A Potter's Cottage (open)

[Hana]

“Yes…”

She peered at him. One breath. Two breaths. Inhale. Exhale. She quickly looked away then, pressing her lips tightly together.

It had been fun while it lasted, but it never took long for her to start in on her own litany of reasons why it was pointless. She was, after all, damaged goods. If she’d been the type of woman anyone would take interest in, she wouldn’t have left her family. History, however, had shown that she wasn’t meant for deeper meaning. Passion, it seemed, the recklessness of fire in the veins, only got a person in trouble. Or worse yet, killed.

She’d not really wanted the freedom she had to travel. The freedom to wander without anyone worrying about her. The road was too long. The travel too hard when done by oneself. That was why she’d decided to settle down where she was. She knew that inside her cottage at night the world seemed so big, and kept away from her family by her own actions, it also seemed lonely too.

The light nearly went out of her face. She stood there a moment considering what she was doing. She reminded herself that he’d not recoiled. He’d not stepped away. She’d not made some terrible mistake that would make her life any worse.

So while the smile faded slightly, it didn’t disappear completely. She held up the other jar for him to examine.

“Feel that one. The walls do not vary as much. That is what you want your ceramics to feel like, because variation in width within the clay causes weakness. If you were to heat this other jar up too quickly it would crack. Even worse it might explode. If you want to use it for heat, it needs to be able to take on the temperature change evenly. Otherwise you’ll find yourself with damaged goods.”

There was that phrase again… She swallowed, giving a little nod.

“That is the most important thing when looking for quality within your pottery. Practical things shouldn’t explode.”

[Alistair deGrey]

"Otherwise you'll find yourself with damaged goods."

Ha'na's voice is enchanting even when speaking of defective things. What a lovely light to illuminate the room. Nay, not the room, the world. If only the stars might match this radiance's calibre, I might find myself content otherwise.

Alistair saw her smile dampen and features drain. Oh, I have messed up again. The inventor glanced about, a new guilt emerging. His inability to reign in the violent pull of Magnolia's memory had doused Ha'na's timid fire. The new primal force that was introduced to the menacing concoction within Alistair overwhelmed and dispelled his reservations. He would attempt to make amends, this he was determined to do.

Ha'na spoke to Alistair about the importance of the clay's even walls. deGrey's mind briefly flashed back to his workshop of metal and machine. "Ah, yes. Thermodynamics. It is similar with metal." Alistair's visage broke into a smile, trying to bring back Ha'na's. He tried to focus on finishing the thought, but it was difficult given the situation. "Err, rather, not with the shattering, but with uneven heating and warping."

deGrey's mind worked rapidly through the golden mist that clogged the gears that churned in his skull, and set his heart to beating. He did not want to speak of his trade, he wanted to speak of Ha'na's. Convinced he had made a mistake by bringing up metalworking, the inventor attempted his hand at salvaging, "What of the designs? You inquired as to if I knew what the designs said, I do not. What do they say?" He was still sincerely interested in the information she had to give him, but more primary was his concern for her happiness. How dare he steal such radiance.

Most of the time, Alistair's mind worked like a precision instrument, cutting through puzzles and systems as one would cut into soft butter. But walking through the euphoric haze that swirled and eddied about him, Alistair deGrey tripped. "You are very lovely, Ha'na." deGrey knew that all the remorse in the world, no amount of contrition, could recall a phrase.

[Hana]

“You’ll have to tell me about metal at some point. I know very little, but I like to know much. I’ve never heard of this… Thermodynamics…” She said the word carefully, sounding it out the first time as if she was trying to step around glass with bare feet.

She looked down at the platter at the mention of the meaning behind it. Whatever thoughts had caused the sunshine of her smile to go behind the clouds went away. It was there again blazing brightly for him.

“Oh…” She chuckled, running her fingers over the plate’s painted surface. “It’s… Silly. It’s a story I made up… But these lines here? The brown ones… They are the sand. The triangles are tents. That is what they mean. In Benshira symbolism that is used on pottery and sometimes other arts…”

Her fingers walked across the plate to the next spot where two green rectangles with crosses through them stayed.

“Here. These are two people. And this… This blue circle, this is water. An oasis. The story perhaps a little blasphemous, but it’s about the creation of an oasis. How a man and a woman loved each other very dearly. Passionately. Though one day another tent came and sat up near the other two…”

She trailed off then, looking up. Something had just come to her attention. She blinked. He’d said something… Something she’d only partially registered up until that point.

“Did you just call me lovely?”

[Alistair deGrey]

I have not often considered how fascinating a piece of pottery can be. Each pot a tale of fire and earth, each stroke of paint a verse of a story. Truly fascinating.

A knot in his stomach tightened, yanked hard by butterflies. Alistair tried acting nonchalant though, "Yes, yes I did. The story is interesting, and not at all silly."

