The Drop-In [Tock]

[Victor Lark]

Summer 75, 512

It was all the same, and it was entirely new. The air parted just as well, but it smelled like salt and productivity; the roofs were made of the same stone and shingles, but they were cursed with ancient consistency. Victor had not expected to be thrilled by anything after the novelty of his old home, but Zeltiva was surpassing his expectations. Her sky was beautiful in its blue-grey simplicity, promising rain that was made of water and caressing his sweat with cool breezes. He had taken to her rooftops out of force of habit, and after only a day he had learned to trust them. The sun moved into late afternoon and his body grew heavy for its exertion, but he felt as if he had hardly begun to unravel her secrets.

He stopped to catch his breath. He had not even reached the old town by that hour but, as little as he liked it, he needed to stop and rest. Resisting the inevitable, he perched his hands on his legs and squinted at the familiar scene around him. He could see the university after a few blocks and the sea on the horizon, but his tired attention was drawn to the peculiar newness of the buildings beneath him. When his eyes found his feet, he closed them.

It was only then that Victor bothered to open his ears. He heard the noises of labor between the pervasive din of the city, wooden knocks and mortar scrapings and metal ringings. Curious, he found the energy to lift his chin and search for the source of it, but his vantage made him blind to it. The mystery made that final sprint all the more invigorating—and all the more surprising when he fell through the unfinished roof of a construction site and collided onto the raw wood flooring of the level below.

Reflex managed to push the force of his impact into a haphazard roll, but Victor still groaned as it shook in his knees. Shocked by the sudden change and burdened by his fatigue, it was all he could do pull himself to standing and orient himself within the room that had risen around him. A missing wall showed him the street, a story below, and a quick look around revealed that he was not alone.

“Hello,” he said weakly to the woman opposite, one he could only assume had work to do on this incomplete structure. Even as he held his aching side, he managed to pull his lips into a honey-sweet grin. “I... don’t suppose you know where I am?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

