[The Terra Cottage] Glasses for the Masses

by **Kirsi Winterflame** on September 28th, 2013, 3:34 am

Timestamp: 30th of Fall, 513AV, Morning

Garob's retreating figure cast a shadow across the workshop floor; Kirsi watched it until it had faded entirely, and Garob had made his way back to the shop front. With a determined breath, she squared her shoulders and turned to face the clay.

The order of the day was drinking glasses. They were simple enough, the old Epharian had assured her, giving her the barest tidbits of advice. She hadn't asked questions, simply taking his words and filing them away in the back of her mind; used the blocks to flatten the clay smoothly, mold the clay around the form, use small pinches to attach the bottom. All that, and then hope that the firing didn't blow a hole into the seal.

Narrowed eyes took in the blocks, varying shapes and sizes of which were stacked neatly on the shelf above the workbench. There were even bowl-shaped molds, which would have come in so handy the first time she'd tried to sculpt something from scratch. Of course, Garob hadn't offered them at that point, and Kirsi had been so overconfident that she hadn't thought to look around for tools.

Silly. Of course there were tools, every craft had tools. Well, she wasn't about to make the same mistake this time. Crossing to the far wall, she reached for the molds, barely able to grasp the one she wanted. Fingertips nudged it to the side, before sliding it off the shelf and catching it in her waiting hands. Twice as long as her hand, and half as wide, it would certainly make flattening out the clay much, much easier.

by **Kirsi Winterflame** on October 9th, 2013, 3:15 am

Starting with a ball of clay no larger than her two fists, Kirsi wet the surface of the clay, the workbench, and her hands. And also the floor and the bottom half of her shirt. Clearly, along with clay sculpting, her water pouring skills needed fine-tuning. After one more glance around the room, trying to pick out any tricks she could from the mostly mysterious blocks and stacks of clay-stained linen and various other tools, the uses of which were currently unknown, Kirsi again put hand to clay.

Roughly squishing the clay down to a mostly flat, long rectangle, she reached eagerly for the block of wood. "This would have been so helpful last time," the muttered words were accompanied by a frown in the general direction of Garob. But the novelty of new tools was enough to soothe her minor frustration, and she applied the wood block liberally to the textured surface of the clay.

Beginning in the middle, Kirsi pressed the wood block downward, until clay squeezed out around the sides. Lifting it, however, revealed less than perfect results. Clay stuck to the form, and the bulk of the piece lifted upwards before falling with a small 'thud' back to the table.

"Petch." Kirsi held the block up, looking at the remnants of clay clinging stubbornly to its surface. It's dry surface. "Petch!" A different inflection this time; she'd forgotten to wet the wood block. It was the only thing that she hadn't managed to slop water over, in fact. With a groan, Kirsi began to scrape the surface clean.

It had been less than a bell since she'd begun working, and already her excitement was waning. Kirsi found, the more she worked with clay, the less enthusiastic she became about it. Except for the carving. Nothing suited her more than when Garob handed her a nearly finished product and let her have her merry way with it. The jars and brooches and even chamberpots were fun to experiment on; clay was so much simpler to carve than wood. There was little need for the tedious blocking out of large chunks, and her tools slid through the material with such ease. It took more restraint to carve clay, though, Kirsi acknowledged. She had to be careful not to put too much strength into her movements. So far she hadn't poked a hole through any of Garob's pieces, but it had been close once or twice.

Focus. Drinking glasses.

With a sigh, she bent herself back to the task at hand, applying the newly moistened wooden block to the clay once more.

by **Kirsi Winterflame** on October 31st, 2013, 4:15 am

Kirsi stared down at the nearly even surface of the clay, grinning foolishly. It was a small victory, she knew, but a victory nonetheless. After struggling with the clay for what seemed like hundreds of bells, she'd finally figured out how much pressure was too much, and managed to stop just short of it. The slab of clay lay there, smooth and dully reflecting the light of the midday sun. Kirsi treated herself to a small dance of joy, even clapping her hands before settling down to begin the more challenging work of forming acceptable drinking glasses for Garob.

But how did one go about forming glasses? It couldn't be that hard. There was no intricate design, no tricky lids or handles. Just tubes. With bottoms. Easy.

