When You Need Something, Suddenly I'm Your Equal (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"What are you doing?" Tock ignored the question. She hated that question. She was busy working, and that should have been obvious. She had taken the broken pieces of the wooden sign, and pieced them back together like a puzzle. She was now sitting on the stone steps of The Saville, leaning on a wooden board in her lap, sketching out a blueprint for the new sign. Since no one had told her otherwise, she was adding her own artistic touches to it. She'd spent enough time at the library poring through ancient tomes on Magecrafting to have a good idea of the artistic styles used in pre-Valterrian times. She was no student of art, but there was nearly always an artistic flare to Magecrafted items. When someone made something that was going to last for centuries, they tended to want it to look pretty. So she was adding a few more elaborate flares around the perimeter of the sign, giving it a more complex border that would match the period. She was getting to be a better artist after all the work she'd been doing lately, and found she was enjoying adding in the extra touches and expressing her artistic side. It was a bit of a change for her. She was used to only working the practical side of things, and not wasting her time with frivolous touches, except for a little bit of decoration here and there. But this was something a bit more elaborate, and she was liking it. "Excuse me?" the voice asked again. "I asked what you were doing?" Tock groaned in frustration and looked up from her work. "Workin'," she said, then turned back to her drawing. Hopefully that would be that. "Working on what?" the woman standing above her asked. She was dressed in a rather frilly white dress, and holding a lacy parasol. Her skin was so fair that Tock wondered if she ever stepped out into the sun without that thing. Compared to Tock's tanned skin, earned through the last season of outdoor work, it was almost as huge a difference as that of their clothing. "I's fixin' 'is place up," Tock replied impatiently. She gestured to the broken sign and the long iron post that was lying on the ground nearby. "Oh, you're the repair lady Master Reginald hired," the woman said, her tone a mixture of curiosity and... amusement? "Oh, I do so hope you'll be able to restore The Saville to its former glory! Why, my father does all of his shopping here! It just wouldn't be the same if its left like this..." Tock growled and turned to glare at the woman. "Oy, Prissy Miss Toity, I done said I's workin', aye?" she snapped. The girl's eyes went wide, and then she giggled, daintily covering her lips. Tock frowned at her. That wasn't the reaction she was used to getting. "But of course," the girl said, scurrying off. "Far be it for me to interrupt your craft..." Tock just stared at her as she walked off, joining a group of nearby girls who looked similarly rich and snobbish. She pointed back at Tock, saying something she couldn't hear from here, though she did make out their giggles. She sighed, and turned back to her drawing. This was going to be a long day...

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

A short time later, Tock's drawing was complete, and she was ready to start carving the sign. She took extra care in etching the design into the new wood, since the curves and twisting tails of the border needed to be symmetrical. She was largely ignored by the people that were walking by the street, except for some stares. Her clothing made her stand out as not belonging here, and her hair always made her stand out as unusual in Zeltiva. As she was finishing the etching and ready to start carving, another young girl approached her. Tock was fairly certain she was from the same group that had been tittering off to the side earlier. "What is that?" she asked. Tock's head came up, a nasty remark on her lips ready to spew forth, until she saw where the girl was pointing. She wasn't asking about the sign Tock was working on, but about Bitey. Tock had her babies with her, though this wasn't the sort of project that she could use Cutty or Naily's help with. She just had them there for companionship. The wooden spider was currently crawling over the twisted metal of the ruined sign post. "'At's my baby," Tock said with a swell of pride. "Don't touch 'im. 