|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Thu May 31, 2012 7:03 am
Ayle had had time to consider what life would have been like as a Sword after getting stuck in the riot that Ever had started (still a sore spot: presumably Ever had gotten drunk after he'd gotten paid, and had started that riot). Maybe he'd have been in the thick of things, still, but as a Sword, not a weaponsmith who had been lucky enough to be armed. He'd gotten a few cuts and scrapes trying to pull Ever and the other hunter out -- and he'd had to send his best cloak off to be repaired. Someone had gotten a lucky stroke in and cut it nearly in half. He was considering sending Ever the bill.
But riots didn't stop work. He had an order that needed to be finished, a few different weapons for use by the Swords. He expected one of the Second Swords to pick it up -- Rosalie normally came by every couple of weeks or so, it seemed.
The large front gates of the forge were open. She'd be led back by one of the apprentices, finding Ayle loading an armful of wood into the furnace; it wasn't quite hot enough, even though the temperature inside was probably far hotter than comfortable. His blonde hair was tamped down to his forehead by sweat.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 01, 2012 12:23 pm
This was preferable to Rosalie's last house call; Ayle was less inclined toward fits of temper than Rost, less likely to give her a hard time. Less likely to toe the line, the way the glass-blower had...
She showed up exactly when she'd said she would, with a flash of purple cloak as she swept it off in the doorway. As ever, the value of the cloak couldn't stand up against the heat of his forge, the sudden change in temperature enough to make her shudder, like a weight pressing her down toward the floor.
Bright eyes took in the room, a brief flicker glance around, hunting out that familiar flash of blond hair. The new weapons, this time, weren't just for her, not some ornamental blade that she could add to her collection. Instead it was a dozen or so simple blades, the kind new Swords usually got fresh out of training.
She let the young apprentice lead her in, cloak still draped over one arm and short hair flattening against her own temples. She took in Ayle, and the furnace, grimacing a bit at the feel of it. "Bad time?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Jun 02, 2012 12:32 am
Oh, Ayle had temper: it was just kept quietly and safely stored away. Most of the time when he felt anger bubbling up inside of him, he called dog and horse and rode off somewhere out of town, returning a few days later with new stocks of leather, and meat, and perhaps a few bruises.
But in the forge he was able to maintain calm, most of the time. Maybe it was the constant, repetitive hammering, the searing heat, and process of creating things. Who knew. He'd look up blinking when Rosalie appeared: he looked a bit dazed from the heat of the furnace, and as he wiped sweat-slick hair back from his brow, he revealed a bruise along one cheekbone. Someone had clipped him in the ear during the riot. "Rosalie," he said: a greeting. He spoke familiarly to everyone. "No, not a bad time. It was just too cold," he added, tipping a head towards the forge itself. The apprentices had forgotten to stoke the fire properly overnight, and the coal had burned low.
If she waited a moment, he'd shovel in the last of the coal, shove it in deeper into the forge, and then slam the great iron door with a clang. The heat went from roaring to something more like a simmer. "That should be better." He'd draw his gloves off, tossing them carelessly onto the table behind him. "I'm sure you broke a few blades in that riot."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 03, 2012 12:22 pm
Her expression was flat; if she was impatient, waiting for him to get his things together, it was hidden neatly behind a distant mask, green eyes turned around the room, all but ignoring his movements. He wouldn't be able to see the impatient tap-tap-tap of fingers beneath the heavy weight of the cloak. Rosalie might not have been good at diplomacy, but she was at least decent at hiding her feelings.
The door slammed and her eyes flashed back onto him, head tipped just slightly to the side. He could be familiar as he liked with her; her own posture was closed off and professional, quiet. So long as he didn't push her buttons, she'd be able to keep it under control.
