Closed I'd Rather be Throwing Pottery [Ife]

[Dravite]

.
.

31 Fall, 515 AV
Evening
Endrykas

A young woman from The Watch named Ash had invited him to her pavilion for a lesson in pottery. Dravite, of course, had his reservations about the invite; what in the world would he need to learn pottery for? "It will just be a small group," she had assured him, "some of my mother's friends and family members." Being a man of his word, and finding it difficult to say no any young enterpriser, Dravite struggled to come up with a just excuse for skipping the lesson and so, on the afternoon of the 21st, he found himself sat amongst the members of the Stormsong pavilion; a few of their friends and young, eager craftspeople drifting in to attend.

"Dravite, you made it!" Ash smiled and set a ball of muck down on the stone plate in front of him; when the horse lord looked around, he realised that everyone attending the lesson had the same sort of setup laid out before them.
"I told you I'd be here," he smiled, promises, interest, questions, he then signed, "what is this?" He didn't notice the newcomer that took a seat on one of the mats beside him, eyes fixed on the muck.
"It's a mix of clay and grog," Ash explained, "This is what we will be using this afternoon."
He knew what clay was, something he liked to lather over his shoulders to protect his skin from sunburn in the summer, but the word grog went right over his head, "what is grog?" He then inquired.
"Grog is old pots and pieces that didn't work out, so we smash them up and grind them down to a fine dust between two stones so that we can reuse everything; just wait, my mother Jade will explain everything when the lesson begins."
Dravite smiled, not the man but the boy, who wanted to get his hands dirty and suddenly found the prospect of pottery a lot more interesting, "when do we start?"
"Soon," Ash giggled, "hold your horses!"
He laughed, "all right."
"If you want you can start kneading the clay?"
"Kneading?"
"Yes like this," the girl demonstrated, working the mix of clay and grog with her hands; pushing it down against the flat stone to fold it and work it again.
Good, Dravite signed, believing he was capable of the basic task Ash had set him.

Ash flicked her dark hair back over her shoulder and continued handing out the mud-like mixture to everyone in attendance before she sat down beside her mother, Jade, a tall, thin woman with green eyes and long black hair kept in a neat braid that snaked down over left shoulder. Her eyebrows were thin, the edges of her eyes sharp, almost serpent-like, and her nose was long and elegant.

Dravite sat with his legs folded, all bare feet, legs and chest leather-clad. He had managed to tame his unruly hair back off his face with a dark, thin strap of hide which kept all but one or two dreadlocks under control. His eyes were a soft grey colour, sometimes mistaken for blue in the sunlight, with lips his mother always told him were wasted on a man. The clay was cold to touch, this was the first thing he noticed, wet and slick, though the more he toyed with it the drier it seemed to become; perhaps that was what the pot of water to his right was for, he wondered.

The horse lord flattened and folded the clay, manipulating it shape and size against the flat stone, using his palms to gather it back up into the ball-like shape it had been presented to him in. As he played with the clay he noticed the redhead to his left and offered a warm smile, "you got roped into this too, huh?" The man grinned; all white teeth that seemed odd, if not extremely lucky for a man that worked with so many horses to possess, "I'm Dravite," he offered, "Blackwater," of the Diamond Clan, his hand gestures added, working for The Watch.

.
.
.

[Ife]

"Oh, Ife. You must come! It will be fun. And when was the last time you even saw Ash?"

"Well, I suppose it has been a while. But pottery -- really? Me? Pottery?"

"You don't need to be any good, it's just for fun!"

"Oh, fine! But don't expect me to be happy about it."

***

She should have politely declined. She should have ignored her dear friend's sad brown eyes and hopeful smile. Even more accurately, she should have denied Cyra Redblade's obvious attempt at guilt-tripping Ife into joining in with the so-called pottery party. But they had been friends for many years, and Cyra knew exactly how to manipulate the redhead's passion for all things novel and untried. Plus, Ife knew that her friend's statement was correct: it had been a while since she had seen the third member of their friendship trio, Ash Stormsong.

