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Drinking with the city blacksmith
Piper
Master Crumbs
Backstory- Piper has been in the forge lately and after an incident with Aife talking with her and Tina, she offers to invite Aife out for a drink sometime. Aife decides to take her up on that and brings a bunch of subjects with her that get Piper flustered.
Above the Coals.
Neatly organized, this shop has been set up by Aife to provide the citizens of Spinesreach with necessary supplies and tools for their travels and adventures. A few wooden shelves display the various items for sale. Not one to sit idle, Aife has set up the shop to accomodate her forge, and can often be seen forging items. A sturdy iron forge stands here, cold and dark. A small wooden sign is here. A note of fine parchment has been pinned to the wall. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A pine-lined iron bin has been set here, ready to be be filled with trash. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats. A backpack crafted from the furs of a white bear lies here. Aife, the blacksmith of Spinesreach, stands here holding her forging hammer. Wagging its tail with enough force to shake its rear, a rotund puppy ambles here. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
After a long hour of toil, Aife puts down her hammer and sets aside the half-shaped partisan head, letting the forge die out slowly. She wipes the sweat from her brow, and glances at you briefly, then to a rotund brown puppy. "The hell d' you feed him?"
Piper pauses as she goes to refire the forge, the tinderbox in her hands. Glancing down at the rolly polly dog that's decided to collapse into a heap by the doorway, its mouth open as it slumbers noisily, she just grunts. "Weren't me. I got him on a diet ever since I got him back from my husband." Soon after she's spoken, the flame begins to crackle and glow brightly.
Aife, the blacksmith chuffs her gruff laughter. "Cute little mite. You know, I've been working ten hour shifts for almost two weeks straight. Senator, you oughta buy this woman a drink."
"Tch, woman. I bought the entire bar for us to share." Piper offers one of many bottles to Aife, the rest set down dangerously close to the heated forge.
You give a long-necked glass bottle to Aife, the blacksmith.
Aife, the blacksmith says, "I don't have any need of this. Maybe someone else?"
Aife, the blacksmith hands a long-necked glass bottle back to you.
Aife, the blacksmith shakes her head. "Hell with that. You keep what you drink - my appetite for booze's a bit... odd. C'mon, take me somewhere."
Aife, the blacksmith begins to follow you.
Brass Monkey Imports.
This room is long and low, with the kind of lighting that allows a patron to see what they're doing, but also allows comfortable dimness while enjoying a drink. One side of the shop is a lattice of shelving packed with various wares, both imported and local. The floor is mostly taken up by a number of tables and chairs, and on the opposing side of the room there stretches a long hardwood bar with the standard surly-looking tender. At one end of the bar there sits a statuette of a sitting monkey cast in brass- while it is tarnished and grimy in places, the top of its head sports a high shine that implies it gets patted often. An elegant obsidian cup has been left on the ground here. There are 2 monolith sigils here. A slender glass hookah stands here. A pine-lined iron bin has been set here, ready to be be filled with trash. A carved flagon with an image of the Spires has been left here. Hands folded in the sleeves of his dark, voluminous robes, a cabalist stands ready to guard his city. Aife, the blacksmith of Spinesreach, stands here holding her forging hammer. Wagging its tail with enough force to shake its rear, a rotund puppy ambles here.
"Alright well... this ain't the noisiest bar but it's my favorite. You know the Conduit, yeah? And the Commissar?" Piper quietly murmurs to herself. "Course you do. They've been in the city so long their feet nearly grafted to the cobblestones."
"You kidding?" Aife, the blacksmith asks. "Those two were friends with my gran'pappy, to say nothin' of me. I really love this city, I do. And this place is just fine." The blacksmith settles herself into a stool, resting her slablike arms on the bartop, and proceeds to order the fruitiest, girliest wine in the house.
Piper's jaw drops as Aife orders, her mouth further opening as that fruity drink comes complete with a small dainty glass and tiny pink umbrella. "I- I uh.. didn't know they served nothing but.." She clears her throat and hops up onto a stool two away from Aife, dumping her pack down into the middle stool. The thing slumps to the side and soon its contents half nearly all but dumped out onto the floor below. "I guess I already got my drink, anyways."
