[PM to Join] The Spotlight is On

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Afternoon, 23rd Yaris, 2719
Black Cat Smithy, Kingsway Market

Aremu was used to words, and he had expected Cat to say something. She had grinned at him, like a reflection of the excitement he felt in his chest, and she had sat back down and started to write and draw, and Aremu had waited. At first, it had surprised him when she did not reach to hand him anything, and for a few moments, he had worried.

And then, consciously, Aremu had settled back into the chair to wait. He knew something of the need to take one’s time and do things properly, and he did not begrudge it to the smith. In fact, he was grateful for her care and diligence even in beginning to plan. Aremu sat, and he thought, and he tried to temper his excitement with the knowledge that this would be difficult, time-consuming, and expensive, and they did not know yet if it would work. And this, too, would not give him back his hand; nothing could.

But to be able to switch tools a little more quickly – to not have to worry about the threading on the screws wearing down over time, to not have to worry about getting the angle right, the same every time, with that last forceful push – he could not work on an airship again, Aremu knew that. This would not change anything; it would still take time to swap the tools. It would never be so quick as putting one down and picking up the next. He did not let himself dream, because there was no point.

But he could work. He had always loved machines; they had spoken to him, even before he had known what he was, even before he had learned that the ways of magic would forever remain a mystery. There was another kind of wonder in engines and factories and propellers, and Aremu had lost himself in it for a decade, and emerged still just as admiring. He knew, already, that he had not lost it entirely, but work that had once been fast was often, now, painfully slow, and what Cat offered was the chance to come a little closer to what he had been.

No, Aremu told himself, no. He took a deep breath, and gently eased that longing away, as if taking a knife and gently excising the dream from his skin. It hurt, but not so badly as he would if not done now. Not to come a little closer to what he had been, he told himself. To find what he could be, now, with what he still had.

He looked up in surprise when Cat offered the paper back, and blinked, slowly – and then he took it, in his left hand. He admired the drawing of the prosthesis, his brows lifting, and then traced his eyes over the items. He had not been smiling, anymore, but his frown seemed to deepen a little with each item. He took the second paper too, and read Cat’s words, and did not doubt they were true. He set the paper down on his leg, carefully, and looked back at the diagram, feeling the heavy weight of his dreams in coin.

Aremu swallowed, hard, and wondered how to choose. He thought of the coin sitting in his bank in Thul Ka, accessible too here in Vienda, and how much of it he would need to spend for this dream – and he thought too of Niccolette, who he knew could afford all of this without a qualm. He set the paper back down, slowly, because his hand was shaking, and he wondered what he could bring himself to do.

Not even for a moment did he think of refusing entirely.

“Could we start with the prosthesis and –” Aremu glanced back down at the paper, and closed his eyes for a moment and chose, because he had to. “this wrench, perhaps?” He offered the papers back to Cat, slowly, still frowning. “I – I cannot… I’ll need time,” he said, simply, instead, lifting his dark gaze back up to the smith.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 23rd of Yaris, 2719 • early afternoon

With each second as he looked over her sketch, and it was a very rough sketch, Cat watched the worry deepen over the passive’s face. She had a pretty good idea why, as well. She recognized that look all too well. As he spoke, stumbling over his words, Cat’s heart broke a little. She felt the urge that she’d succumbed to before. To go above and beyond. But she also had learned a valuable lesson. People needed their pride, and it wasn’t okay to undermine it, even if you were trying to impress and especially even if you were trying to help.

However, Cat had never had trouble working in trade. Bread for horseshoes, tea leaves for a sign, and even her wash basin cabinet, along with several finer oils had been a fair trade for a set of silvered wedding bands.

He said he wanted the prosthesis and a wrench. She could do that. Once all the estimates were in place and the hard work of experimenting was figured out, those other items might prove to be cheaper than she’d anticipated. Of course she wouldn’t say that. She didn’t want to make any false promises.

She knew she should nod, agree on a price and move on. She’d already proven herself once more a terrible judge of what was an was not okay to say. But damn it she couldn’t help herself sometimes. She tapped her pencil on the paper and nodded as she wrote.

“That will be a fine start. Once we know that everything works like it should and we’ve got the process down, I may be able to do other attachments in trade. I’m building a bigger workshop and eventually even an apartment and I’m sure to have much more mechanical needs than I can take on myself. I don’t know any details but I’d be willing to work something out of even for a discount.”

