Completed [Undeniable Interests][Job Thread] Intro.

[Isolde Seibold]

{10th Summer, 513 AV
7th bell}

Isolde stared at the mess of a shop in front of her and could only think, And now this is all mine to tend. She slowly turned her head, eyes grazing past all the dust and confusion of the tiny, absolutely packed shop. It was most definitely a place of undeniable interest, that was certainly true, with the small setback that it was hard to tell where one object ended and the next began. Undeniably Unorganized might have been just as apt a name for the crammed place, not that that little detail much bothered the Nuit, thinking of her own cobwebbed, dusty 'home'. Still, it was obvious that her work would be cut out for her, when the time eventually came for organizing the shop. For now, she hadn't yet "worked up to the honor," or at least that was what her peculiar new employer had rumbled, waving one craggy hand in dismissal.

The old man hiring her had been a strange fellow, even to the Nuit, but at least he had not felt... threatening. Gruff, yes, and grumpy with a limp and a squinting scowl, but not unnecessarily mean or rude, and not simply because of what she was. That was a bonus, for her. This place was one of the few viable means of employment for someone with little to no talent at... well, most things. Her options were narrowed further by her race.

Still, the Nuit thought that it was a miracle she had been hired as it was. If it wasn't for the place's desperate need of assistance, she thought it likely that the old man would have never even given her a chance. He didn't seem like the type to give anyone a chance if he didn't think it would somehow benefit him in some way. Obviously he had seem some small glimmer of hope for the Nuit, for her near non-existent abilities, a glimmer that she barely could catch sight of herself. Well, whatever it was that he had seen in her must have made him think that her presence could have a positive effect on his shop.

That hadn't stopped him, however, from rushing to remind her how tenuous her hold on her newfound employment was. For a man who didn't seem likely to waste words, he really did seem to like to use them to complain about his past help, who had apparently all been the "worthless, deceitful, fickle" sort; apparently most had asked for a job and then simply never shown up again. Isolde didn't want to be unkind... but she wondered how much it had to do with the man himself, and his crotchety demeanor. The only other option she could see was that they had, in reality, never actually left the place, and that they were buried under all this... stuff. Probably they had given up crying out for help ages ago, choked to death on mountains of dust or simply crushed by the weight of all the merchandise, everything stacked on everything else. Lucky for me, the Nuit thought wryly, That I'm not afraid of a few dead bodies.

[Isolde Seibold]

Isolde was situated at an overrun desk shoved in a corner in the back of the room, a desk that the help were given primary access to. Unlike the desk that Mr. Dominac Ariva sometimes manned, which was the only thing in the cramped shop that had managed to remain vaguely neat, the desk she had been assigned was simply overflowing with artifacts and books and unlabeled potions and trinkets and knickknacks and bric-a-brac and gewgaws and gimcracks and... and she could go on and on, using all those other, quirky words to describe the countless quirky items. The old man had muttered something about "defective wares" that he hadn't gotten yet to fixing up --or marking down-- and so they'd been stacked here to await his attention. Unfortunately, this was the space the Nuit was going to be attending to, at least for her first couple of weeks here.

For now, she was supposed to spend her time learning to properly scribe-- Mr. Ariva had already given her a few short pointers, stabbing his smart fingers at certain pens and inks and fondly caressing what he had called the "template" of an empty book, the hard, loosely-bound leather full of blank pages waiting to be written upon. He had warned her about the dangers of "spotting" and to not use too much ink, and also she had better leave her arm off the paper or it would most definitely smear, and if she thought he was going to let her mess up all the templates just because she was a novice at this sort of thing then she was wrong and might as well get out of his shop this very instant. The Nuit had furiously shook her head, stammering out that she would remember to do all those things, and yes she was paying attention, and of course she would pay for any book template that she ruined as a result of her inexperience. And Mr. Ariva had, at least for the time, seemed to be assuaged.

And then, just like that, he had left her to it. She had already demonstrated her writing for him, a thing she had been practicing all night until her fingers had been stained black with the little sticks of drawing charcoal she had been using. Her handwriting wasn't anything fancy --she had never learned calligraphy, growing up in the Outpost-- but it was functional, neat, easy to read, and not bad looking, despite its lack of flourishes. And she had never had a problem with spelling, or really with reading, for that matter. That meant that she was good enough to get going. The old man had simply disappeared into the back, retrieved a big, ponderous, carefully-wrapped tome called "The History of Kelvics: Their Creation, Their Psychology, Their Applications" from the storage, and had settled it in front of her, along with the appropriate pens and inks and an empty template. With a few more short warnings and instructions, he had proceeded to vanish towards the front of the shop, mumbling that she would have a bell-and-a-half break somewhere around 13th bell, and no sooner, and she better have had made good, clean progress or there wouldn't be a break at all. And so here the Nuit was. Getting to work.

