Saunders Forge| afternoon
14 dentis 2718
Gale braced as the sigh escaped. To their ears it was akin to a hiss of annoyance, that sound that cut and berated. It was the same noise Beckett used to make when he became frustrated, when the then much younger smith struggled with the advance concepts he was trying to teach. Age and time was the only cure for that. Positioned in place the smith watched the Galdor become animated, as if trying to catch onto the energy that seemingly faltered and drained before it could be plugged. It did not stop the smith from holding their breath however, a hard lump having formed in their throat that in turn restricted the airflow. They coughed after a few more moments, a deep inhale as they attempted to formulate the rest of the words.
It was almost as if what she was saying was being masked, warped by the space between them. The eyes did not move as they paced, silent while the unspoken accusations were thrown. The history thrown out and exposed, the other animated and closing the gap.
The smith remained incredibly still. The body was coiled up, tensed, waiting to spring and move- somewhere? They had not worked out the exact of where yet, but merely away. The forge door was still open and a viable target, and the smith knew this Galdor would not dwell long in this environment. There was a lean away as the woman came closer; Gale’s chin tucked into their chest, eyes lowering to look onto the floor. Chewing on their lip, the hairs rose to the movement of the field. Leather gloves creaked, the hold on the sleeve growing tighter.
“I know,” the throat croaked, a brief tentative look – the eyes barely managed to reach Charity’s lips before they returned to the floor, “Can you… stop tryin’ to stare so close? I don’t…”
I don’t like it. It makes me nervous. I feel uncomfortable. I don’t feel safe. It hurts.
Gale shook their head, silencing themselves and that motion of thought. Galdori will always do whatever they want, no matter what was asked of them from the lesser races. So they went back to listening, feeling the words prodding at things Gale already knew. It was dangerous, all of it was – they were not ignorant of that. It was not as if they spent all their time existing under a rock and peddling their trade.
“I don’t ‘urt people. Mean, less they’re askin’ for it. Like they don’t expect you to punch back, or start bein’ some high ‘orsed bastard,” gingerly the smith licked their lips, “I don’t go tryin’ to look for trouble either. Enough of it tends to come to me anyway.”
The shoulders managed a shrug, a stiff, mechanical movement that locked out quickly, “I’m not a good person.”
Fact, least from Gale’s mind; they were a freedom fighter, a resistance against the oppression, they were a creator of weapons and subservient to a rabid dog that would tear it all down the moment he was let loose. They followed, for now – but knew they had to do better. Yet how was that even possible when that was all they knew, and other methods were currently barred off to them? The Galdori, based on their own experience, were deaf to their words.
“What secret?” it was rhetorical, the tone alone said that. The smith knew and agreed. They resisted squirming, feeling the weight of the judging gaze boring deeply, “If he wants me around, then I’ll… dunno. People things. Stay. ‘Nd be awkward. Exist. Get involved. Least, much as he allows. If he don’t then, I’ll…”
The smith frowned, “Dunno. Somethin’. Whateffer.”
“If. If. If. S’always if. Nothing’s certain,” The little sparks in the mind ignited then, questions blooming but being held back - it was inappropriate, “But, my word is my law. That much I can give, if it’ll please. But...” Again the smith faltered, lips twisting as they attempted to find some words as it made the mental leaps. The pause, it dragged on as they tried to pick on a particular tact, “I… don’t think that is all?”
The frown deepened, eyes daring back and forth as if they were reading something, the connections sparking and igniting. The past experiences, the hidden connotations based on their previous encounter now with names. It rushed into the head of the human, overwhelming as they worked through the information, “You’re… scared. Of somethin’ coming. Somethin’ brewing that you can’t fight against. I dunno. Ignore me. I ain’t good at this stuff. Was out of line. Before ‘nd now.”
Gale shook their head, forcing out words that spoke more as a business transaction than the emotional request it was. The idea of exposing themselves to such sounded too painful – they needed to keep things at a distance for their own sake, more so if the eyes of the Gentleman lingered nearby, “There anythin’ else I can help ye with today Miss D’Arthe? No other service I can ‘umbly provide to ye? Means, I am all but an smith.”