Tock's Fortune

[Anselm]

Tock's Fortune 54 Spring 512 Marketplace in Zeltiva OOC : Continued from The Seer of Zeltiva. Well, thought Anselm as he watched the chaos unfold around him. This is interesting. He moved his foot a little so the girl with the short red hair could retrieve whatever had somehow found its way under his foot. She eventually found her way out from under the table and stood up. He took stock of his unexpected guest. About his height. Heavy pants and shirt, leather apron. Greasy hands. Clearly not one of the upper-class ladies of the city. A mechanic? A blacksmith? A clock repair person? An inventor? His curiosity was piqued. I just hope it's not another Kelvic. Eyes gray, dark and empty peered out from under the hood of his cloak and stared unblinking into hers. “Are you quite alright, my dear?” he asked.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Huh?" Minerva asked distractedly as she sat down in the provided chair, dumping her armload of parts all over the table. "Oh, yeah I'm bonzer. I meant ta do that!" She started sorting through the parts, trying to figure out which ones were still in usable condition. A few of the metal washers had been bent during the little 'setback'. Grumbling, she took the hammer off her belt and started gently banging them back into shape.

She started humming softly to herself as she worked, having completely forgotten where she was. Most people, to be sure, would think it rather inappropriate to set up shop in a stranger's tent (doubly so when it was also his place of business). Yet Minerva, or 'Tock' as she preferred to be called, wasn't most people. She was focused on a project, and only bothered to pull her attention from it when something demanded her focus. The contraption exploding in her face had distracted her attention, long enough for her to stop and gather the pieces back up. Now that she had them together again, it was back to work.

She leaned in close to watch her work, tap-tap-tapping on the washer until it was no longer bent. She then pulled over another, which had a big chip taken out of it. She scowled at the damage, which was beyond her ability to repair. The washer would need to be melted down and re-cast. She tucked that one away in a pocket and grabbed another one.

Tock had a rather large pile of springs, gears, washers, pins, and other little parts. They were all scrap she'd been pulling out of the garbage over the last two days. Considering the size of the pile, she could easily be here for hours, unless Anselm either kicked her out, or interrupted her and drew her attention up to him.

[Anselm]

Anselm frowned. He was not pleased. The girl had invaded his space to collect the mechanical parts she had strewn about, had commandeered his table as a workbench as though she owned the place, and now that she had set up shop in his shop she appeared content to spend the remainder of the day here puttering around with her gizmos and gadgets. Anselm was definitely not pleased. On the other hand, he was curious. She was completely immersed in whatever it was she was doing. And she appeared to be good at what she was doing, although Anselm couldn't be sure of this because he really didn't know what it was she was doing. He leaned forward so that his head was level with hers. “My dear,” he said. “I don't wish to seem rude, but might I ask who you are, what it is you are doing, and how long I should expect you to require the use of my table?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Huh?" Minerva asked for the second time, looking up at the strange looking man. She still had her hammer in hand, a tiny bent needle in the other, and stared up at him blinking. It took her a second to realize that he had said this was his table. "Oh! Oy, sorry mate!" she said, looking around. "Bonzer, I done just set up shop in yer shop, aye? Aye." She chuckled, scooping some of her parts together. She had them sorted out a bit according to type, size, and state of repair, so she didn't want to just shove them all into a single pile. It'd be a waste of efficiency to have to sort them all out again later.

As she was looking around, she noticed Anselm's sign for the first time. Fortune telling... She stared at the sign for a moment, sucking on her teeth. "Oy, mate," she said, nodding at the sign, "'at stuff real? I mean, you know some real future-seein' magic or somethin', or you just one a those, whatchacaller, fakers?" She studied him carefully, trying to guess at whether he was a bonafide wizard, or just some schmuck with a cheap act to fool the yokels.

She thought about it for a moment, scratching her cheek with a greasy gear. She ended up with a smudge of grease across her delicate skin, but it was hard to notice, considering all the other smudges that were already on her face. After a moment, her lips parted into a grin.