How often had anyone come along knowing the sign language she’d worked so hard to learn? Not often at all. She was limited in every word she brought forward onto paper. She could not convey tone or emotion. Of course she had her facial expressions but it hardly held the same weight if someone had to watch her while she wrote and then read her words. It was a tiresome affair and frankly, sometimes she had to remind herself that it was hardly her fault she didn’t understand social graces. How could one possibly be social in any manner while scribbling in a notepad like a maniac, hoping to get her words across before the topic of conversation was lost. And how many times had she begged Raynarus to let her see this healer or that surgeon to see if perhaps the mona could heal her? How many times had he assured her, even to the point of dragging her to the hospital to hear it from the surgeons themselves, that what she sought was not possible? The knowledge that she’d be ever silent and looked down upon for it, burned in her like a raging fire, hotter than her forge could ever become. She wondered if her passive customer felt the same bitter rage.

“I know what it is like to have lost something, a part of yourself that cannot be recovered.” She thought a second more and decided against writing anything more. Hopefully that would be enough. Hopefully he’d understand that it wasn’t pity that drove her, but determination.

As she wrote out a sort of receipt, she laughed softly, shaking her head. She’d not asked his name. But then she quieted. Perhaps he didn’t want her to know his name. If he had then surely he would have offered it? Cat pulled out yet another scrap of paper and wrote, “What name shall I put on this order?” And passed him that paper.

There. Now he could give her the name of a street or a town even if that made him more comfortable. He seemed far too independent to be a runaway. Did Mugroba gate their passives like Anaxas? Maybe he was wanted by the law. Or, Cat chided herself, maybe he was just awkward and forgot to give his name. Not everything had to be suspect, she reminded herself.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Afternoon, 23rd Yaris, 2719
Black Cat Smithy, Kingsway Market

Cat nodded, and Aremu exhaled a little in relief. He hadn’t really expected her to back out at this stage – to say all or nothing, not when she had priced each piece individually, but all the same he appreciated the nod, and he didn’t mind waiting for her to write, although she seemed to be writing a good deal more than he had expected. He wondered if she wanted to the money upfront; he felt a tightening in his chest at the thought of going to the Mugrobi bank branch here. He had his papers, of course; he would not travel without them.

Maybe, Aremu thought – there were Mugrobi who worked at the branch, even here in Anaxas. Maybe he would get one of them. Tension licked through him, and he breathed deep, and focused his gaze on Cat’s writings, as if he could read them from the movement of her hands.

Aremu read her words carefully and attentively, and his brows lifted. He looked back up at her, surprised, the heavy frown between his brows easing out, slowly. “I’d be grateful,” he said, and nodded. He weighed offering up words on his skill as a mechanic; he weighed mentioning that he knew a good deal about engines. He weighed all the other things he could say, and he kept silent. He would rather earn the goods himself, or at least be able to save money on the cost of them, through his own work; he would much rather that than need to ask Niccolette for help. He had never asked, not her or Uzoji, not for something like this. He did not think she would refuse him, but that wasn't what mattered.

Cat wrote again, and Aremu lowered his eyes to the paper, and went still. He held, there, in the small wooden chair she had set out for him, and read the words again – lowered his gaze to the prosthetic resting on his leg, and lifted it up, slowly, to look at Cat. For a moment – just a moment – he looked solidly at the scar on her face, and he didn’t flinch.

Aremu met her eyes again. He thought there was nothing he could say in response; he thought there was nothing he dared say. But he nodded, slowly, and he eased the prosthetic off his leg, and, even though it was an awkward angle while sitting, he tucked it away into his pocket, and let his wrist rest against the edge of the fabric.

She went back to writing, and Aremu looked away across the shop and wondered, and was just as glad not to know. Glad, too, to still have his voice – to be able to choose silence, and not to have it forced upon him. A strangled, unpleasant sort of noise came from her, and Aremu glanced back, sharply, before recognizing it as a laugh. He swallowed, hard.

He frowned at the next piece of paper, and then grimaced, abruptly embarrassed. “Oh. Yes. Aremu Ediwo,” he said. “Wait, I’ll – ” Aremu reached into his bag and took out a pen. Carefully, he balanced the paper against his leg; he took out his right arm, and held the paper in place with the edge of the prosthetic, and turned the scrap of paper over, and began to write.