"I didn't break anything." And no, obviously not; she was in excellent heath, without so much as a scratch showing, and her sword hung as always at her hip. Impossible to tell if she'd even been in the fight or not. She set her cloak down, gently, somewhere relatively clean, and stepped in. "Let me look at what you have."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 03, 2012 2:42 pm
He looked at her for a moment: well. It was going to be like that, then, as frosty inside as it was out. He nodded, stifling the urge to let something smartassed slip out: Rosalie had no sense of humor, and never had. "Well. Good thing for that."
He crossed the room to one of the racks that lined the wall opposite the forge. The building wasn't that big, but it appeared bigger because of the vastness of the space. Workbenches and other equipment were ranged around the walls, keeping the middle mostly clear, except for Ayle's personal workspace in front of the forge, and the crucible used to pour out the metals.
He would return following an apprentice: the poor kid had to pull a creaky-wheeled rack, which held a round dozen swords. All of them were of the same make, but they were well-balanced, and well-made, with a blood channel in the middle and their hilts wrapped with some of the leather Ever had brought him. They were the ones he'd made specifically for the Swords, and if they weren't custom made to order, they were of exceptional quality anyway. He gestured with his chin to a table nearby. "More if you need, over there."
There was no more familiarity in his voice. It was direct: all business. It was uncommon to see Ayle take that tone. The apprentices would be more familiar with it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Jun 07, 2012 3:18 pm
It was Rosalie -- Rosalie who had never in her life been warm, or caring, who spent most of her time so focused on holding herself upright that she had little time to think about much else. She only hesitated for a moment before she shrugged, stepping in to examine the weaponry. These weren't custom ordered -- because damned if they knew who they were going to, just yet. She let her fingers smooth along the line of the leather, and her mouth shifted a little.
"I only need about ten for the time being, and that may be wishful thinking." Her eyes resettled on him, vaguely questioning, his head tipped to the side. "Gold or credit?"
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 08, 2012 12:55 pm
"Need Swords?" He'd call an apprentice over, and ten of the swords were pulled off of the rack and bundled together, wrapped in a large piece of canvas for easy transport. Somehow the apprentice knew how to wrap them so that they didn't clink together; no danger of chipping, of anything happening to them. It was possible that Ayle had made the poor apprentice work on that for weeks. After a moment, he considered. "What's easier?" If she needed Swords chances were they didn't have much gold. And knowing Rosalie, so straight-laced it seemed painful, credit wouldn't be a gamble.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 19, 2012 6:49 am
She wanted to tell him it made little difference to her -- wanted to shrug and force the decision on him. Instead, Rosalie clenched her back teeth, shifting gloves between her fingers and choosing her words as carefully as possible.
"If you take it now, it will be out of my pocket." Which, perhaps, she could afford; noble Swords frequently still received some kind of financial backing from their families. Of course, this was Rosalie, not exactly favored daughter. "Credit will most likely be paid back in the form of an exemption from taxes."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Jun 19, 2012 9:06 am
He had asked her, once, to loosen up -- what the problem was. He had heard her grinding her teeth halfway across the forge.
He had never made that mistake again.
But now he could see her jaw working, the way it clenched and released, and Ayle decided he didn't really want to be on the bad end of Rosalie Costigan if she was already at this point. She'd been here ten minutes.
He huffed a sigh of his own, swiped blonde hair out of his face; it was in a thick horsetail, and had a tendency to stick to sweat-dampened skin. "Tax exemption's fine. You look busy. Take them and just send me the paperwork."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Fri Jun 22, 2012 7:59 pm
So be it then. Her eyes flicked over his face, perhaps looking for more mockery, for something else behind the words, trying to tell if he'd actually been imperious or it was just her -- and finally decided she was being overly sensitive. Maybe. A small bit. So she just nodded, a sharp twitch of her chin, and stepped in to collect the sword, double checking his work with quick movements of her fingers.
"There might be more yet. I really can't imagine..." Rosalie cleared her throat, twisting her way back into her cloak -- oppressively hot in his little forge -- and dragging on her gloves.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
