[Flashback] A Girl's Pride (Solo)

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

5th Day of Winter, 504 AV Minerva stood in the kitchen, angrily tossing around pots and pans. She heard her Da shout from the other room, "Damnit, Brat! All that racket in 'ere better be my damn dinner!" She glanced over her shoulder to make sure he hadn't entered the room before muttering under her breath, "Make yer own damn dinner, ya drunkard..." She'd never have had the guts to say that to her Da's face. He scared the hell out of the thirteen year old girl, and despite the defiant streak that was building in her, she wasn't willing to test his patience. Especially when she knew his lunch had consisted of half a bottle of hooch. The small house belonged to Minerva's Granddad. He made his living as a woodworker, and had built this house with his own two hands. Minerva was very proud of her Granddad and all he had done in his life. Unlike her Da, who was a worthless oaf, and hadn't worked a single day since her Ma died. Which meant he hadn't worked a single day of Minerva's life. The most income he ever brought in was from gambling, and most of that got poured down Da's gullet in the form of various crude and toxic ales and hooch. Minerva often wished Granddad would kick his worthless son to the curb. But Da living here meant she got to live here. That had to count for something. "Stupid, worthless rotter..." she muttered, voicing her train of thought. "What the 'ell did ya jus' say, Brat?" came her Da's angry voice from behind her. She hadn't heard him enter the room. Minerva turned around, wide eyed, her back pressed against the countertop. Her breath caught, and she cringed, closing her eyes.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva wiped the tears from her face, and scrubbed her nose with her sleeve. Da was back in the other room, and from the sound of his snoring, he must have passed out. Still sniffling, Minerva pulled her sleeves down to cover her bruises, and checked her reflection in a metal spoon. She gently touched her right eye, and winced at the pain. She brushed her hair down to cover her eye, trying to hide the swelling. It took her awhile longer to compose herself. She didn't want to be seen crying. She spent some time cleaning up the kitchen. It was bad enough she'd been late getting Da's dinner ready, she didn't want another beating if he woke up to a mess. When everything was cleaned, she headed through the house, moving very quietly past her Da, trying not to wake him. She headed downstairs to Granddad's shop. He'd been working all day, as usual. He looked up at her with a smile when she came in and grabbed a leather apron off the rack, slipping it on, her movements slow to try not to cause herself more pain with the motion. When he noticed the way she was moving, he stepped over and asked, "Ya awright, dear?" She brushed past him, keeping her eyes down and her face turned away from him. "I's fine," she said softly. "Whatcha workin' on?" He stared at her for a moment, wiping his hand across his mouth and scratching at his greying stubble. After a moment he sighed, and gestured her over to the worktable. "Got an order fer a few new tables fer a chap up a' the Drunken Fish. 'Nother bar brawl done busted up the old ones," he chuckled, shaking his head. "Makes fer nice, steady business, right m'dear?" Minerva just nodded silently. She wasn't in a talking mood. She wanted to do some work. She always felt better when she did some work.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Working with Granddad was quiet work. They didn't talk much. Granddad wasn't a man of words. He was a crafter, just like Minerva wanted to be. She'd been learning his trade since she was barely taller than his knee, and they had spent enough time together that most times, they didn't even need to talk to coordinate their work. It was peaceful. It was the only peace Minerva found in her life here. They worked together to carry the long boards onto Granddad's workbench, lining them up all in a row. Once they were in place, Granddad started making measurements, etching marks on the board for where the cuts would need to be made. Minerva followed him from board to board, using the saw to trim off the ends of the boards where he had marked them. He glanced over at her work regularly, making sure she was cutting cleanly, but he wouldn't offer any corrections unless he really needed to. When the boards were cut, Granddad arranged them together to form the tabletop. Then he started using a hand drill to create angled holes in the underside, which would allow screws to be inserted to the inner edge. The sharp angle would allow the screw to then extend from the short edge of the board, and screw into the adjacent one. The screw holes would be hidden this way, so that from the top of the table there would be no sign of them. Minerva winced a bit as she reached up on the tool rack for the screwdriver, drawing a glance from her Granddad. He knew. She knew he knew. But he wasn't saying anything. He probably didn't want to embarrass her. She kept her mouth shut and refused to meet his eyes. She just set to work screwing the boards together after Granddad had drilled the holes. Once the boards were secured together, they screwed a pair of supporting beams across the underside, adding stability. They flipped the table over and Granddad handed her his chisel. She was the only one he allowed to touch his tools. He had another, poorer set of tools that he kept around for assistants, but the set they were using were his tools. The ones no one was allowed to touch. He'd once fired one of his workers for using them without permission. Minerva herself hadn't been allowed to use them until he felt she was skilled enough. The first time he'd handed her one of his tools to use on a project had been one of the proudest moments of her life. The tabletop needed to be rounded out and smoothed. The initial cuts had been on sharp angles, so that the assembled tabletop was roughly circular, but lacked a perfect curve. They had to carve out the rest of the wood to give it the circular shape. Minerva worked her way around the table, shaving off chunks of wood with the chisel, using firm taps with the mallet on the handle to dig the chisel into the wood. As she worked her way around the table, Granddad followed behind her with his files, smoothing out the rough patches that were left behind from the chiseling. Granddad finally spoke up, though he kept his eyes on his work, thus saving her from having to make eye contact. "Do I need ta talk ta yer Da again, girl?" he asked. Minerva stopped working, the chisel held on the edge of the table, her grip on the mallet tightening into a fist. "No," she said. She didn't want them fighting over her again. "Minerva..." Granddad said, pausing in his work to look up at her. "I done told ya before, if'n yer Da..." "It's fine!" she snapped, whacking the chisel a little too hard with the mallet and taking a chunk of wood out. Granddad sighed and stepped up, snatching the chisel from her hand. She had clipped out a piece big enough to make a noticeable dent in the table's edge. "Listen, girl," he said, laying a hand on her arm. She winced in pain as he unknowingly touched a hidden sore spot, and brushed him off. She snatched the chisel back from him and stepped away, setting back to work. "I don't wanna talk about it!" she protested. Granddad grew quiet again, and went back to work. It was the same conversation they'd had many times before. Everything was always the same.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