[Isolde Seibold]

{9th - 13th bell}

Despite the tedium, Isolde found she loved it. This sort of work was right up the Nuit's alley.

Scribing had turned out to not be too hard, and she supposed that it was easier for her than for most normal people, an advantage she rarely faced. Her arm wasn't likely to get tired, her hand wouldn't cramp, and so she could just keep writing... and writing... and writing... and on. She tried to follow Mr. Ariva's terse instructions to a T, making certain to write each word carefully and distinctly, attempting to match the writing size and number of words per page, giving the appropriate amount of what she had come to think as "cool-down time" between each page, where she double-checked the spelling of each word and punctuation in general while the ink seeped into the thick paper and dried. There were no illustrations that she had to do, not for this book and not until the old man was confident that she would be competent at them, and so that made this all the more easy. Better yet, the Nuit, simply by doing her job, was learning things. Even if the exploitation of Kelvics was not a topic she was even vaguely interested in, then at least copying the book, taking the time to study it so carefully, was exciting her for what she just knew would happen in the near future. Eventually, she would come across books of magic that needed to be copied, and the thought almost made Isolde giddy. This job was like practically getting paid to study. And it came with bonuses that she had not even dreamed of.

She would be allowed, on her free time --which would most likely be her lunch break, considering that she didn't need to eat-- to make copies of any books she wanted simply for herself, as long as she paid for the ink she used and the template she wrote on. And the templates themselves were quite a bit cheaper than normal books, since most of the work of the book came from the actual scribing: the hours upon hours spent poring over pages, wiping her hair back from her face when it got in the way, squinting and carefully bringing the candle closer to get a better look while making absolutely certain the smoke didn't stain the page, or the wax didn't drip off and mar the carefully-crafted words. There was a lot of delicacy in work like this, but the Nuit was finding herself well-suited to it. And after years spent doing, for all intents and purposes, nothing at all, this was a nice change of pace. A live person would have to wonder at the benefits to learning such a skill, would have to worry about rest and muscle aches and boredom. Their minds --used to springing upon every little detail that tried to catch at their attention-- would be more likely to wander from the wearisome task, and so they would be more prone to making the little mistakes that could easily add up to subtly alter the meaning of the writing as a whole. Isolde, though, perhaps because she was not a normal person, found herself deeply absorbed in the act, concentrating so heavily that it was like from a slumber that the old man woke her some bells later, prodding her with the tip of his cane to rouse her from her utter immersion in the text, and wanting to review her work thus far.

[Isolde Seibold]

It didn’t take more than a tick for the Nuit to regain her usual nervousness, fidgeting out of the hard, wooden chair --as cold as it had been the moment she had sat down in it-- so that Mr. Ariva could take her place. He grumbled and muttered to himself under his breath as he inspected each page that the Nuit had managed to copy, and, to her utter consternation... there weren't many. She hadn't realized that all the copying she had done thus far had amounted to so little... but Mr. Ariva didn't seem to think that she was working too slowly, so she figured that perhaps scribing tended to be a lot of slow-going, of little bits of progress that would eventually add up to create one big, final composition. The old man seemed to putter over her work for ages, one eye squinted completely shut, his silver eyebrows pulled far down. Every once and a while he would run a wizened finger over the words, testing the ink, or tug shortly on his beard as if in heavy thought. Once, Isolde swore she saw him actually lean down and sniff at the completed pages, as if their scent might give him some indication of her work. Finally, finally, he stood, bones creaking, and shuffled away, but not before fixing her with a bright, clear gaze and growling out, "S'pose I've seen better work than that... but s'pose, too, I've seen a lot worse. Ya earned ya break. Remember, a bell-and-a-half, no longer, or you'll be out on the streets!"

"Th-Thank you, sir!"

All she caught in response was a lot of "Ah~grumblegrumblegrumble" as he turned and tread away, disappearing into all the clutter and dust in that almost mystical way he had.

