A quiet night at a tavern

[Ivar]

123 Searing 82nd

There was a constant drone of noise in the background. Ivar was in the corner of a bustling tavern, surrounded by boisterous laughter and the sound of darts whizzing through the air. He had a small block of wood in his hand and a knife. His attention was entirely focused on this task at hand, leaving him oblivious to the surrounding chaos.

Earlier in the day, he had been at Flora's house and was struck by an image of her father, hunched over an antique clock. The old man, frail and hunched, had a determined look in his eyes, wanting to fix the clock himself rather than leaving it to a professional. A gear had broken, and the repair took him a painstaking two hours.

Watching the old man carefully replace the gear sparked a thought in Ivar's mind. The intricacy and delicate work fascinated him. The sight of the elderly man’s hands moving was something he admired. To his knowledge the man had never worked with clocks as a profession so it must have been a hobby.

That’s what made Ivar decide to spend his downtime trying to cut down the wood in his hand. He’d wondered how hard it would be to make one of those gears out of wood. He needed practice working with wood for scrivening so he hoped to get a little better with a knife. One day he hoped to be able to make things out of metal as well but he currently hadn’t the body for metalworking.

Ivar found himself at the tavern, with an ale by his side. Flora was there too though she was focused on her own work. "It's harder than it looks," came the quiet admission, as a quill dropped onto the table.

A chuckle echoed in response, the sound low and gentle, "And yet, it's not supposed to be easy. scrivening requires patience and practice." Ivar smirked.

"Hmph," was the petulant response, followed by the crossing of arms over a chest. There was a pause, then, a resigned admission, "I guess it's easier said than done." Flora sighed. The quill was picked up again, a nose wrinkling in disdain at the symbol drawn on the parchment. "This doesn't even look like anything."

"Don't stress over it. Remember, you're just starting out." Ivar had probably told her that a hundred times since he started teaching her.

A heavy sigh filled the room. "But I want to help you. I don't want to be a burden."