'E bites." She pulled out her chisels and started chipping away at the wood around the border of the sign. The girl, for whatever reason, didn't go away. She stared at the magical spider for a long while, then looked up at Tock and asked, "Are you a wizard?" Generally, when someone asked that sort of question, it was said either in fear or in wonder. Some people couldn't stand the thought of magic. Others were downright fascinated by it. This girl didn't quite have either tone. She sounded more confused. Tock stared at her for a moment, then said, "Guess ya could say 'at. Don't really like 'wizard' so much though, aye? Makes me think o' old men wit' beards and pointy 'ats. I'd rather 'Mage' o' somethin'." The girl stared at her for a long moment, then looked at the spider. "And you made that?" she asked. Tock let out a huff of frustration. "Aye," she said. "Whazzit to ya?" The girl just stared a moment longer, then scurried off. Tock glanced up and saw her rejoining the toity bunch across the way. There was more pointing, and more giggling, followed by a great deal of staring. It was hard to make out what they were saying from across the street, but Tock distinctly heard the phrase, "...has a mage repairing The Saville..." Great, Tock thought as she used her mallet to drive her chisel into the wood, now 'ey ain't done gonna shut up 'bout me... The last thing she needed was more distractions from her work because these useless girls couldn't stop asking questions.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

By the time Tock got the largest chunks of wood chiseled away, a man emerged from the shop door behind her. He walked past without giving her more than a cursory glance and a mild stare of disapproval, which she was completely used to. He crossed the street and retrieved one of the girls that had been incessantly staring at Tock, and she let out a soft sigh of relief at seeing that one of the empty-headed dolts was being taken away. As they were walking past, the teen girl pointed at Tock and said, "See, father? Master Carter and Master Reginald have a mage working for them!" Tock just kept her head down and ignored the comment. She switched to a finer chisel, and started going over her work again, cutting the sign border a bit more closely this time. "Look, see?" the girl continued. Tock noticed the girl and her father had stopped moving, and were staring at her babies. Naily was chasing Bitey, and the spider was scurrying away, trying to find someplace to hide. It was one of their favorite games. Tock was keeping half an eye on them to see if she needed to break them up, since sometimes Naily got too rough. The rich man watched the Automatons for a few moments, then looked up at Tock, stroking his beard. She glanced at him sidelong, but refused to meet his gaze. She could tell he was weighing her, judging her. It made her uncomfortable. She was used to people staring at her, reacting in shock to her babies, and then moving on. Most people never seemed to want to stop and consider her. They just wanted to get away from her. Yet with her sitting here, on the steps of one of the most prestigious tailor's shops in the city, she was suddenly center stage. What's more, instead of being shooed away (the way people usually did when she set up shop wherever she damn well pleased), she was invited here. She was supposed to be here. And while a normal, everyday worker making repairs like this would be beneath a nobleman's attention and notice, a mage, well, that was something else entirely. He soon moved on, pulling his daughter along and heading off to do whatever it was that rich folk did while everyone else worked for a living. Tock turned her attention back to her carving, hoping that the staring was done for today.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Due to the complexity of the design, Tock spent several more hours carving out the slightly elaborate border of the sign. She hummed softly as she worked, tuning out the sounds of the people that passed by, and ignoring the stares. As she was filing down the careful design and smoothing out the edges, she got interrupted again. "Well, what have we got here?" Tock ignored the voice, adjusting the sign in her lap so she could file down the other side. Bitey was crouched on the step next to her. He kept trying to climb into her lap, and she kept having to brush him back. "Mommy's working," she whispered to him. Unlike her other babies, however, Bitey had not a single Directive to obey her. He was simply programmed to be drawn to her. "Excuse me, Miss?" the nearby man interrupted her again. He stepped closer, flashing her a smile, trying to get her attention. She didn't bother looking up at him. "Ain't no 'Miss,'" she told him. "Tock." She held up the sign and blew off some of the shavings. Then she lined her file up inside one of the curves, gently scraping it back and forth to work out a rough spot. "Tock?" the man asked with a touch of amusement. "What an... unusual name..." He was staring at her, and Tock didn't like these kinds of stares. "I's busy, Guv," she told him, still not looking up. "Git lost." The man chuckled, an amused look entering his eyes. He gave her a half bow and said, "Forgive me for intruding upon your work, m'lady. I was simply drawn over by the beauty of your lovely hair and passionate eyes..." Tock finally looked up at him, scowling. He