Minerva lifted a piece of wood for the table leg, struggling to hook it into the spring-pole lathe. She fumbled a bit trying to hook it into the holder, turning the crank on the side in order to secure wood in place. She tangled the string a bit as she tried to loop it around the wood, and Granddad stepped forward, saying, "Ya gotta loop the cord 'round real even, now..." She yanked the cord away from him when he tried to help, snapping, "I know 'ow ta do 'er!" She didn't want him to help her right now. She could do it herself. She looped the cord around the wood, pulling it snugly, then crouched down to tie it onto the foot pedal. Granddad stepped up behind her to make a small adjustment, and she bit the inside of her cheek, fuming. He stepped back, gently touching the small of her back to guide her forward. She'd done this plenty of times before. She held the blade up to the wood, resting on the guide, and started pumping the pedal with her foot. With each downward motion, the cord pulled the wood to spin it, and the upper end of the cord pulled on the spring pole hanging above the lathe. When she released the foot pedal, the tension in the spring pole yanked it back up, rotating the wood back in the other direction. With a steady up and down motion on the pedal, the wood spun and scraped against the blade. "Lil too fast there, girl," Granddad said. "I know!" Minerva snapped, slowing down the pedal motion. She felt her eyes starting to burn. She grit her teeth, trying to hold the blade steady. It skipped off the wood and left a chip, and she let out a groan of frustration. While she was trying to get it back in place, Granddad stepped up behind her and reached around to help her hold it steady. She let out a frustrated squeal and tried to shove him off, but he held firm, guiding her hands to hold the blade steady, then gently laying his hands on her shoulders. She started pedaling again, while he watched and made an approving sound. Granddad gave her an encouraging pat on the shoulder, and she sniffled, fighting back tears. He squeezed her shoulders gently, offering silent support, and she let out a sob. She stopped pedaling, and dropped the blade, beginning to cry. He hugged her, and kissed the top of her head, pulling her close and shushing her. She reached up and clung to his arms, crying her heart out in the silent workshop.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

