Intertwining Roots (Montaine)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock joined Monty at the tavern that night, and there was a fair bit of drinking, a lot of singing, and Tock made sure to keep up more interesting conversation than that of breast size. Like most women, she tended to get quite offended when men cared for nothing more than a woman's endowments. Unlike most women, she was more than willing to use her fists to teach a man some respect. The next day, after recovering from a mild hangover, and enduring a long day at work, Tock put the finishing touches on Tiffan's doors. She ended up replacing both frames with freshly cut wood, to make sure the doorways were both stronger and sturdier. It did little good to put a new door in an old, rotted out frame. Even if the door could stand up against a potential break in, a rotten frame might give in and let the hinges be ripped right out of the wood. Her hand was still aching from the recently healed break, so when it came time to do the serious hammering, she had Naily do it for her. She lined the new frame pieces up on the wall, started the nails, and then lifted her baby up by his wheels so he could reach. With her holding him by his wheels, he swung back and forth on his axle to pound the nails into place. It was a lot easier than her trying to keep a firm grip on a hammer with her sore hand. She then attached the doors on their shiny new hinges, aligning them so that the inner door would no longer have that gap Monty used to peer through as a child. The front door proudly displayed the horse Tock had carved, which she polished up to a nice shine. Back at the tavern again on the second night, as the first round of drinks was being delivered, Tock told Monty, "I think yer Da's neighbors could use some work done, too." Her work on the house, especially with the aid of her magical tools, had drawn quite a bit of attention. She had spent part of the afternoon being probed with questions, and what she perceived as carefully veiled hints that the neighbors wouldn't mind having some work done on their homes as well. "I figures, since she's all small work, I can 'ang 'round a few more days an' lend a 'and, aye?" Most of the hinted requests seemed to be things like misaligned doors, rickety steps, and loose floorboards. She'd be glad to lend a hand repairing those things. The people in this neighborhood didn't seem like they could afford to actually hire help. She held her breath and knocked back her first beer, wincing through the taste. Likely once she got a couple more beers in her, she'd feel inspired to get up and sing. There was already music playing in the background, and she was feeling the urge to add her unique voice to the energetic tune.

[Montaine]