Still, the joy and excitement of their reunion seemed to wane away as soon as Ife stepped inside the pavilion. Cyra, who was now starting to show the early signs of her first pregnancy, and Ash, a blushing bride-to-be, instantly dived into conversation about all things matrimonial and motherly. Ife was enthusiastic to begin with; a wedding and a baby were two things to celebrate about, after all. But then Cyra and Ash turned their attention to their unwedded friend, mulling over the choice of men that she might meet at the pottery party. Whilst the two other women pursed their lips and suggested unfamiliar names to the redhead, Ife suddenly found the prospect of learning pottery to be far more amicable than she had before. After briefly signing I surrender!, the Inarta slithered away to familiarise herself with the task ahead.

As always, her fierce red hair was tied in a simple plait that hung lowly at the back of her neck, and Ife was dressed in a plain but vivid violet dress. She glanced to the other few partygoers, who all seemed to be manipulating and toying with a damp blob of clay that was plopped down before them. A similar pile sat before Ife, and after tentatively poking it with the tips of her fingers, the redhead dived in and began to roll it between her hand and the mat it sat on. It was intriguing how the texture of the material changed as she played with it, and when Ife paused to give her wrists a break, she noticed that the palms of her hand were now stained a sickly grey colour.

"Urgh." Was all she could muster as she clapped her hands together and then prised them apart, grimacing at the unfamiliar tackiness of her skin. This was turning to be a long, exhausting night.

But then someone spoke to Ife, breaking through her inattention to her surroundings. Blinking her green eyes in mild surprise, she turned to the unfamiliar voice and saw that she now had a pottery-party neighbour. After swiping away several loose strands of red hair - and staining the entire left side of her forehead in the process - Ife gave the male a crooked smirk. "Is it that obvious I'm not a professional potter?" She asked with an airy chuckle. "I'm Ife, of the Amethyst clan." She added, signing with her hands: Falconer. Pleasure to meet you.

[Dravite]

.
.
Amethyst Clan; he couldn’t say he was very familiar with their skill set, but it didn’t seem to be crafting. “Oh no,” Dravite smirked, casting his gaze down at the lumpy ball of clay he had successfully over worked, “I can see you know what you‘re doing,” it took all his might not to snigger at the grey wall of muck licked across the young woman’s forehead, “it must take a lot of skill to get the clay everything in less than five ticks.”

“Good evening everyone,” Jade signed her welcome to friends and family gathered around the hearth, “I’m so glad you could all make it this evening; hopefully all, if not most of you will enjoy the lesson we have planned and be able to take a simple bowl home with you by the end of the night.”

Dravite bowed his head and just about lost it, his shoulder shaking with his silent amusement, a big smile hidden behind his hand; this was going to be a long night indeed.

“First of all, check that you each have a flat stone in front of you; we call this the wheel, if you take the edge you will notice that it turns freely,” Jade smiled; the woman seemed very warm and welcoming, something every good teacher should aspire to be.

The horse lord glanced either side of him to see people turning the stone plates they were sat near, watching them turn the wheels this way and that before he gave his own a spin, not really seeing the point in it.

“You use one hand to turn the wheel at your own pace, while the other is used to shape the clay,” Jade explained, “but first, I’d like you all to start kneading your clay; it’s important to work the air bubbles out of the clay so that they don’t shatter when it comes time to treat them with fire.”
“What’s the best technique for achieving that?” Dravite queried.
“I’m glad you asked,” Jade smiled and Dravite noticed Ash lean over to whisper something to her mother, “the process is called wedging, you cut the clay in half with a piece of yarn, everyone should have one, she pointed out, and then slap it down against the stone plate.”

He watched Jade cut the clay with string before doing the same with his own piece. As the woman picked up a half wedge of clay, she threw it down hard against the other half, lifted both pieces up and then slapped it down again, repeating this process until she was happy with her work. When Dravite cut his piece in half he looked closely to spot the tiny air bubbles in the wedge and then slammed one piece down against the other. The man laughed, just listening to the group do the same all around him was enough to cause him great amusement, “well that’s one way of dealing with frustration,” he said and looked over to see how Ife was doing with her creation.
“Beat it up,” he teased and threw his clay down against the wheel.

.
.
.

[Ife]

Ife would have responded with a question: what had the Drykas male meant when he'd mentioned her apparent ability to get the clay everywhere? And why had his eyes flickered to her forehead with such amusement? But there was no time. Jade Stormsong was now speaking to the fourteen or so partygoers. Her voice was filled with an amount of passion and pride that Ife could never imagine attaching to something as mundane as pottery making. Why had decided to attend this forsaken party, again?