It was another one of those days. Having already finished carving the artistic decorations into the door and window shutters, a fancy wooden door knocker, and a whole pile of shingles, Tock was without any more woodworking to do on the current house. Thus, as she normally did when she finished her tasks, she had opted to help out her coworkers in other areas. Unfortunately, the only area currently in need of an extra hand was the bricklaying. Which meant working with James. In the last few weeks, things had been getting weirder and weirder with them. Ever since finding out she was once again single, he had shown a renewed interest in her. And it was one she was determined to ignore at all cost. He'd had his chance, he'd messed it up, and he'd made a bloody fool of himself. So why couldn't he just go back to being her friend? But no. He insisted on making things awkward. He wouldn't even actually make a move on her (and if he DID, she might actually let it happen, just to get it out of their systems). He just looked at her in ways that made her uncomfortable, stepped away whenever things got awkward enough that they might actually be forced to deal with them instead of avoiding them, and NEVER talked about his feelings, whatever they were. Thus, bricklaying with him was an extremely uncomfortable experience. "I swears, I's gonna magic me up one o' 'ese soon..." Tock muttered as she gripped a rope, James standing right behind her. Damn two story houses and their damn high walls. They had a barrel of bricks tied to the rope, down on ground level, and a pulley system in place to haul it up. Tock had Animating a rope and pulley set on her to do list, but other projects kept on taking higher priority. So they had to do this manually, which, unfortunately, meant standing very close to each other for balance and coordination. "Pull!" she said with a grunt, as they both started hauling on the rope. It was a strain for Tock, since she was still healing from her injury two weeks ago. She was no longer in too bad condition anymore, but it still hurt to move around too much, and hauling the heavy bricks up certainly didn't help the matter any. Nor did the distracting sensation of James's warm breath right by her ear. She grit her teeth and ignored the distraction, focusing on work. With some hard pulling, they managed to get the last load of bricks up through the exposed part of the wall. Tock then unhooked the pulleys, since they would be bricking up this opening now. Meanwhile, James finished mixing up the mortar. They didn't speak; speaking was weird for them lately. There had been a point, in the first half of the season, when they hadn't spoken at all for several weeks. Now, they spoke a little, but never about anything important. So it was a quiet job when they got started, James laying out the mortar, and Tock lifting each brick into place. Handy, her wooden hand automaton, tried to grab one of the bricks and hand it to her, but it was too heavy for his tiny body. He struggled and scrambled, unable to so much as budge the heavy thing. "Stop, baby," Tock told him, and the hand froze. "C'mere," she said. He crawled over and used his little wooden fingers to pull himself up her pant leg. Then he slipped his leather tail through her belt and buckled himself in place, hanging by her leg. Without anything else to do, he tapped his fingers idly against her leg, almost as if he were bored. James stared at the Automaton with some discomfort. That was another thing that annoyed her about him. He never seemed to get used to her babies, and no one could fully earn her respect unless they respected her babies. They were focused enough on their work that they didn't hear the sounds coming from the nearby rooftop at first. Tock was carefully aligning bricks, and tapping them into place firmly to make sure they held. They had to be kept straight and carefully aligned, since even one being out of alignment would mess up the orientation of any others touching it. She also had to lean out of the hole in the wall just slightly, in order to check that the outer side was smooth and straight. It was dull and repetitive work, without the finery or artistic touch that she added to her woodcarving. It was also increasingly awkward as the silence stretched out. There was an accidental touching of hands as Tock was laying another brick into place, her fingers brushing against James's as he was smoothing out the mortar. She looked up at him, and he looked back at her, his face reddening slightly. There it was, another one of those moments. And of course, she knew he'd just turn away and avoid it, like always. Yet he surprised her. Instead of turning away, he touched her hand a moment longer and said, "Hey, umm..." Aaaaaaand that's when the stranger came crashing down. Tock jumped up, pulling a knife, which made James step back in surprise. He didn't have the same reflexes she had about such things, and instead stepped over to check on the fallen man. Then they both noticed one of the buckets of mortar wobbling on the nearby workbench, knocked loose by the man's tumbling. Tock pulled out Grippy, her reaching tool, and started to extend the metal arm, gears spinning as the chain unfurled to lance the claw out. It was too late, though, and the mortar spilled everywhere, staining the new wooden floor. Tock scowled, retracting Grippy, the metal arm folding back in on itself. She planted her fists on her hips, scowling at the stranger, still with her tool in one hand, dagger in the other, and the third, wooden hand hanging from her belt waving hello to the man. "You's in our work zone," Tock told him irritably. "An' 'at done means yer on the clock..." She aimed Grippy at a nearby trowel, extending the metal arm to reach out and grab the tool. She then dropped the trowel in the man's lap and said, "Clean 'at up, she's yer mess." She nodded to the spilt mortar, which was still oozing across the floor.

[Victor Lark]

Victor’s arms dropped from where they had been raised in mock surrender. His brow fell from its arching incredulity and his eyes peered in confusion. “Hm?” He mumbled as his attention moved from the woman’s dagger to her face. “I’m fine, thanks,” he said to the man, pushing him away with a bit of passive courtesy.

Work was not something the noble-born man was particularly familiar with, but the idea of spending the rest of the afternoon at it was intriguing enough. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them like acceptance, eager to discover what it meant to be On The Clock.

But it seemed that he was still recovering from the shock of the fall. So much had happened at once that his eyes had not had the opportunity to perceive what his ears had already, and even they failed to notify him of his mistake until she did. By the time it occurred to him to look at the mess, it was already seeping onto his shoe.

Suddenly the idea of Work lost all of its romance.