You ask Aife, the blacksmith, "How're you doing, Comrade Aife?"
(Cabalists): You say, "Oi, Commissar. I didn't know you had fruity crud in your bar."
You drink from a long-necked glass bottle full of Zaphar Reserve Lager, the pale beer going down crisp and clean.
Tall and thin, Aife the blacksmith plays her part in Spinesreach by providing the villagers with pots and pans and horseshoes, and the occassional weapon for the guards. Although in a profession that requires strength and endurance, Aife is a naturally radiant beauty. She wears a loose leather apron that hugs her curves and gives a hint of an extremely fit body underneath.
Aife, the blacksmith looks weak and feeble.
Aife, the blacksmith cranes down to eyeball the pile of detritus built around your feet. "This is Akaryuterra and Ryotega's bar. I -know- you're gonna clean that up before he comes along. And me?" She pauses, taking a sip of her bubbly, pinkish wine - your notion is correct, it wasn't even on the menu - and continues, "I'm the happiest person in the Republic."
"I clean up my messes in the forge, don't I? I ain't one of your children, Comrade Aife. I'm a grown woman that knows how to pick up after her pitting self." Having said that, Piper slips off of the stool and begins gather up her belongings into a moderately organized pile beneath the vacant stool. The entire time is spent muttering something about 'tabs' and nursing at her bottle excepting for the moment she peers up at Aife. "Happiest? You got some good business prospect or something aiming your way?"
Aife, the blacksmith doesn't peel her eyes away until sure that you will clean up your mess, flashing a triumphant 'damn right' grin. "I'm happiest because I know what I want to be doin'. Every day I go into that forge and I work hours that most people'd figure barbaric."
Aife, the blacksmith says, "Day after day, night after night, I make cour boulli. Boiled leather. Ringmail. Polearms. Because dammit, our city needs defendin'."
Piper eventually finishes up and reclaims her seat. "Well, that be making one of a few. You know how much grouching is done around the city?" Her expression gives away that she might be one of the guilty party.
You feel a sense of loss as a hammer of forging blinks out of existence.
Rajazel tells you, "Need it back?"
Rajazel tells you, "It returned to me."
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "Not yet, no. I ended up kidnapping Aife for a drink instead."
Aife, the blacksmith nods her head. "Ain't like I don't hear it. People're always going to grouch, that's just human nature. But hey, why would you be here if not to remedy all that, eh?" Emphatically, she lifts her fizzy drink.
Piper raises up her bottle, half of its content remaining to slosh around the glass walls. "Ain't that the truth. Cheers, Comrade."
You drink from a long-necked glass bottle of Zaphar Reserve Lager, the pale beer going down crisp and clean.
Aife, the blacksmith reaches across the bar, clinking her wine glass against your bottle. "Chee-- chee- ha ha!"
You see Aife, the blacksmith yell, "WHOO!"
Aife, the blacksmith guzzles down the glass in one smooth motion.
Piper quickly chugs the rest of the bottle and slams it down on the counter in front of her, her eyes watering. "Wh-"
You wryly say to Aife, the blacksmith, "Where the PITS did you learn to drin *hic* k llike that? I ain't never seen you around the barv much."
Frowning at you, Aife, the blacksmith claims, "Really? This ain't even really alcoholic, I don't think. I try to lay off the booze - gets my hammerin' arm all out of sorts. So why you like forgin', anyway? You're such a... small girl."
You say to Aife, the blacksmith, "I was being all sar *hic* cas *hic* Tic-like."
Piper continues to hiccup, beating at her chest with her fist until the fit has subsided. "I uh.." She hiccups once more and then simply holds in a belch before it's had a chance to air itself out. "I don't be knowing. First I got into masonry and furniture-making. Then I said that if I could be hauling up all them stones, I could raise a hammer and make more."
Aife, the blacksmith orders another drink, this time a beer - something with actual alcohol (even if the beer itself is light amber, and bubbly like a hot spring). This she sips at, not without a self-conscious sort of side-eye at you between drinks. "I get'cha. Turn yer operation all... what's it called, when you produce everything y'sell."