They still didn't talk about it, but Minerva felt better at least now that she had let it out. She went back to working on the lathe, having an easier time making it run smoothly now that she wasn't feeling so tense. Working the lathe was calming, using the steady pedaling motion, and listening to the gentle scraping of the blade against the wood. With each spin of the lathe, the blade scraped off a little more wood, and the table leg slowly took shape. Guided by her hands, formed into something greater than it once was, the wood before her was simply in a transitional state. She could take the raw materials and form them into something better. Something beautiful. When she was done, her Granddad took her place to put on the finishing touches. He was more experienced than her, and knew better than her what the final shape should be. His guidance and education was the strongest influence she had. The only positive influence. The only one who offered her the gentle guiding hand she needed. She stood off to the side, watching him work, wiping her eyes with her sleeves. She winced from the pain of rubbing at her swollen eye, and shuddered a bit. She waited until Granddad was done touching up the leg, then grabbed the next piece after he had detached the first one from the lathe. She set the new leg in place, locked it in, and wrapped the cord around it to get to work.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

She worked through the night, helping Granddad out, then turned in to sleep. It was a restless night, and the house was too cold. She had bad dreams, and sometime later woke in a cold sweat to the sound of her father's voice. "Girl!" he called out, banging the door open and lurching into her room. "Git on down ta the tavern and pick me up a couple o' bottles o' 'ooch!" Minerva sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. She was exhausted from working all night, and had barely gotten any rest. She looked out the window and saw the pre-dawn light was only just starting to touch the horizon. "Ya 'ear me, girl?" her Da shouted, stepping over to her. In the darkness he looked even bigger than usual. She hated arguing with her Dad, and just wanted to go back to sleep, but she protested anyway. "'Ey's not open yet, Da!" she said, cringing in anticipation. "Ain't even mornin' yet!" He grabbed her by her shirt collar and yanked her from the bed. "Don'tcha sass me, brat!" he shouted. His breath still stank of liquor. "Getcha ass down 'ere an' wait for 'em ta open then! NOW!" He threw her towards the door, and she stumbled, slamming hard into the wall. She hurried off, pausing only long enough to grab her boots from the door. It was a good thing she had fallen asleep in her clothes. He'd been known to send her out in nothing but her nightdress, when he was really in a foul mood. She stumbled out into the streets, pulling her coat around herself tightly, and shivering in the cold. Her boots crunched in the filthy snow that lined the streets. It was mixed with mud and muck from wagons that had passed down the streets over the last few days since the snow fall. She hated being in the streets when it wasn't light out. Sunberth wasn't exactly the sort of place a young girl could feel safe, even during the day. So she kept herself moving as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid any trouble.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

"Well, well, well," a voice called out from the darkness. "Hey there, cutie." Minerva stopped, hugging her coat around herself. There was a figure in the shadows before her. He stepped closer, and she saw it was a boy a few years older than herself. She immediately turned away; growing up in Sunberth, she knew when to avoid a bad situation. Yet there was another figure behind her. "Where ya going?" the second one asked. "Piss off," she said in a display of bravado. Appearing weak was one of the worst things you could do in a situation like this. The only thing worse was looking too tough. That just spurred them on. She turned to cross the street, only to find a third figure there. "Heh, not so fast there, Red," the last boy said, reaching out to flick his fingers through her red hair. She pulled away from his touch, holding her breath. There were three of them. Three of them, one of her, and little chance screaming for help would do her any good. "Lemme alone," she said, slowly reaching her hand into her pocket. She grit her teeth, knowing it wouldn't be that simple. "Hey, now," the first boy said. "We don't wanna hurt ya. We just wanna be friends. You look like a friendly girl, aye?" From the way they were eying her, she knew exactly what they meant by 'friendly'. Well, not quite exactly. She knew what they wanted, but didn't know exactly how what they wanted worked. Nor was this how she intended to find out. The third one stepped closer, leering at her. "She looks like a prude," he said. "Needs a real man to loosen her up, right guys?" They all laughed. "Why don't ya stay awhile? Make friends. It's cold out, after all. We can keep ya nice and warm..." Her back was against the wall. Running wasn't an option. Fighting would probably get her killed. Yet the alternative... She wasn't that kind of girl.