“Oh.” He stepped back absently, kicking the mortar from his toe and wiping what remained on a bit of untouched flooring. Though he was genuinely concerned for the health of his footwear, Victor was more curious to as to the limits of this woman’s patience. (The other man would not concern him yet, not until he proved more interesting and less cowardly.) Most of the things she carried were veritable weapons, but brandishing and using them were different things entirely. Victor had a dagger of his own, but he knew when not to use it. Instead, he slid a daring knuckle down his nose and proposed, “And what if I don’t?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock tucked away her dagger when it became apparent that the man wasn't a thief or assailant of some kind. She kept Grippy out, however, retracting the arm to its fully folded state, the metal X's that formed it collapsing on each other until the device was a mere foot long. She tapped Grippy against her thigh, sucking on her teeth as she considered the man's words. She looked at James, reminding herself that she was on the job, and thus, needed to 'restrain' herself. Which meant no violence, unfortunately. She eyed the stranger, from the shoes he seemed rather concerned with, to the slightly worn but rather fancy looking clothes. Rich boy, she thought. She smirked and replied, "Oy, ya dun wanna work, aye? Fine... butcha done jus' spilt mortar all over the new floors," she gestured to the mess, which James had opted to start cleaning, scraping as much as he could into the bucket. "Mortar done costs money, an' we's done gonna 'as ta pull up," she looked across the floor for a moment, "four boards 'ere an' replace 'em, aye? Yer fancy acrobatics fun jus' done cost us a good bell's work. Way I sees 'er, ya can either 'elps us clean up the mess an' what fix the floor, o' I can fetch the Bossman, an' ya can see 'ow much 'e done charges ya what fer damages..." She raised Grippy up to her shoulder and slid her thumb across the back of his handle, causing the flat metal claw at the end to snap a couple of times. If the stranger tried to run, she'd snag him by the drawers of his pretty little pants. Mostly she was messing with him, because whenever she saw someone in fine clothes like that, she assumed there was a stick up his arse to go along with them. If he proved otherwise, she might not even care whether he stayed or went. But if he was another stuck up poshy boy, she just had to take him down a peg or two, whether it be by forcing him to work, or forcing him to pay. She lifted a brick off the pile and held it out to him. "So, what'll it be?"

[Victor Lark]

Victor crossed his arms. He considered the mess of mortar again, and the poor bloke who had taken the project of cleaning it upon himself. Victor might have squatted beside him and shoveled the stuff back into the bucket with his bare hands, just to see how the stuff felt, but he was more concerned with the woman and her threats, her anger and its potential. Instead of an answer, he gave a shrug.

“The kid is cleaning the mess. I don’t see the problem.” He took the brick and looked at the wall behind her, where others like it had been wedged between lines of the flaky grey plaster. Putting two and two together, he found the opportunity to scoop up a handful from the floor. He smeared it indelicately beside the last brick laid and wedged the one in his hand into the bed of plaster he had made.

Turning to her, he shook his hand of the gunk that remained on it. Some pieces of it were flung against the walls and floor, but most persisted between his fingers. “Eh?” Victor offered, edging his eagerness with annoying naivety. He watched her eyes for a moment too long. Then he looked up. “We should finish the roof next.”

