[PM to Join] The Little Human Who Could

[Gale]

Steel Horse Stall | Midday

07 YARIS 2720

It was more than just noise; a constant chittering of sound that grew louder as the day passed its peak. Around hundreds of faces peered and pressed at the latest marvels, intelligent and curious minds drawn in by the promise of inventions that would change the world. With it came celebration, the Gala of Physics was one that almost demanded it - more so with the allowed participation of the lower races to purview the goods. Not that they would understand it as well as the Galdori, they were uneducated, unknowing of the true worth of what was before them. But this year was different; a strange set of whispers followed the crowds that amassed in Brunnhold, ones that somehow the powers that be allowed a human to present an invention - a woman no less - at the Gala. Preposterous was the immediate response, how could a human ever create something worthwhile enough to present at one of the most prestigious events of the year? Did they not know that they had crove shit for brains. Surely it must have been a front, that this woman was little more than a trained monkey to some elusive Galdor who did not want to reveal himself.

The few who did allow curiosity to investigate further were met with the surprise that the rumours were a little truer than expected. Previously perceived conceptions were tilted sideways, the Galdor choking on their words while the observing lesser races became more enthusiastic. No, enthralled with the idea that one of them had done this.

The inventor was one Abigail Saunders, an uneducated twenty-something from Vienda. They had clearly polished up for the occasion, or whatever this attempt was: a short collared shirt, a grey dog toothed waistcoat, and a set of trousers - leather reinforcing the inseam and crotch- tucked into tightly laced boots. They dressed like a man despite not being one; it was not unheard of, but surely for such an occasion one should dress to match what they were born as. There were a few tuts over this, but this inventor seemed unfazed by it all as she stood on the narrow platform that raised them and their invention a foot from the ground. She spoke clearly too, the northern Anaxian twang loitering in the back of her voice as she explained the machine in such detail that perhaps, just perhaps, she could really be the inventor.

I think... I'm going to be sick.

Gale Saunders blinked, their finger tugging at their collar. They were just high enough above the heads of the small gathering of individuals to not be breathing in their faces, their heart alternating between fast and slow skips as they spoke. Some were nodding, the few humans and wicks clearly interested in what they were saying. The Galdori were harder to read, with stern faces and disapproving expressions, the occasional mumbling of "Who does she think she is?" and "Who on Vita sponsored this?"

Castor Devlin, to be exact. A plaque reading "sponsored by Castor Delvin" hung beneath the main sign Gale had erected. "The Steel Horse, the motorised bicycle and combustion engine created by Abigail Saunders." They did not linger too long on the how this invention reached their sponsor, but they would not have been surprised if a certain Teeter had been somehow involved. Even if their full name was being used.

I will not get used to hearing that name being so freely thrown about.

Clearing their throat, the Smith continued to talk, their hands gesturing to the Steel Horse Zero - the working prototype was polished to a shine and the seat leather replaced.

"The machine works via the use of internal combustion, primarily through the burning of Kerosene oil. This feeds into the engine itself, via the intake valve. The piston inside the chamber moves downwards, allowing the air to enter. As the piston rises, the valve is closed, the hot tube ignitors are lit, and a spray of fuel enters the engine to instantly ignite it. This leads into a working stroke-"
"This is a lot of talk over a metal box on two wheels." One of the Galdor scoffed. "I would wager that it does not even work. Powering through lamp oil? Impossible."

Gale resisted recoiling, their eyes floating around the Galdor who spoke up. There were a few chuckles from others, the lower races giving nervous looks before averting their gaze - a momentary withdrawal. Their cheeks burned, fingers curling up into a fist, the tendons in their neck growing tight. But humans could do it, humans could create marvels and invent and-

"It does work." The Smith spoke flatly.

"Of course it does." It was a sneer. "Would not even roll a single foot. Admit it."

Gale glanced to the Steel Horse and then down to the short stretch of road they had been given to drive on, neatly fenced off to stop anyone from just driving down it - not that the Galdori seemed particularly believing that it would be able to drive. Exhaling, they let the tension go.