Her green eyes shifted to the individuals at either side of her. On Ife's right sat a hawk-faced woman who watched Jade with a deep frown on her brows. Her lips were pursed with intense concentration, and there was not even a shadow of a smile on her thin lips. There would be no socialising with this particular dour-faced individual, so Ife's attention slid to Dravite. Thankfully, he seemed as equally amused by the evening as she was.

At least I'm not the only one, she concluded silently after looking down the curve of other Drykas. Many of the visitors appeared to be taking the evening painfully seriously -- Ife spotted only one or two other individuals smirking to themselves or their friends. Even worse, Ife was beginning to itch and fidget restlessly. The cushion she sat on was not that cushioned at all, and she was starting to experience the tingles of discomfort when Jade finally gave out the instruction for her guests to restart kneading their clay.

Ife stared down at the hideous lump that sat in front of her. The clay was imprinted with her fingerprints and the lines of her palms, which did not improve its greyish and slimy appearance. "How long should we knead it for?" She inquired, trying to throw a false enthusiasm into her voice to hide her utter lack of interest.

Jade clapped her clay-stained hands together and gave Ife a joyous smile. "Good question! When you cut the clay in half, it should be the same colour and same smooth texture throughout. Any lumps or bumps indicate that it is not yet ready."

Ife signed thank you and teacher to Jade before she turned her attention back to her ugly lump of clay. After slicing it into two unevenly sized pieces with her string, she selected the largest lump and thrashed it down on top of the other. It made a flat, wet sound that bought an amused smirk to the Inarta's lips. Dravite's comment widened her smile. "Any chance you'd mind picking me up and throwing me out of this pavillion?" She whispered playfully, quirking an eyebrow and shooting her other neighbour - the grumpy serious woman - a cautious glance. "I can't believe how seriously people are taking this!" She added, leaning towards Dravite in a conspiratory manner, "look at them all. They've forgotten this is is is a pottery-party." Her words were followed a quiet snort of laughter. The very idea of a pottery-party was enough to split Ife's mouth into the wryest of smiles.

[Dravite]

.
.
At hearing the flat, wet sound that sprung from Ife's piece of clay, Dravite a couldn't help but laugh; no one here would have then believed he was the Ankal of his own pavilion, with two wives, two sons, and a very serious line of work, “Pardon?” He mocked. Ife's comment didn't help one bit, and if he was going to snigger behind a dirty hand all night, this was sure to be the last time Ash invited him to anything; then again, was that such a bad thing? The wheat haired male pinched a piece of clay between his forefinger and thumb to roll up and pelt Ife with before continuing on as if nothing had happened.

The clay felt dry under hand and Dravite vocalised this to the teacher, "wet your hands in the water dish and bring it back to life," Jade encouraged and not half a chime later, Dravite's lump of clay had gone from too dry to bring much too wet.
"As you're kneading, you might start to notice your knob of clay take on the look of a ram's head; see the spiral that look like horns?" Jade coached; holding up her piece of clay for the class to examine.
Dravite looked up at the perfect piece before eying his own creation, which looked a little flat and soggy, "mine looks like a sad snail," he voiced loud enough for Ife to hear before looking across to see how the redhead's masterpiece was taking shape.

After a lot more kneading, Dravite managed to restore the strength to his piece, his limbs painted to the elbow with muck. He noticed the very serious, bird faced woman near him using her palms to knead the clay and gave the technique a try, finding it a lot more efficient than what he had been doing. He was just about to tell Ife that no one would notice if they back-rolled out of line and snuck off when Jade spoke up again.
"All right, I think that should do it for the kneading; ball your clay up, set it in the middle of the plate, use one hand to turn the wheel and wet the other hand before making a hole with your fingers. Remember to let the movement of the wheel do all the work and don't go too deep or you'll all be going home with bowls that have great big holes in them."

Again Jade demonstrated what the group needed to do in order to get started with shaping their bowls and looking around him, Dravite could tell that he was probably one of the only first-timers here; everyone else seemed to have perfect control and speed using the wheel, while his spun slow and clumsily. He turned the stone wheel with his right hand, dipping the left in the dish of water before carving out a hole in the centre of his clay until it looked like a small, shallow bowl with walls that were at least three inches thick. "Be lucky to crack and egg into that, let alone a meal," he smiled and glanced down at Ife's work, "I knew you were fooling us all, look at that gem," he teased, "wouldn't be surprised if you fetched ten gold miza for that at market."