He considered some of her words, "...but I like to know much". They struck a chord in Alistair, a note that he enjoyed. It reminded him of his original purpose, cleared the sky and afforded him another view of clarity. Not just yet. He would stay a while longer. Even if the comment was off handed, Alistair grasped at it desperately, telling himself Look! Look! We have something in common! Truth was arbitrary.

"But you did not finish the story. There was something else you were going to tell me." Somebody nearby let out a loud shout as they closed with their fleeing child. deGrey pursed his lips and leaned closer, still sincerely eager to hear the rest of the story. "And wait, why is it blasphemous?"

deGrey was heavily resisting the urge to do something now. Take her hand, tell her she was beautiful, hug her, kiss her, something. Guilt ebbed away as Magnolia returned to her eternal rest within deGrey's inner workings, allowing him to focus on repairing Ha'na's old smile. A cold wave of realization passed over him, how did this happen?, as he discovered that the leap from "Curious Passerby" to "Invested" had been made without his knowledge. No calculations, no consideration, no planning. deGrey blinked a few times, and looked at Ha'na with his overcast eyes keenly as she continued.

[Hana]

It had been quite a long time since anyone had called her lovely. She wouldn’t think of it, but it was likely the veil she kept covering her face most of the time that caused it. She bit her bottom lip and gave a shy little smile around her teeth.

“Thank you,” she said quietly before looking back to the platter. “The new tent… It came to the desert. In the new tent was another beautiful woman. A princess. Very rich. When the new princess’ mother and father approached the young man’s parents about marriage, they were quick to accept.

“So the original woman, the common woman that was not a princess, she was cast aside. She created the oasis with her tears.”

She looked up, peering at him and giving a little shake of her head. The smile was still there though sad. It was her story in a way. With certain details omitted, and those details making it what was truly blasphemous.

“Oh… Well…” Her shoulder gave a little shrug as she looked to the platter again. “That a human could create something so large and important… Perhaps there is blasphemy there.”

Yeah, she didn’t buy that either.

“I’m sorry. I’m not very good at telling stories.”

[Alistair deGrey]

Never apologise when there is nothing to be sorry for. It is best to save your apologies for when the cold whisper of regret races down your spine, greets you with shame.


His hands idly began to trace one of the pots again as his body became comfortable once again, released from its geas of remorse and guilt for now. "No, no, do not be sorry. I found it an excellent story, especially one told by paintings." The dried paint brushed onto the pots stole a new light from the day, meaning and voice seeping into them as if by osmosis. deGrey took his eyes off of Ha'na and examined the earthen stories arrayed before the two, there was a myriad of lore and history contained in each.

"The story was unique. I did not imagine the depth your pieces carry. You are as skilled as you are beautiful." The butterflies thrashed about inside Alistair’s stomach, seeking escape into the clean Spring air.

deGrey did not like how he sounded, but he was not sure how he should sound. He really did think she was radiant, but the bluntness of the statement was unappealing to deGrey. Alistair tried to reorient himself to pottery.

"What of your fire? Where do you forge your pottery?" deGrey immensely enjoyed creating machines for people, and would have liked nothing more than to race off right now and make the most splendid kiln Ha'na had ever seen. But he waited.

[Hana]

Though he was perhaps blunt, his compliments were rewarded with a rather healthy, youthful giggle. By this time a neighbor had stepped out to shake a rug, putting on airs that she was working so she could spy and see what was going on next door. Later she would recount to her husband the strangeness of how the girl was acting, giggling and carrying on like she’d never seen.

Ha’na by this time, however, wasn’t very aware of what was going on in the world around her. She was busy giving a rather haphazard crash course on ceramics. More importantly she was giving it to a man that thought her lovely and seemed genuinely interested in what she had to tell him. Most important of all, however, was the fact that she had lost herself into the fun of it all – The rush of blood to her cheeks and the dizzying euphoria of flirtation and attraction.

In the days to come she would sit in quiet wonder over why it had happened. She would worry that she was too forward or perhaps had acted shamefully. But for that moment her front yard was the universe and Alistair deGrey was the sun it centered around. Surely this story would be retold on the face of a pitcher or plate, memorialized on some impermanent object unbeknownst to its owner.

She giggled again, the mix of nervousness and exhilaration apparent. A hand moved to take his wrist, the next slipping over the top of it to trap him.

“Come. I will show you how I fire…” Very gently she pulled him towards a cloth lying on the ground. “Under this is my pit.”

Though she was not keen on relinquishing his arm back to him, lest he decide to run off, she let go all the same. Bending, down, she pulled the cloth away to show a pit filled with rocks and ashes. She stood up, pointing down at it.