was flashing her what he no doubt thought was a charming smile. She turned back to her filing and said, "I done gots a boyfriend, Guv. Ya wanna be 'slummin' it', go find someone else ta grease yer axle up, aye?" She'd seen this sort of man before. Bored of the uptight prisses that made up high society, he was seeking out a chance for something more exotic and dirty. Lots of girls would gladly spread their legs for a chance to get boned by a high society type, and a certain type of man preferred the down and dirty fun of rolling with a less reputable crowd. Even if she hadn't had a boyfriend, Tock was not that sort of girl. The man seemed to take her attitude as a challenge, and he stepped closer, leaning down into her personal space. "My my my," he said, "aren't you a passionate one. But I've been quite rude. Allow me to introduce myself." He took her hand and tried to raise it to his lips, but she snatched it away before he could. He chuckled and said, "My name is Wilhelm. My friends call me Wil." Tock scowled and pointed her file at his face and said, "I ain't yer friend, Guv. Now I's got work ta do, aye? O' is I gonna 'as ta toss ya outta 'ere on her uptight arse, aye?" Wil laughed, and stepped back, shaking his head. He seemed to think it was all a game. "Very well," he said, eying her up and down once more and then moving away. "I'll be sure to see you around..." Tock just kept her attention on her work. If Mister I'm-so-good-just-ask-me came back to bother her again, maybe she'd introduce him to Satevis. A few fireballs might scare him off and make him realize she wasn't a conquest to be won.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Once the frame border was carved and smoothed, Tock worked on etching the name of the shop across the front. She used the fancy, curly font that was so often used in the Magecraft books she read. It took a bit more time to carefully carve out each letter, since they were more frilly than the straight, angular text she would normally use. But Reginald wanted this to look period-appropriate, so that's what she was doing. Once the shop's name was carefully carved out on each side, she cleaned off the sign, and started painting it. Light brush strokes ran down the grooves of each letter, painting the words in white, against a red background. She worked with a slow, steady hand, taking great care not to let the paint glob up or collect in the carved grooves. As she was running the brush along the decorative carved trim around the border, she heard a banging sound on the paving stones nearby. She glanced up and saw one of the tittering girls from before poking at Naily with a stick. Naily was responding by smacking his hammer down, trying to hit the stick. The girl pulled it away, giggling, then poked forward again, prompting Naily to strike once more. He thought it was a game, but Tock didn't like the way the girl was acting. "Oy, leave my baby alone, aye?" she shouted, shaking her paintbrush at the girl. "Ya done gotta learn some respect, aye? 'E's a livin' thing, jus' like ya, aye? Be nice!" The airheaded little teen stepped back and stared at Tock for a moment, then ran off to join her friends. "She yelled at me!" she called out, though she was giggling. Tock just stared. That was not the reaction she'd been expecting. "Did you see that? The mage girl yelled at me!" The girls continued with their pointing and giggling. It was like some kind of game to them. Tock thought about it for a moment, and realized what was going on. She was a spectacle to them. They wouldn't want to go down to the poorer side of town and be around her and her kind, but here it was different. Here she was on display, like a caged animal with a traveling circus. When an animal on display roared and growled at you, it wasn't scary, because you knew you were in no danger. It was amusing, and fun. That's how the girls were looking at her. She was here, in their turf, where they felt safe and normal. While they'd have been shaking in their pretty little shoes if they'd been yelled at in the poor side of town, here it was just part of the show. Tock sighed and turned back to her painting. "Naily, c'mere baby," she called out, and the little hammer rolled over to her. He nuzzled her foot, and she smiled.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