.
.
.

[Ife]

Ife could only thank the Gods that it was Dravite was sitting to her left, and not another sourpuss individual such as the brunette to her right. After tilting her head backwards in throaty laughter - stopping only when the tiny ball of clay lunged from Dravit bounced off her nose - the Inarta returned her focus back to the task at hand: pottery.

Her sad lump of clay was not looking any better, despite Ife's attempts had kneading and wedging. In fact, a horn was the single thing her creation did not resemble. It was far better likeness of--

"Dog mess." She declared simply, strangely proud of the coiled ring of clay that lay before her. Ife tilted her wheel towards Dravite, so the male could fully admire her obscene-looking work of art. With a helpless little shrug, the otherwise stubborn redhead finally accepted the hopelessness of her evening. The only chance she had of walking away a well-made bowl tonight was to pass of one of the more successful attempts as her own -- but who would believe her?

She was getting distracted. Several times, the woman to Ife's right tsked at her in annoyance, but the redhead barely noticed. She made infrequent attempts to knead at her clay, but these bursts of dedication and interest waned within a chime or so. Every so often, Ash or Jade Stormsong would catch the eye of the redhead and give her a disapproving, but somewhat affectionate, look. They were familiar with her restlessness, after all.

Next came the shaping of the bowl, and this new, unfamiliar stage flared Ief's interest, at least temporarily. She turned the wheel with her left hand and dipped her right into the water. Next she pressed her hands into her ball of clay, shaping out a small and narrow hollow in the centre of the grey sphere. It was slow work, so Ief sped up the turning of her wheel. But this made it far more challenging for her to keep control of the clay ball. By the time Ief finished, her 'bowl' was crooked and not at all circular. The entire shape of it was warped and stretched to one side. The only thing that could be said in defence of her pottery skill was the thinness of the bowl's wall. "If I get ten mizas for this... thing," she started, waving a dismissive hand towards her creation, "I'll pay you one hundred." Her jest was accompanied by a playful extension of her elbow. After briefly inspecting Dravite's bowl, the redhead rolled her eyes, "don't be so modest. At least yours is circular, and will be strong enough to actually be functional."

With a final sigh and flick of her hair - resulting in more semi-dried clay to stain her skin - Ife concluded with, "pottery-parties are not my thing."

[Dravite]

.
.
The watchman smirked; there was money to be made. He did the maths in his head quickly before digging around in the pouch on his belt blindly to count out ten gold coins into his palm. When he put them down on Ife’s wheel, he laughed and spoke up, “looks like I just made an easy ninety.”
The humour was short lived, however, and the coins gathered back up as he noticed Jade get up from her place on the other side of the circle and start making her way round to offer help and suggestions as she passed people, “That’s beautiful!” He heard her chime about three people from him and sank, tempted to biff the bowl and start over.

Dravite wet his hand and spun the wheel a little faster, trying to smooth out all of the lumps on the inside of his bowl which only seemed to make things worse. When he stopped the walls looked just as thick while the foundation felt shallow and weak. Jade shadowed him then, the fire pit at her back making it hard to read the woman’s features, “Good start,” she smiled down at him.
Thank you, Dravite signed, “first time here.”
“Oh you should come again in a few days!” Jade encouraged.
The man blinked and tried to dream up something he might have on in a few days’ time, “I’d love to, but I have little ones back at camp; it’s hard to get away of an evening.”
“Don’t worry about that!” Jade beamed, “You can bring them along with you, they’ll love it!”
The horse lord closed his eyes and bowed his head, teeth biting down on his lower lip; shyke, “will run it by the wives,” he promised with a smile.
“Wet your hands again and hold your thumb on the outside of the bowl with your fingers on the inside, give it a light squeeze and watch it take shape from there,” Jade coached before moving on to scrutinise Ife’s work.

Dravite did as he was instructed, bathing his left hand in the water dish before pinching the edge of his clay bowl lightly between finger and thumb as he turned the wheel, trying to keep an even pace. The side of the bowl soon started to bow out and grow higher and higher until the integrity of the structure was so weak it folded in on itself. The man stared down at the wavy pile of overworked muck that struggled to represent anything but his failure at pottery, “well, I think I’m finished,” he laughed.
“Don’t be silly!” Jade scolded in jest, “Knead it for a chime and start over.”

