This time however, they were not alone.
A plume of condensation escaped their lips, the shoulders rolling deeper into their coat. It caused a wince, the left pinching uncomfortably while the attached arm hung in a sling. Things always took time to heal, yet while an element of patience was needed there was little time for it. The smith needed to sort themselves quickly before the Gentleman and his sort caught wind of them.
They stepped, quietly, the thin ice cracking beneath their boots – the better arm tugged the worn green scarf closer around their neck. They felt the cold this year, the body complaining as they closed the gap. Anticipating eyes, of someone to notice, to be spotted; their eyes lingered to the single word painted in bold white letters across the forge wall.
Die.
Someone certainly did die.
That reality haunted them.
The smith could not get themselves to look upon where the pair of them fell – but the blood had faded, peeled away by foot traffic. Even the corpse had disappeared, to where exactly Gale did not know. The throat tightened; head down as they felt the weight of the key in the pocket – the writs and paperwork were tucked away in some inside pocket. To remove their possessions and vacate the premises by the end of the year.
Fortunately their new premises awaited them, all be it a distance away from the neighbourhood they were accustomed to.
The smith never did like that kind of change.
As they stepped around they saw the mess left behind. The key was unneeded; the forge door had been forcibly broken in. Wood bowed and splintered, the remains hung limply from the frame. Beyond the counters were over turned, frames scattered and broken. The chewing paused, eyes looking to the remains of their kingdom – if it could even be called such – that had been built by theirs and their father’s hands. The right hand cautiously shoved the door aside, stepping in and over.
“Shit. It’s… this is… a wee mess.”
That was an understatement. The mind was already calculating the losses. They would rebuild given time, the core was still there – not everything was gone. But the pessimist within hungrily gnawed away, nibbling and biting at their resolve.
Of course, it did not mean they could actually do the work. They needed an extra body to do the laborious activity if they were ever to keep afloat.
Soles on stone flooring, scraping and scratching as loose tools and metal caught on toes. Shards of graphite from broken molds, shattered from where they fell from their racking. It was cold in here; the forge had been dead for days. Coal had been spilled out across the floor, the mold pit ripped open and the sand dug into. One of the wood pillars drew their attention; a dented and warped metal mask was hanging onto the surface through one of its eye sockets. Parts curled and ripped asunder, they could see where something had pierced through – rather forcibly they imagined. Gingerly fingers took it down, the cold metal a heavy weight in their hands. It was now a mere shadow of Gunner’s mask.
Bare fingers stroked across the surface of the mask, installing the changes to memory as they made their way to the ladder to their quarters. The mask was placed down onto the counter for the moment. Merely beginning the climb and poking their head through the hatch showed that here was touched by whoever came after. They saw the open units, the thrown goods, even the mattress ripped open.
“Whoever came was lookin’ for somethin’,” the smith breathed, brow pinching as they climbed the rest of the way. A sorry state of affairs, it left an unpleasant prickling sensation. Who was looking? Why were they looking? What were they looking for?
Did it even matter anymore?
They knew the answers of those questions, and they knew that meant they would have to move quickly. Spending time out was dangerous; it left them exposed to whatever was to come. Shifting through the fingers grasped onto the corner of the blanket and began to awkwardly fold it. It was slapped down onto the ground when it was done, the rest of them moving through, fingers tracing along the sloping ceiling and between the beams. It paused on one of the panels, a small testing push.
They were looking for things on firearms.
It was the logical conclusion; if they could not get the maker onside then stealing their schematics and plans was the next best option. But only an idiot would keep such things to paper, the smith was not that much of a fool. It did not stop one lingering problem however; there was a man out there with Liberator. In return the smith was defenceless. The issue quickly went back around to the problem of forging; they needed another to assist with the heavy work in their current state.
Chewing at their lip, they unceremoniously stuffed the few important pieces – if they could even be called that. They were the unbroken necessities with barely an emotional attachment to them. The sack was tossed through the hatch, landing with a thump at the bottom, “Can confirm, it’s a mess everywhere ‘nd I don’t fancy hangin’ round too long. So throw things into boxes and mosey on quick.”