Stubborn Logic (Monty)

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on July 16th, 2012, 9:51 pm

Tock didn't care why the Coopers hadn't come to thank her themselves. Maybe they were scared of her. Well, good for them. She didn't bother to reply. She was still too pissy, and had decided she wasn't going to be in a better mood until after Monty got himself some magic healing. And that was that.

Once they reached the infirmary, she released him from the crutches and into a bed. "Wait 'ere," she told him, then went off to fetch a healer. There were enough nurses and doctors around, but people gifted with Rak'keli's power weren't that common. They couldn't be expected to just heal every single person that came in. Their powers were limited. Thus, they tended to be reserved either for life and death emergencies, or for those willing to pay to get healed faster.

Tock made the appropriate arrangements and then returned to the room. She sat on the chair by the bed, crossing her arms, sulking and waiting. "She'll be 'ere soon..." she muttered.

A long stream of silent minutes passed, with Tock tapping her foot on the floor, and Handy tapping his fingers on Tock's leg. She was feeling impatient, and wanted to yell at Monty some more, just because she thought it would make her feel better. Except the more time she spent thinking about it, the more she was forced to rather begrudgingly admit to herself that he hadn't actually done anything to need yelling for. When she first stalked off in anger last week, she had felt quite justified in that anger. When Monty had sent Lissa instead of coming down to apologize himself, she had felt even more justified. She had stewed, and she had fumed, and then...

Then he had apologized, and submitted to her every demand. He'd allowed himself to be strapped into her crutches and dragged down here without protest. He was being so civil about it. Which wasn't fair! How was she supposed to stay mad at him when he was being nice and polite and... and...

And acting WAY more mature than she was...

"We's good, aye?" she finally asked, looking up at him without quite making eye contact. She wouldn't apologize for her behavior... she would barely admit to herself that maybe, sort of, she'd kinda been a little unreasonable about all this. But she had too much pride to say it out loud. "Jus' wanna takes care o' ya, aye? Ya done needs somebody what fer ta look out fer ya. Ain't what nobody what can jus' does everythin' by 'eirselves." It was probably a bit hypocritical for her to say such a thing, considering she hardly ever asked for help from anyone. But she had asked for Monty's help with making Bitey's eyes, and asked his advice on romance, and... well, she figured HE needed to ask for help sometimes too...

Maybe because then she wouldn't feel so guilty about taking advantage of his kindness when she needed something.

She rubbed her face and asked again, "Is we good, mate?" She felt tired. There was exhaustion in her eyes. She was no good at this. She was only just recovering from her own injuries. Her right hand still ached. She was sore from the new fight she'd gotten into at the docks yesterday. She was aching from all the physical labor she'd been doing the last week or so. And she was emotionally raw and just couldn't deal with this anymore. She just wanted it to be over and get things back to normal.

Shortly after, the healer of Rak'keli finally arrived. "Good day," she said, giving them both a smile. "What is it that ails you this day?"

OOC and Grading Note :

by **Montaine** on July 19th, 2012, 6:51 pm

Monty beamed when she spoke. For the first few ticks it was uncontrollable, he was just overpowered by the joy he felt that finally, finally, she was willing to give him some words. He realised that in light of her pained pseudo apology, his ecstatic grin might be seen as a tad inappropriate so toned it down as best he could to a smile. By most people’s standards it wasn’t precisely an apology, but for Tock it was more than he had hoped for. It wasn’t the words that mattered, after all, but the intention behind them, and if he knew Tock, she intended for them to be friends again.

‘Good? Course we are,’ he said, ‘No doubt. You don’ need to worry ‘bout me gettin’ mad ‘cause you’re worried about me,’

He would have spoken further but they were interrupted by the arrival of the doctor. She looked tired, perhaps unsurprising for the lateness of the hour, though the dark bags under her eyes suggested something more than a single night’s sleep’s disturbance. Something was niggling at the back of the glassworker’s brain, something that the clinician, the one his father had called to attend to him when he was confined to his bed, had said. Sickness in the city was rising. Now, this was not something remarkable. Famine and disease flowed through Zeltiva like the tide, bad seasons begat illness and good seasons brought a return to health. But there was something about the look on the clinician’s face, the same look that was hidden beneath the dark, exhausted eyes of the doctor standing before the two of them then, in the infirmary. Surprise. It was surprise.

