Painted Ladies Scrying Offices| 14th Hour
52nd Roalis 2720
Smoothing down the wrinkles in their sleeve, Gale Saunders took up their satchel and slipped the journal back inside. With the strap was readjusted on their person and the evidence secured, they lead the way back outside this chamber filled with noise-
The service bell rang.
-and back out into the noise of the street. They did their breath to steal some deep breaths as they walked, giving a low grumble of a cough from the base of their stomach as they tried to find the air. The bindings persisted for the moment, ungiving, squeezing but not advancing on their tightness. But their tongue itched, the tobacco tin whispering in their ear – they were heading outside now; they could smoke if they wanted to. No one would judge them.
Gale’s eye slipped to the corner; Mister Grossbeak was still here, and they had to keep up some form of appearances. They were just a woman afterall, every aspect of them was being judged, and they had to show they were capable of succeeding. The edge of their hand rubbed at their breastbone in hopes it would ease the squeezing of their heart; the relief was short-lived.
Breathe. You can do this.
Gale made their way to the bicycle rack where the Steel Horse was being kept away from the sterile postal offices. It was still chained in place, but their skin prickled as they made their approach – aware almost of the eyes that were lingering them and the machine. They were being watched; that much was obvious. But if it was opportunists, thieves or just the curious, Gale did not know.
Undoing the padlock around the chassis, Gale wheeled the Steel Horse free and brought it to a stop before Mister Grossbeak. They allowed him a moment to look at it, their back straightening as they prepared to begin the explanation.
“So this is the Steel Horse, a bicycle that uses an engine to power it and propel it forward.”
Where did one even begin with explaining it?
The Smith swallowed, their head tilting to one side as they attempted to filter through the information on what was and was not necessary – and what was probably above the Galdor’s head.
“As you can see, it’s a step-through bicycle frame made of steel. At the front here is the fuel tank, with the engine located at the bottom and the exhaust point to the rear. The rider sits here, just above the coolant tank and…” Gale frowned. “It well… when supplied with an appropriate fuel, Kerosene in this instance, it causes the rear wheel to rotate and propel the machine forward. The surface carburettor regulates internal combustion.” They pointed to a tiny mesh vent at the top. “This is what allows air to flow in. The uh, fire pistons in here are what keeps the combustion process going.”
Clearing their throat, Gale rummaged in their satchel for the starting crank. They held it between them, their finger tugging at the collar.
“With the crank, you put it in the hole here on the left side of the tank.” They leaned over to point at it. “You have to rotate it a few times to get it going.” Gale went to offer it to him to look, paused, and put the crank in position themselves. Tightening it in, they straddled the Steel Horse and pointed to the other various parts on it.
“So the handlebars control the direction like a normal bicycle. Also has the uh… well brakes, accelerator and this little switch that keeps the engine going even when not moving.” Gale shrugged. “Though, well, that could be wasteful of the fuel.”
Withdrawing their hands from touching, they pressed them against their knees and looked to Mister Grossbeak.
“So demonstration. Right. Well. You might want to take a step or two back, just in case.”
Gale cleared their throat. Reaching for the crank with one hand, they rotated it clockwise, slowly at first to feel the shaft engage, rotating and lifting the ignition piston. The second turn around was much faster; with it, the fire pistons sparked and hissed against the fuel, while Gale continued to turn the crank with more energy on each turn. By the sixth or seventh pass, Gale was not counting and focused on just getting it started; the Steel Horse growled into life and lurched a few inches forward.
The Smith’s hands snatched at the handlebars, a vice-like grip holding the machine in place. Releasing the crank, they pulled it back from its balance on the kickstand and cleared their throat with a nervous titter. Perhaps they had gotten a little ahead of themselves, it was merely to be an inspection.
There was a lot of eyes watching them now; Gale’s skin prickled as they realised they were becoming the centre of attention, their cheeks tinting as they focused on the second button down on Mister Grossbeaks’ shirt. The Steel Horse puttered down from its starting growl, easing into a continuous chuffing while the rear wheel turned.
Gale’s mouth moved, their voice hesitating as they sat upon their steel horse.