After a moment's thought, Aife, the blacksmith says, "Vertical integration?"
The clueless expression that Aife seems capable of bringing out with ease is back where it usually is, her blue eyes wide with confusion. Fingers curled around the edge of the counter with the empty bottle set down just inches away from both of her hands. "Uh.. vertical integra-" Piper frowns. "I don't be knowing, Aife. Sufficient?"
Aife, the blacksmith grins smarmily at you, watching you at length for a long while. "Hey. Don't mind me sayin' so, but yer cute when you get all defensive."
"Yeah.. yeah.. yeah. I don't want to hear that from you, too." Piper scowls heavily, her lip ring being pulled up into her mouth. "Listen, change of subject or something. Why'd you start up forging? I know you were married before. Was your husband a forger, too?" She drawls out, a slur still painting her words.
Aife, the blacksmith doesn't even seem bothered - maybe not her first time being shot down. She sips at her beer, warming up to the undoubtedly harsh, bitter taste, in comparison with her preferred bubbly. "Oh, yeah, he was a forger. He forged and fabricated a lot o' things, includin' his involvement with an ol' Syssin from way back. I crushed his skull like a bad tomato."
Piper's lips slowly form out a small 'o' and she begins to investigate the next bottle in her nearby pack that hadn't fallen out, rummaging noisily for it. Taking a bit longer to locate it than perhaps necessary, her features are pulled up into joy as she sits back up. "Look! S'the same type I just drank!" As if that was a fantastic thing that had never happened before. "No wonder you ain't liking Syssin much, huh?" She carefully reintegrates herself back into the conversation.
You tell Moirean Seirath, Champion of Balls, "Who ever got me for their Secret Spirean needs a paddle for being a sore participant, Chairwoman."
Moirean tells you, "Oh?"
Moirean tells you, "No, it's my fault. I've been slacking on the item creation, I think. I will check."
You tell Moirean Seirath, Champion of Balls, "Put tacks on your seat in your office, Chairwoman. Tut tut!"
Aife, the blacksmith rolls one beefy shoulder in a casual shrug. "Ain't like a bad tomato means the whole patch is rotten. Syssin're my biggest customers, in fact. That's the thing about bein' a career blacksmith. The ol' act o' creation... it ain't about pickin' sides. Takin' real joy in the craft means you give yerself wholly to the art, and don't think about what it's used for."
Moirean tells you, "If you tell me that you've done it, it rather ruins the prank."
"That was my best hammer..." Aife, the blacksmith mumbles, pulling at her beer again. "Never dreamed I'd use it for that."
You tell Moirean Seirath, Champion of Balls, "...true."
Piper doesn't look as if she knows what to say in response to that. Hesitantly, she pats Aife on the back with a heavy hand. "S'alright, Comrade! You're in the right place to be feeling less crummy, you know?" She paraphrases back to Aife, a wobbly grin growing more strong with each shoulder shaking pat. "Listen, you said it yourself that you were the happiest woman ever. You ain't that old, yeah? Find another one, you know?"
Aife, the blacksmith flashes her craggy grin at you. She is lovely, but small details - like the gap between her front teeth, and her stocky frame - throw her prettier features into sharp relief, worsening or bettering them depending on your point of view. "Oh, hell, do I seem upset to you? That's just the drink mellowin' me down some. I don't mind bein' alone, I still get plenty o' company. It's just I ain't been laid in about fifty years."
"Whoooo.. that is a -long- time, Comrade." Piper whistles low, her lips pursing before she wets them with her drink. "I think I'd be busting out my britches if I was you."
Aife, the blacksmith shifts her eyes this way, then that. "Hey. I'm a blacksmith. Don't worry, I'm inventive."
Aife, the blacksmith takes another hearty swig of her drink - she must be getting a taste for beer!
Piper either doesn't know what to say to that or is holding back from responding. Instead, her already dark face heats up and flushes a dark red color. "Ah.. never uh.. yeah. thought of that, you know?" She mumbles quietly. Perhaps, thoughtfully.
