historian I've spoken to can only discuss the aesthetics. We'd need a master craftsman that we can't afford. We are in quite a bit of debt at the moment, thanks to the poor business after the storm. The shop does quite well, but getting out of debt is taking time, and if it became known that we cannot afford proper repairs..." Ahh, there it was. "Wait, wait, wait," Tock said. "Ya can't done afford ta pay me what the jobs worth, izzat it? Ya done come down ta me cause what the regular blokes, 'ey don't know the right stuff, an' the chaps what really does know 'er, 'ey's too expensive fer yer poshy boss ta afford, aye?" Reginald nodded, blushing in shame. "That... that would be about correct..."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and legs, a smug grin on her face. "So, what's inner fer me?" she asked. "I mean, ya done said ya can't pay what a master craftsman would ask, aye?" "Well, surely you aren't a 'master' craftsman," Reginald said, looking around the rather common and cluttered surroundings of her home. "I'm sure we can work out something fair..." Tock snorted and shook her head, "Oy, maybe I ain't done no master, but ya done said yerself, ya ain't found nobody else what knows both the craftin' side an' the artsy, 'istorical side, aye? Sure, maybe 'ere's some more somewhere in the city, but ain't like ya done found 'em, aye? Ya found me. An if'n I's all ya gots, 'en 'at's gotta be worth somethin', aye?" Reginald reluctantly nodded. "We can't afford to pay much," he said. "But perhaps an exchange? You could certainly use some finer clothing..." Tock glared at him and practically shouted, "Oy, what's wrong wit' the way I done dress, aye?" she gestured to herself, then looked down and remembered she was still in her underwear. She laughed and shook her head, though Reginald was quite mortified. "Surely, issues of style and fashion aside," he said, "you could use some new clothing. Not to mention that you would do quite well to become known among the patrons of The Saville. We cater to some of the finest lords and ladies in Zeltiva. Many of them are quite concerned about the state of the repairs. We are somewhat of a landmark, after all," he said with no small bit of pride. "Restoring us to our former glory would no doubt help make your name known." Tock waved her foot up and down in a gentle rhythm as she thought it over. She didn't give one rat's arse about making her name known, but free clothes had a certain appeal, if only to save her the cost of buying her own. And maybe she could find a way to milk this.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock considered the situation. She could turn the man away, and go back to sleep. But for one thing, she was considering the appeal of working on the project for its own sake. It would be a good experience, getting a chance to work on some (supposedly) real pre-Valterrian architecture. She could also get some free clothes out of it, and then sell them and buy herself some proper clothes and pocket the difference. She might also be able to find some other way to profit off the posh idiots that she'd be forced to rub elbows with. She didn't want anything to do with stuck up, stuffed shirt, tight arses. But if she could get something out of it... She also considered the fact that this was frankly only a case of being in the right place in the right time. Reginald surely hadn't talked to every craftsman in the city. He'd just gotten frustrated after a few dead ends, and his encounter with Tock had left a rather strong impression on him (she knew she had that effect on people). He'd sought her out because he couldn't think of anyone else. While that made him quite desperate at the moment, she was sure that he could find someone else given enough time and effort. At which point, she'd lose the opportunity to turn this to her advantage. She fixed Reginald with a level stare and said, "Ya'll'll still 'as ta buy the supplies." "Already have," Reginald replied. "We just need the labor." She sucked on her teeth for a moment and said, "Hmm... An' ye'll done 'as ta not be talkin' down at me while I's 'ere! I ain't no slave labor, aye? I's a crafter. Ya got 'at?" Reginald nodded eagerly. "Of course, Mi--," she shot him a look and he cleared his throat, "Tock. I wouldn't dream of treating you as anything less than an equal. In fact, I'd be glad to get you those clothes before--" "Nah," Tock said, getting up and waving a dismissive hand. "Posh clothes ain't done no good what fer workin' in." She set Bitey down and let him wander around, prompting Reginald to jump back a few steps, eying the spider warily. "Will, err," he asked, watching the Automatons uncomfortably, "will you be bringing... those." "Course," Tock said, finally pulling her pants on. "'Ey's my babies." Reginald sighed and nodded, clasping his hands tightly in front of him until his knuckles turned white. "Very well..."

