Responsibility [Sivan]

[Torin Kilvin]

47 Frost 120

Since the big, blond apprentice had completed the hallmark project of his first stage of learning under a master, the one who employed him had begun expecting him to do more of the business side of things. It was an important part of the education, and, in truth, Torin didn't mind. He enjoyed his work in the forge and had once been loath to leave it for almost any reason. But he was trying, successfully of late, to grow out of the anxiety that led him to feel that way.

His master had left him alone to tend the shop several times, had sent him to take the details of commissions for customers, and now had sent him to go collect an order of supplies for the shop.

With a note tucked into his pocket detailing what was needed and a great deal more money than the apprentice usually carried on his person walking through the city streets, he made his way to the alchemist shop he'd been given directions to.

It was mid-morning, bright, crisp, and cold, with the sun high enough above to be seen between the high buildings. Shoving his mittened hands into the pockets of his thick coat, Torin walked along briskly, not from a sense of hurry, but simply to keep himself warm. For such a large man he did not handle the cold as well as one might expect, having spent the vast majority of his life in rooms that resembled ovens.

He stopped to ask directions a time or two from local shop keepers before finding his way to the large, ornate doors that bore a sign with the name Jacun's Alchemical Goods. Pausing he politely stomped any snow off his boots before trying the handle and pushing his way inside.

The herbal scent was immediately strong and he blinked at it. There were other things too, things he felt like he should know but which his mind came up with no names for.

All over were goods in bottles, boxes, wrapped in paper twists or filling clay jars. Keeping his hands tucked deep in his pockets, Torin knew better than to touch alchemical reagents without a specific purpose, he looked around till he caught sight of a blond head bowed over a desk near the far wall from the door.

Walking over slowly, knowing what it felt like to be startled from delicate work, he waited till he was noticed and then said,

"Hello. I was sent to pick up a set of reagents for my master." He named the man, then held out the piece of paper filled with neat but plain script. "I brought a list."

If the things were already packed and ready he could check them against the list, if they were not he could use the list to request them.

[Sivan]

Master Jacun had work to do in the back more often now that he had an apprentice to stay out front. Of course, the master had done quite a bit of his work in the front in the past, so it wasn't as though he was shirking. Sivan just hated dealing with customers. Most of them weren't terrible, but when they realized he didn't speak common they would speak very slowly and very loud as though he were simple and that would help him understand. It made his eyelid twitch sometimes, but he wasn't going to lose his temper. That was dangerous for his ilk. He wasn't going to lose this job either, even for ignorant people who couldn't speak a civilized tongue.

So he had some of his work that was portable and he was sitting at Master Jacun's desk, which always made him nervous. What if he spilled or burned something? The man claimed to have done so a thousand times himself, but Sivan wasn't sure he believed it.

In any case, he had some mushrooms harvested from the Warrens that needed reducing them down for certain properties. Some were dried first, but these were best treated fresh. They grew near beds of dragonshards and life had a funny way of transmuting things. So he mashed them with a mortar and pestle, then put them in a little pot to boil in water with three drops of aqua fortis and one drop of the green vitriol. With nothing else to do but watch and make sure it reduced properly, he had brought some of his side projects up with him as well.

Today, he had the back of a clock open for some surgery. It felt good to be working with gears and cogs. There was a clear structure that made sense to him in ways alchemy did not as yet. So wrapped up in the fine work by the bright lamplight was he that he didn't even notice someone enter.

Blue eyes blinked up, refocusing on the normal sizes of things in life. Words flew right over his head, but the man held out a piece of paper and he took it. He knew some words and he knew by context what most people came for, in any event. He stood up carefully. One didn't want to knock things over in an alchemist's shop.

"One moment, please," he said carefully. After a momentary thought and measuring glance at him, he pointed at the pot and then grabbed his throat as if choking. "Careful, yes? Dangerous." And then he excused himself to go back where things such as this were kept in bulk.

[Torin Kilvin]

It was obvious that Common was not the other man's first language. Taking a closer, but still polite, look the taller blond realized that he was probably an elf of some variety. He hadn't encountered the race often enough to become visually familiar with what each looked like and was far and away from attempting to guess. It felt like it would be rude to do so, even only in the safety of his own mind, so he didn't.