“This is where I fire… I forge as you say. With this I am at the mercy of the weather. If the winds blow or it rains, I’m forced to refrain from building a fire. But after my work has dried for two weeks, three if it has been humid, I start a fire after taking the rocks out. I warm the pots and rocks next to it. After this first fire has burned down to ashes, I put the rocks back into the pit. I place the pots on top upside down.

“I get wood from my neighbor down the street in return for washing his laundry when he needs it. I take that wood and build a tent over the pots with it. Then I put kindling under the pots and the sides of the wood. This brings about a very hot fire. If I remember correctly, somewhere slightly over 1500 degrees. I have to tend to the fire, watching it carefully to make sure there are no rapid shifts in the temperature. Then I let the fire burn for two chimes.

“I bank the fire then with wet leaves. I cover that with sod. It’s important to leave a smoke hole at the top so that the pieces down turn completely black with smoke. I let it cool for another chime, and then I remove the pots. It’s quite simple and complicated all at once.”

[Alistair deGrey]

Convection, heat flow, temperature, fire, flame, desire. I review everything I require for the project and always seem to come around to the same topic.


She grasped his wrist, softly pulling him to toward the peculiar cloth on the ground. Alistair deGrey almost, ever so slightly jumped as she took his hand. He had no intent to summon Magnolia and guilt back from oblivion. But nothing happened, the world continued, the seams not even bulging this time around. Ha'na's hands flooded his with heat, a most pleasant experience, and deGrey watched them with mild surprise. Not surprise at her, but at the missing rebuke. Where was the guilt? The meaning of the word was forgotten to Alistair.

Alistair joined Ha'na near the ground, examining the makeshift kiln. There were many similarities between clay and metal, but this didn't cross deGrey's mind as he was far too caught up in listening to her voice. When she had finished the enthralling monologue, Alistair was more than set on what he was going to do. I shall make her a proper kiln. Thoughts of cost and time faltered before entering his mind, such trivial things were beyond him at this point in time.

"I would like to make something for you Ha'na." The statement was hastily thrown out into the air, and Alistair hoped it could fly better than he did.

He examined Ha'na's striking features for a second, allowing the world to shudder to a halt. Her beauty was quiet as she had been earlier, a mournful elegance to her. Hands that so deftly manipulated the earth's gift, and blue eyes that brought euphoria to deGrey's head, deserved something more. At the very least a proper kiln.

"What do you look for in a kiln? What makes one desirable? It metal fine?"

[Hana]

The world shuddered and came to a halt. She stood there blinking with a confused look on her face. Why in the world would anyone want to make her something? She wasn’t anything special. Not worthy of time really as far as she could figure. This man was a curious creature. Handsome. Clearly intelligent. Curious all the same.

“For me? You want to make something for me?” The question underlying it all was why? She didn’t understand why. She couldn’t wrap her poor mind around it. She turned with furrowed brows to look down at the pit again. And while she was clearly confused and perhaps shocked, there was still a twinkle in her eyes that hadn’t been there when he’d first arrived. “The heat is the most important part of a kiln. The clay around Syliras requires a temperature of around 1150 degrees. Ideally the heat would be variable, though, so that I would be able to use glazes that require a higher temperature. I’m unable to do that with pit firing. There’s not enough control to make the glaze turn into glass, so my pieces aren’t as strong and non-porous as they could be.”

She nodded slowly at her own words before looking back up at him. “Really? You want to make me something?”

[Alistair deGrey]

Humility is beautiful. Beautiful people that are humble? Well, that is nearly paralytic in its overwhelming force. The air was charged with incalculable degrees of energy.



Confusion had never been so appealing to Alistair. The small smile that had played across deGrey's face for the duration of the encounter bloomed into a beam. The completely bemused look that played across her features was all the reward he needed.

"Of course I do, you're an interesting person. You've taught me much, and in a remarkably short time period." The project was beautiful to Alistair, a perfect mixture of his expertise and Ha'na. His mind balanced out, walking along a line of equilibrium. Thoughts of gear ratios, gravity, and efficiency seeped back into his head already filled with Ha'na until it was fairly overflowing. "Yes, I know what to do." deGrey peered into Ha'na's striking cerulean eyes, two glittering spheres. "But before we make it, we need to know where to put it." This question solicited a shrug from Alistair, for he was not sure where she would prefer. "Perhaps your house? Or if you'd rather not heat your abode, outside would work as well."

There were many variables running through Alistair's head, and he struggled to attribute values to them while simultaneously hanging onto Ha'na's every word. Controlling the heat. Vents and bellows? Smoke ventilation. Piping? Even heating. Need to pay attention to the metal's width. Need to pay attention. Pay attention.

He snapped back to Ha'na, took her hand as he stood, gently pulling them up from their crouching position. Heat. Not from a forge. Alistair was reluctant to release her hand, pausing a breath before allowing the bitter separation. "Yes, I want to make you a kiln."