Finding it more difficult than he had expected to be rid of the mortar on his hand, he instead scraped it all off on the unfinished wall and idly picked off the rest with his fingers. He stepped back, eyes on the ceiling except for the moment he looked behind to recover his balance, until he found a small collection of long wooden beams leaned against a corner. He chose one and showed it to her. “How’s this?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock stared at the man as he handled the mortar with his bare hands. "Oy, ya blimey looney?" she asked. "Poshy bugger ain't never 'eld a dang tool what in 'is life..." She grabbed a rag and shoved it in the man's hand, then shoved that hand towards the wall he'd just scraped the mortar onto. "Clean 'at off 'fore she dries!" she demanded. "An' I's shows ya 'ow ta does 'er right..." If anyone was going to work in HER work zone, they were going to do it right, damnit! She didn't tolerate half-assed slackery on the job. She grumbled under her breath, cursing his foolishness. "Goddamn piece o' shyke, gittin' mortar everywhere... Dun ya know what 'ow 'ard 'is stuff were fer ta git off once she dries?" She snatched the beam from his hands, holstering Grippy and leaning heavily on the beam. She was aching quite bad from her sore stomach, and it hurt to bend over, but she couldn't wait for Poshy to clean everything himself. She winced in pain as she bent over with another rag to scrub off the mortar from the wall. Her face was soon red with pain and exertion. When the wall was scrubbed and James had the mortar bucket mostly refilled, she took it from him and asked, "Can ya git 'at, mate? I dun think what fer I can bend down that low." She pointed to the stained floorboards that needed replacing. Knowing Tock was injured, he nodded and grabbed a crowbar to start prying up the ruined floorboards that needed replacing. The ones that got mortar down in the cracks were ruined, and would be stained forever. They couldn't leave them like that. She then lifted the sloppily laid brick, used a trowel to smooth out the mortar properly, and set it correctly. After tapping it into place with the handle of the trowel, she sat down on the nearby wood pile, catching her breath. Such little work shouldn't have exhausted her so easily, but the sword wound on her stomach, while no longer bleeding, had her aching with every move she made. Sitting on the wood, she glared at Poshy and growled, "You.". She pointed the trowel at his face. "Yous done gonna learn fer ta do 'is proper-like. What fer ta 'as some useful skills in 'at 'ead o' yers..." Handy, on her belt, wagged a finger at the man admonishingly. She held up the trowel and showed it to him, adopting a condescending tone. "'Is," she said, "is a trowel." Handy waved at it as if the tool were on an auction display stand. "I's gunna teach ya fer ta use it. Be a proper ed'cation, aye? Learn ya sommat useful..." She flipped it around to hold the handle out to him, quite intent on giving him a lesson in proper mortar spreading.

[Victor Lark]

Victor carved away the last of the mortar with the rag, noting how it had already begun to dry against his skin. Only as he draped it on the unfinished wall, did he notice the woman’s problem and her coworker’s solution. He could not help but steal a glance at her body, hidden behind so many gadgets and clothes and leather pieces of her uniform, in search for the secret behind her trouble. Though he depended greatly on his eyes, he had never been particularly astute. He remained perplexed.

“Of course,” Victor nodded to her proposal, having nothing better to do in that midafternoon except learn fer ta do ‘is proper-like. “Perhaps later I can return the favor,” he added with a wink.

His gaze had been held a few moments too long in its scrutiny of her body, but then it finally rose to the tool she held out to him. While his ignorance to the subject of her work was no lie, he was more intuitive than he pretended to be. Feigning stupidity would add a bit of fun to the lesson, if nothing else. “A trowel,” he repeated slowly. “Excellent. And what’s this one?”

He turned to the dutiful man crouched between them and gestured to the crowbar that had been wedged between the floorboards. Whether she answered the question did not concern him; he was already learning more about this tool than the other by watching its use. Victor was more a man of action than words. He bent toward the unspeaking young man and reached a courteous hand before him. “May I?” He asked, but did not hesitate to take it if it was not given.

Then he took a knee beside the mess, wedged the thing between two floorboards, and pushed.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

When she spotted his eyes roaming her body, Tock scowled, mistaking his curiosity about her state of health for typical male lewdness. "Oy!" she shouted, snapping het fingers at him. Handy tried to mimic the motion, but he wasn't coordinated enough for that one, and only made a clacking sound of wood on wood. "Eyes up 'ere!" she pointed two fingers at her own eyes, which were glaring at him in impatience and irritation. "An' I ain't needs 'at kind o' favor," she added when he winked at her, assuming he had something dirty in mind. "I ain't 'at kinda girl! An' what're YOU lookin' at?" she snapped at James, who had grown quite awkward at the perceived topic of conversation. He cleared his throat and turned back to prying up the damaged floorboards. "N-nothing," he muttered, unable to meet her eyes just then. Though he did cast a slightly... confrontational look at Victor. One which might be perceived as a challenge or mark of jealousy in regards to Tock. "It's a crowbar..." James replied to Victor, his tone implying there must be something wrong with the man for not knowing that. He handed the tool over though, letting the 'new recruit' pry up the boards while he gathered up some new ones. "'Olds 'er alla'way up at the end," Tock told him. "Gives ya leverage. Puts more oomph inta it!" If she was going to teach this man, she was going to do it right. When the board snapped in half instead of pulling all the way up, she sighed and used Grippy to point out the nail holes. "Gots fer ta put 'er right 'ere," she said. "Git 'er right on the nails. What fer ta channel the force ya done needs right where ya needs 'er. Otherwise yer jus' wastin' energy, not putting 'er where she needs ta go. Wastin' energy's done gonna makes ya 'as ta work 'arder, takes ya longer." A lot these principles she knew from her work in Gadgeteering, though the same concepts applied to applications of the human body as well. Meanwhile, she stood back up from her brief rest and started setting bricks again. Careful swipes of the trowel spread the mortar before she stuck a brick in place, tapping it into place with the handle of the trowel. Then she used the pointed tip to scrape out the excess from the seams, ensuring a smooth fit. She continued down the line like this, setting one brick after another, using the flat edge of the trowel to check the placement of each one to be sure they aligned nice and straight. When Poshy had enough prying boards, she'd show him about how to judge the correct mortar amounts and the proper way to set the bricks.