Montaine drank deeply from his mug and winced, ‘Sounds good, most o’ them houses down our way ain’t been seen to by a proper expert in longer’n I’ve been round, them what got money don’ care, them without can’t do nothin’ ‘bout it, any expenses you come to me, alrigh’?’ he drank again. His foot was tapping the floorboards and he was in an oddly cheerful mood, business was good and his father was happy and he had finally found the opportunity to spend some proper time down Kova Street, as he hadn’t done in years. The Councillor’s Head was somewhat busy, a fair number of regulars and even one or two slightly frightened looking newcomers. Gadger was yapping away with a scholar Monty occasionally saw round the place and thankfully for everyone’s ears it was Gertrude’s daughter playing her fiddle that night. The terrible trauma of her mother’s squeezebox still fresh in his mind, the glassworker was overjoyed to have the more talented musician giving her performance that evening. He had been frequenting this particular establishment on a regular basis for the best part of a decade, though had first discovered the place some years before that under the guidance of a particular friend. In all that time he had become quite well acquainted with some of the bars more unusual patrons. He considered the expansive bartender and proprietor a friend, and once been on the receiving end of a punch to the eye from Gertie. This was as much a home to him as Kova Street, more of a home than his poky little flat. ‘Lissa’s Mam won’t say nothin’ but the shutters on their back window’ve been broken for years an’ Missus Hawley’s been like a Mam to me, think you can fix them up? I’d do ‘em meself but she’d clip me round the ear if I tried to fit her with glass, an’ anyway, that’d just attract the wrong sort o’ trouble,’ It was an unfortunate truth that despite his desires it would be impractical and potentially dangerous to fit glass windows on the houses of beggar town. Putting aside the simple fact that something as expensive as such things would be a shining beacon to robbers and thieves, it was simply not thrifty. It was an extravagance that the people of such monetary lack couldn’t afford, a waste of mizas that could be better spent on food and clothing. Of course the threat of physical violence from Mrs Hawley, Lissa’s mother, if he ever tried to give her charity again was also a very real danger. The woman had quite a fist on her. ‘I’m really happy we’re doin’ this for ‘em, they’re me family,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Proper expert?" Tock snorted, downing her second beer in a quick, deep chug. After the third she'd slow down; it took that many to numb her taste buds enough that she could tolerate sipping the rancid swill. She was giving serious consideration to building a still in her back yard, and learning how to make her own moonshine. "I ain't no 'expert,' mate," she said. "Jus' a workin' girl what knows 'ow ta git 'er done." She wasn't suffering from any lack of pride, but she also didn't want to take credit she wasn't due. But she still nodded at the request, and said, "Shutters is easy. I can done class 'em up a touch, even. Like yer Da's door. Touch o' somethin' pretty, 'ere an' 'ere. She'll like 'at right good, I's sure." She'd probably just have Monty chip in for the cost of hinges, if he wanted to handle the expenses. Wood she had plenty of, more than enough to cover a few small jobs like this. Her eyes darkened slightly at his mention of family. The only family she trusted, the only one she had, was the one she'd built. They wouldn't hurt her. They wouldn't die on her, and leave her abandoned and alone. She'd built them and programmed them to be with her forever. But she wouldn't say anything about it to Monty. No need to shatter his dreams with the knowledge that everyone he loved was doomed. Maybe that was why Tock was dating an Ethaefal; she'd never have to worry about him dying on her. Instead she decided to force some cheer. As she finished her third beer, she let out a very unlady-like burp, and stood up. She grabbed Monty and pulled him up by his sleeve, forcing him to join her. "Ya know 'The Drunken 'Orse'?" she asked him. She was sure he must have heard it before. It was a popular four verse song, sung in alternation by a pair of singers. "She's a duet. C'mon, Glassman, yer singin' wit' me..." She wasn't going to take no for an answer. Oh, 'ere was a man named Leonard Who 'ad a big ol' 'orse Oh, Lenny was a fat slob An' drunk, ya ask? O' course! 'E were a 'efty feller As fat as one could be An' 'e never 'ad a real job No, 'e weren't like you o' me Cause 'e 'ad a wife named Penny An' she paid all 'is bills An' 'e was free to seek out All 'is fun an' thrills Now, ol' big fat Lenny 'E liked ta ride 'is 'orse An' from atop 'im 'e'd shout An' sing 'til 'e was 'oarse So one day 'e rode right into A bustlin', busy pub An' the man behind the bar said "So what'll it be, bub?" An' Lenny said, "I'll take two Fer me, an' fer my 'orse." An' the bar man shook 'is 'ead An' said, "I can't serve a 'orse!" An' the 'orse said... OOCI hope this is what you wanted when you asked me for bar songs. If not, consider it a challenge! This is the first of four verses. Write the second one in your post

[Montaine]

Montaine knew the song well enough though Tock’s version appeared to have a few slight variations to the song he had been taught and his singing voice wasn’t quite a match for the exuberance of his garrulous companion. The glassworker almost interrupted his friend with a slurred insistence of her expertise, after all, it had been a long time since anyone had bothered to even attempt any work down Kova Street, she was as much an expert as they would ever get. He was, however, eager enough and drunk enough to comply with the request for a duet after downing the remainder of his drink. He picked up the song where Tock had left off, …‘Nay?’ to the barman, And the barman said ‘Nay!’ right back But he wouldn’t take nay for an answer An’ the horse gave the man no slack. He said ‘Nay, nay, nay,’ to the barman ‘Til the barman could stand no more, An’ served up ol’ Lenny An’ another he did pour For Lenny’s poor ol’ horse Who hadn’t had his fill An’ he drank down the mug, right quick, Of stinkin’, dirty swill. Now Lenny was a drinker’s drinker He’d drunk since he were ten But his horse hadn’t had a drop, see? Save for water now an’ then. But the night drew on and on, it did An’ the bar grew almos’ empty But Lenny weren’t done drinkin’ Though his horse had had plenty. Now the horse was mighty tipsy An’ Lenny felt right bad, So he asked the horse right simply, ‘Wanna go home lad?’ An’ the horse said…

