[Bodgers Yard]I Have Heeded Beautiful Tempters

Minnie inadvertantly acquires art, in her work at the House of Lives Lived

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[Bodgers Yard]I Have Heeded Beautiful Tempters

Postby Philomena on May 29th, 2015, 3:48 pm

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After weeks in the city of Abura, it was strange, away from the port buildings, to see a door that opened on the ground level. To be fair, there were no living quarters on the ground - these rested in a large gourd shaped structure that hung at the end of a great hook, looking rather like an oversized birdhouse above the sawpit. But even so, it was odd seeing Akvatari work on the ground itself.

At the same time, while she herself was no craftsman, the scents and sights of worked green wood were sensorily familiar - they reminded her of the shipyards, with a pang of sorrow that she did not recognize at first: homesickness. The place was so similar to a turner’s yard at home, but with just enough difference to strengthen the feeling of being foreign. Some of the differences were, she could easily imagine, entirely utilitarian - the shave horse, for example, had a carved seat in it that Minnie could think of no better description of than a side-saddle. This, she determined, was almost certainly the result of the user thereof having one thick tail instead of two legs to put astride the shave-horse. Then, there was also the difference in scale - the turner’s years in Zeltiva lathed detail work, but they also turned spars, masts, oars, and any number of other great works. Here, the lathes were short, and the tools fine, delicate instruments largely - the tools of one who worked in fine detail instead of grand scale. This was bodger’s work - narrow lengths of unseasoned birch and beech, or straight wands of well-coppiced hazel.

Then there were the pleasant differences. Instead of stumps of rough knot-wood for sitting, beautifully turned chairs sat here and there in the yard, though odd chairs, suited more to Akvatari, with a single chaise arm and broad, deep seats to allow for a heavy tail. Over the top of the yard, an awning of waxed canvas hung, in a bright, well-dyed green hue, which filtered the sunshine into a haze the color of forest-light, when filtered through tall stands of summer-green leaves. These were all well and good, but the scent of dust brought tears to Minnie’s eyes, and a thirst for the brackish scent of the Zeltivan harbour, instead of the hot tang of the open-ocean. She entered, then and the turner’s apprentice turned first to look at her, and seeing her look, leaned to whisper something to her master, who nodded and went back to work on a treadled pole-lathe, murmuring softly to his apprentice as he went.

Minnie went quietly to a chair and closed her eyes, breathing the rough sawdust into her nostrils, and wiped her eyes, but they did not stop running. She simply gave in then, and quietly cried for several minutes, attempting to ignore the fact that she’d look a wreck when she was done. When she finally regained her equilibrium she opened her mouth and stood, and with a kindly dishonesty, the master turned as if just noticing her for the first time. He was only a few years younger than Minnie, in apparent age, and Minnie’s first striking impression of him was how much he looked like an anatomy textbook, with carefully sculpted lines almost in exaggeration of the individual muscles and sinews of his frame. He was a fascinating body to watch, each movement displaying itself very clearly in a series of tensions and releases: the pull of his pectorals as he lifted a hand in greeting, the long strands of his neck as he nodded.

“The Lady is most welcome. The Lady is the new Geldscrier, yes?”

She nodded politely, no longer surprised that people whom she had never so much as seen were sufficiently aware of her as to recognize her on sight, “I am here on business, Master Turner.”

The man bowed decorously, “The Lady Geldscrier, I beg, would call me by my given name. Rosrow the Bodger at the service of the Lady and her hands.”

“At your service, please call me Minnie.”

The man drew his brows together just a fraction of a second - nicknames of the abbreviational quality of ‘Minnie’ were seemingly not particularly attractive to the Akvatari, for she had seen the same reaction from her new apprentice.

“The Lady Geldscrier comes on business of the House? Is there a space where my work would be of beauty?”

Minnie cocked her head at this - she had not thought of that being the man’s expectation, for a turner or bodger in Zeltiva would have been treated as a craftsman rather than artist. Here, that line seemed much blurrier, “Of.. a sort. Beauty and function?”

The man nodded, but looked a bit downcast, “Yes, of course.”

“The thing is… I need a crook.”

“A… crook, the Lady Geldscrier sayeth?”

“Yes, I… I don’t have wings, you know, and it is hard to get to the sides of the shaft where the boxes are, and — you have seen the House?”

“Of course, the Lady’s studio has seen me more than once, and I am acquainted with Semiyr Gelscrier.”