[Victor Lark]

“Oy,” he exclaimed in a poor imitation of the strange woman. “So touchy.”

With a grin at the man whose name he did not know was James, Victor shuffled to the next floorboard and got ‘er right on the nails. The poor kid did not seem amused, and his peculiar exasperation made him that much more interesting. Unlike the last, this board came up with no splinters to speak of; lifting it from its place, the work-stupid foreigner decided that it seemed perfectly usable, someplace where the stain was not so visible. Happy with his success, he tossed the thing over his shoulder and went to work on the next one.

As he waddled to it, the corner of his eye glimpsed the woman who led them. Her attention was on the far wall, her back turned. Victor took a moment to appreciate the view from where he knelt and shifted an eye to his fellow underling. How do you like that? said his raised eyebrows, though he was more interested his gauging James’s reaction than sharing some happy masculine secret.

Still smiling, his gaze dropped to the floor beneath and he pried up another piece. As much as he loved annoying these two strangers, he found himself wanting more to complete this task. His arms, which had done little else but hoist his own body through rooftop freerunning, ached for some novel exertion. The boards came up quickly as he got the hang of it, each flying behind him in turn.

Unfortunately, he had as good a work ethic as any other ethic. When he finally became bored of the floor, all of the major damage had been removed, leaving the other man to seek out the splattered and half-ruined pieces. “You got the rest?” Victor asked him as he rose, depositing the crowbar before James and stepping toward the girl.

He stole a brick from the pile and, draping an arm behind her shoulders, stuck it where she and her trowel had prepared a bed for it. “Good job,” declared the student to the teacher. “What’s next?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

James cast a scowl at the stranger, not liking either the way he was treating the work like a game, nor the way he was looking at Tock. "Eyes on your work, stranger," he said in a low voice. Tock missed both what was said and the leering she'd been subjected to, and by the time she glanced back at the boys, all seemed peaceful. James grumbled when the stranger moved off, bored and seeking another task. He wasn't bold or aggressive enough to voice any complaints out loud, and just lowered his head to his work, prying up the remaining damaged boards and getting started on laying down replacements. When the stranger violated her personal space, Tock's eyes rose to meet his, her face flushing ever so slightly. Without moving from the spot, she reached back for his other hand, and twisted around to pull it up with the first on the brick. She pulled him forward slightly to stand next to her so he had better access to the wall. "Both 'ands," she told him, as she held the brick simultaneously with her own leather gloved fingers, adjusting it until it was straight, showing him how it was done. "Otherwise she ends up crooked. 'En ya gotta tap 'er in place fer ta make sure the mortar sets." She taped the handle of the trowel down onto the brick, making sure it was firm. Then she handed the tool back to the stranger once more, lifting the bucket of mortar. "Only 'at much," she said, holding her fingers up to the one she'd just done, showing him the proper thickness. "Keep 'er all on top. Even spread. An' jus' one brick at a time, aye? Otherwise she starts dryin' 'fore the bricks is set." She used a stick to stir the bucket up, keeping the mortar from setting and hardening just yet.