It was getting late by the time she finished painting the sign. The carving had been more elaborate than usual, and that had taken extra time. The extra serifs on the ends of each letter had taken great care with a fine brush to paint them without smearing or running the white lettering paint out onto the red background. Once the sign was finished, she carried it inside and set it off to the side by the door. Reginald immediately stepped over and asked her, "What are you doing?" Tock stood back up from setting the sign down in the corner and turned, planting her fists on her hips. She glared at him and said, "Ya know, I done 'ates 'at question, Guv." There was a young, well to do couple in the shop, the young man getting a fitting from Reginald's boss. They were pointedly watching the confrontation between Tock and Reginald, but she didn't care. This kind of staring didn't bother her. It was only when a man's eyes started to wander that staring made her mad. Reginald cleared his throat, glancing at the audience. He seemed concerned about what they thought about how he was handling the situation. "What I meant to say," he replied, "was that you are supposed to be working outside. We can't have you making a mess of the clothes..." Tock scowled at him and stepped closer, waving a finger in his face. "Oy, I ain't no slob what's gonna dirty ya up, Guv," she protested. I jus' stoppin' in cause yer sign's all done, an' I ain't done gonna leaves 'er in the dirt outside, is I now? Can't 'ang 'er up til I done gets the post fixed, so what else is I s'posed ta do?" Reginald looked quite uncomfortable, and kept glancing at the onlookers. The lady was hiding a giggle behind her fingers. "Well, surely now that it's done, you can get back to work..." he replied, looking down his nose at her. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, "Oh, can I now? Nah, I think I's jus' gonna go 'ome, aye?" He stared at her for a moment, then stammered, "W-what? But you aren't finished yet! Please tell me you're not quitting, please!?" His demeanor completely changed. His posture slouched, and he started wringing his hands. The lady off to the side giggled more, and whispered something in her beau's ear. Tock smirked, and knocked her knuckles against Reginald's forehead. "'Ello, Guv," she said, "it's quittin' time. Sun's goin' down, aye? I's be back tomorrow. Blimey, ya done actin' like she's the end o' the world again, o' somethin'." Reginald relaxed, and let out a sigh of relief, his face turning red. "End of the day," he said, "right. Of course. Very well, then you'll be back tomorrow morning." "Afternoon," Tock replied as she headed for the door. "Gots work in the mornin'. Ya ain't my real Bossman, 'member?"

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The next day, after a long day of working her own job, Tock found herself back at The Saville. She'd left her babies at home today, since she'd need to be down at the forge, and they would just get in the way. Naily would especially get jealous if he saw her using another hammer, and he just wouldn't understand that he wasn't built for smithing work. She walked into The Saville and found Reginald, tapping him on the shoulder. He turned and eyed her with a sigh, no doubt wondering what she was doing inside, tracking dirt all over his nice clean floors. "Gotta start smithin' now," she told him. He stared at her blankly for a moment, then said, "Very well. Go right ahead." He waved her off as if dismissing her from his presence. Tock folded her arms and glared at him. "Done needs a forge, Guv," she told him. "Remember? Ya done gotta talk the smith inta lettin' us use 'is." Reginald sighed and nodded. "Yes, yes, of course," he replied. He followed her outside and turned down the street, but Tock grabbed him by his belt and stopped him. "'Old on a tick," she said, leaning down to detach the sign post's base from the stone foundation. She lifted the heavy metal and deposited it in Reginald's arms, much to his mortification. "Madam!" he protested. "This shirt is the finest silk! And, ugh--!" he looked down at himself and saw black smears all over his fine clothes. "Shouldn't you be carrying this?" "Oy, sure Guv," she replied, crouching down to lift the sign post itself, hoisting it up. "'En you can jus' carry 'is one..." The base was bulky, but was only about a foot tall. The post itself was six feet long, and quite heavy. Tock doubted the man would be able to lift it at all. Reginald paled, looking from the sign post, down to the base in his hands. He let out a sigh of defeat. "Very well," he said, "let's just hurry along, shall we?" Tock lifted the sign post up onto her shoulder, grunting with exertion. It was pretty damn heavy, and she swayed a bit under the weight. She had to stop several times along the way to set it down and rest, and by the time they got to the forge, she was aching a bit and needed a break. When they got there, the blacksmith, Harold, was sharpening some of his tools on a grindstone. He set them down and stepped over, offering a sweaty, grimy hand to shake. Reginald set down his load and stared at the hand with disdain, but Tock eagerly grabbed it and shook it, not caring one bit. Her hands were dirty enough as it was. "Gots a job fer ya," Tock told the man. "Posh boy 'ere's payin'. Gotta clean off the rust 'ere," she braced the post against the anvil and pointed out the damaged sections, "an' fix