“Yes, well, we have set up a… a winch, with a basket, and so I can get to the right height, but I need a… a long hook, eh? Summat that I can latch the shelves, and pull me and the basket to them. And with a little hole on the straight end, about yea big,” she gesticulated throughout, not being terribly experienced in describing physical manipulations or tools. The idea itself, however, had been hers, and if she was honest with herself, she was rather proud of it.

“A… crozier, perhaps?” the man eyed her with a look at once pleading and sly.

She considered this - it was a word at once redolent with implication and abstract of visual representation in her mind - she knew what a crozier was, but not necessarily its precise appearance, for in Zeltiva, no religious ceremony she had been to involved the use of one, “It would have a hook at the end that was open? I’m not very clever handed, Rosrow Bodger.”

He smiled, the half smile of one who feels he’s getting his own way, “It can be thus arranged for the lady Geldscrier.”

“And it must also be very light, and fairly long - I’m not as strong as Master Rosrow might ‘imself be.”

“That makes an interesting and delightful problem. How long?”

She considered this, thoughtfully, “Maybe… one and a smidge of me’s.”

He looked confused, “Mehys? These are a foreign measure?”

“No, no, me’s. Like… if you lay me on the ground, and then added just an eensy bit more.”

He nodded sagely, watching Minnie’s gestures carefully, “I see. And it must be strong, yes? That it will not break in all the pulling, and perhaps bound within the hook, so as to not be worn out in its use.”

“Yes… yes! Yes, exactly!”

“And… of course, it is to do honor to the House and the office of Geldscrier, so it must be beautiful, yes?” He looked sidelong at Minnie as he said this, obviously concerned that the little human would cheat him of the pleasure the making.

Minnie smiled, “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

He nodded, and clapped once, “So it shall be. Thou art a friend now, for I will make a work for thee. Keshir! Philomena Geldscrier would have a crosier made, wouldst thou make survey of her to what sort of crozier would suit her hands?”

The apprentice nodded, and gather a bundle of long poles, bringing them towards Minnie, having Minnie take them one by one as the master went to a small deal table at the side of the lathes, and took up a graphite nib, to begin sketching at something. Minnie held the rods. Aside from one being obviously too thick, it happened in such a flurry she found them, frankly, hard to distinguish.

‘Would the Lady Geldscrier remove her gloves?” the young apprentice smiled, rather business like, something like a store clerk fluttering about a customer with a peculiar request.

“No! No… nae, the fit must be with gloves on.”

The apprentice blinked, and smiled, “Oh, how lovely! Master, the Lady Geldscrier hath but small hands, and soft, and wears white cotton.”

“The box elder, perhaps? It comes from the mountains of her home, yes? It is fresh green from the ship and will warp as we ask of it.”

Keshir sped off to a little leanto, and dug about. Minnie, as she waited, craned her neck to see what Rosrow was at with the graphite. He caught her at it and clucked his tongue, turning, “Thou wouldst take from me the pleasure of the unveiling!”

Minnie blushed and waited. Keshir dashed out of the lean-to with obvious excitement, toward Rosrow, who smiled with amusement. She whispered in the man’s ear, and the slender cords of muscle on the man’s wrists rose and fell as he touched his fingers thoughtfully to his palm, one by one. Finally he chuckled softly, and nodded, “Philomena Geldscrier, thou hast given to me what I need. I shall deliver it in two week’s time.”

Minnie was a bit startled, feeling something had happened behind her back, but frowned with a nod, “Very good, then… alright. I will… thank you, then.”

In confusion she turned to step back out of the turner’s yard.

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[Bodgers Yard]I Have Heeded Beautiful Tempters

Postby Philomena on June 14th, 2015, 2:12 am

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“Belslea-la, what in the name of the Gods is this?

Bella rose her head up from where she fluttered in a dusty shelf just in front of the basket, “I am sorry, my Onti, I do not know what thou askest after.”

Minnie smiled. The girl was cleaning, for even in the semi-sterile chamber some of the shelves had acquired quite a layer of dust. Somehow a great grey smudge had come across her left check, and tufts of it clung to the edges of the kerchief she had tied over her hair, “Come here, bairnie, I’ll show you, then.”

The girl fluttered to the basket edge and Minnie took the tiny chin, pulling a corner of her own broad skirt, sucking on it for a moment, and scrubbing the grey smear from the girl’s cheek. Belslea looked confused, but bowed her eyes respectfully, “This is the way of humans? Thou anointest thy wards with thy spittle?” The words had the kind of wonder that an anthropologist might have for a race from a far off land.

Minnie laughed, and the noise barrelled in a pitchy boom up and down the long shaft, “Sun’s hands, no. This is how an old woman anoints a child with a dirty face. Now hold still, and look at this, what is this? I’ve nay idea how to catalogue it.”

