[Solo] Threats and Promises

[Gale]

Saunders Forge | Early Afternoon

9 Dentis 2718

Tool maintenance was always an easy task for Gale, though an arduous one that took up a large quantity of time. It was also distinctly a thankless job that resulted in the smith effectively closing up for the day. The door was open however, allowing customers to at least enter, collect and place orders at their leisure. Which for the most part suited them just fine. So as the smith turned the large club hammer over and wiped down the surfaces, the smith paid little focus to the large man who entered. The voice, rough and stony drew a glance from the smith, “You Saunders?”
The cloth ran along into the crevices, before once more being hung onto the racks, “Aye, that’s I. What can I do you for sir?”

He was a hairless man, to the point he lacked eyebrows. But what was missing in hair was made up in tattoos. Snaking across exposed knuckles, of diving birds and swimming fish; forearms and biceps, ships and sails, crashing waves and the native elements; even his scalp with a map spread across it of some far off land guided by a compass rose. The smith blinked, paused, chin lifting to drink in his height – a giant that seemed to almost hunch in her workshop.

“You are, eh? Good,” A smile flashed, stained yellow teeth while the eyes squinted down. He was at one of the counter now, standing the other side of it. It reminded her of Corwynn, and for a brief moment she would have guessed the man to be a bad brother. But he seemed too comfortable. He cleared his throat, “The good sir Gentleman sends his regards, and here to serve as a reminder of you to maintain your tasks.”
Gale frowned, “I what now?”

Knuckles pressed onto the worktop, form hunching down as he came to her height. He breathed in her face, an arid scent following his every word, “No need to play coy now, girl. We know who you are, we know what you do and your little half-life...”

An unpleasant chill travelled down her spine then. Standing opposite him, the smith scratched at the marks in the surface. A stimulus that was to serve as some temporary distraction. He continued, “And that to keep such from spreading further, to do what is assigned to you.”
“It’s not going to be like the thug last time is it?”
He would have raised an eyebrow if he had any, “thug?”
“Yeah, started trashing my place because I couldn’t get him a pack of tobacco quick enough.”
“You mean Rasten… yes he is quite demanding. Doesn’t understand the tact of the deal like people such as ourselves. Fortunately, I am much more accommodating,” he growled, “But I still keep my promises. And you, I suspect you’re very interested in staying on the side of our law.”

One of them. Threat holder. He knows I’m female and a bunch of other information. But what exactly? Has he only been told enough or..?

“So here’s what you’re gonna do-”
“I’m not doing your work,” Gale looked at him from beneath her brow. Jaw set into a line, body tense and waiting to spring into action.
The Tattooed man sighed, “Let’s try that again...” Wood groaned beneath him, “Because I don’t think you quite understand the situation. There is a steel mill, one you frequent Prise and Co-”
How the fuck?
“-You’re trusted there, loyal customer – I’m certain you’d be able to acquisition us some information. You know, stocks, clients, ledger-”
“I said I’m not doing your work.”

He sighed, deeply. Fingers pinched upon the bridge of his nose, a deep inhale as he looked to compose himself, “You are going to find them, copy them and then return them to here, where we will collect-”
“No, means no. I am not doing your work-”
“-and we will spare you for another day,” The orbs, a hard and dark brown stared upon her. Unflinching as he peered at her, “Which, I am sure you will not refuse.”
They were threats, empty threats of violence and spilling out secrets, if she did not start holding her ground now they would keep picking away until there was nothing left. It was little more than surrendering to an unknown variable, and her father had taught her better. The smith squared their shoulders.

“I refuse.”
“Final answer?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head, “A shame.”

The hand whipped out quicker than expected. It struck upon the back of the head in the broad arc, pushing her face towards the counter. Fingers knotted into the hair, a firm and blunt slam of features onto the surface. Gale barely managed to inhale a gasp before the face was forcibly struck against it again, and again, and again. Pain turned into numbness, blooming into a rich searing heat. She felt the blood, nose erupting with colour as a wet gurgle escaped. Hands did not find purchase as the brute grasped upon the counter, full weight beneath it and promptly flipped it towards the smith. Wheezing, the force sent them buckling as it promptly landed on top of them and began to crush.

Coughing as the counter closed in on their ribs, they watched the tattooed man lean down onto the table edge and press. A small curl of the lip, he flexed his fingers as the expression of the smith twisted. Eyes watered, teeth parting as they spat out a globule of blood. The tattooed man tutted, “Such a shame indeed. Just had to agree then this would not have to happen. I’ll… send the bad news to our gentleman friend on your behalf that you were not willing to assist in our endeavours.”