"Mm-HMM," Aife, the blacksmith clears her throat, minding the bartender, a bit of embarrassment registering for her, as well. "You know, maybe there are some fine aspects of our work we ought keep uh, proprietary. Anyway, thanks much for the drink. What'cha gonna be up to later? I uh, hear there's some kinda swimming event?"
"S'alright! S'alright! You know I get up to forging some crazy things, too. Just didn't uh.. think about.. pits. Maybe later." Piper drops the subject entirely. She carefully scoots the barstool closer to the counter with a bit of verbose grumbling as her objects tangle in the legs, her next few sentences peppered with cusses. "Yeah. It s'all in the city projects. Report number one-fifty-seven... pitting...gnnh.."
Aife, the blacksmith ponders for a moment, then raps at her chin. "No, got it. Hey, good! Might be I can show up. Don't expect me to show off much more than m' ankles, but I really do need an excuse to see the beach again. ".
With a broad grin, you laughingly say to Aife, the blacksmith, "Well, there ain't no real definition for what swim wear is."
An agonized scream startles all into a brief hushed silence as Lianca finally transcends the mortal body, assuming the hollow form of a Tekal.
You tell Novitiate Lianca Deschaine, "Hey, congratulations! Don't be melting, none!"
Lianca tells you, "Thank you!"
Aife, the blacksmith looks profoundly relieved, to say the least, and pinches some of the soot from her brow. "Whew, that's good. I know you little birds and the bulls are gonna be skippin' out there with your nethers hangin' out but I don't really go for that kinda thing."
Grimacing, you say to Aife, the blacksmith, "I hope I ain't, Aife. Honest, I ain't got no clue what I'm wearing. I got the Doyen designing up my outfit s part of some dare or promise or something."
Aife, the blacksmith performs an astonishingly perfect wolf whistle, a high then low note that any poor, objectified woman would have heard in a seedy bar. "Oh lordy. Well, I hope it ain't too scandalous. Anyway..." Heaving herself off of the stool, she claps a large hand against your back. "I oughta get back to work, Senator."
You smile and say to Aife, the blacksmith, "I'll walk you back if you want. Still need to make a few things there."
"Of course you are, only right," Aife, the blacksmith teases, sidling by the door, having left a hefty tip for the barkeep.
Aife, the blacksmith begins to follow you.
Piper takes a moment to scoop up her things and quickly picks up her pace to catch up to Aife, darting out the door with a near leaping movement.
Above the Coals. (Spinesreach.) (5942)
A sturdy iron forge stands here, cold and dark. A small wooden sign is here. A note of fine parchment has been pinned to the wall. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A pine-lined iron bin has been set here, ready to be be filled with trash. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats. A backpack crafted from the furs of a white bear lies here. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
You see a single exit leading northwest.
You nod your head at Aife, the blacksmith.
You move about quickly and lose Aife, the blacksmith.
Aife, the blacksmith takes hold, gently, of your wrist. "Hey, you're alright, Senator. I'll always keep a good word for ya, okay?"
Noelle tells you, "Where are you taking Aife there, miss Anfini?"
You tell Noelle, "We just got done drinking at the bar, s'all."
Piper's face, for some odd reason, flushes up again dramatically. "Oh, uh. Hey, thank you, Aife. You ain't so bad yourself. Always liked you."
Before you can stop her, Aife, the blacksmith leans forward and plants a brief, almost thoughtless kiss on your cheek. She is old and proud enough to pretend it didn't happen after, and gets back to work immediately, busying herself with the relighting of her forge.
Piper takes a quick step back towards the doorway, gesturing towards it with her thumb. "I uh.. gotta.. smoke out here for a second. Ain't a good idea to.. here.." She digs out a cigarette and all but scrambles out of the shop, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Aife, the blacksmith says, "Right! Work for me. Toodles!"
Colorful walkway near a neatly-maintained garden. (road) (Spinesreach.) (5724)
The stars twinkle in the clear night sky. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A glowing red flame-shaped sigil has been left here. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats.
You see exits leading north, northeast, southeast, south, and west.
You tell Noelle, "I uh.. yeah. Hm."
Your pose is now set as:
Piper is here, smoking heavily with her cheeks blazing red.