Monty realised he hadn’t responded to her inquiry, and she didn’t look particularly patient in her current state, ‘Uuh, yeah, just strengthen my resp’rat’ry system, got increased wheezing when I do anythin’ strenuous, an me heart’s goin’ like petch too,’ he turned to Tock as the healer proceeded to set to work, ‘See, this ain’t the first time I been to a marked doctor,’

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on July 19th, 2012, 7:26 pm

Tock watched as the healer laid her hands against Monty's chest, instructing him to breathe in and out deeply as she sent the healing energies through him. Tock didn't know if this would fix... whatever it was that made Monty sick, but it had to help at least.

She still thought a new set of leather lungs would be better.

Tock sucked on her teeth as her anger subsided and the awkwardness of the situation faded. She was tired of yelling, tired of fighting, and she seriously felt like she needed a drink.

"Is 'e okay ta drink?" she asked the healer. "Cause I could use 'un, an' 'e done owes me a drink what fer last week..." Right before the big fight started, Monty had been offering to take her down to the pub as thanks for her work on the Coopers' place. A good drink and some relaxation with her friend was just what she needed right now. Once she had a few ales in her to loosen her up, she'd feel much better, and it'd be far easier to get back to normal with Monty.

And since there wasn't anything wrong with Monty's stomach, she figured a good hard night of drinking would be good for him, too. Anything that ailed him could surely be cured by some good old fashioned alcoholic medication. It would certainly make her feel better.

by **Montaine** on July 21st, 2012, 10:13 pm

Montaine finished his mug and looked back wistfully at the bar. It had been over two bells since they had left the infirmary, and a number of rounds. The glassworker hadn’t been drinking since the incident that had left him bedridden, so the familiar fuzziness in his brain was particularly welcome. The foul taste of the beverage still caused him to grimace as it went down, but it was an equitable exchange for the comforting embrace of drunkenness. The easing of his breathing certainly helped to lighten his mood, it had been a while since he had last breathed so painlessly. He doubted it would last very long, it rarely did, but he was set on enjoying it while it lasted.

The air seemed clearer between him and the garrulous gadgeteer too. He had been expecting her to put up a fight, and she hadn’t disappointed him, but he had also been willing to do whatever was required to reclaim her friendship once again. It was never really lost, after all. To assume that one so volatile and unpredictable as the garrulous gadgeteer truly no longer regarded you as a friend simply because she was screaming at you was foolish. She was Tock, shouting was what she did.

Monty had, until the completion of his latest drink, been recounting some story or other from a few years back about how Banden, an old ex-colleague by the name of Francis, and he had once got into a fight with a band of sailors from further north when he was much younger. Now, however, he just wanted his mug to be full again. He waved at Gadger and then shook his empty mug, before turning back to his companion.

‘Anyway, Francis hit the big fella over the head with the broom an’ the thing just splintered. It were riddled with rot, or bugs, or some such, I don’ remember, point is one of the splinters flew off into the other fella’s eye, right in it went, it weren’t big but from the man’s yellin’ an’ petchin’ I guess it musta stung somethin’ right bad,’ he shook his head, ‘An’ now they’re really fumin’, the pair of ‘em, an’ I just think well, this ain’t goin’ to end well, when Banden just ups an’ spews all over the bigger fella’s front. So’s we just leg it, we run, but you know me, I ain’t no runner, so I spies this barrel and jumps in, not lookin’ to see what’s in there, turns out it were full o’ fish, really stinkin’ fish, an’ I stay there all night, sleeps there only-’ he paused as Gadger brought him a fresh mug, ‘Only turns out they didn’t even chase us, the smaller fella was too busy tryin’ to take the splinter out of his eye, and the bigger fella was tryin’ to clean Banden’s vomit out o’ his shirt,’

Monty snorted and took a swig from his new drink, ‘Worst part was me sailor turned up the next day an’ I was all knackered and smellin’ of fish,’

OOCI fast forwarded us to the bar, a few drinks in. Monty's pretty drunk so he's not being quite as careful as he usually is with regards to the sailor, so do with that what you will.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on July 21st, 2012, 11:39 pm

Tock had dropped the crutches off back at home, once she was convinced of Monty's ability to walk a few blocks without falling over or getting out of breath. Taking full advantage of Monty's offer of drinks, and flirting shamelessly with random strangers to get a few more, she was quite far gone after two solid bells of swimming in the swill. She had enough drinks in her right now that part of her was seriously considering going home with this cute blond man who kept offering her refills. Of course she hadn't yet told Monty that during the week she wasn't speaking to him, her short lived romance with Satevis had ended. She didn't bring it up though, because she did NOT want to talk about it.