"Oy, tell ya what," she chuckled, gesturing to the pile of parts on the table. "If'n yer a real future-teller, 'ow's about ya tell me what this is gonna be what when I'm done buildin' 'er, aye?" She was quite curious what he'd say. Especially considering the fact that Tock herself had no idea what she was building. She was just tinkering, messing around, and getting a feel for the parts. Of course, it was all going to be something useful eventually. But she had no clear idea yet what the end result would be.

If the fortune teller could predict something she herself didn't know yet, she'd be quite impressed with his ability.

Since she was technically a 'customer' now, she stopped cleaning up her parts. While she waited for Anselm to give her her answer, she continued working, taking out a little file to smooth out a tiny flaw in one of her gears. Her eyes were focused on her work, rather than looking at the man across the table. Yet she didn't stop to consider how rude it was.

[Anselm]

Anselm slid his right hand up the left sleeve of his cloak and scratched at a large scab that had taken to itching. He felt it tear loose and fall off. Now it was hiding somewhere in the cloak sleeve. I should have refused to take this old body, he thought. I knew it wouldn't hold up. But he also knew that he'd had no choice. It was that or die in the desert. I'm going to need a replacement soon. He couldn't help but size up the girl sitting across from him. In nearly four hundred years of body jumping, he had never had a female body. I wonder what that would be like? He withdrew his hand from his sleeve without bothering to pursue the fugitive flap of flesh. It would find its own way out. “My dear,” he said. “I am a fortune-teller, not a future-teller. If you wish to know the future, you should consult the gods. Not that you are likely to learn anything useful from them. On the other hand, if you wish to know what this pile of junk might plausibly become, you should consult a gadgeteer, although ...” It suddenly occurred to him that she probably was a gadgeteer. O great, he thought. It's worse than a Kelvic. It's a mad inventor. He waved his hand in the air as though dismissing her from his presence. Anselm's interest in things mechanical ranged somewhere between zero and minus three. But her near total absorption in her work was an interesting thing in its own right. Anselm thought of people as puzzles to be solved or mysteries to be unraveled. Each person presented a new puzzle. This person, sitting at his table, oblivious to anything but the gadgets she was working with … this person was a mystery to be unraveled. I wonder what makes her tick? He thought. “Setting aside for the moment that fact that I still do not know who you are or what you are doing or how long you are planning to stay … trust me, there is no point in staying for dinner … setting all that aside for the moment, why are you so interested in these gadgets of yours?”

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock held up a gearspring, examining it closely. It was bent, but she could probably straighten it out. She pulled out a pair of pliers and started carefully adjusting the spring. This was tough work... if the spring got a serious bend in it, she would never be able to smooth it out. She needed some better tools... she didn't have what she needed to do really fine, detailed work on small parts like this. She needed a proper set of gadgeteering tools... but those were expensive. As she worked to very, very carefully adjust the spring, she answered the man's questions with a distracted tone.

"Whazza difference?" she asked first. "I mean, future, fortune, same diff, right? If someone's fortune ain't in their future, then what good is it to 'ear it?" She shrugged, figuring it was probably a bunch of hogwash. There was a good chance the man was nothing more than an entertainer, telling people their fortunes in order to make a few coins here and there. There was probably no truth to it... at least, that was what the scientist in her told her. Maybe he'd prove her wrong?

To his comment about consulting a gadgeteer about her project, she barked a laugh and said, "Oy, what's the fun in 'at, aye? 'At's like askin' a painter what your pile o' paints is gonna be... 'e'll just tell you what HE would make with it... Ain't nobody what can tell me what I'm gonna make with it. 'Less you could see the future, 'course. But no worries!" she waved a hand dismissively, not concerned about his lack of supreme divine foresight. "I'll figure 'er out, I will!"

The tip of the spring broke off, and she cursed. "Stupid broken useless piece of wind up fudge!" she shouted. She dropped the broken piece in her pocket, and fished out another spring from the pile. This one was in better shape, and just needed a tiny adjustment.