"I was going to demonstrate later. But it seems the good Sir wishes to see it now." Stepping down behind the stage, the smith claimed their small workbox. They pulled a leather coat over the top of their clothes, buttoning it up before pulling out a flask of kerosene. They held it aloft in a presentation to the crowd. "Kerosene. If you would like to check, by all means, do so-"

Uncapping it, a few gave a quick inhale and approving nods in confirmation. With that Gale uncapped the fuel tank of the steel horse and poured the contents in, using a rag to wipe away the drips and sealing it back up again. Wheeling the machine down the short ramp and onto the street, Gale straddled it, put the brass crank into the left of it. They inhaled, grasping the lever before spinning it around.

The engine rumbled. They did it again, the engine let out a mumble. There was a snigger that was silenced by a firm jab of the ribs. Gale turned it a third time; they felt the gears inside engage, the hissing spark vibrating through the metal. The Steel horse snorted, a splutter of noise as it grumbled into life; the smith twisted the accelerator in the handlebar, the machine letting out a small rumble as the engine was revved. They looked back to the once sneering Galdor, his face turning red as he shrunk into his neck. Gale gave him a smile, engaged the machine and took it for a quick drive down the road, the little engine chuffing as it was forced into activity.

They did not go fast, the cobblestones of the street caused them to shake a judder as they passed over the bumps. It was certainly faster than a bicycle though, their feet rising up onto their rests, their back straight as they pumped the breaks - it was all practised motion now, even leaning into the turn as they made the loop at the end of their stretch of street. Without show or fanfare, they returned to the crowd, coming to a complete stop and putting the Steel Horse into neutral. They turned the engine off, dismounted and promptly gave a bow to the crowd. By now the Red-Faced Galdor was storming off, taking his small entourage with him and shouting some kind of obscenities - what exactly Gale did not care, nor did it matter.

Clearing their throat, the smith spoke.

"Any questions?"

[PJ Jenkins]

Yaris 7, 2720 | Midday
Steel Horse Stall, Gala of Physics

.

Dora had gotten away from him again for the umpteenth time that morning. She was younger than him, more energetic and it helped that she didn’t stop every so often to have a coughing fit that brought tears to the eyes. It didn’t help that his shop manager had all the kinetic potential of a tightly wound spring at the best of times and all that energy needed somewhere to go sooner or later. Considering the looks that the two of them had been drawing when they were together, it was entirely possible that she’d given him the slip on purpose. The typographer could garner attention without him hovering by her side, an aesthetically appealing girl but her practical attire would be branded ‘masculine’, as would the goggles perched atop her head. She might not have her bicycle with her at this moment in time, but she had the look of a woman who cycled a lot, sticking out in a sea of fashionable dresses and probably suffering less than them in this heat. All in all, they were the greater fools, and he’d told her as much, but she had always been self-conscious and at least in Muffey, they were accustomed to her, even if they both knew what residents said behind her back.

Besides, people were definitely looking at him more, even if a lot of it was from the corner of their eyes, and he’d pointed that out too, but she’d no doubt realised that if people looked at him then they ended up looking at her too, trying to make sense of the incongruous pair. It made no never mind to him, the printer more concerned with the growing heat of the day, which the proximity of bodies only helped to magnify.

The little golly had discarded his duster coat with sweaty reluctance, alternating over which arm he draped it as his skin grew sticky beneath it. His shirt sleeves were shoved up to the elbow, pale hirsute arms on display while his hands remained encased in his fingerless gloves. Describing him as ‘rumpled’ would have been kind, and evidently those who entered his vicinity didn’t agree as they did their best to give him a wide berth, disapproval or disgust whispering in their fields where they brushed against his own. He saw more than one wrinkled nose or curled lip, but it only bothered him when such expressions accompanied a rapid glancing between himself and Dora, and a knowing look in the eyes. People loved to make assumptions, but she was like a daughter to him, damnit, which—thankfully for Vita—would be the only kind of daughter he’d ever have, and he was old enough to be her father.