Instead she focused, as best she could in her inebriated state, on Monty's story. She was snickering and snorting, shaking her head at the image of the Glassman covered in fish, and humiliated. She was so amused she didn't notice the blond man's hand on her leg in a rather friendly fashion. "Ya 'ear 'at, Blokes?" she said to the blond and the few others who had leaned in with interest during the story. "My brother, always makin' a good impression, aye?" She snorted and finished off another ale.

"Always Sailors showin' up when ya needs 'em, aye?" she said. The story of a fight, running for his life, and meeting a sailor reminded Tock of a similar tale of her own. "Oy, I ever tells ya 'ow I done bit a bloke's ear off?" she asked. That sparked some definite interest from the small crowd; in Zeltiva, stories of biting off ears surely weren't that common. Grinning, she said, "'Ere, buy me 'nother drink, an' I's tells it..."

Once someone had obliged to the request, she started in on her tale. "Were leavin' 'ome, aye? An' I's already beat ta piss'n'back from me Da." That was certainly something she never would have admitted when sober. How many had she had? "I got 'is one 'ere from Da," she continued, pushing up her eyebrow to show a small, faded scar from where her skin had been split open under Da's fist. "An' 'en I got 'is," she leaned forward and brushed away the hair on the back of her head, revealing a rather nasty scar from when her skull had been cracked on a brick wall, "From a bloke name o' Corwin... Who were a PISS ASS!" she leaned back up and glared at the men around her as if daring them to say otherwise.

"An' 'e 'ad me what pinned ta a wall," she continued in a drunken slur, "an' were gonna 'as 'is way wit' me..." she spat on the floor in disgust. "An' I think what I mighta stabbed him..." she paused in thought rubbing her mouth, trying to think. "I what stabbed Ked once... an' I stabbed Nick, what fer 'e stabbed me first... an' did I stab Chaz?" she scratched her head in confusion. "Nah, nah, nah, Chaz I wailed o'er 'is 'ead wit' a log..."

She trailed off for a moment, until someone asked, "The ear?"

"Oy, right!" she said, slapping her knee. "Corwin. Done tried fer ta steal Granddad's chisel, an' what I TRIED ta stab 'is eye out, but 'e weren't let me, an' 'en what 'e were gunna rape me. So's as I bit 'is ear right clean off so's as 'e'd let me go..." She said it all conversationally, for it had been part of her common life back then to deal with such things.

"An' 'en I almost drowned," she said with a wide grin, "an' ol' Pash pulls me onna 'is boat, an' took me ta Mura! Oy, ya done gots ta go 'ere sometime, mate," she told Monty, patting his knee. "I knows ya ain't fer the girls an' what 'at's all 'ey's got 'ere, but oy, if'n 'at weren't the prettiest place I ever done saw..."

by **Montaine** on July 25th, 2012, 12:04 pm

The story she told seemed funny, the story she told seemed happy, a witty anecdote of past scrapes, of past fights and accidents and misdeeds. But the scars, there were too many for it to be an occasional, humorous event, there were too many for it to be funny. She hated her father to vociferous extremes and yet she made light of him now. Was it just the drink? The audience laughed, they didn’t know or understand beyond the shallowest level of her narrative. To them it was a tale of ear biting and feisty young women.

Monty forced a smile, so as not to stick out from her crowd of admirers. He had come to relax, to lose himself in the drink and the people and not care about his own troubles any longer. At least, that had been the plan before she said something, something that caused his body to jolt upright.

‘Pash? You said Pash? Pash’nar?’ he said, his eyes widened and his hands hit the table, splayed and palm down on the old wood. He turned to her entourage and shooed them with his hands. They didn’t move at first, instead looking back at the garrulous gadgeteer. He snarled and shooed them again and they begrudgingly began to shift out of their seats and collect around the other tables in the bar.