A firmer, harder press. Gale choked a noise at him, “F-fuck you.”
The counter was pressed harder, forcing her fingers to try and pry it off, “Now, no need for that. I gave you a chance, you declined this generous offer. And now? You stew within the consequences of your actions,” he laughed, a scraping, scratching noise as he released the pressure. Her lungs sucked in the air, the rushing buzz to her head muffling the sounds of him leaving, “Perhaps next time you’ll be more compliant. And maybe, we’ll become much better acquainted.”

[Gale]

Saunders Forge | Morning

28 Dentis 2718

Gale stared at the work that had been left for them. Jaw slack, the eyes skimmed the white paint that marred the wall of their forge. Cold air escaped their lungs, eyes falling to the freshness of it all. It was written in broad letters for the whole world to see, something that left an unpleasant, acidic taste within the very back of her mouth. The throat constricted, knuckles creaking and cracking around the bucket handle. Cold water sloshed within, scrubbing brush buoying on the surface. They were aware of the pedestrians in the morning light, the eyes that looked and saw – not all of them could read, but those who could quickly translated the scrawl.

‘WOMAN WHORE’.
Shit. Who's seen it?

How long had it been there? Had they done it in the night while Gale was asleep? Probably, they would have noticed otherwise, and the slopped work over one of the shutters suggested it would have been closed. A small glance to the side, a few pedestrians stopping to ogle. Skin flushed, the smith went to work on the made mess. Dunking, scrubbing, a scratching noise that should have instead been the ringing sound of hammer on steel. With it came the mumbling of voices, the sinking cold water that should have been heat from fire. The smith chewed their lip, shoulders hunching in as they scrubbed at the brickwork.

“What are they doing?”
“What does it say?”
“Woman…? What, that doesn’t make sense why…?”
“Wait is Mister Saunders a-”

The smith scrubbed harder, face steeling as the movements grew more aggressive. Was this what they meant? That they would reveal truth for their inaction?

“Disgusting.”
“What a freak.”
“Should know their place in the world-”
“Can’t be true, can it?”

The better question now was how could they control the collateral damage? What could they do to ensure that such information did not spread further? Who would they have to bribe? What deeds would they have to bend too? She inhaled, forcing air into their tense lungs. Right now they would have to get rid of the immediate, obvious piece of evidence. To rush out in a panic would only fuel the fire. It did not stop them from being frustrated however, acutely aware of the damage something so simple was doing to their reputation.

A shadow passed over their form, pausing there before slipping to the side. The shape of a thug leaned up against the wall, the many tattoos covering his form. Arms folded, he looked her up and down, a twisted smile upon his lips. He nodded towards the wall, “So, what happened here?”
“Dunno,” Gale shrugged, mumbling into themselves. It was a lie, they knew exactly who had done it. The Gentleman and his pawns, “Maybe some stupid kids lookin’ for a laugh.”

He hummed, looking past her and to the writing she was trying to scrub out – purposeful moves that were resisting furiously flailing at the paint in panic. The brush was dunked in the water, fingers brushing away the loose flecks. The chest was tightening, distinct feeling of being weighed up in his vision. He was still smiling, fingers flexing as he considered her, the position and the fact the paint was simply not giving in quickly enough. His attention shifted to the words, “Some kids eh? Well, if you say so.”

Gale ignored him and continued to scrub.

“Shame when stuff like this happens, so demeaning and destroying. Causes all kinds of problems for good and honest people,” a smirk, “Can ruin livelihoods in a blink of an eye if it gets out. Shame if something like that will happen again.”
Gale dunked the brush into the bucket, “What you want?”
“Now now, no need to rush onto business just yet,” the voice scraped, “Got a situation to assess here.” The few were still watching, “Words gets around quick. Don’t it now?”
“Should have guessed it was you.”
“You knew it was anyway,” He stepped after her as she moved onto the next letter, “So, here’s the thing. You don’t good on an agreement, then it becomes a bad deal. And if you keep slacking on it, it’ll just keep getting worse and worse.” His finger pointed to the writing, “And judging by that you recently decided to let slack on a bad deal. Don’t you agree?”
Gale scrubbed at the ‘O’ of the ‘WOMAN’, eyes boring into the brickwork in the hopes it would lift it quicker. She otherwise remained silent.
“So, let’s say a certain Gentleman is willing to ease off for some compensation. Maybe turn a blind eye for some loyalty and overlooking your… treachery at the basin.”