When the alchemist (Torin assumed he was an alchemist) stood to check his order he nodded; not offended at being instructed not to touch what was surely a dangerous concoction brewing on the desk. He tried to wait patiently, but what the other blond had been working on had caught his eye. It seemed to be a clock, tiny gears and springs lay across the surface of the desk and it wasn't more than a minute before he was leaning close; attempting to see, without touching, how the mechanism worked. He'd seen clockwork before and had been fascinated. He hadn't been anywhere near precise enough in his work to make the intricate parts required at the time, but it had been some years since and his metalwork had progressed to the point where, if given a good schema, he might be able to make a clock. The idea thrilled him, even as he accepted that such a project would not be acceptable. Clockmakers spent their whole lives with the profession and his master wanted him concentrating on learning to harness and realign magic, not spending months on something that he would likely never make again.

He kept his hands tucked behind him, as if proving to himself that he wouldn't touch another man's work, but he did end up leaned around the desk to get a better look at the insides of the piece. He did not speak any language fluently except Common, a fact that he should probably remedy, but his first master had taken the time to teach him the words for his work. He could name all the metals, the types of magic, basic explanations of what something would do (tougher, sharper, different colors etc) in all the tongues common to Kalzasi and its surrounds.

When the other man reappeared he did not startle as though caught, even if he felt guilty for no real reason. Glancing between the man and the pieces he tried the words he knew in Mythrasi first, because it sounded the prettiest and had been easiest for him to remember the sounds of. He was ready to try others, pulling the words up from the depths of his memory when he saw recognition on the man's face.

"Bent springs?" He tried. It wasn't exactly right, they looked to be stretched, not bent, but he didn't know that word. "Blacksmith." He clarified, pointing to himself, "Like work, small things."

Even talking like a toddler the language flowed like water, or silk; something smooth and bright.

Stepping back so he wasn't leaning over the desk anymore he reached carefully through his layers of clothing and pulled out the delicate-looking pendant he kept against his skin and held it up. It wasn't gears or springs but the work was fine, it showed attention to tiny details and great care.

"My work." His tone was less showing off and more proving credentials. "Can look, please?"

He pointed at the clock and then, letting the pendant go to lay against his coat he tucked his hands back behind himself trying to show that he wouldn't touch the work.

[Sivan]

Sivan returned with a box in his arms. It was bulky and a bit heavy, but he was sturdy for an elf and the man who came from the rune forge looked even stronger. He should have no trouble carrying it. He was given pause by the sight of the man peering down at his work, but he had kept his hands to himself so he managed not to say something sharp. He came around and set the box down on an empty corner of the desk.

When the young man — for he seemed young despite the breadth of his shoulders — began to speak incongruously in Mythrasi, Sivan's brow softened slightly. A stranger in a strange land, he was always making the effort to communicate when for the natives it was effortless. It was nice to be on the receiving end of that effort for once.

And so he offered a gentle correction, bringing his fists up as if he were holding an iron bar, he mimicked bending. "Bend."

Then he brought his hands back up to the unbent iron bar in his imagination and mimicked stretching. "Stretch."

He looked closely at the pendant while it was held up. The work did look delicate and detailed. He supposed if this were an apprentice runeforger, there would be lines of aether running through it if he chose to look for them. But he seemed more interested in the clock.

Some of its guts were removed and carefully laid out in a manner logical to Sivan's mind so he knew where they would be when he was ready to replace them, but what remained within was not in danger of coming loose. They were just delicate things. He picked it up, bringing it closer so the man could see. He also picked up one of his artificing tools, which looked to be a long needle with a handle on it. He slipped its point through an eyelet in one of the gear's teeth and carefully moved it back and forth. Various things within moved with it, a ballet in miniature.

"Clockwork," he said, offering the word in Mythrasi to the stranger.

[Torin Kilvin]

The larger boy lit up as the slimmer one began to gently instruct him. He tried to keep his grin to a smile, so as not to seem manic, but he would have been grinning had he been in known company.

"Stretched." He pronounced carefully, drawing each syllable out in slow enunciation, watching the shopkeeper's eyes for correction. Once he had a good approximation of the word he said it again, more quickly.

Squatting down so he was on eye level with the clock he watched intently. He repeated 'Clockwork' in the same manner he had the first new word, but with significant distraction, as though placing the word in his memory was an automatic afterthought to what he was now witnessing. His eyes darted around the inner workings as they moved together. Not knowing any of the words to ask to see it again he gestured until he was understood and watched everything several more times, back, and forth, until it started to make sense in his head.