Above the Coals.
Neatly organized, this shop has been set up by Aife to provide the citizens of Spinesreach with necessary supplies and tools for their travels and adventures. A few wooden shelves display the various items for sale. Not one to sit idle, Aife has set up the shop to accomodate her forge, and can often be seen forging items. A sturdy iron forge stands here, cold and dark. A small wooden sign is here. A note of fine parchment has been pinned to the wall. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A pine-lined iron bin has been set here, ready to be be filled with trash. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats. A backpack crafted from the furs of a white bear lies here. Aife, the blacksmith of Spinesreach, stands here holding her forging hammer. Wagging its tail with enough force to shake its rear, a rotund puppy ambles here. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
After a long hour of toil, Aife puts down her hammer and sets aside the half-shaped partisan head, letting the forge die out slowly. She wipes the sweat from her brow, and glances at you briefly, then to a rotund brown puppy. "The hell d' you feed him?"
Piper pauses as she goes to refire the forge, the tinderbox in her hands. Glancing down at the rolly polly dog that's decided to collapse into a heap by the doorway, its mouth open as it slumbers noisily, she just grunts. "Weren't me. I got him on a diet ever since I got him back from my husband." Soon after she's spoken, the flame begins to crackle and glow brightly.
Aife, the blacksmith chuffs her gruff laughter. "Cute little mite. You know, I've been working ten hour shifts for almost two weeks straight. Senator, you oughta buy this woman a drink."
"Tch, woman. I bought the entire bar for us to share." Piper offers one of many bottles to Aife, the rest set down dangerously close to the heated forge.
You give a long-necked glass bottle to Aife, the blacksmith.
Aife, the blacksmith says, "I don't have any need of this. Maybe someone else?"
Aife, the blacksmith hands a long-necked glass bottle back to you.
Aife, the blacksmith shakes her head. "Hell with that. You keep what you drink - my appetite for booze's a bit... odd. C'mon, take me somewhere."
Aife, the blacksmith begins to follow you.
Brass Monkey Imports.
This room is long and low, with the kind of lighting that allows a patron to see what they're doing, but also allows comfortable dimness while enjoying a drink. One side of the shop is a lattice of shelving packed with various wares, both imported and local. The floor is mostly taken up by a number of tables and chairs, and on the opposing side of the room there stretches a long hardwood bar with the standard surly-looking tender. At one end of the bar there sits a statuette of a sitting monkey cast in brass- while it is tarnished and grimy in places, the top of its head sports a high shine that implies it gets patted often. An elegant obsidian cup has been left on the ground here. There are 2 monolith sigils here. A slender glass hookah stands here. A pine-lined iron bin has been set here, ready to be be filled with trash. A carved flagon with an image of the Spires has been left here. Hands folded in the sleeves of his dark, voluminous robes, a cabalist stands ready to guard his city. Aife, the blacksmith of Spinesreach, stands here holding her forging hammer. Wagging its tail with enough force to shake its rear, a rotund puppy ambles here.
"Alright well... this ain't the noisiest bar but it's my favorite. You know the Conduit, yeah? And the Commissar?" Piper quietly murmurs to herself. "Course you do. They've been in the city so long their feet nearly grafted to the cobblestones."
"You kidding?" Aife, the blacksmith asks. "Those two were friends with my gran'pappy, to say nothin' of me. I really love this city, I do. And this place is just fine." The blacksmith settles herself into a stool, resting her slablike arms on the bartop, and proceeds to order the fruitiest, girliest wine in the house.
Piper's jaw drops as Aife orders, her mouth further opening as that fruity drink comes complete with a small dainty glass and tiny pink umbrella. "I- I uh.. didn't know they served nothing but.." She clears her throat and hops up onto a stool two away from Aife, dumping her pack down into the middle stool. The thing slumps to the side and soon its contents half nearly all but dumped out onto the floor below. "I guess I already got my drink, anyways."
You ask Aife, the blacksmith, "How're you doing, Comrade Aife?"
(Cabalists): You say, "Oi, Commissar. I didn't know you had fruity crud in your bar."