It was slow going – the letters were neat, perfectly formed, but it took him much longer than it had Cat, delicate and careful. Aremu Ediwo, he wrote, spelling the Mugrobi words so that Cat would not have to try herself. Then – he glanced up at her, and printed, carefully, the address of the hotel where he was staying in the Dives, on the other side of the city.

“I can give you…” Aremu cleared his throat. “There’s a friend you can reach me through, if I am out of the city,” he offered, extending his name and address back to Cat.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 23rd of Yaris, 2719 • early afternoon

If Cat was a pushover for any group of people, it would certainly be passives. For every wrong that had been done her, she recognized that none were so mistreated as passives. And being a Mugrobi in Anaxas afforded Aremu no more rights than any other Anaxi passive, except, maybe, he would not be accosted on sight, by Seventen demanding to see his papers. People still ‘feared’ them, thought them out of control and animalistic. Was her treatment toward them just as inhuman? Well, the fact that she was thinking this hard about it made it likely so. Thinking of them as a group, as a whole unit, probably wasn’t the best way to think of anyone.

She couldn’t help but wonder if everywhere was like Anaxas. Were the humans treated like dirt? Were Wicks banished and passives gated? No...no, Cat thought, not gated. Enslaved. That was all it was. An easy way to subjugate the shameful existence of a galdori who could not speak to the mona. Sometimes she had to remind herself that everyone was human. We are all human, all creations of Vita. No human should be treated the way the galdori treated the so-called ‘lesser races’.

Still, Cat knew better than to make split second mind changes, and she’d already decided not to ask for money upfront. She could tell Aremu wasn’t walking around with the amount he’d need. No sane person would. And too, it was a selfish reason. She didn’t want to say or do anything that might scare him off the project. Although her available personal funds were waning, she still had enough in her business to rent the lathe she’d need and to buy all the parts. She wondered idly if perhaps she’d be able to convince Raynarus to invest in a lathe for the shop. Probably not.

Cat smiled as he gave his name and wrote it down for her. As he wrote slowly, neatly, Cat couldn’t help the twinge of jealousy at his penmanship. She wondered who taught him to write. Cat’s Mother had taught her and penmanship had been so important at the time, meant to be for comprising documents, order forms and receipts. She was going to help run the farm Cat had learned to write at the best caliber her Mother could manage, and it showed in the way she carefully created burned labels in wood boxes. But now, Cat’s need to have full conversations in writing meant she spent just enough time to make her words legible and no more. When she was young, she’d taken far more time writing things out and it showed on the impatient faces of those who would converse with her. Now she had speed and legibility. Cat wrote on the piece of paper that was now filled with her side of their conversation.

“What is your friend’s name? I can let him know it is ready but I will hold it at the forge for you. I’d like to be here to give it to you so we may test fittings and such. Also I’ll need to do some measurements now as well.”

She knew she gave away more than she should. She knew she’d be taking a risk by covering the overhead herself, but Raynarus only cared that he saw profits and good reputation. She had both. For the most part at least. The trouble with the Greers had certainly left a sour taste in her mouth but she had pushed past it nonetheless and had decided to enjoy the large sum they’d paid, if not as large as anticipated.

How that money had been spent! Of course it wasn’t all gone but the plans were in motion just the same. Fifty percent, as always, for Raynarus and the rest to spend as she saw fit on improvements to the forge, building a new shop area, and now this. This project that could, in Cat’s mind, give a whole new direction for the smithy.

She stood once again and rummaged through the mess on the work table for a measuring tape. She wasn’t even sure why she had it, but turns out there was a reason to have kept it after all! Turning back around she approached Aremu, regarding him as she motioned for him to hold his arm out.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Afternoon, 23rd Yaris, 2719
Black Cat Smithy, Kingsway Market

Aremu took the paper back from Cat, and carefully read her response, brow furrowed lightly. He nodded. “I don’t think she’ll come for it herself,” he said. “But the hotel will keep a message for her, even if we’re both traveling.”

Aremu turned the paper over again, and wrote, carefully, just as slowly as before, using his prosthetic to hold the paper in place again. Niccolette Ibutatu, he wrote, this time, in the same neat script. Beneath it, he printed the address of her hotel, the Belleverie, in Uptown – not nearly as distant from Kingsway Market as his own.

He had not even wanted to tackle the task of writing, at first. He had needed to; once he had recovered, Uzoji had made him the manager of the Muluku Islands estate – had refused, with his easy beloved grace, Aremu’s attempts to refuse – and so Aremu had set himself to it, with all his usual determination. He had taken his left hand and he had learned to write again, as aching and clumsy as a child, and practiced his letters until his eyes blurred and his fingers cramped and the shapes lost all meaning. Now he could write – neatly, too – although never quite with the same ease as with the hand he had lost. But his left had gotten stronger, over time, because there was no other choice, and it was good enough. It had to be.