The smith paused and inhaled, “You heard?”
“We have many eyes; we would be foolish not to use them. We know of your transgressions,” Her hand rested above the paint, form paused as the words hissed between them, “But the Gentleman is the forgiving sort. Provided you can satisfy.”
“What do you want?” Gale’s voice was a croak. She could feel the white hot judgement at her back, the stigma already rising against her.
“Glad you’re willing to listen this time. Tomorrow, you will get on a steam ferry and travel to Old Rose harbour. There you will collect a package from the Mad Queen and transport it here. A simple enough task for the likes of you.”
“And if I don’t?” the smith breathed.
“I don’t think you will. Because we can do so much worse than this,” he pointed to his nose, a gesture to the previous bruising that hung there, and then gestured to the paintwork, “And this. Because you’ve got a lot to lose even if you don’t want to admit it. More than the value you place upon your life at least.”

She stared at him, gaze flickering out from beneath her brow – but it stopped short of his chin. The single drop of poison spurted from her lips, a quiet betrayal into submission, “Fine. I’ll do it.”
A hand clapped upon her shoulder, a loud laugh escaping as the tattooed brute slid away, “Glad we’re on the same page for a change. We want it by the end of the month. So best be quick.”

[Gale]

Saunders Forge | Dawn

40 Dentis 2718

It was the hard hammering upon the door of the forge that awoke Gale. Though for the longest while the smith laid there in their bed, blanket cocooned around their form. The eyes stared upon the wall of their meager room, muscles tensed as the hammering continued. With it came the shouting voice, male – but not the rasping tones of the tattooed man. A small plume of cold escaped, brow creasing as the low light illuminated what was merely a shadow the night before. She knew what had been left there in her absence, the various crude imagery and words left as a reminder for all to see.

Slut. Sick. Cunt. That’s ignoring the phallus and other drawings. Shit.

It continued, louder now Gale was more aware of it. Begrudgingly they peeled themselves out, dressing as they crossed the threshold of their room and descended into the depths of the forge below. They eyeballed the packaged they were told to lug with them from Old Rose Harbour, a heavy box that matched the size of their toolbox. It was currently sat on the counter and that was where the smith planned to leave it, before moving to the door. Who was it? A friend, a foe? The lock clicked, their voice calling through, “I’m here. What ya want?”

The man’s voice softened in response, a mere breath through the door, “Gale? You’re here- It’s Lance.”

Dancer?

They opened the door a crack, the slither of light creeping in. The scrawny shape of the cadet peering back. He held something out of sight, yet as the gaze darted down to it the man pulled it into view. A large tin of paint. He exhaled, the greasy features blinking at her, “Hey, I saw… I thought… shit, can I come in? I’m alone.”

Gale opened the door enough to allow him to step in, before promptly locking it once more. He moved slowly, carefully placing down the paint and a set of brushes. His hands presented before him and open. A light was lit, casting a small glow across the room while the various gestures began to turn into words.

“Are you okay Gun- Gale?” he began, brow frowning but lips unmoving.
Her own came up, a small tremble before they clenched into a fist. It was dangerous, he should not be here; she could not ask him for help. Her chest tightened, hands leaning back against one of the counters. Her head shook, gaze averting and struggling to look at him. With caution he approached; face pleading for an answer, “Gale? I saw the writing outside. Who did this?”
“I don’t know,” she signed back. Her throat had sealed up, lips pursing up into a line. The threats rattled around in her head, the promise of what they would do if she asked for help. She resisted the want to curl inwards, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

There was barely an arm’s reach between them now, his own head tilting and turning to inspect her own. The smith frowned, feeling their form tense, the jaw tighten as they tried to process. The hands moved, “You should leave.”
“I’m worried about you,” Lance spoke then, voice a whisper, “I saw the writing, then you disappeared. Then there was the bruising… what’s going on? Really?”
“I can’t talk about it,” she exhaled. Shaking her head, she refused to meet his gaze, “Please just go.”
“Can’t or won’t?” The hands came forward then, pausing in the space between, “Gale, please. Just… hear me-”
Her own hands jerked out then, forcibly pushing him away. He did not move further, instead his digits curled around hers. He braced, “So, I got some paint. Figured we could make the forge front look good again. Tidy,” he sighed, “I don’t know what’s going on-”

A knock on the door sliced through their conversation. Heads turning to it, their forms froze as the gritted, scraping voice clawed its way through the gap, “Saunders… I’ve come to collect.”
Gale’s hands moved, “You need to hide. Upstairs, lie flat.”
Lance nodded. Pulling away he was up the narrow steps, silent as he rolled out of sight at the top. No doubt he was peering through a gap in the floorboards and watching.