Unamused, that was the only look he could muster. Dravite punched the clay when Jade wasn’t looking before he started kneading the malleable material once more, determined to take something home having suffered through this class. If it hadn’t been for Ife’s humour he would have found an excuse to leave a quarter bell ago, instead, he soldiered on, working the clay until he was ready to make a start on a new bowl.

.
.
.

[Ife]

It took Ife far longer than she would admit for her to realise Dravite’s intentions as he seemingly offered to pay for her clay creation. When the metaphorical coin finally dropped, the real coins proffered to her, the redhead narrowed her eyes and gave her fellow Drykas a withering smile. “Oh aren’t you clever.” She said, voice dripping with sarcasm but eyes alight with thinly veiled humour.

She listened closely as Jade began to make her way around the circle, inspecting her guests’ pottery attempts and always, miraculously, finding something positive to say. When the older woman stood opposite Ife and her sorry attempt, she showed no remorse or embarrassment for Ife’s obvious lack of skill. “A good first attempt, Ife! It’s tricky to get that balance between a strong bowl and one that isn’t too chunky or heavy. You’ve done well.”

The redhead smiled thankfully, and peered down to stare into her crooked and unevenly thick bowl. It was far from the prettiest thing she had ever seen, but yes – she supposed that it could perhaps serve some use. Perhaps as a blunt weapon.

But this small achievement was not enough for the ever competitive Ife. She glanced to Dravite’s plate, watching his hands rework his ball of clay before she turned back to Jade. “I want to try again, but how can I avoid making something so…” she searched for the right word, her hands forming the phrases lopsided and drunk.

“Turn the wheel slowly, Ife. And remember what I said about removing the air pockets from the clay?” Jade paused to imitate the throwing down and chopping of the clay that she had demonstrated earlier, “that will ensure the clay won’t break when it’s being baked, which you must be even more careful of with thin pottery.”

Ife nodded and bid Jade a sincere thank you. After dipping her hands into her bowl of water, she collapsed the bowl into itself with the smallest of prods and began reworking with it, picking it up and slapping it back down onto the plate. Sharply, Jade turned around, once again facing Ife with another wide, genuine smile, “oh, Ife! I forgot to ask: can we expect you’ll attend our next pottery party?”

The redhead winced, turned to face her kind hostess. Unlike Dravite (the lucky shyke she thought wryly), Ife had no husband or child to use as an excuse in this instance. Nevertheless, she pulled a face that suggested she had a great many responsibilities at home that made it almost impossible for her to make any plans whatsoever. “Oh, I’d love to, but motherly responsibilities to my baby and all.” She gave a solemn nod, creasing her eyebrows together to try and look sorry and regrettable for her busy lifestyle.

Jade also nodded, full of understanding and empathy for the young mother. Once she had left, Ife turned to Dravite and added in a low voice that was accompanied with a mischievous smirk, “I failed to mention that the baby in question has feathers, but he’s no less demanding or needy.”

[Dravite]

.
.
Dravite smiled as he listened to Ife converse with one of the instructors; she was much better at getting herself out of sticky situations than he; though the ability of lying through one's teeth was always a good advantage. The horse lord on the other hand was a terrible liar, he would smile or avert his gaze, giving up on the lie before it ever had chance to take root. "I was just about to ask if you had children," the man smiled, "birds count," he then whispered.

His bowl was taking shape again, however, this one seemed to be riddled with air bubbles and no matter how much water he added, the clay would dry out faster than it had in the beginning. "I wonder if it's possible to overwork this stuff? He looked at Ife and then at the old woman beside him, who had managed to craft an excellent bowl; clearly this was not her first lesson, nor her first clay creation; and if he hadn’t been sure of that before, he was sure now.

"What do you do for a living?" He inquired, pointing the question back at Ife, though before she could answer, he surmised that it might be something to do with the feathery chick she had spoken about earlier, "do you work with animals, or just birds in particular?"

When Dravite had been a part of the Windborne pavilion, two of the female hunters had both worked with birds of prey and the boy he had been then, had enjoyed watching them go out or terrorise the sky overhead when they found something of use for their keepers. Namely, the animals had only taken down rabbits but he had seen one of the hunting Eagles wrestle a goat to the ground before, so he knew of their uses.