OOCPotentially one of the shortest posts I've done, but given the situation potentially warranted.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock was tipsy enough to barely notice that there were a few minor variations in Monty's version of the song. Likely it changed from region to region, based on differences in the area. Such as the line about stinking, dirty swill; that had surely been an addition in Zeltiva, due to the horrid nature of the seaweed beer they drank here. Back home in Sunberth, that line went, 'Til he was green in the gills.' But Tock was forcing herself into a good mood, and didn't care one bit about the differences in the song. Though she idly wondered if there was anyone in the bar from Ravok or Syliras who might know yet another variation. Someone shoved another mug of beer into her hand, and she took a long swig, then raised it high in the air as she launched into the next portion of the song: ..."Nay, nay nay!" And Lenny had a laugh "My 'orse, 'e wants ta stay!" He called out, then he sat "Another round o' drinks, friend!" Ta the barman, 'e did say But the barman said, "The end, Cause ya still gots ta pay!" An' Lenny let out a belch *beeeeeelch* An' said, "Come on, don't be an ass! I ain't a no good welch! I's a rich lad wit' class!" An' the barman shook 'is 'ead An' said, "Ya ain't got no class! Ya just share yer bed Wit' a rich girl's uptight ass!" An' Lenny's shoulders did slump Cause 'e knew the man were right 'E were a no good chump 'E turned ta 'ead inta the night But 'en, the drunken' 'orse said...

…’Nay!’ to ol’ Lenny When Lenny tried to ride him home An’ Lenny got quite angry An’ his mouth started to foam He put up his fists, said ‘Horse! You should know your place!’ Then the horse raised his hooves An’ punched him in the face! Now you’ll trust me when I tell you Never was there such a sight As ol’ Lenny and his horse In a drunken barroom fight Now Lenny had the upper hand But the horse had the upper hoof An’ kicked his ol’ master Into the ol’ thatch roof Now fat ol’ Lenny was beaten The drunk ol’ horse had won So the man got down on all fours And the horse jumped right on An’ from atop he would shout An’ neighed ‘til he was hoarse An’ Lenny learned that day, Don’ mess with a drunken horse! Monty cheered alongside the drunken revellers that made up the cheery clientele of the Councillor’s Head. Gertrude’s daughter had picked up their song halfway through the third verse and ended with a flourish. He had learnt his version of the song sitting at the Head’s makeshift stage some years ago, and though his memory of the night was largely a mess of alcohol induced fuzziness and fog the song had stuck inside his head incessantly replaying itself over the subsequent days. He thought little of his own musical talents but after a certain amount of beer in both performer and audience the quality mattered very little indeed. He waved at Gadger for another drink, a giddy grin across his face. He had found it incredibly difficult to stay restrained amongst such energetic company as the garrulous gadgeteer. It was liberating after a fashion. It was almost odd to think that on their first meeting he had upset her enough to cause her to yell, and she had almost thrown him into the fits of one of his episodes. Well, actually, considering her nature perhaps it wasn’t all that unlikely. ‘I’ll get the next lot in,’