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Some time later, fully dressed in her normal, common clothing, Tock stood with Reggie outside The Saville. The tall, black, iron sign post was lying on the ground in front of the store, the metal cross beam the sign hung from twisted and bent from the way it fell. The sign itself was shattered, and would need to be completely replaced. The pillar out in front of the building, which was alabaster, but Reggie kept insisting it was marble. "I assure you, Mada--, ahem, Tock, The Saville is made entirely from pure marble," he said with no small touch of pride. Tock snorted and shook her head. "Nah, Guv," she said, running her hands along the pillar and knocking on it. "'Is 'ere's alabaster. 'Eated. Done makes 'er look like marble what so posh posers like yerself can't done tell the difference. But I knows marble, an' 'is ain't it." When he rolled his eyes as if he didn't believe her, she led him around the side of the building. "Oy, see 'is 'ere?" she said, running her hand along the side wall. "'IS is marble. 'At front facade, she's 'eated alabaster, no doubt." "I cannot see any difference," Reginald said, raising his chin. He seemed to think it was an insult to imply his posh little shop was anything less than pure marble. Tock groaned in frustration and said, "'Ere, look." She pulled out a chisel, and ignoring Reginald's gasp of protest, scraped it across the wall. It left no mark. Tock patted the wall and said, "'At's proper marble. Ain't so easy ta cut, cause she's so 'ard. 'At's why she's so good fer buildin', aye?" She then stepped back around to the front, and reached up to the column that needed replacing. She scraped the chisel across the stone with the same amount of force, and it left a noticeable scratch. "Alabaster," she said firmly. "She's softer. Easier what ta work wit', but don't 'old up as well. Yer sign post 'ere wouldn't o' done cracked the finial up so bad, if'n 'is were proper marble. But yer 'ole facade, she done been alabaster." Reginald frowned and studied the building. "It looks like marble..." he said. Tock nodded, planting her fists on her hips. "Oy, 'at's what I done said, innit?" she asked. "What when ya 'eats alabaster up, ya done makes 'er less translucent. Makes 'er look lots like marble. 'Nough what fer ta fool blokes like you, any'ow." Reginald considered this for a moment and then said, "Alabaster would be less expensive, wouldn't it?" Tock nodded. "Then if no one can tell the difference, you should use that." Tock just snorted, laughed, and shook her head. Typical hoity toity rich folk. Didn't care one bit about durability, as long as it kept up appearances.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"So, can you fix it?" Reginald asked. Tock nodded, looking over the damages one last time. "Aye," she said, "no problem, mate! Yer gonna needs ya a new slab o' alabaster ta replace what done got broke, but I can carves 'er up right good. Sign's easy, 'ell I can even fancy 'er up fer ya, if'n ya want." The original wooden sign had been fairly plain, with just the name "The Saville" written across the front in stylish lettering. "Sign post's gonna be a tad tougher, seein' as I ain't got no forge o' my own. But I knows a blacksmith I done worked wit' 'fore. Dunno if'n 'e's up fer doin' 'er jus' fer new clothes, though," she shrugged. "Up ta y'all ta negotiate 'at..." Reginald nodded and said, "I'm sure I can work something out with him. Provided you can recreate the post in the proper style. How long will this all take?" "Dunno," Tock replied. "Few days. Maybe a week or two. We'll see 'ow she goes. Gotta remember, mate, I done gots a day job, aye?" She could get a good amount of work done today, but the total project was definitely bigger than a day job. She had to carve out a large stone slab, a new wooden sign, and make substantial repairs to a six foot tall iron sign post. It was no small project. Reginald sighed, and simply nodded. "Very well," he said. "I suppose I'll see you when you're finished then." "Ye'll see me every day, Guv," Tock replied, grabbing the broken sign off the ground and leaning it against the stone steps. She sat down right there and pulled some paper out of her pack to start sketching out the design. "You... you're going to work here?" Reginald asked, glancing around uncertainly. He clearly wasn't keen on the idea of someone like her being so visible right in the front of the shop. "'Ere's where the job is, Guv," Tock replied impatiently. "Ain't ya got yer own ta do?" Reluctantly, he headed inside, likely to argue with himself about whether hiring her had been a mistake.