The Nuit's break was spent trying to figure out the organization of the shop itself. When she had first laid eyes on it, the Nuit had been utter confused by everything, and she had thought that certainly there was no way to ever find what one was looking for due to lack of organization. But she had soon been proven wrong. It had only taken Isolde a tiny while to realize that the place was arranged just exactly how Mr. Ariva wanted it to be, even if that meant that no one else could easily figure out the order. Watching him serve a customer, it was clear that he knew just where everything was, and that he liked it how it was. She had been warned not to move anything, and if she absolutely had to, then she was supposed to put it right back, and he had meant right back, where it had originally been. She could understand why. If she took to moving things where she wanted them, and a customer showed up looking for something and he wasn't able to find it because it had been moved... well, he would likely lose some business and she would likely lose her job. So, as the Nuit ducked and shimmied and threaded her up up the many, tight aisles, she tried to make absolutely sure that she didn't touch anything or knock it out of place, all the while attempting --and perhaps it was a fool's errand, but she had to learn the layout somehow-- to set in her mind where things were. So that, when it came her time to serve customers, she would be actually able to find what was needed, without having to bother her boss every time someone walked in the store.

[Isolde Seibold]

If Mr. Ariva was annoyed that she didn't leave, hanging around and peering at things and mouthing their names to herself to help her better remember, he didn't show it. He simply sat at his desk or snoozed in the back, once taking his own, short lunch break, and continuously waiting on customers or searching for items to be labeled or cleaned or fixed. The Nuit was somewhat surprised by the amount of business in the shop. Upon entering, it wouldn't be unlikely to think that nobody must've come to visit the place for months, if not years. But customers were constant, and though the place was never packed it did see a lot of business. Isolde was glad that the crowds seemed to flow in and out, without everyone trying to rush in at the same time. It would be impossible for them all to fit if they decided to come as a group. As it was, the shop seemed to be at its most comfortable when two or three patrons were browsing the shelves, no more.

{14th bell}

Before her break was fully over --because the Nuit was getting antsy and nervous, not wanting to get back to work too late and irritate the old man-- she had settled back into her hard, wooden chair and picked up her pen, dipping it into the ink with a hand-motion that was quickly becoming familiar. Isolde took a few long chimes to review all of the advice and warnings Mr. Ariva had given her before going back to work and quickly losing herself in it once more, always making sure her elbow was up in the air, hovering parallel over the messy little desk, so as to not let her arm get lazy and smudge her writing. The templates were only bound loosely, so that --if there was a scribing error-- the pages affected could be readily replaced. The Nuit was trying her best not to make any errors so that that wouldn't be necessary. She couldn't afford to waste Mr. Ariva's time, and she definitely couldn't afford to have to keep doling out Mizas to compensate for the paper she ruined. No. She would do it right the first time, even if it took a little longer; she would not allow herself to get sloppy. Eventually, she knew that speed and ease of workmanship would come on their own. Until that time, she was determined to keep constant vigilance and pay very, very close attention. One could never be too careful.

{17th bell}

The bells flew by, as they had before her break. Soon enough the shop stood empty, and Syna relaxed in her position in the sky, slipping ever nearer to the far horizon. Long before night fell, however, Mr. Ariva was stirring her once more, and she hastily tumbled from her chair to allow him to sit. This time he went over her writings a lot more quickly, still with that one eye squinted all the way shut, and she had to wonder if the first time he had not taken so long just for show, to purposefully make her uncomfortable. It certainly seemed he was going through just as carefully as he had, but probably ten times as quickly. And then, just like that, she was dismissed. "Same time, tomorrow. And don't think you're getting paid until I'm certain you're actually worth something!" he stormed, brandishing his cane, turning his squinting gaze to her.

"O-Of c-course! Thank you, s-sir! Th-Thank you!" And then she had meandered her way to the front of the shop, actually smiling, because it actually really felt good to have something to do. The Nuit felt like she had accomplished something, and learned something, as well. She left the shop happily, thinking that she was going to very much enjoy her work at Undeniable Interests. Well, as long as she didn't annoy her employer and managed to keep hold of her job!

[Emblem]

Congratulations! You Get Glorious Experience! [size=200]Isolde/size] Skill Points Earned Calligraphy 1 2 XP Lore Earned First Day On the Job Something to Do Other Shenanigans: Comments : I apologize for the long wait, RL sucks sometimes. Anyway, I figured calligraphy would be an appropriate skill to award here, and since I didn't see scribing on the skill list, I figured I better go with something one there. If you want to change that skill or have any other questions or concerns, shoot me a PM!