A moment later, she realized, belatedly, that she still hadn't answered the man's questions. "Oh, aye," she said, still focused on her work. "Ya can call me 'Tock'. And whaddya mean 'why'? 'At's what they're for, right? People wouldn't make parts 'less someone was s'pposed ta build somethin' outta 'em! Ha!"

[Anselm]

The old man got up stiffly from his chair, took hold of his cane and hobbled around the table and out the tent entrance. A few moments later he came back in and returned to his chair. “I have to get up and move around every once in a while or my joints freeze up on me.” He leaned over the table again to examine the clutter for a moment. Then he sat back and watched Tock for a while. As near as he could tell, she took no notice of him. After a while, he took a small cloth bag out from under his cloak, carefully untied it and poured the contents into his right hand. He held out his hand so the young gadgeteer could see what he had. Had she looked up, she would have seen that he had eighteen tiny bones with intricate designs carved on them. He spoke slowly, grinding his words like gravel. “I have no idea what you are trying to make out of those piles of parts, and to be honest I don't really care. But I am interested in what you are trying to make out of the parts of yourself. And what might those parts be? I believe you have told me.” He had taken hold of his cane as was gently tapping it on the ground as he talked in time to the slow rhythm. “Single-mindedness borders on obsession.” Tap, tap. “Persistence borders on stubborn.” Tap, tap. “Creativity borders on, hmm, crazy?” Tap, tap. “A touch of randomness thrown in for good measure.” Tap, tap, tap, tap. “I wonder what that is a recipe for?” He stopped tapping the cane, turned his right hand over, and let the bones fall on to the table top with a clatter. Some of them found their way into the territory occupied by the gadgets. He stared at them for a moment and then solemnly intoned the words: Heaven above, strong. Lake below, joyous. This is called treading with forward progress. He thought about this for a moment and said, “This is an ancient and wise oracle that I learned, along with sixty-three others, from my mentor several centuries ago. They are designed to serve as windows into the soul of the seeker. It just so happens that I have meditated on this oracle extensively and, like a diamond, it has many facets. I will share three of them with you.” He closed his eyes and was silent for a full minute before he spoke again, he spoke slowly and rhythmically as if from a deep trance. “First facet: Those with strength of mind and robust energy, who are plain and sincere in treading the Path, are able to tread it with confidence in their steps. If they proceed in this way, they will surely progress to where there is no fault. This is treading with firmness of purpose. “Second facet: With happiness in balance, there is naturally true joy, and one is not attracted to artificial enjoyment. No external things can move one, so one therefore treads the path evenly. “Third facet: If one goes on the Path impetuously, acting on one's own in ignorance, not knowing the medicinal substances, not understanding the firing process, thinking ignorance to be knowledge, thinking incapacity to be ability, that is like seeing with a squint, walking with a limp, or treading on the tiger's tail. This is treading the path ignorantly on one's own.” Anselm stopped and opened his eyes. “As a matter of curiosity, can you show me something you have made?” OOC : Hexagram 10 from the I Ching, edited somewhat. See bibliography. Anselm is hoping you have some unusual gizmo that you can give him instead of money. He does, after all, collect such things.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

((OOC: How do you do that special OOC code? I'm used to sites where people put OOC notes in parenthesis [like I'm doing here]. I'm familiar with most BBCode, but that one is new to me. I've also seen people do OOC as hover text. Do you know that code too?))

Minerva looked up at the bones in the man's hand. She sucked on her teeth for a moment, her hands still fiddling with the spring. There didn't seem to be anything special about them from a crafter's point of view, but there might be something unique about them from an arcane point of view. She was studying magic, so he definitely had her curiosity piqued.

The string of declarations made her arch a slender eyebrow. She didn't mind being called single-minded or obsessed, she tood pride in her stubbornness, and she let out a giggle at 'crazy.' She'd been called that before. As far as she was concerned, brilliance was often mistaken for insanity.