[Minerva Agatha Zipporah]

The first boy closed in on her, and it was the moment of truth. Either submit, or fight back. Her hand lashed out, wielding her Granddad's chisel. She'd forgotten to hang it back up on the tool rack, and now she was grateful for that. The sharp tool was designed for cutting wood, but it sliced the boy's face open just fine. A knife would have been better, but she wasn't a fighter. She was a woodworker. The boy screamed and clutched at his bleeding face. The wound wouldn't do any permanent damage, but it still had to hurt. She shoved past him and tried to run, but didn't get far. One of the others caught her after only a few feet, wrapping his arms around her from behind. "Bitch cut me!" the injured boy shouted. The last one pulled a knife. Minerva screamed, and stabbed the chisel behind her into her assailant's gut. It didn't go deep, the flat edged tip of the chisel not being meant for stabbing, but it was still enough to make the boy lose his grip on her. She ran, hearing the slushy footsteps of at least two of them following her through the mud- and snow-covered streets. She quickly turned down a side street, then another, hoping to lose them. There weren't many people out on the streets at this time of the morning, and those that were out barely glanced at her. She glanced back, and saw that the boys were catching up. She wasn't a fast runner. Soon she was running out of breath, and growing desperate. Desperate for a way out, and knowing the chisel wasn't enough, she grabbed the first thing she could find to defend herself: a long log from a stack of firewood in front of someone's house. She turned and swung it with all her might. The unexpected sudden assault caught the boy off guard, and she connected with his head. He went down, hard, falling face first into the snow. He looked like he would be out for awhile. The next one was ready for her, however, and looked like the short run hadn't winded him nearly as much as it had her. She swung the log weakly, her energy nearly spent, her breath coming in sharp gasps. Maybe it would just be easier to submit to what they wanted. But no, she could never live with herself if she did that. He dodged her swing with ease, and closed in. Angry and taking it personal now, he didn't look like he wanted to be 'friendly' anymore. He lunged at her with the knife, and she grabbed his hand with both of hers, trying desperately to hold him off. His other hand came around with a fist that connected with the side of her head. Dazed, she nearly lost her grip on the knife-wielding hand. So she did the only thing a girl could do in this situation. She kneed him in the groin. The boy fell, dropping his knife and clutching at his wounded pride, gasping for air and coughing. Minerva looked up to the last boy, the one with the cut face, who had lagged behind the others and was just now catching up. She turned and started stumbling away, dizzy from the blow she had taken to the head. She ran as quick as she could, turning down another street. When she looked back, she saw no sign of him. Either he had decided to stop and check on his friends, or he had decided that she just plain wasn't worth the trouble. Wheezing, aching, dizzy, and on the verge of throwing up, she kept moving until she just couldn't anymore. She collapsed in an alley between two small houses, waiting there until she caught her breath. She stayed as still and quiet as she could, fighting back sobs. If anyone else took an interest in her now, she knew she wouldn't have another fight in her. She wanted nothing more right now than to go home, climb into her Granddad's lap, and cry. But she knew if she went home without her Da's hooch, he'd give her another beating, and wouldn't take any excuses. So as soon as she could find the energy to move again, she pushed herself to her feet, and headed towards the tavern. Her face ached from where she'd been hit, and she fell down several times from dizziness, but she forced herself to get back up each time. She wasn't going to let this city keep her down in the muck.

[Archelon]

Thread Award "..." And the Results!!!!: Minerva : SkillName 1-5 How/why? Construction 2 Carving 3 Carpentry 4 Yes I knew what a spring pole laithe was . Observation 2 Brawling 1 Running 1 Larceny 1 Rhetoric 1 Running 1 Lores: Using a spring pole Laithe. Navigating a bar fight. How to build a basic table. Would you like some extra turtle sauce ? : Interesting thread. Any questions comments, concerns, please feel free to pm me a nice pm .