up the fancy bits up top." The cross beam the sign would hang from had some stylistic twists and curves that added an artistic touch. They needed to be put back into proper shape. Harold looked the piece over, nodding. "Bit of an unusual design in the grooves," he commented. "And I'm not familiar with these patterns in the beam..." Tock nodded and said, "'Ese is whatcha call Alahean spirals. Ain't seein' 'ose so much 'round 'ere 'ese days. I sees 'em in old books a lot, though." Harold nodded, studying the design. "Good," he said. "Then you know what it's supposed to look like when it's complete? Should be easy enough then..." This was exactly why Tock was on this job. She wasn't the greatest blacksmith, but she was familiar with the designs. Right now the cross beam was nothing more than a twisted mess of sloppy metal. Without knowing the design principles, the blacksmith, even though he was more skilled in his trade, wouldn't know how to get it back to its original shape. Yet with her helping with the designs, and his greater expertise in the actual working of the metal, they could get it done. Harold and Reginald negotiated a bit off to the side for how the blacksmith would be compensated for his time. Then, once they reached an agreement, the posh man went off to fetch himself some clean clothes, leaving the two crafters there to work on the project.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock and Harold worked mostly in silence. They'd worked together before, and developed a bit of a rapport. Plus, when working a craft like this, one developed a sense for what was needed. Blacksmithing wasn't one of Tock's strongest skills, but she was very experienced in a variety of crafts. Whether it was smithing, carpentry, or carving, one learned to watch for cues from the person you worked with. Tock was easily able to pick up those cues, and tell what Harold needed from her. He handed her a wire brush, and took another for himself. They started using the brushed to scrape off all the rust and filth from the iron, Tock working on the base, Harold working on the post. It was simple, tedious work, but the silence was refreshing after the way people had kept bothering her yesterday. Once the rust was clear and they'd cleaned the pieces thoroughly, they set them in the forge. Tock stoked the fire to a strong heat, since reattaching the pieces required heating them to nearly molten temperatures. Once the metal was heated, they pulled the pieces out with steel tongs, and began shaping the pieces on each side to prepare them for joining. Harold turned the pieces with the tongs and directed Tock where to strike, letting his more experienced eyes guide the metal to the desired shape. For this stage, Tock was merely an extension of his expertise, striking with firm blows where he directed her. With great care and many tiring blows, the broken ends were shaped until they would fit together seamlessly. The pieces were then reheated, given another thorough brushing to remove any impurities, and then treated with a coarse sand. Once heated to a near molten temperature again, the pieces were ready to be joined. They went through several stages of heating and smiting the metal, the blacksmith holding the pieces in place with tongs, the weight of the long metal pole braced on a support to keep it in place. He shifted the entire assembly slowly, one hand using the tongs to hold the base in place, the other gripping the length of the pole to slowly rotate it for each new strike. With each shift, Harold rotated a different part of the metal towards Tock, so that she could strike and weld the pieces together. Once they were initially joined, the whole piece was returned to the heat, then brought out again for another round of hammering, creating a stronger seal. When the welding was complete and the seal strong, Tock took a file off the rack and started shaping the grooves that ran up the length of the pole. The welding process had flattened out the grooves along the joining line, and they needed to be reshaped. Harold worked on refueling the fire for the next stage, since Tock had an experienced hand with a file, and knew this design better.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