Plucking a blade from her supplies, Kirsi laid the wooden form she'd used to flatten the clay once again onto its surface. Carefully, making sure not to press the block down and ruin her lovely flat surface, Kirsi cut around the rectangular shape, leaving the outline of the block laying there amidst the expanse of clay. All that was left was to roll it into a tube and squish a circle of clay onto its bottom.

But as Kirsi began to lift the clay from the work table, she was dismayed to see it stretch and distort under the stress. Quickly, she patted the clay back down, gently, and bit her lip. If lifting the clay out wasn't working... Maybe removing the bits she didn't want to use would be the way to go? Only one way to find out.

Gingerly, the carver reached out, peeling back the scraps around the lines cut in clay. This part went easier, since she wasn't worried at all about messing up the shape of the extra material. In no time, she had peeled away enough clay to form another small, lumpy ball. This she set to the side with a satisfied nod of her head before turning her attention back to the rectangle she'd left herself.

Kirsi frowned. Although she considered it a small stroke of genius that she'd managed to separate the portions of clay so handily, the painful truth was that she was still no closer to peeling up that rectangle than she had been before. Maybe she could scrape it up?

A more thorough inspection of the workshop yielded a variety of tools; some flat, some curved, some that looked suspiciously like tiny daggers. The last inspired thoughts of small armies of clay figurines come to life, all set to fall upon each other, daggers flashing...

It was strangely satisfying to imagine the clay attacking itself, and Kirsi allowed herself a moment more to picture the unlikely, but amusing scene before pushing the fantasy away.

Considering the tools she'd unearthed, Kirsi selected a small, flat tool; the shape of it looked to be ideal for scraping. Carefully, anxiously, the Vantha slipped the edge of the tool under the clay, prying it from the table with the utmost care. Kirsi bit her lip in concentration, forcing herself to move slowly lest she tear through what was still a mostly flat piece of clay.

by **Kirsi Winterflame** on December 5th, 2013, 12:20 am

With steady hands, Kirsi eased the edge of the tool under the weight of flat clay; slowly, slowly a voice in her head cautioned her. Despite her best efforts, the carver was frustrated to see wrinkles appearing in the previously smooth surface of the clay. Shoulders tense, Kirsi released the handle of the tool and clenched her fists at her sides, huffing an angry burst of air into the workshop.

”Petch. And petch. And petch! How does he do this every day? And enjoy it? The man is insane,” the words were uttered mostly quietly, in deference to any customers that might be browsing outside the work room. Stalking away from the bench, the clay and the temptation to throw things, Kirsi quickly found herself at the opposite end of the room. Here Garob had laid out many of his finished projects on wall shelves. Things already formed, sculpted, decorated and ready for firing sat awaiting Garob’s knowledgeable hand. It was an unwise place for the Vantha to be, and she knew it. In her current fit of temper, the beautiful objects seemed to mock her and her first impulse was to mock them right back. With a fist.

Garob would probably be unhappy.

Kirsi would probably be out of a job.

Nevertheless, Kirsi allowed herself a brief moment of fantasy: the feel of the clay squishing, flattening beneath her hands would be wonderful. Therapeutic. Fun. Much nicer than the painfully slow process of creating actual shapes and forms in the medium. If she were honest with herself, Kirsi could admit that this job with Garob, while certainly paying her living expenses, was pure torture 85% of the time. She loved being in the front of the shop, interacting with the customers and rearranging the wares. And she even loved sculpting the clay, though it was more fragile than working with wood, to be sure. The end result was pretty enough, however, and when Garob fired things that she had helped to design, Kirsi loved the finished product. Those items invariably got more of her attention on the sales floor, as well; the artist in her thrilled whenever a customer left the shop with one of her creations in their hands.

But those things were small in comparison; daily she was growing to hate clay and Kirsi knew that her time with Garob was limited. At the outset, she had intended to make a permanent place for herself with the Eypharian; sculpting and carving clay for sale in the shop, getting to know customers who shopped frequently, learning to work the clay like a master. From a master. A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she glanced back at the work bench. That innocent plan was about as lovely now as the drinking glass she had been trying to make.

