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 Posted: Sun Jul 01, 2012 9:50 pm
As days went, all things considered, Eamon's hadn't been that bad. Work, of course. There was always work to be done. He'd finished an order early, though, Cut and tied and trimmed the ends on five yards of heavy fabric he'd left in his mother's care, hungrily soaking up the color from a dyepot. That would bring them decent trade in a few days time when it had dried.
Enough that he felt justified in sitting here at a table, hands curled around a mug of warm drink and his mind already busily planning out which project he would warp in the morning. There was music. There was the rumble of conversation from a table nearby, a companion but not something he needed to pay attention to.
A good day, indeed.
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Posted: Tue Jul 03, 2012 7:56 am
There had been a legitimate message -- that was Jakob's justification for being here. He'd delivered it to a man on a bench near the back, a man halfway into his cups but still wise enough to set his hands on his pouch as he took in the runner's ragtag appearance. Jakob didn't have the loog of a proper message boy, the kind that could recite tidily in a clear accent. No. He looked like the boy on the street corner who cajoled and winked until you caved and tossed him a coin.
This was, in fact, exactly what had happened.
Now that he was here, though, his fingers itched. He stepped away from his mark with coin in hand and flipped it once through the air. It was enough to at least cover a bows of sup, perhaps, if the girl liked him -- and while she fetched it, he roamed absently, wiggling between people and bumping into them and ducking his head as he slipped away with a couple souvenirs.
He was, at least, wise enough not to nab whole purses in a crowded place like this...
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Posted: Wed Jul 04, 2012 4:30 pm
Eamon had developed the habit of tucking his purse away, rather than letting it dangle, long ago. Not his idea, entirely, but words of wisdom from his father who had once lost a rather large commission to a nimble-fingered thief. So there were no dangling, jingling bits of temptation to pluck off Eamon's person.
Not that he didn't present an opportunity when he swung around on his bench suddenly, mug in hand to look for the girl who might refill it if he could catch her eye. Instead, he nearly caught Jakob in the temple, pulling up short and making the dregs still inside slosh against the sides.
"Whoa, there! I nearly caved in the side of your head. Are you all right?"
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Posted: Mon Jul 09, 2012 4:52 pm
Jakob was quick, at least -- ducking and falling back a step, his hands going up in a way that showed very clearly that they weren't in Eamon's pockets and no, no, definitely never had been. Had never even been close. He hadn't, certainly, tugged ties of anything open, hadn't been working anything free.
He blinked widely, expression as innocent as he could manage and, perhaps a bit belatedly, slapping a hand against his head. "...ah! Winged me! Shite!"
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Posted: Wed Jul 18, 2012 2:59 pm
If he'd actually hit the boy, Eamon was sure he would have known. Come close? No question, but there'd been no impact, no thud or vibration to suggest that he'd done more than ruffle a hair. The half moment's hesitation before the flinch was more proof of that.
His eyes narrowed slightly, but he twisted to set his mug down, then faced Jakob again. "Let's have a look then. Let me see how bad it is."
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Posted: Mon Jul 23, 2012 9:16 am
Jakob pulled his hand away slowly, carefully, and he was at least good at faking it; his eye was pressed firmly closed from behind his eye, came slowly into view, and was rather convincingly watering around the edges. If Eamon tried to touch it, he'd get an absent sort of swat away, Jakob ducking away from his hand.
"Nay, nay, dontcha touch it. 'll be fine." It was just a little bit wincing.
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