Pointing at one of the springs sitting on the bench he then pointed at where he thought it might go, raising his eyebrows for clarification. He spent the better part of twenty minutes this way, using the small vocabulary he had to ask questions, working with the other man's vocabulary to figure out the answers. When he had correctly ascertained where each of the missing pieces would go he stood.

"Thank you." He said, sincere and friendly in the sing-song of the elvish tongue, then the universal, "Uhm..." of not knowing how to articulate something.

Fishing the list out of the box that had been brought out with his supplies he took a tiny lead-pencil out of his pocket, turned the note upside down on the desk surface, and began to sketch. A few minutes later he showed the man his drawing of a reconfiguration of the gears that might prevent the springs from stretching as much. It required a few different gears from the ones that were already in the clock.

"I make. I bring?" He fully expected the indulgence of the artificer to end with a kind shake of his head at this point. Putting the entire inside of the clock back together to give the springs a longer time between needed repairs would cost more time than repairing them. It would make the clock more accurate over a longer period of time but, for someone who knew how to maintain it, the addition would be nearly pointless.

[Sivan]

Twenty minutes spent showing the other man his work was twenty minutes he wasn't spending on his work, but this man worked for a client of his new Master so he could not be rude and shoo him away. Anyway, he was being polite and making an effort, so Sivan thought he ought to reward the more culturally sensitive behavior in a person, especially a young person who might instill it in others in due time.

While the human began scribbling on his paper, Sivan sat back down at the desk and began to pick up where he had left off. He knew everything was in the box per the list. Now he knew the word 'saltpeter' in Common thanks to that list, and any day one learned something was not a total loss, or so his old master had told him. He did miss his old master, though Jacun knew what he was about and was definitely easier on the eyes. Of course, that was sometimes a distraction rather than an aid in getting him to concentrate on what the man was saying.

His brow furrowed slightly as he perused the drawing, taking in the man's meaning despite their language barrier.

"Would work," he opined in broken Common. He tapped the drawing. "Would work more good. Better." He tapped the clock upon which he was performing his surgery. "Clock of Master Jacun, this. Can fix." Then he eyed the paper again. "Can fix more good like so. You give gift for Master Jacun?"

Sivan shrugged. It was all the same to him. Fixing the clock was something he understood, but if this man gave him better designed equipment, he would ensure it worked much longer without needing more than an occasional windup. It might also be savvy for this fellow to make a good impression on the master alchemist, but that was none of Sivan's business.

"Please." He took the pencil and began to make some alterations to the drawing. The other man wasn't wrong, but Sivan had some skill with clockwork and was a bit better at taking things from theory to practice in that regard. "Like so."

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin nodded, slowly, it could be a gift for the shop owner. It would more be a gift for himself than anyone else, but, sure, if it could be spun in a way that would earn him the good graces of a man he would likely someday need for his own projects...

"Gift." He confirmed in Mythrasi, it was an important word to know for a person who dealt in luxury goods. But then wavered his flat hand back and forth in the air, "For him, for me. I bring, you let..?" He did not know the word for 'watch', so just said it in common, making a motion between his eyes and the clock.

"Want learn."

He looked at the adjustments that had been made to his penciled suggestions and nodded, then carefully traced one of the major cogs so he would be able to make accurate measurements. Did some math, which he hoped translated into the other language, made a face, did it again, shook his head. He could do the calculations later. He was beginning to catch on to the fact that he was probably taking up too much of this man's time.

"I am sorry." He gave an apologetic smile to show he meant it, "I fuck off." Even the swear word sounded like rainwater in the elvish language. Picking up the box he adjusted it till he could carry it under one arm and then with one last appreciative smile over his shoulder, he left.

It took a couple of days of spare time before he could finish the calculations properly and then work spare scraps of metal into the shapes he wanted, cut them precisely. He would have loved to work springs with aether and runes for strength, but that would have truly been considered a waste and his master would not have ignored it as he would the loss of scraps for tinkering.

He made his way back to the shop on his lunch hour with a packet of the parts in his pocket, hoping the other man hadn't assumed he would forget. He'd made additional modifications as they came to him. If the clock was already fixed and the alchemist, understandably, unwilling to open it back up, it had still been a learning experience for the young runesmith.

"Good Afternoon." He greeted in careful, cheerful, Mythrasi, having asked around in inns until someone had known the words.

