Timestamp: 53rd of Fall, 513AV
The doorway to the workshop inspired a host of unwanted memories. Unmitigated disaster. That was the term Kirsi would use to describe her last venture into the work shop . Garob had requested she make some drinking glasses; a simple task had turned amazingly frustrating, depressing, exciting, painful and ultimately ended with nothing tangible to show for her efforts.
Today would be different.
The day prior, Kirsi had mustered up the courage to approach Garob with her plans for business ownership. The words had rushed out hurriedly, apprehensively, as Kirsi’d searched for all valid arguments in her favor. After minimal discussion, Vantha and Eypharian had come to mutual agreement regarding her generally unskilled and uninspired clay sculpting techniques. Garob had sighed a bit, looked at Kirsi consideringly, and taken precious nervous chimes – at least Kirsi had been nervous – before nodding his head slowly. Acknowledging that she did, in fact, seem to be truly awful at creating items from clay, he had suggested she simply stick to decorating and customizing pieces that he himself had already formed.
Kirsi couldn’t withhold the giggle, remembering the old potter’s nonplussed expression as she’d hugged him enthusiastically. The worry that he might simply let her go had been very real, especially when she’d told him of her intention to work only long enough to save up the mizas for her own shop. Instead, Garob had been supportive and interested, asking what she’d planned to sell, where she thought her business might fit within the city. When she mentioned the possibility of beads and brooches and jewelry, he had even suggested she look into the clothing district as a logical location.
Though she’d been startled by the suggestion, especially after her conversation earlier in the season with Rosela – a clothier and regular customer of Garob’s – it seemed there had been no double meaning. Garob either did not know or did not care that she had attempted to set up business ties with one of his patrons. She’d felt a pang of guilt at the realization, but ultimately decided not to mention that circumstance and to let well enough alone. Garob knew of her plans and was willing to let her work in her best capacity with him until she was able to branch out on her own. That was good enough for Kirsi, and she’d spent the remainder of the day grinning and humming her way about the shop.
Her good humor had carried over to this morning, and had only grown better when Garob had greeted her with a request for some carved brooches. She’d practically floated into the work room at the back of the Terra Cottage and happily inspected the rows of drying brooches on the bench. Her spirits dampened slightly when she realized the full volume of carving she would be doing this morning.
Garob had been busy in the wee hours, and row upon row of identical oval brooches lined themselves up like good little soldiers awaiting orders. Awaiting carving. There was little chance that Kirsi would get to the last of them before they had dried into hardened, undecorated forms. But, rather than despair, the Vantha simply cast about the shop for a way to keep the creations moistened enough to work with. Dropping them into water would have progressively disastrous results; eventually the clay would become slimy, sticky lumps of mess and Garob’s work would have been wasted.
Eyebrows raised, Kirsi allowed herself to feel a bit proud that she had absorbed that much information in passing. She wasn’t sure when the information would become useful again, but it was there, stored away in her mind, should she ever go completely insane and take up sculpting and pottery in her spare time.
There! Hanging from the corner of a shelf was an old scrap of cotton; soaked in water and laying atop the waiting brooches, the cloth would keep the pieces wet enough to remain pliable for bells. Well-pleased with herself, Kirsi snatched up the cloth, wetting it from the pitcher on the bench, and laying it gently in place before seating herself in front of the remaining pieces.
Sadly enough, they were all the same size and shape, inspiring very little in the way of design. Large ovals, as long as her finger and three times as wide, stared up at her blankly. No matter; Kirsi would decorate each one in a theme, something swirly and not too feminine, that would appeal to men and women equally. The challenge was one of time, and so Kirsi wasted no more on plotting and daydreaming. Removing a small chisel from her pack, she began to carve.
Today would be different.
The day prior, Kirsi had mustered up the courage to approach Garob with her plans for business ownership. The words had rushed out hurriedly, apprehensively, as Kirsi’d searched for all valid arguments in her favor. After minimal discussion, Vantha and Eypharian had come to mutual agreement regarding her generally unskilled and uninspired clay sculpting techniques. Garob had sighed a bit, looked at Kirsi consideringly, and taken precious nervous chimes – at least Kirsi had been nervous – before nodding his head slowly. Acknowledging that she did, in fact, seem to be truly awful at creating items from clay, he had suggested she simply stick to decorating and customizing pieces that he himself had already formed.
Kirsi couldn’t withhold the giggle, remembering the old potter’s nonplussed expression as she’d hugged him enthusiastically. The worry that he might simply let her go had been very real, especially when she’d told him of her intention to work only long enough to save up the mizas for her own shop. Instead, Garob had been supportive and interested, asking what she’d planned to sell, where she thought her business might fit within the city. When she mentioned the possibility of beads and brooches and jewelry, he had even suggested she look into the clothing district as a logical location.
Though she’d been startled by the suggestion, especially after her conversation earlier in the season with Rosela – a clothier and regular customer of Garob’s – it seemed there had been no double meaning. Garob either did not know or did not care that she had attempted to set up business ties with one of his patrons. She’d felt a pang of guilt at the realization, but ultimately decided not to mention that circumstance and to let well enough alone. Garob knew of her plans and was willing to let her work in her best capacity with him until she was able to branch out on her own. That was good enough for Kirsi, and she’d spent the remainder of the day grinning and humming her way about the shop.
Her good humor had carried over to this morning, and had only grown better when Garob had greeted her with a request for some carved brooches. She’d practically floated into the work room at the back of the Terra Cottage and happily inspected the rows of drying brooches on the bench. Her spirits dampened slightly when she realized the full volume of carving she would be doing this morning.
Garob had been busy in the wee hours, and row upon row of identical oval brooches lined themselves up like good little soldiers awaiting orders. Awaiting carving. There was little chance that Kirsi would get to the last of them before they had dried into hardened, undecorated forms. But, rather than despair, the Vantha simply cast about the shop for a way to keep the creations moistened enough to work with. Dropping them into water would have progressively disastrous results; eventually the clay would become slimy, sticky lumps of mess and Garob’s work would have been wasted.
Eyebrows raised, Kirsi allowed herself to feel a bit proud that she had absorbed that much information in passing. She wasn’t sure when the information would become useful again, but it was there, stored away in her mind, should she ever go completely insane and take up sculpting and pottery in her spare time.
There! Hanging from the corner of a shelf was an old scrap of cotton; soaked in water and laying atop the waiting brooches, the cloth would keep the pieces wet enough to remain pliable for bells. Well-pleased with herself, Kirsi snatched up the cloth, wetting it from the pitcher on the bench, and laying it gently in place before seating herself in front of the remaining pieces.
Sadly enough, they were all the same size and shape, inspiring very little in the way of design. Large ovals, as long as her finger and three times as wide, stared up at her blankly. No matter; Kirsi would decorate each one in a theme, something swirly and not too feminine, that would appeal to men and women equally. The challenge was one of time, and so Kirsi wasted no more on plotting and daydreaming. Removing a small chisel from her pack, she began to carve.