"A few more chimes," he overhead Jade tell a man further around the circle, "then everyone should start cleaning up."

With a new determination, Dravite worked the clay bowl slowly, building up the walls gradually between finger and thumb while his other hand turned the platform that the bowl sat on, all while listening to Ife explain her new line of work.

"You will have to show me some time," the wheat haired male smiled, "I really enjoy working with animals, especially my horses, but taking on and training a bird has always felt impossible as I wouldn’t know where to start, though I've let the idea sit in the back of my mind for some time now." He wondered if Ife would be up to the challenge of not only learning but also teaching another, "I wouldn't mind paying for a lesson or three, if you can convince me to buy an animal," Dravite admitted, "I think it would be handy in my line of work, The Watch is always looking for more efficient ways of doing things."

Jade moved to the centre of the circle then and turned with arms raised as if to praise everyone that had come along to the lesson, "just wonderful," she gushed, "I'm so pleased with everyone's work and effort. Unfortunately we have run out of time this evening but there will be another class on in a few days that you're all most welcome to attend. If you wouldn't mind clearing up your areas and staking the wheels for me that would be marvellous."

Dravite looked at his finished bowl which wasn't much better than the first one had been. He washed the plate down with water before rinsing his hands and arranged to meet up with Ife some other time, preferably at her place of work, if only so that she might be able to show him around and introduce him to all of the different birds they trained, "it's been fun," the man smiled, and it had, he had enjoyed meeting Ife and truth be told, working with the clay hadn't been that bad either, "think I'll take this home to remind me why I make a living with a weapon and not with clay," he then laughed, "look after that chick, she will be excited to see you've made her a new nest," he teased, gesturing to Ife's handiwork with a lazy wave of his hand before he got to his feet and moved to help the rest of the group pack up.
.
.
.

[Ife]

Ife could not help but glance down at Dravite's clay enviously. Whereas his may be described as too dry, Ife's was sopping wet. Each time she toyed with the cloying material, it made loud wet squelch noises that, thanks to her childish spirit, made Ife giggle each time. Nevertheless, she worked at it tirelessly, until her wrists ached and her fingers were stiff. She pushed the clay away with the ball of her hand and then dragged it back into itself, turned it ninety degrees, and repeated the process. This lasted for five chimes, then ten. Eventually she released the ball with a great, huffing sigh. She was an artist whose creative juices had all be run dry. "I'm not sure about the clay," she said with another puff in response to Dravite's question, "but I'm certainly feeling overworked."

She continued to toy with the clay, spinning the plate slower now than she had done before, and giving some actual care to the shape of the bowl. She tugged the sides up gently, but still it began to take a strange, uneven shape. The edge of the bowl curved in and out, like waves or a swath of material. "Oh, just birds," she said absently, pausing from her sculpting to glance at the male's face, "I'm Inarta by blood - those mountain folk who are meant to be good with birds. So it's kind of in my blood, I guess." Her brief explanation was accompanied by a helpless shrug. Ife felt somewhat treacherous when speaking about her biological heritage, as if she were betraying the Drykas couple who had adopted her. But they had always encouraged her to become familiar with her roots, and in her heart of hearts the redhead knew she was merely being paranoid.

"I'd be more than happy to show you," She said with renewed confidence and eagerness -- perhaps too much of the latter. Her passion for raptors was clear in not only the quickness of her answer, but what she said next: "I've always believed birds have so much to offer us, in more ways than just hunting. But I do warn you-" she dipped her head towards Dravite in mock seriousness, "A bird is not a pet. They don't take too kindly to affection, a bit like an untamed woman in that regard." A single arch of her right brow indicated the flirtatious importance of that final part of her statement.

With that, Ife allowed Jade to review her latest masterpiece. The older Drykas lent forwards, peering down into the bowl that sat before Ife. Though it was far from perfect, pretty or even watertight, the redhead found herself feeling oddly proud of her strange creation. After cleaning her hands and wiping them down her front, Ife finally stood up, her joints and bones clicking and creaking as if she were ninety. "It's been good to meet you, Dravite. Thank you for making this slightly more bearable." She grinned and allowed herself the briefest of winks. After all Ife was not about to admit to anyone that pottery was, actually, not that boring.