You drink from a long-necked glass bottle full of Zaphar Reserve Lager, the pale beer going down crisp and clean.
Tall and thin, Aife the blacksmith plays her part in Spinesreach by providing the villagers with pots and pans and horseshoes, and the occassional weapon for the guards. Although in a profession that requires strength and endurance, Aife is a naturally radiant beauty. She wears a loose leather apron that hugs her curves and gives a hint of an extremely fit body underneath.
Aife, the blacksmith looks weak and feeble.
Aife, the blacksmith cranes down to eyeball the pile of detritus built around your feet. "This is Akaryuterra and Ryotega's bar. I -know- you're gonna clean that up before he comes along. And me?" She pauses, taking a sip of her bubbly, pinkish wine - your notion is correct, it wasn't even on the menu - and continues, "I'm the happiest person in the Republic."
"I clean up my messes in the forge, don't I? I ain't one of your children, Comrade Aife. I'm a grown woman that knows how to pick up after her pitting self." Having said that, Piper slips off of the stool and begins gather up her belongings into a moderately organized pile beneath the vacant stool. The entire time is spent muttering something about 'tabs' and nursing at her bottle excepting for the moment she peers up at Aife. "Happiest? You got some good business prospect or something aiming your way?"
Aife, the blacksmith doesn't peel her eyes away until sure that you will clean up your mess, flashing a triumphant 'damn right' grin. "I'm happiest because I know what I want to be doin'. Every day I go into that forge and I work hours that most people'd figure barbaric."
Aife, the blacksmith says, "Day after day, night after night, I make cour boulli. Boiled leather. Ringmail. Polearms. Because dammit, our city needs defendin'."
Piper eventually finishes up and reclaims her seat. "Well, that be making one of a few. You know how much grouching is done around the city?" Her expression gives away that she might be one of the guilty party.
You feel a sense of loss as a hammer of forging blinks out of existence.
Rajazel tells you, "Need it back?"
Rajazel tells you, "It returned to me."
You tell Rajazel Tursatna, "Not yet, no. I ended up kidnapping Aife for a drink instead."
Aife, the blacksmith nods her head. "Ain't like I don't hear it. People're always going to grouch, that's just human nature. But hey, why would you be here if not to remedy all that, eh?" Emphatically, she lifts her fizzy drink.
Piper raises up her bottle, half of its content remaining to slosh around the glass walls. "Ain't that the truth. Cheers, Comrade."
You drink from a long-necked glass bottle of Zaphar Reserve Lager, the pale beer going down crisp and clean.
Aife, the blacksmith reaches across the bar, clinking her wine glass against your bottle. "Chee-- chee- ha ha!"
You see Aife, the blacksmith yell, "WHOO!"
Aife, the blacksmith guzzles down the glass in one smooth motion.
Piper quickly chugs the rest of the bottle and slams it down on the counter in front of her, her eyes watering. "Wh-"
You wryly say to Aife, the blacksmith, "Where the PITS did you learn to drin *hic* k llike that? I ain't never seen you around the barv much."
Frowning at you, Aife, the blacksmith claims, "Really? This ain't even really alcoholic, I don't think. I try to lay off the booze - gets my hammerin' arm all out of sorts. So why you like forgin', anyway? You're such a... small girl."
You say to Aife, the blacksmith, "I was being all sar *hic* cas *hic* Tic-like."
Piper continues to hiccup, beating at her chest with her fist until the fit has subsided. "I uh.." She hiccups once more and then simply holds in a belch before it's had a chance to air itself out. "I don't be knowing. First I got into masonry and furniture-making. Then I said that if I could be hauling up all them stones, I could raise a hammer and make more."
Aife, the blacksmith orders another drink, this time a beer - something with actual alcohol (even if the beer itself is light amber, and bubbly like a hot spring). This she sips at, not without a self-conscious sort of side-eye at you between drinks. "I get'cha. Turn yer operation all... what's it called, when you produce everything y'sell."
After a moment's thought, Aife, the blacksmith says, "Vertical integration?"