[Sivan]

Sivan didn't think of the apprentice smith in his absence. A lot of people said a lot of things, but until they made good on them, their words were just air on the wind. The clock was ticking steadily away at this point. Today, he was still in his same spot, but his tools had been replaced with a mortar and pestle and he was doing his best not to go crazy grinding crystals of blue vitriol into a fine, even powder. But even this was perilous work — if the crystals came in contact with water, they would create fire, which was a great mystery of alchemy, apparently. He worked them next to a little dragonshard-powered furnace that was hot enough both to keep his slender hands warm and burn humidity out of the air near the crunch of metal crystals. A small partition blocked his work from view of the door, not because it was a secret, but because a gust of humid air might make bad things happen.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the human form silhouetted by the brighter light of the outdoors. When the lamps filled in his features, he nodded to him. Then he remembered the talk of gadgets and gizmos aplenty, though he didn't know whether that was what brought the young man. There was also the business between their masters, and so he carefully rested the pestle in his work and stood politely to greet him.

The Mythrasi was a nice effort, and his accent wasn't abyssmal, so he offered a slight smile.

"Hello," he said in Common since they were being polite. He could make an effort as well.

"Another order?"

[Torin Kilvin]

Torin's smile was friendly, the one he used when taking orders from clients or trying to make himself seem harmless in situations when people saw his shoulders as a threat rather than a tool. There were sparks of excitement buried in his bright eyes, they were where he hid the bursting types of emotion; excitement, fear, anger, joy.

Approaching with the same care to exactly where his body was and what space it took up as he'd expressed in his first visit to the shop he made his way to the work desk. There were no clockwork pieces neatly set onto the surface this time. Instead, the work appeared more in line with the name of the shop. The tall boy paused a few feet away, giving the blue powder being created a wary look before stepping just close enough to lay the packet he pulled from his pocket on the desk.

"I made the gears, and springs from Ash Steel." He spoke common, slowly; out of respect. Not knowing a language did not make one stupid, and this man was obviously intelligent. "The metal is stronger. It won't stretch." Using the word he'd been taught in their previous conversation brought a hint of something proud to the bland smile. He slipped back into his broken Mythrasi.

Realizing, belatedly, that he'd been asked a question he shook his head, gold splashing around his shoulders from under his knit hat.

"No order." Perhaps the other man, who seemed an apprentice himself, was not supposed to spend time talking during work hours with people who weren't clients.

"I can buy." Glancing around he wondered what they might have that he could use outside the things for his work, which were paid for by his master. "Do have..." He couldn't remember the specific word in elvish so he defaulted back to common, "dragonshard?"

He knew the shop had lots of magical things in it but dragonshards weren't alchemically created. There were surely many interesting things he could make use of, or, perhaps he could buy a gift for his mentor-cum-friend the next time they were able to meet.

[Sivan]

The elf's mouth quirked into a bemused sort of smile when he picked up the packet, peeking inside to peruse the gears. He didn't know if it was meant as merchandise or a gift and, if it was a gift, whether it was for Jacun or for Sivan. Kalzasi was cosmopolitan, but it hadn't been so long since he had made his way through other cities where his kind were less welcome. Few things came without strings attached. Even his masters had required service for education. Everything was transactional. Exceptions were rare.

"You don't have to—" he began. He paused. Little phrases were becoming ingrained in his mind, but now they sped out and left him fumbling at the precipice of his understanding.

Before he could puzzle out what to say, he figured it might be bad form to turn away the offer of custom if his master did arrive to find him conversing with a runesmith's apprentice. Magic was fundamental, of course, but the ebb and flow of currency were nearly as important to the ecosystem of a city.

"Dragonshards, yes," he said, then carefully enunciated the word in Mythrasi since the smith was keen to learn.

Sivan stepped around from behind the desk that had become his workstation and showed the other apprentice to the display of dragonshards. They were all clearly marked for those who couldn't tell them apart, and there was a neatly written sign suggesting inquiring with the staff if something that wasn't present was called for. These were all of minor purity and most of them quite common. The more expensive stock was kept in the back, and the most impressive stock was kept under lock and key and, Sivan suspected, magical warding. As he pointed to each sign, he offered the word in Mythrasi as well. He thought the man capable of reading after they had gone over his list the last time he came. In any case, he didn't mind repeating any of the translations if asked. The apprentice was a much more pleasant customer than most. He certainly treated Sivan with more respect than most.

Last he picked up something that was more of a curiosity than anything else: a spherical dreamstone, too impure to be of much use, or perhaps merely spent of its power. He held it up for the man's inspection. He was smiling, but it was guarded still.

"What do you dream?"