Monty leaned in closer and lowered his voice, ‘You said Pash, right?’ His heart was beating like mad and his palms were sweating. He couldn’t fathom why he was having such a strong reaction to the mere possibility that Tock knew the man. But perhaps she knew where he was; perhaps she had seen him after the storm. The story she was telling was from a long while ago and yet there was still the chance, the smallest chance, that she might be able to tell him if the sailor, if his sailor stilled lived.

OOCShort, but necessarily so I think.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on July 25th, 2012, 2:29 pm

"Course I do," she said with a slur. "Izza Sailor Man. I told ya fer him 'fore..." She hiccuped, looking around in confusion as the audience left, wondering why that nice blond boy had stopped touching her. It had felt nice...

"Sailed me fer... hiccup... Sailed me fer Mura," she continued, not picking up on Monty's excitement at first. "I tooooold yous 'is story, Glassman! I thinks..." She frowned in concentration, trying to remember. "Pashy the Sailor Man. I done fixed up his ol' boat," that was it, she thought. She remembered talking about the run down old boat and how Pash had kept insisting it was 'good enough.'

She leaned forward and stuck a finger in Monty's face, very seriously. "Were what when I beat the snot outta my Da wit' a fryin' pan. What 'en I bit Corwin's ear off what when 'e tried fer ta rape me... but ye'd never does 'at," she patted Monty on the shoulder, "cause you's a good man... plus I gots the wrong parts!" she snorted and snickered, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Can I git 'nother one o' 'ese?' she asked, peering into her empty mug. She didn't feel drunk enough, considering the current topic of conversation. She frowned into the mug, feeling suddenly down. "Bloke were all 'Min where ya goin?', ''Ow's 'bout a kiss, Min?' Feh! Ya know..." she paused to think about it, staring at some random point up and to the right, "Sailor Pash Man were the first one what called me 'Tock.' Izza nice bloke, though. 'E didn't try ta rape me... Oy, I offered, an' 'e said no..." She trailed off, staring back into her mug again.

"She comin' wit' 'nother one?" she asked, looking around for the bar maid.

by **Montaine** on July 29th, 2012, 3:30 pm

Despite her drunken rambling and the anxiety rattling away at his lungs Monty felt a sense of relief when the garrulous gadgeteer mentioned that the sailor had declined her offer. But relief was swiftly pushed to one side by a pang of guilt. The guilt was stupid, and unjustified, but it was there all the same. Guilt at feeling happy that a man about whose sex life he had no right to know had turned down a woman, guilt at feeling as though he had any right to feel anything about such information. Guilt at feeling anything for the man he so adored and yet never showed any hint of feeling anything similar.

But the relief was still there. The sailor had had many people in his time, but not Tock. Somehow that was a comfort.

Montaine was several drinks down and his chest still ached and his head was buzzing to the point when he was finding it hard to concentrate, but the topic was too important and he feared he would lose it, forget it, if he didn’t press the issue there and then.

‘Tock, you never told me it were Pash what was-was your sailor man,’ he said, gesticulating with drunken abandon, ‘You never said! ‘Cause, ‘cause, ‘cause he’s my sailor man too! The one what I-what I-’ he swallowed, ‘The one what I told you about, see? The one what I met when I were a li’l lad, wit’ the stories and the tattoos. Still ‘member when I first met him, I were only eight an’ I’d done run from me Da in the market, ‘cause I never got to go out in those days, ‘cause o’ me ol’ aches,’ he said, lightly patting his chest with his fist, ‘An’ I wanders into an alley, an’ then sudd’nly in runs this figure, this man, an’ I’m only small so I’s lookin’ up to him and the angle’s jus’ right ‘cause his head eclipses the sun an’ he’s the most amazin’ thing I ever saw,’

Monty’s voice dropped and trailed off into silence. He didn’t look back at Tock, instead just staring into the old woodwork of the table, staring into his memories of the past.

by **Minerva Agatha Zipporah** on July 29th, 2012, 4:05 pm

Tock was slow to make the connection, the gears in her head turning, churning through the ale that had dulled her wits. She stared at Monty, not quite sure what he was getting on about.