She held up the box that she was examining. It was mostly bare, which Minnie had found poignant and sad, in the way many of the boxes felt poignant and sad, but in this case, because its namesake had lived a mere sixteen months. In the lower left corner of the box, however, was a stone she did not recognize, pale pink and rough and covered with tiny, bubble-like hollows.

Bells looked at it and shrugged, “Coral, Onti Geldscrier.”

“Coral? Like… the jewelry… oh. I’d seen it, before, but only polished and carved.”

“Thou couldst go to see the coral reefs, Onti. They are very beautiful.”

“But they’re beneath the sea?”

“Not very deep, Onti.”

“I can’t hold my breath like you, Belsea-la.”

The girl nodded, fidgeting with her ear solemnly, “Thou art human, I know. It would take only… well, eve 15 minutes, thou couldst see quite a bit.”

“15 minutes! Why I can hold my breath only… oh I hardly know… perhaps a minute or two at most!”

Belslea’s eyes grew wide, and she was struck silent. She then leaned in, her brows knitting sorrowfully and kissed Minnie’s forehead, shaking her own head in sad mourning, before going back to the shelf to clean again.

A soft hiss of air made Minnie immediately look up, whirling the light-globes bit to awaken the light in it, “Haeve I forgotten an appointment again, Semiyr?”

Semiyr was little more than a silhouette in the dim light, for Minnie was far down the shaft, but the silhouette was familiar, now, the distinctive wings, the pile of hair, the strong, heavy tail, “I come not to chide thee, sister, but to summon thee. Thou has a visitor!” An odd note of suppressed excitement was in Semiyr’s voice, and it made Minnie a bit… well, she could admit it to herself, a bit suspicious.

“A visitor? Who is it?”

“By the sea’s own breath, Philomena Geldscrier, this unwillingness to ever be surprised must bw what makes thy people make such poor dreamers and excellent sailors.”

“And archivists,” Minnie was surprised by her own sauciness, even in play, to a friend.

“I refuse to give way in this, Doctor. Thou shalt simply have to come up. I shall winch thee myself if thou wouldst sulk about the cellar, for I’m tired of shouting,” the chuckle was only barely suppressed in her words. Minnie took the pulley rope with a frown and began to pull it - the pulley was well-worked, probably a sailor’s work, for it was good, practical labor, but even so it took more than a bit of work to haul herself to the top. Belslea came to help - she always did, the sweet child - but given her size, the help was of care great symbolic significance than practical. She did winch to the top, however, and Belslea pushed the yardarm forward to bump the basket gently against the platform. Minnie stood, still a bit ginger, but with growing security at the baskets groans and wobbles, and climb up to the shaft where Semiyr lent her an arm and her walking stick with an irrepressible smile, “Come, Sister Philomena. I’m anxious to see your reaction.”

Minnie frowned at this but stepped over the threshold, to find herself staring at the well-muscled abdomen, with finely sculpted arms bearing a long, slender parcel wrapped carefully in muslin.

“Oh! Oh… hello, Rosrow Bodger. You… are… earlier than I expected.”

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[Bodgers Yard]I Have Heeded Beautiful Tempters

Postby Philomena on June 14th, 2015, 9:06 pm

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Belslea tumbled quietly through the door immediately thereafter, clearly unwilling to be left out of the general excitement.

“I hadst suggested only that I had given an estimate, Philomena Geldscrier, yes? I found myself with more time than I expected, and they commission hath been an intriguing one to work.”

Semiyr’s eyebrows went up, and she suppressed a smile, “A commission? Philomena, thou saidst nothing of this to me!”

Minnie’s cheeks grew so hot, she feared her eyes would burn, “It wasn’t… I just… was… was looking for a hook. For the shaft.”

Belslea nodded, sagely, and spoke up, “It is true. Onti cannot fly, or wait to breathe beneath the water.”

Rosrow, who was clearly not at ALL uncomfortable in the little comedy shook his head sadly, “Yes, my small lady, I had heard this sad fact. A bodger cannot make a Geldscrier wings, sadly, but I bring her, at least, a staff of office.”

Minnie opened her mouth, but her tongue was firmly clown to her own soft palette. For more reasons than the practical, at the moment she wished she DID have wings, to fly a great distance away, and could hold her breath to hide a great depth beneath the sea.

Semiyr smiled, and chuckled, “Yes, well then, thou must open it, my sister.”