Right now however that did not matter. Moving to the door, the smith opened it. A tattooed hand shot through, shoving it open the rest of the way. The lumbering mass followed, the brute surveying the forge before turning his attention to the smith. He flashed his yellow teeth, “Girl… so good of you to answer so swiftly. You expecting visitors?” Gale shook her head as he barged on past and towards the box. Over it he stood poised to take it, “You didn’t look in it?”
“No.”
“You’re not lying to me, are you?” His voice growled. Gale held his gaze, unmoving as he took up the box. It was a tiny thing in his grasp, neatly tucked under one arm as he strode towards her, “Are you girl?”

The smith was grabbed firmly by the front of the shirt, dragged in closer. He leaned down above her, lips peeling back into a snarl, “Answer me.”
“I haven’t!”
For a tense moment he held her there, peering down the bridge of his nose onto his target. With a shove he pushed her away back into one of the workstations and began to move out, “The Gentleman thanks you for your efforts and bids you a good day…” He snorted, “I wouldn’t bother with the paint.”

As quickly as he came he was gone, the forge door swinging on its hinges in the early morning light. A rattled breath escaped, mind registering that her limbs shook. Her mouth had gone dry, form trembling while the creak above sounded. She could hear Lance shifting, clambering down the steps. He rushed to her, yet brought himself to a stop when he watched her visibly flinch. The crease of his brow, the shifting of lips, his hand eventually found her shoulder. His eyes turned to the world outside, mouth moving as he finally found words, “Gale, you need to tell me what’s going on. Right now.”

[Gale]

Saunders Forge | Afternoon

14 Vortas 2718

The hammer struck metal, a hot metal hissing out against the cool air of the forge. With it the metal was carefully turned and rotated; gentle arcs being pulled into swirls. Wrought iron was plucked ans shaped, returned into the coals to heat through again and continue to be shaped. They were not the only inhabitant this day, the sweaty brow turned and tilted to the attention of two of the neighbourhood children – the frequently appearing Mark and Eleanor – who were presently drawing shapes in the sand. Gale did not mind they had no need to make casts. Beyond them and by the door sat the empty can of paint; Lance had gone off some time ago to get more, clearly underestimating the amount he needed to correct the damage done.

“Mister Saunders,” Eleanor always begun by saying their name first, “Why is eye spelt as it is and doesn’t use the single letter?”
The smith blinked, “As in eye to see? Uh. I don’t know. I think it might be somethin’ to do with where language came from.”
A hum, the girl frowned and traced the letters in the sand, “Are other words like that too? Come from somewhere else?”
“Oh, most certainly,” the smith shuffled so they sat opposite them, “Don’t know where mind.”
“But aren’t you smart?” Mark looked up from his drawing, a weatherman sun and a selection of clouds.
Gale shook their head, “I’m learn’d and can read, but I don’t know that kind of stuff. Metals is what I know. But, I’ll ask some of my friends and see if they know. They have a different kind of smarts to what I have.”

That seemed to please them for the most part. Eleanor continue to write out words with her fingertip - ‘Eye spy with my little eye’ - while Mark seemed to scrutinise Gale. His tiny chin rested in his palm, lips twisted as he stared. Gale raised him an eyebrow, “You alright Mark?”
“Aye, but…”
“But…?”
“See, Mister Gallon said you were sick. But you don’t look sick to me.”
Gale drew their own shapes in the sand then, mainly swirls that snaked out. They listened to the child as he voiced his concerns, “Said you were all kinds of disgusting ‘cause you were a girl.”
Scoffing, Gale shook their head, “And if I was? Would that bother you?”
Mark shrugged and let out a laugh, “No, I’d find it all kinds of amazin’ - cause you make all sorts of stuff better than other men anyway. Guess they’re just jealous. Though, you’d still be Mister Saunders to us either way. Cause that’s who you are.”

Gale released a small sigh of relief, lips giving a small curl in pleasure. How innocent and without opinion the thoughts of children were. If only such held onto those views as they grew and become moulded by the whims of society. Kneeling, they gave a lean to get a better view of what was being drawn out before a shadow moved behind them.