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

OOCLMAO! The end of the song cracked me up! I'm so glad we did this! Tock broke down in laughter, as she always did at the end of that song. The images in her mind of the horse, drinking and carousing and then beating up poor old Lenny and riding him off into the sunset... It was just too much. She almost fell over laughing, and threw an arm around Monty's shoulders, leaning heavily on him and planting a chaste kiss on his cheek. "Yer a 'oot, mate!" she told him, stumbling a bit. She leaned on him on their way back up to the bar, waiting for another drink to make its way into her hand. She had already forgotten whatever it was that had been bothering her before the song, and didn't even try to remember. It was best not to dwell on such things. Her voice becoming slightly slurred once she started on her fourth (or was it her fifth?) drink, she clung to Monty and said, "Oy, Glassman, ya done gotta meets my boyfriend, aye? I thinks ya'd get along great. Ya done met my 'ole family already, an' I's met yers, but'cha ain't met my boy toy yet..." She laughed, shaking her head. She wondered what Satevis was up to tonight. With a few ales in her she was giving serious consideration to finding him and violating him. "Mmmm..." she muttered, closing her eyes for a moment and sipping at her ale. After she finished it, she stared at the flecks of green in the bottom of the mug and her mind wandered. Everything was slowly fading away into the nice, warm blur she got when she'd drank enough to forget about her sorrows. It was just her, and her brother, and her yearning to go find her boyfriend. It made it so much easier when she didn't need to keep her mind occupied all the time to keep the bad thoughts away. She could never relax when she was sober; when things were too quiet, when she didn't have enough keeping her busy, it made it harder to stay ahead of the memories. But this... this was nice.

[Montaine]

‘Tell me about him,’ The high joviality of the song had given way to a softer mood and the cheering, jeering drunks had dispersed into their usual motley bands of drinking buddies and sparring partners. Gertrude’s daughter, ever sensitive to the atmosphere of the room, took to a slower melody of a number without lyrics. The general humdrum buzz of conversation and laughter and clinking mugs provided an amiable backdrop to the evening as Monty rubbed an eye. As much as Tock talked as garrulous as the garrulous gadgeteer was it was remarkable to him how little he truly knew of his friend. He had not met her man, he did not know that much of her history, petch he didn’t even know her real name. But that was Tock, he supposed. He had known her for only half a season but that was something he was very aware of, Tock’s inimitable Tockness, her unparalleled, incomparable Tockosity, the impervious, matchless, unstoppable, sheer Tockability of Tock. You needn’t know the details of her life, simply know her. It was somewhat intimidating to the boy who had grown up with very little life of his own. ‘What’s he like? I mean, I assume he’s good lookin’?’ Monty had always found himself attracted to very similar sorts of people, the vital and the bold and the adventurous. Very unlike himself and yet everything he wanted to be. It was hard for the glassworker to imagine someone who might measure up to the gadgeteer, let alone exceed her in some enviable way. He drank. The liquid burned in his throat and caused him to cough but his head was feeling pleasurably dull and the alcohol was doing its work. He needn’t think about himself, about his own troubles, his own little world. The gadgeteer could distract him, if only for the evening. He needn’t think about his own woes and worries but could instead, would instead let himself be distracted by her company for now. ‘You got him in bed yet?’

OOCOkay, so you post then I post then next change of scene? Back to the job perhaps, in a few days time. Post-Hard Sell should make for some interesting conversation.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

OOCSounds good. I'll summarize some montage work (for the boring fixing rickety steps and loose floorboards) and then come up with a more detailed project for whatever day we're on. I'll think of a fitting job over which to discuss your exploits. Tock grinned when Monty asked her about her beau. Plopping down in a seat she sighed dreamily and said, "'E's a good man. Better'n I deserve, not 'at I's ever gonna say 'at out loud..." She was too drunk to realize that she had just done just that. "Smart. Not like, buildin' stuff smart like me. Book smart. Done knows all 'bout stars an' Gods, an' star Gods like 'is Daddy. An' 'e's like..." she held her hand up and scrunched her face in concentration, searching for the right word, "...noble. But 'e ain't posh an' priss 'bout it." That was a large part of what had attracted her to Satevis. He had a sense of honor, which was frustratingly demonstrated by his resistance to manhandling her in the ways she so yearned for. But he wasn't stuck up in his noble demeanor. He didn't act like he was better than anyone else. She was in the middle of another sip of her drink when Monty asked her if she'd bedded him yet. She laughed and snorted, and some of the green liquid came out her nose. She wiped it on her sleeve and said with a disappointed laugh, "Nah... 'E's not one o' 'ose types what jumps onna girl wit'out, like, it meanin' somethin', an' I's too scared ta work fer it yet..." She likely never would have admitted this last part when sober. "I ain't done never 'ad a man, y'know? 'Ad offers, but I ain't 'at kinda girl. Almost got forced a few times," she lowered her voice in shame. That was a basic truth about growing up in Sunberth. "Managed fer ta fight 'em off, though. An' after 'at, I just weren't no interested, aye? But Satey, 'e gets me knickers damp every time 'e looks at me, 'specially when the sun goes down an' 'e goes all shiny." She sighed dreamily, letting the alcohol-induced fantasy drive off the thought that she hadn't been able to get him into bed yet because she just wasn't good enough. She looked up at Monty with unfocused vision and asked, "What 'boutchoo? Ya done ever 'ad a man? Whazzit like?" She leaned forward and propped her cheek on her fist, listening intently. She was only semi-aware of how the process even worked, let alone what it would feel like. She'd experimented a few times in private on various ways to pleasure herself, but she didn't know if that would be close to the real thing. Being so uncertain about the mechanics involved, along with her drunkenness, also made her not realize how much different it would be for Monty than for her. Even if he were willing to share such intimate details, the descriptions might prove meaningless to someone working with an entirely different set of equipment. She also had no idea if, like her, he preferred the idea of a more meaningful experience over a casual one. She wanted Satevis between her legs not just because he was hot and glowy, but because she was falling for him big time. But she was well aware that some people didn't look at sex that way.