Rosrow, with a full measure of gallantry, came forward then, and curled his tail beneath him to rest on the ground, there by Semiyr’s bed desk, and bowed low, something like a man kneeling, presenting the long package to Minnie. A bit of shaved wood was tied into a pale bow atop the package, and this Minnie took and tugged at, with a blushing hand, to untie it - the wrapping itself, apparently, was masterfully done, for as the binding untied the muslin began to fall of its own accord in slow spirals.

Within was a hook just under Minnie’s own height, in beautiful pale wood shot through with a shock of red, climbing the straight white in a sinuous line. The shaft was smooth and with the slight yield of oil-cured wood, and the whole staff was surprisingly light. Partly this was that the shaft was just a bit more slender than her walking sticks had ever been. At first she wondered if this was an error, but she slipped her fingers around it, and immediately felt the little pang of delight that comes with a well-designed object, for it was sized to her small hands, her fingers wrapping around it comfortably.

There, in the grip of the hook, there was no carving, only the gentle irregularities of a hand turned shaft. But, at the hook itself… that was a different matter. At the base of the bend, a quill began, and as it rose along the hook, a feather billowed slowly out from it, carved delicately into the wood. At the tip of the quill, a single drop of dark ink had stained the wood - she recognize it, for it seeped along the wood just slightly, in a way that a paint would not have done. The interior of the hook was clad in copper, burnished now, and inscribed with delicate fine letters, a poem:

“Strange haunted eyes of deep-sea-blue,
Silent, still, and tender,
Strange haunted eyes that see all souls,
And do all souls remember.”

Minnie smiled, and her eyes were a little damp at that. She did not sing the rest of the old aria, but she thought of it. Her thumb ran across the words, and along the hook, to the tip, where was carved a lidless eye, and in a fine filigree, a different poem:

[url=http://www.mizahar.com/forums/topic30416.html]
"My hand has cracked my heart in two,
For want of fingertips of you.”[/url]

Her brain swallowed itself in the words.

Lanie said soft, "And I… I will go and be alone. As it should be."

Minnie nodded, quiet and soft, the cough settling for the moment, "Perhaps. But no. The glory of losing one's heart, is that there is no anchor for the spirit - it was Marley that said that. We never read him, you and I. I will tell you… let me tell you that much. It was a poem he wrote, long ago, about a mistress who died:

My heart is gold, a golden case,
Distilled by fire from your heart,
My spirit is the cloud inside,
Held quick within its bonds.

My hand has cracked my heart in two,
For want of fingertips of you,


Minnie’s hands trembled, and she grew very suddenly pale, and the eye stared back at her, unmoving.

“How did you know this?” her voice frightened her, high and shrill.

Semiyr put a hand quickly on Minnie’s, and leaned in speaking softly, “ Thou singest in thy sleep, sister.”

Minnie felt her shaking only against Semiyr’s hand - her own body was far too distant from her.

Rosrow’s voice came to her as from a great distance but the trepidation was still audible in it, “I have… done poorly in this for thee…”

Minnie spoke, but was not sure if the words left her mouth, “No… very well… too well, maybe, for a moment…”

She kissed the eye on the staff, and let Semiyr guide her gently to her bed. She heard, in the background, Semiyr discussing payment, and felt Belslea land behind her, wrap a little arm around Minnie’s belly. Rosrow left silently, Minnie realizing it only because SEmiyr then latched the window.

“Belslea, child, I think thou hast done they duty for today, hmm?”

Minnie felt the child leave her, heard the hissing of the door behind, but she did not move, could not move.

Lanie, Lanie… oh Lanie…

Semiyr’s warmth took the place Belslea’s had left, “It is… I see a thing that thou wilt not wish to speak of.” Her voice choked painfully on the words.

Minnie could not speak, but only shook her head, no, with the fierceness of a child.

“I, then… I will will not ask of thee forgiveness.”

She lay down, then, behind Minnie, and moved no more. Her breath was warm on Minnie’s back, the harsh dry breeze hard on her cheek. The staff rested against the wall, the untarnished copper beneath the hook reflecting the hard sun with a painful brilliance.

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[Bodgers Yard]I Have Heeded Beautiful Tempters

Postby Liminal on October 3rd, 2015, 8:12 pm

Beautiful, as always.

Observation: +2
Socialization: +2
Lore: A Bodger's Shop in Abura
Lore: What a Crozier Looks Like
Item: Crozier as described. Go ahead and deduct 10gm for it. That's woefully under the market value, but that's how economics work in Abura -- you gave Rosrow an interesting project, which is all he really cares about.

Also, what's the datestamp for this thread?

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