The clueless expression that Aife seems capable of bringing out with ease is back where it usually is, her blue eyes wide with confusion. Fingers curled around the edge of the counter with the empty bottle set down just inches away from both of her hands. "Uh.. vertical integra-" Piper frowns. "I don't be knowing, Aife. Sufficient?"
Aife, the blacksmith grins smarmily at you, watching you at length for a long while. "Hey. Don't mind me sayin' so, but yer cute when you get all defensive."
"Yeah.. yeah.. yeah. I don't want to hear that from you, too." Piper scowls heavily, her lip ring being pulled up into her mouth. "Listen, change of subject or something. Why'd you start up forging? I know you were married before. Was your husband a forger, too?" She drawls out, a slur still painting her words.
Aife, the blacksmith doesn't even seem bothered - maybe not her first time being shot down. She sips at her beer, warming up to the undoubtedly harsh, bitter taste, in comparison with her preferred bubbly. "Oh, yeah, he was a forger. He forged and fabricated a lot o' things, includin' his involvement with an ol' Syssin from way back. I crushed his skull like a bad tomato."
Piper's lips slowly form out a small 'o' and she begins to investigate the next bottle in her nearby pack that hadn't fallen out, rummaging noisily for it. Taking a bit longer to locate it than perhaps necessary, her features are pulled up into joy as she sits back up. "Look! S'the same type I just drank!" As if that was a fantastic thing that had never happened before. "No wonder you ain't liking Syssin much, huh?" She carefully reintegrates herself back into the conversation.
You tell Moirean Seirath, Champion of Balls, "Who ever got me for their Secret Spirean needs a paddle for being a sore participant, Chairwoman."
Moirean tells you, "Oh?"
Moirean tells you, "No, it's my fault. I've been slacking on the item creation, I think. I will check."
You tell Moirean Seirath, Champion of Balls, "Put tacks on your seat in your office, Chairwoman. Tut tut!"
Aife, the blacksmith rolls one beefy shoulder in a casual shrug. "Ain't like a bad tomato means the whole patch is rotten. Syssin're my biggest customers, in fact. That's the thing about bein' a career blacksmith. The ol' act o' creation... it ain't about pickin' sides. Takin' real joy in the craft means you give yerself wholly to the art, and don't think about what it's used for."
Moirean tells you, "If you tell me that you've done it, it rather ruins the prank."
"That was my best hammer..." Aife, the blacksmith mumbles, pulling at her beer again. "Never dreamed I'd use it for that."
You tell Moirean Seirath, Champion of Balls, "...true."
Piper doesn't look as if she knows what to say in response to that. Hesitantly, she pats Aife on the back with a heavy hand. "S'alright, Comrade! You're in the right place to be feeling less crummy, you know?" She paraphrases back to Aife, a wobbly grin growing more strong with each shoulder shaking pat. "Listen, you said it yourself that you were the happiest woman ever. You ain't that old, yeah? Find another one, you know?"
Aife, the blacksmith flashes her craggy grin at you. She is lovely, but small details - like the gap between her front teeth, and her stocky frame - throw her prettier features into sharp relief, worsening or bettering them depending on your point of view. "Oh, hell, do I seem upset to you? That's just the drink mellowin' me down some. I don't mind bein' alone, I still get plenty o' company. It's just I ain't been laid in about fifty years."
"Whoooo.. that is a -long- time, Comrade." Piper whistles low, her lips pursing before she wets them with her drink. "I think I'd be busting out my britches if I was you."
Aife, the blacksmith shifts her eyes this way, then that. "Hey. I'm a blacksmith. Don't worry, I'm inventive."
Aife, the blacksmith takes another hearty swig of her drink - she must be getting a taste for beer!
Piper either doesn't know what to say to that or is holding back from responding. Instead, her already dark face heats up and flushes a dark red color. "Ah.. never uh.. yeah. thought of that, you know?" She mumbles quietly. Perhaps, thoughtfully.
"Mm-HMM," Aife, the blacksmith clears her throat, minding the bartender, a bit of embarrassment registering for her, as well. "You know, maybe there are some fine aspects of our work we ought keep uh, proprietary. Anyway, thanks much for the drink. What'cha gonna be up to later? I uh, hear there's some kinda swimming event?"