But the Akalak at the employment office had sent her here, so this was clearly the best fit for her skills. In all her wanderings through the city, the Vantha had seen nothing of a better suiting business. There were jeweler’s shops, metal working businesses, clothiers, and a multitude of taverns and inns. Kirsi could see herself working in none of these places, and had little desire to learn the skills required for the more specialized places in the city. She was a wood carver. She carved wood. Her own designs and even, in the case of Uleru and Rosela, commissioned pieces. Well, Rosela hadn't actually commissioned anything, but she had shown an interest in the idea. Still Riverfall, city of stones, seemed to have no place for her art.

Perhaps her time in the city would be limited, as well, and not simply her time with Garob.

by **Kirsi Winterflame** on December 5th, 2013, 1:05 am

The thought sobered her, and calmed her, and with renewed determination, Kirsi approached the table where the ruin of her clay sat, wrinkled and pathetic. Riverfall may not appreciate her art. Kirsi may not appreciate clay. But neither of those facts changed the order of the day and that was drinking glasses. While she remained, the carver was committed to giving every ounce of effort to the tasks Garob set to her. If she never managed a salable item, never managed a flawless creation, it would not be for lack of trying on her part.

Kirsi thought back to what little she had seen of Garob’s work habits; she’d seen him wet the clay. So she’d wet the clay. She’d been shown the wooden blocks. So she used the blocks. She’d seen various items hardening, still draped over the forms Garob had used to shape them. So. Were there forms for cups? Glasses? Anything remotely similar that she could use to make this intolerable task easier?

Looking up to the shelves, Kirsi saw nothing that fit her expectations. But the shelves were high and she was short, so she dragged a stool nearer the bench and regarded it cautiously. A quick wiggle with her hand showed the three-legged contraption to be at least moderately sturdy and Kirsi made the quick decision to try her luck. Bracing herself with one hand on the workbench, she stepped lightly to the top of the stool. For once luck was with her; the stool did not topple, and she scrambled to the top, standing upright with careful slowness.

Perch gained, Kirsi gave the shelf in front of her another perusal, rewarded this time with what appeared to be upside-down glasses of varying sizes. Grinning in victory, however slight, Kirsi snatched up a form of middling size and wasted no time hopping down from the stool, confident that the shape would make the shaping run much more smoothly.

Excitement made her clumsy, however, and the stool began to topple backward before she had quite made her way safely to the floor. Unbalanced, with only one hand to catch herself, Kirsi let out an exclamation of surprise, lost her hold on the glass-form and tumbled to the hardened floor of the workshop.

”Ow! Ow, ow, ow, petch!” Glaring at the stool, now laying on its side a few feet from the Vantha, Kirsi rubbed the painful skin of her left knee. Straightening her leg slowly, she was relieved to note that nothing seemed broken; though painful, her leg bent and unbent as she moved it, and chimes of poking and prodding at it elicited no more pain than she’d first felt. With her uninjured leg, Kirsi kicked out toward the stool; it was strictly for show, and kicking air did nothing to comfort her. In fact, realizing how childish the action was only made her feel foolish and she was glad that Garob had not heard the clatter and come rushing in to witness her embarrassment.

Sitting for a few more moments, Kirsi reflected sourly on the day. Only bells old, it had begun with such promise. She’d been excited to begin the new sculpting task, and determined to make a success of it. It was surprising how discouraged she’d become in such a short time – even contemplating leaving Riverfall simply because she was having such a rough time with the clay.

But really – was it a surprise that she was having trouble? Kirsi was a woodcarver, and that’s all she aspired to be. Yes, maybe she was in the wrong line of work right now. A nod punctuated the thought – she was definitely in the wrong line of work right now. But nothing and no one said she had to stay there. Riverfall welcomed new businesses. The city even had programs in place to assist prospective business owners.

And Uleru had commissioned her work. And Rosela, the clothier, had shown an interest in purchasing trinkets and baubles. In fact, Kirsi’s thoughts raced, certainly there was room for a woodcarving business in Riverfall – hadn’t she just been thinking how there was no business in the city where her skills seemed to fit? Excited now, Kirsi pulled herself to her feet, favoring her sore leg only a little. Kirsi retrieved the wooden form from the floor and set it absently on the work bench.

Distracted by the idea of independence, Kirsi scraped up the mangled clay, forming it into a ball. Beginning the process again, the carver’s thoughts whirled with ideas for her future business.