When he tossed the bones she watched the way they landed, studying the layout and looking for patterns. She pulled her backback off and fished into it for paper and quill, quickly working to sketch down what she saw. If there was a mathematical pattern to this 'bone-throwing,' she wanted to deduce it. She sketched quickly but crudely, then jotted down his strange words. "Uh-huh," she muttered, "mm-hmm... hold on... 'with... forward... progress...'." She looked over the words after she'd written them down, wondering at their meaning. She looked at the words on the page, then at the bones, then back at the words.

"...I don't get it?" she asked, not sure what language he was reading off the bone tossing. When he started sharing his 'conclusions,' she quickly wrote everything down, brimming with scientific curiosity. Was this something she needed talent in magic to understand? Or could she work it out through logic and reason? Either way, her interest was caught.

She frowned at her notes, having NO idea what this guy was talking about. Likely it was because her mind was too scientific, and not abstract enough to open up and consider the deeper meanings. She kept studying the bones, and finally asked, pointing between a few of them, "Which one-a these means 'knowledge'?"

Then at his request, she paled a bit and scratched her head. "Well... aye, uhh," she laughed, poking at the scattered gears. "I ain't done made nothin' fancy, yet. I'm workin' on it though! I just done signed up at the Uni, aye? But I betcha 'fore long I'll be makin' all kinds of gizmos and gadgets. An' I can make 'em move onner own, too. Lil' touch o' magic, that!" She cracked her knuckles, quite proud of her progress in the studies of animation. Though she was a ways from making anything someone would be interested in, just yet.

[Anselm]

Anselm peered out at the young gadgeteer with dark, gray, lifeless eyes. Had she been able to see his visage more clearly she would have seen heavy black circles around his eyes, as though he had two spectacular shiners. He was tired. He wanted to go home and meditate. Well old man, he thought to himself. Looks like you poured water into a pot that has a hole in the bottom. Not that it matters. Nothing really matters. He wondered idly if that was the source of his fascination with understanding what drives people. Old man, your problem is that you have lost track of what drives you. “Tock,” he said as he gathered up his bones and returned them to their bag. “This has been both interesting and instructive. For me at least. But I have a matter I need to attend to just now.” He suddenly realized that it might not be that easy to get her to leave his tent. “You have my permission to work at my table for the remainder of the day. I will, however, require your absence tomorrow morning.” Without waiting for a response, he rose to his feet with some effort, picked up his cane and made his way to the tent entrance and then outside. If Tock were watching, she would see him walking slowly down the street with a distinct limp in his left leg. Then he would disappear into the crowded marketplace and be gone.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Tock arched an eyebrow at the man's strange behavior, wondering just what his deal was. He definitely had the 'mysterious seer' bit down. She wondered how much of it was his real self, and how much was an act he was putting on for his customers.

The fact that he offered her the use of his tent was both surprising and convenient. She shrugged, figuring she should have thanked him, but he was gone before she got the chance. She decided to go ahead and continue working there, since he'd given her permission.

She got inspired by the man's mystique, and pulled out some paper and started sketching out a plan. After she had the preliminary design down, she drew out some schematics of the gears and springs, planning how they would connect to each other. Calculations were etched down the side, working out the stresses and the angles required to make it work.

She worked into the night, lighting a lamp inside the tent to give her light to work with. It was a simple construction, certainly nothing to brag about. But by morning, Anselm would return to find it sitting on his table, left there as a gift.

Nowhere near the complexity of a clock or wind-up toy, what he would find was just a simple bell timer. It could be wound up and then activated with a quick press of a button, the parts twisting and ticking for up to five minutes (depending on how long it was wound). When it ran all the way down, a tiny metal bar would swing into a metal plate, making a small ding. She figured maybe he could use it to limit how long his customers bothered him, by setting them on a time limit.

As gadgets went, it was next to worthless. But for now, it was the best she could do, and she figured the fortune teller deserved a little something for letting her take over his tent.