"S'alright! S'alright! You know I get up to forging some crazy things, too. Just didn't uh.. think about.. pits. Maybe later." Piper drops the subject entirely. She carefully scoots the barstool closer to the counter with a bit of verbose grumbling as her objects tangle in the legs, her next few sentences peppered with cusses. "Yeah. It s'all in the city projects. Report number one-fifty-seven... pitting...gnnh.."
Aife, the blacksmith ponders for a moment, then raps at her chin. "No, got it. Hey, good! Might be I can show up. Don't expect me to show off much more than m' ankles, but I really do need an excuse to see the beach again. ".
With a broad grin, you laughingly say to Aife, the blacksmith, "Well, there ain't no real definition for what swim wear is."
An agonized scream startles all into a brief hushed silence as Lianca finally transcends the mortal body, assuming the hollow form of a Tekal.
You tell Novitiate Lianca Deschaine, "Hey, congratulations! Don't be melting, none!"
Lianca tells you, "Thank you!"
Aife, the blacksmith looks profoundly relieved, to say the least, and pinches some of the soot from her brow. "Whew, that's good. I know you little birds and the bulls are gonna be skippin' out there with your nethers hangin' out but I don't really go for that kinda thing."
Grimacing, you say to Aife, the blacksmith, "I hope I ain't, Aife. Honest, I ain't got no clue what I'm wearing. I got the Doyen designing up my outfit s part of some dare or promise or something."
Aife, the blacksmith performs an astonishingly perfect wolf whistle, a high then low note that any poor, objectified woman would have heard in a seedy bar. "Oh lordy. Well, I hope it ain't too scandalous. Anyway..." Heaving herself off of the stool, she claps a large hand against your back. "I oughta get back to work, Senator."
You smile and say to Aife, the blacksmith, "I'll walk you back if you want. Still need to make a few things there."
"Of course you are, only right," Aife, the blacksmith teases, sidling by the door, having left a hefty tip for the barkeep.
Aife, the blacksmith begins to follow you.
Piper takes a moment to scoop up her things and quickly picks up her pace to catch up to Aife, darting out the door with a near leaping movement.
Above the Coals. (Spinesreach.) (5942)
A sturdy iron forge stands here, cold and dark. A small wooden sign is here. A note of fine parchment has been pinned to the wall. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground. A pine-lined iron bin has been set here, ready to be be filled with trash. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats. A backpack crafted from the furs of a white bear lies here. You see a sign here instructing you that WARES is the command to see what is for sale.
You see a single exit leading northwest.
You nod your head at Aife, the blacksmith.
You move about quickly and lose Aife, the blacksmith.
Aife, the blacksmith takes hold, gently, of your wrist. "Hey, you're alright, Senator. I'll always keep a good word for ya, okay?"
Noelle tells you, "Where are you taking Aife there, miss Anfini?"
You tell Noelle, "We just got done drinking at the bar, s'all."
Piper's face, for some odd reason, flushes up again dramatically. "Oh, uh. Hey, thank you, Aife. You ain't so bad yourself. Always liked you."
Before you can stop her, Aife, the blacksmith leans forward and plants a brief, almost thoughtless kiss on your cheek. She is old and proud enough to pretend it didn't happen after, and gets back to work immediately, busying herself with the relighting of her forge.
Piper takes a quick step back towards the doorway, gesturing towards it with her thumb. "I uh.. gotta.. smoke out here for a second. Ain't a good idea to.. here.." She digs out a cigarette and all but scrambles out of the shop, leaving the door wide open behind her.
Aife, the blacksmith says, "Right! Work for me. Toodles!"
Colorful walkway near a neatly-maintained garden. (road) (Spinesreach.) (5724)
The stars twinkle in the clear night sky. Resting on the ground is a cube-shaped silver sigil. A glowing red flame-shaped sigil has been left here. A conscripted Spirean soldier coldly scans the area for threats.
You see exits leading north, northeast, southeast, south, and west.
You tell Noelle, "I uh.. yeah. Hm."
Your pose is now set as:
Piper is here, smoking heavily with her cheeks blazing red.
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