The smile quickly fell after that.

He was there again, the tattooed man who stood in the doorway. His eyes floated to Gale, then down to the children – locking onto their features. He held his attention there, the small pinch of eyelids as he seemingly picked out a fresh target. The smith could feel the heavy weight form in their veins, dragging them downwards as he advanced in properly and leaned up against one of the counters.

“Afternoon Saunders,” the voice scratched. The heads of the children turned to face him, “Looks like a mighty fine paint job that’s going on out there. And will you look here...” He inclined his head towards the sand, “Work so quiet at the moment that you’re givin’ lessons to some kids?”

Please. Not here. Not like this.

“How can I help you today?” Gale stood, face attempting to be friendly but the words effectively spat out. They begrudged asking, forcing their body to stand and step near, “Work is quiet, yes. But I am still busy. Plenty to do around here now winter is comin-”
“I have a job for you, on behalf of a good Gentleman,” she saw his eyes slide off of them and to the children behind, “A good deal too.”
“Don’t you...” the hiss escaped. They felt their fists clench, shoulders forced out in an attempt to square against him.
“Do what, girl?” Those grey eyes slid onto Gale, locking and refusing to relent, “I am merely here to deliver an offer that you can’t refuse.”

He was leaning over them, fingers rubbing together as he drunk in the expression. She was trying to be brave, trying to hold onto the ground they were quickly loosing. The Gentleman would be so pleased.

“You are a smith of many talents,” he advanced, backing Gale into the counter. The hands came down either side, trapping them behind a wall of muscle. The smith inhaled, the bitter scent on his breath, “And the Gentleman requires you to use those talents.”
“What do you want?”
His head shifted, hunching down so she could peer over his shoulder. She saw the children beyond, still knelt down by the sand and casting wary glances in their direction. He whispered in their ear, “The gentleman requests you make us firearms, Masked Gunner.”

I don’t. I shouldn’t. I won’t. They are only for contacts through the freedom fighters, through Dancer. Through those I know.

“I can’t,” they swallowed, eyes sliding to him. They flinched when a hand shifted, resting upon their hip and squeezing against the muscle, “I refuse.”
The tongue rolled around in his mouth, “You do? Do you? Don’t think we-”
“I said, no.”
A low, rumbling laugh escaped his throat. Nails dug in, voice grinding in their ear, “Your refusal of the Gentleman is admirable, but not wise. And will hold serious consequences.”
“Do your worst,” the smith growled, body tensing as it felt the growing sense of pain.
“I could, so easily. Gut you like the whore you are,” the pressure continued, “But that’s what you want, isn’t it? To pick you instead of another, much more interesting target-”
“What?”
“If not to save yourself, then what about them?” Gale’s eyes went wide, throat constricting, “You’d do it for them, won’t you? I mean, it would be a shame if something-”
“Don’t. I can’t-”
“Then make what we nee-”
“I-”
“Why don’t you-” A new voice, echoed with a satisfying click Gale recognises as a firearm being primed, “-Take the smith’s words? No means no, so you can fuck off.”

There in the doorway stood the shape of Lance, tin of paint in one hand, the other with a drawn single shot. It was aimed at the head of the tattooed man, target in his sights and refusing to back down. The man leaned away, straightening as he looked upon Lance, “Is this a friend of yours?”
“Damn straight I’m a friend,” he growled.

Gale slipped away from the immediate danger, shifting towards the cadet as he himself moved in. The brute calmly rolled his shoulders, the lip twitching with annoyance, “Really now? How… interesting.”
The Cadets standing next to each other, air returning to the smith’s lungs. A brief glance was shot to Lance, but his attention was locked onto the immediate threat. The thug raised his hands in submission, a small bow to the room, “I shall let the Gentleman know of your decision then, Saunders. Have a good day.”

They watched his form leave the forge, unmoving as he disappeared in among the crowd. It was only when he finally disappeared that Lance holstered the pistol and turned to the smith. He went to touch, but paused, “Gale? You-”
Gale swung their arms around him and clung, entire form squeezing his tightly. Shaking they force themselves to breath, adrenal beginning the climb down from its high reaches, “Fuck. I’m glad you turned up then.”
A hand gingerly patted them, “Got your back, alright? We’ll get to the bottom this. One way or another.”

!	Message from: Muse
	This thread has been reviewed and approved for Character Progression for Gale Saunders.