They took a break before starting the next stage, letting the fresh fuel heat the fire. Harold's wife brought them dinner, for which Tock was grateful. She was aching all over, and dripping in sweat. The extra energy from the meal was exactly what she needed. Then it was back to work. The next stage was less labor intensive, and more detail oriented. The mangled mess of metal on the cross beam needed to be reshaped back to its proper design. The top end of the sign post was thrust into the heat, with the back end braced on supports to keep it balanced. Normally, a task like this detailed work would have been completed before the beam was welded onto the post. Yet this was a repair, not a new creation, and removing the beam would mean they would have to reattach it later. Once the metal was heated, Harold lifted the entire post in leather gloved hands, and brought it to the anvil. He held it by the length of the post, which was hot from the fire's heat travelling up the length of the metal, but nowhere near as hot as the end that had been thrust directly into the flames. With strength borne of a lifetime blacksmithing, he held and shifted the piece with far more ease than Tock herself could have. He shifted the post, adjusting which part of the cross beam was braced against the anvil, and she struck, shaping the glowing metal back into form. She used one hand on the post to guide the position, directing Harold to where she needed it according to the swirl design, though he made each final adjustment to get the alignment right. As they continued, the intended design became more clear, and Harold started to anticipate how the adjustments had to go. Soon his expert hands were guiding each step, and Tock was able to focus fully on the steady, heavy strikes of the hammer. Late into the night, the shape was complete. Sweeping swirls and spirals of metal ran across the top and far edge of the horizontal pole, restoring it to its original design. Exhausted, Tock went home and slept away the aches and pains in her muscles, then returned in the morning to help Harold carry the repaired post back down to the shop and install it back in place.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The next time she was down at The Saville, it was time to start working on the stone carving. Tock arrived early in the afternoon, after finishing up a day of carving shutters for a new line of houses being built across the city. It had been productive, but ultimately boring work. What she was going to do now was much more interesting. She stood at the base of the shop's stone steps, staring up at the damage. There were two pillars, one on either side of the entrance, and the left one had major damage. At her direction, the shop owners had procured a slab of alabaster. She needed to cut the damaged section off the top of the column, carve up the new one, and attach it in a way that would conceal the seam and make it look as whole as possible. The top of the pillar was several feet above her head. She didn't own a ladder (and kept meaning to build herself one). So she decided to improvise. She'd brought a length of wood from the pile she had at home, and made a simple modification to it. She used one of her chisels to carve out one end into a simple, rounded shape that made a grip. She smoothed it out and filed it down until it had a comfortable shape. Then at the other end she drilled a narrow hole the size of her mallet handle. Slipping her mallet into it and tapping it in until it was snug, she now had an extra couple of feet reach. She then pulled out Grippy with her left hand, and set a chisel in his claw. She'd been using Grippy regularly at work for weeks and weeks now, and had enough practice with him that he was like an extension of her hand. She wouldn't be confident enough to do detailed work with him, but the detailed work wouldn't start until after she cut out the damaged stone. She extended Grippy upwards, and set the chisel against the stone. Then she raised her mallet with the new extended handle and started tapping it against the chisel, cutting into the stone. It was a bit awkward, and not the cleanest job, but she didn't need to be too neat in this part. As she cut out each chunk of the damaged stone, she pulled the chisel from Grippy's grip, then extended him upwards to yank out the chunks of rock. She started setting them in a little pile off to the side, using Grippy to reach out and set them down. "What are you doing?" Twitch. She retraced Grippy and cocked her arm back, holding the tool up by her shoulder. She slowly turned, and saw that same group of girls. They'd grown braver this time, and were only about ten feet away. Grippy could still snap their necks from 'ere, she thought. She wasn't quite sure on the physics of breaking a neck. She might just end up strangling one of them by mistake. But there were four of them, that was a good sample size for experimentation. They tittered and giggled at her, eying Grippy curiously. There was a bit of fear in their eyes, but it was contained fear. It reminded her again of the analogy of a wild animal on display. They didn't understand it, weren't used to it or familiar with it, and knew it could hurt them. Yet even though they knew it could hurt them, they didn't seem to think it would. Maybe it was the foolishness of youth, how teenagers often didn't consider their mortality. Or maybe their curiosity was just overpowering their fear. She idly wondered if they were more afraid of Grippy, or of her.