[Montaine]

Monty snorted into his drink. It took a moment of spluttering and wiping and looking around as nonchalantly as possible, that is to say rather frantically, before the glassworker managed to regain his composure. No one else appeared to have paid her offhand comments any heed much to his relief. In a post-apocalyptic world in which humanity, in which all sentient life, had been reduced to a handful of pockets of civilisation isolated by a dangerous and devastating wilderness there was one thing, one unifying desire, that could be found almost universally across the world: children. Sapiency was a dying trait and everyone had to do their part. As such there was a certain social stigma surrounding those unable or unwilling to procreate, an uncomfortable, unmentionable atmosphere. Obviously not everyone felt as such but one could never tell just how a person would react. It was probable, he supposed however, that even in his mildly drunken state he could navigate the ambiguous pronoun use required for such subtlety of conversation and Tock herself had never shown any signs of an issue with his sexual proclivities. ‘I’ve had plenty, I mean it’s harder to find potential partners, I s’ppose, but yeah, I done had my fair share,’ he lifted his mug to his mouth and downed what remnants of his drink hadn’t flown from it before, ‘My first was what,’ he counted out on the fingers of his free hand, ‘Some seven years ago? Name o’ Sammy. Lookin’ back on it we di’n’t have a petchin’ clue what we were doin’, but hey it were nice, best feelin’ I’d had, in a purely ah physical way, you understand,’ Samuel Fisher had run a stall at the end of the fish market closest to where the great shoreline promenade joined up with the rest of the Market Road for his father, a fisherman of adequate talents and similarly moderate business acumen. Their romantic affair had been brief but bountiful, succinctly sweet. His father had discovered the relationship but a season in and that was the last he saw of the fisherman’s boy. All in all, Monty considered, it was probably for the best. He had liked Fisher but feared the other lad felt stronger about the bond than he did, his heart still preoccupied with thoughts of sailing. ‘Ain’t never done nothin’ with someone I-’ he paused, mulling over the thought, ‘I expect, I mean, I always imagined it would be somethin’ else to sleep with someone you felt proper feelin’s for. ‘Cause it’s nice an’ all, real nice, but not even near as nice as jus’ bein’ near someone you like, you properly like. If I got me-’ he coughed, ‘If I got someone I really wanted in the sack, I don’ think I’d ever want to leave,’ he could feel his face going red. The sailor had always been held as an idol in his mind, someone to whom he compared all subsequent men and someone who he had always considered beyond his reach. The prospect of actually fulfilling his desires with the dashing seafarer made him giddy. ‘You an’ your man should jus’ do it, if’n you want to. Course, I don’ want no details mind, but if’n you want it jus’ go get it,’ he nodded at her and waved at Gadger for another drink, ‘The faster you get started the more of it you’ll get into your life. It’s all I’m sayin’,’