“Thank you,” Aremu said, and he smiled at Cat, and handed the paper back to her again.

He would, Aremu thought, need to find a way to let Niccolette know a message might come for him. He did not think just the knowledge of it would prompt her charity, and – irrationally, given the cost he had looked at, he did not want it. He could just afford this first piece, what he had asked Cat for, if he budgeted carefully. The rest – it was a luxury, to stand on his own feet, these days. Aremu was not sure he could express how much it would mean to him to be able to work off the cost himself, with his hard-won skills; he almost hoped that Cat did not understand, but he thought perhaps she did.

They were, Aremu thought, not done. He lowered his gaze to his right arm, and carefully began to undo the straps, his arm propped against his leg. It was slow and careful going, but he had practiced well and often, and he slid the prosthetic off with the faintest little sigh, and set it carefully into his bag. There were lines marked in the dark skin of his arm, pressed in front the straps, and he massaged them with his left hand, grimacing faintly. The pressure it took to hold the hand in place always hurt – would always hurt, Aremu thought. There was some pain that could not be altered, only borne.

“What should I…” Aremu trailed off, rubbing his right forearm with his left hand one last time. He looked up at Cat again, and half-rose out of the chair, not sure what to do with himself or his arm. His face was serious once more, a little frown between his brows, and he wasn’t sure what measurements she needed; Aremu was not shy, in the least, about removing his shirt or jacket, although he was not sure how this Anaxi smith would react if he did; he thought it best to wait for her guidance, rather than to go ahead.

Somewhat awkwardly, Aremu settled back down onto the chair, and looked at Cat, waiting for him to tell him – with words or gestures – where to go and what to do.

[Catriona Fraser]

on the 23rd of Yaris, 2719 • early afternoon

As she measured, she found herself humming a tune. One that she’d heard Aodh play the first time she saw him. It was a fine melody if the words were a bit cautionary. Thankfully Cat could only hum the tune out and none would be wiser to the words playing on their own in her head, “Don’t sink the boat, that you’ve built to keep yourself afloat.”

With each stretch of the tape, Cat made a mark on a piece of paper, noting circumferences and lengths, shoulder span and probably more measures than she needed. She wasn’t a tailor, she had no idea what all measurements she’d need in the making and she certainly didn’t want to have to hunt down the passive to measure shoulder to shoulder.

It was easy to ask him to remove his shirt. She more or less just tugged at it to signify the need for its removal. As he did so, she merely nodded her thanks and kept measuring. She really only needed the one under his arms, around his upper torso, for straps and things. It was her hope not to need more than one cross body strap. She’d noted how the prosthetic made marks on his skin and imagined it was not a very comfortable thing to have to wear all the time. She placed a hand on his shoulder to let him know he could put his shirt back on and turned toward the tables.

She’d tried to smile at Aremu, here in this dark workshop but it was hot and she could only imagine he was every bit as eager to be along as she was to begin work again. He was obviously very shy and Cat knew there was nothing she could do to alleviate that shyness. There was nothing quite so awkward as being forced to wait to know what someone was going to say. She sat the paper and measure down on the table and scribbled something on another. “Finished.” And handed it to Aremu. She punctuated it by signing, her palms facing in towards her and then turning to face outward.

She’d teach every damn customer how to communicate with her, one sign at a time if that’s what it took. Still, she smiled, admonishing herself. It wasn’t all of Anaxas’ responsibility to learn to communicate with her. It was her responsibility to communicate with Anaxas. And so she did. One way or another, she did.

She began writing again, handed him another piece of paper. A sort of receipt to let him know that she was, in fact, working on something for him, as well as a note that read, “Thank you for entrusting this to me. I assure you I will do my very best.”

With that she opened the door to the workshop once more. The light of the Yaris heat poured in to remind them both that the work day wasn’t nearly done. She waited for him to exit and then did so herself. Once he was gone, Cat took a heavy sigh for herself and then mouthed the words, ‘Niccolette. Ibutatu.’

She was certainly glad she had no need of pronunciation. It was a mouthful. Cat disappeared inside her shop once again and began pulling the bars of metal out of her bag. She was going to make a banjo.