"Whazzer on 'bout, Glassman?" she asked. Finally, it clicked. "Ya mean my Sailor Man done been hiccup done been the one what you's 'ad a 'ard on fer since ya were too young ta know what ta does wit' it?" One thing alcohol definitely did to her was loosen her tongue on the crudity and foul language, even more so than usual. "Well, PETCH, Glassman! Why the shyke ain't ya dagnub tolds me 'at 'fore? I's 'as a word wit' 'at petchin' arse'ole 'bout ya, git some sense inta 'im what 'bout treatin' my brother right..." She rose from her seat, looking around, as if the Sailor Man might be there for her to yell at. When she didn't spot him, she dropped back down into her chair, forgetting why she'd stood up to begin with.

"'E didn't mention ya," she muttered, staring into her empty mug and wondering why it hadn't been refilled yet. "What were keen on gettin' ta Mura where 'ere weren't no men..." She had liked that about Mura. It had felt safe there, without having to worry about rape gangs. "'At were the last time I saws 'im... four years ago, now. Oy..." she rubbed a hand across her face, "were it four years already? Aye... Aye it were. Huh..." Where had the time gone?

Four years since leaving home. Four years since Corwin (little did she know she would be encountering him again quite soon). Four years since leaving her worthless Da. The Da who had abused and neglected her. She HATED him! "An' I 'ope 'e's DEAD!" she declared, voicing her internal train of thought. "Goddamn rat bastard sonnuvabitch! What I shoulda shanked 'im, stead o' the fryin' pan! Petchin' bloody filthy drunk beat me every day o' my life..." Tears filled her eyes now as she rambled about her past, having completely forgotten about the Sailor Man for the moment. She slumped against the table, eyes drooping with alcohol-induced exhaustion, propping her chin on her hand. "Worthless ol' man... dunno 'ow ya live wit' yers... but I guess 'e didn't beat ya... Must be nice fer ta 'as a good man fer a Da. Fer 'as a family... a name ya can done been proud of... 'stead o' 'idin' from 'er..."

by **Montaine** on August 2nd, 2012, 2:44 pm

Monty’s face momentarily fell as the garrulous gadgeteer offhandedly mentioned how long it had been since she had last seen the sailor. He had seen the man a dozen times or so since then himself and what brief flicker of hope that she might have news of his survival during the Great Djed Storm died. Nevertheless it was wonderful to hear of him, of his gallantry, and it occurred to him that perhaps the sailor had even spoken of Tock during one of his visits to the harbour city. He had certainly talked of Mura, and the women of the isle. The glassworker had forced himself to grimace through that particular story. He’d long since learned how to effect an air of nonchalance around the sailor, but hearing him talk so fondly of his time there had strained his composure.

The fact that the sailor hadn’t spoken of him didn’t surprise him. As much as he wished he meant more to the man, he was still just the kid from the harbour town, hardly noteworthy. Not yet, at the very least.

In his reminiscence he had briefly forgotten where he was but was brought back to the pub with a snap. Tock was talking about her father, which never boded well for her temperament. From what he had gathered the man was a monster. A petching bastard who hurt his own daughter, who made her cry and didn’t care, didn’t care when she was hurt or sad, didn’t care when something happened to her, didn’t care that she was alive. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. He cared that she lived, if only because he viewed it as a nuisance. Monty did not like him.

‘I ain’t proud o’ my name, ain’t nothin’ ‘bout it worthy o’ pride, or shame, the meanin’ of it’s what you make of it. My name-my name, is Redsun, right?’ he nodded and blinked, a sudden doubt in his head about his own name, ‘Right, it’s Redsun, you know what that means? I mean, yeah, red sun, Redsun, yeah, but where it comes from? Means I is one of the-the Redsun Pav’llion, of the Ruby clan. I ain’t-I ain’t no full member, ‘cause I ain’t got windmarks, but it means I done is a horseperson that’s what my name means,’

Monty snorted, ‘Does I look like a horseperson to you? Nah, but I don’ care, I’s still Montaine Redsun,’ he said, lifting his chin up, ‘I is-I am Montaine Redsun, an’ I make glass, an’ I drink wit’ my friends, an’ I loves a sailor an’ that’s what my name means, ‘cause that’s me, see? Your name ain’t tainted by your Da, his is,’