I need a smoke. Just a little one, it’s right there. Go on.
Oh stop it.
“So… anything else, Mister Grossbeak, sir?”
The service bell rang.
-and back out into the noise of the street. They did their breath to steal some deep breaths as they walked, giving a low grumble of a cough from the base of their stomach as they tried to find the air. The bindings persisted for the moment, ungiving, squeezing but not advancing on their tightness. But their tongue itched, the tobacco tin whispering in their ear – they were heading outside now; they could smoke if they wanted to. No one would judge them.
Gale’s eye slipped to the corner; Mister Grossbeak was still here, and they had to keep up some form of appearances. They were just a woman afterall, every aspect of them was being judged, and they had to show they were capable of succeeding. The edge of their hand rubbed at their breastbone in hopes it would ease the squeezing of their heart; the relief was short-lived.
Breathe. You can do this.
Gale made their way to the bicycle rack where the Steel Horse was being kept away from the sterile postal offices. It was still chained in place, but their skin prickled as they made their approach – aware almost of the eyes that were lingering them and the machine. They were being watched; that much was obvious. But if it was opportunists, thieves or just the curious, Gale did not know.
Undoing the padlock around the chassis, Gale wheeled the Steel Horse free and brought it to a stop before Mister Grossbeak. They allowed him a moment to look at it, their back straightening as they prepared to begin the explanation.
“So this is the Steel Horse, a bicycle that uses an engine to power it and propel it forward.”
Where did one even begin with explaining it?
The Smith swallowed, their head tilting to one side as they attempted to filter through the information on what was and was not necessary – and what was probably above the Galdor’s head.
“As you can see, it’s a step-through bicycle frame made of steel. At the front here is the fuel tank, with the engine located at the bottom and the exhaust point to the rear. The rider sits here, just above the coolant tank and…” Gale frowned. “It well… when supplied with an appropriate fuel, Kerosene in this instance, it causes the rear wheel to rotate and propel the machine forward. The surface carburettor regulates internal combustion.” They pointed to a tiny mesh vent at the top. “This is what allows air to flow in. The uh, fire pistons in here are what keeps the combustion process going.”
Clearing their throat, Gale rummaged in their satchel for the starting crank. They held it between them, their finger tugging at the collar.
“With the crank, you put it in the hole here on the left side of the tank.” They leaned over to point at it. “You have to rotate it a few times to get it going.” Gale went to offer it to him to look, paused, and put the crank in position themselves. Tightening it in, they straddled the Steel Horse and pointed to the other various parts on it.
“So the handlebars control the direction like a normal bicycle. Also has the uh… well brakes, accelerator and this little switch that keeps the engine going even when not moving.” Gale shrugged. “Though, well, that could be wasteful of the fuel.”
Withdrawing their hands from touching, they pressed them against their knees and looked to Mister Grossbeak.
“So demonstration. Right. Well. You might want to take a step or two back, just in case.”
Gale cleared their throat. Reaching for the crank with one hand, they rotated it clockwise, slowly at first to feel the shaft engage, rotating and lifting the ignition piston. The second turn around was much faster; with it, the fire pistons sparked and hissed against the fuel, while Gale continued to turn the crank with more energy on each turn. By the sixth or seventh pass, Gale was not counting and focused on just getting it started; the Steel Horse growled into life and lurched a few inches forward.
The Smith’s hands snatched at the handlebars, a vice-like grip holding the machine in place. Releasing the crank, they pulled it back from its balance on the kickstand and cleared their throat with a nervous titter. Perhaps they had gotten a little ahead of themselves, it was merely to be an inspection.
There was a lot of eyes watching them now; Gale’s skin prickled as they realised they were becoming the centre of attention, their cheeks tinting as they focused on the second button down on Mister Grossbeaks’ shirt. The Steel Horse puttered down from its starting growl, easing into a continuous chuffing while the rear wheel turned.
Gale’s mouth moved, their voice hesitating as they sat upon their steel horse.
I need a smoke. Just a little one, it’s right there. Go on.
Oh stop it.
“So… anything else, Mister Grossbeak, sir?”