The man was puffing away on a cigarette, carelessly blowing smoke sideways into some golly harridan’s face when he heard the peculiar rumbling sound that differed from the babble of voices. He turned towards the sound like a flower seeking the sun, taking little notice of the indignation crashing against his dasher field as he went up on his toes in a vain attempt to add height to stocky frame. In the crowd gathered in the sound’s direction, he spotted Dora’s once neat but now distinctly windswept bun, goggles lenses glinting atop her red hair.

“‘Scuse me!” PJ told the harridan without a hint of apology, sauntering in his companion’s direction even as the woman cursed him vehemently with everything but expletives.

“‘Scuse me!” he announced cheerily, sticking his cigarette butt firmly between his teeth while shouldering his way through the crowd to reach Dora’s side, finding space opening up in his surroundings as people tried to get away from him. The woman must have known that she was there, their fields familiar to each other, but she seemed utterly absorbed by whatever was on display.

Under different circumstances, he would have glanced at an exhibit and then asked her what was so interesting, most of what he saw outside of his field of understanding and only a mild curiosity if it wasn’t some newfangled printing press that he couldn’t afford. However, this exhibit told him plenty without him having to ask.

Some sort of motorised vehicle that seemed a bit like a bicycle—it had two wheels at any rate—but which moved faster and didn’t seem to require the physical labour that cycling usually involved. As someone who could cycle for a bit and then stop for fear of a heart attack, it was incredibly appealing. Considering Dora’s love of her bicycle and the independence it brought her, the reason for her rapture was pretty self-explanatory.

”She’s a human! Apparently. Can you believe it?” Dora hissed excitedly, bouncing on the balls of her feet and starting to pull on his arm like she wanted to tug it off. “I’m not close enough to tell but… she might not be human. It might just be talk.”

There was no mistaking the sound of hope in her voice, as if she could only revel in this if it turned out that the invention’s presenter was of higher stock.

The loud bike and its rider were returning to the stall and by the looks of things, the golly girl beside him was ready to soar over the spectators to reach them. Well, ‘her’ apparently though as they dismounted, PJ had to admit that he would have taken them for a man if he hadn’t been told otherwise.

Spectators were jostling to get away as the demonstrator prompted the crowd for questions and PJ caught a number of sneers and angry hisses about upstarts and disrespecting one’s betters, but he simply snorted, taking a last drag from his cigarette before grinding its remains under his heel. Any time one of the lower races did anything that might bring galdori superiority into doubt, there were always those who liked to bluster. He was under no illusions that they could do things that gollies couldn’t, and he was certainly no superior specimen of gollykind and wasn’t alone either—though he’d be the first to admit that he was a particularly sorry excuse at that.

“May I have a closer look?” Dora asked eagerly, raising her hand as if she was in a lesson.

The crowd had definitely thinned so she probably could have pushed forward a bit without having to ask and it seemed that she was going to run up to the machine whether she received permission or not.

“Keep your trousers on there, Dora,” the printer laughed, loud and uncaring even as the woman beside him flushed. “You can at least pretend to wait for the answer before you launch yourself at it.”

Her face’s colour was coming close to blending in with her hair as he gave her a nudge in the back, urging her forward in spite of his words. He found himself following, reaching into his trouser pocket for the case where he kept his sloppily rolled cigarettes.

“All right if I smoke near this thing? Whazzit call- Oh yeah, Steel Horse, I see. Ta, Dora! Sorry, I missed most of the to-do, but I assume it uses something flammable and no sense blowing us all up over me having a fag,” he chuckled. It turned into a cough, even as he drew out a fresh cigarette and waited to stick it between his lips.

“I’m quite sorry for him in advance. If he causes offence… he does that,” Dora explained apologetically, reaching up to tuck an errant lock back into her bun, hovering near the supposed inventor and the bike, hesitant to approach further.

“It’s what I do? Oh that’s lovely, that is,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t know how I’m going to offend this young fell- lass by asking where I can get one but- Where can I get one uh… Miss Saunders?”

"You can't afford one!" Dora hissed aside, continuing to beam in the direction of the Steel Horse.

[Gale]

Steel Horse Stall | Midday

07 YARIS 2720

And so the questions came. As the crowd thinned, the smith sucked in the air attempting to regulate their breathing and hopefully their nerves. The edges of their vision were bright, the voices foreign from Vienda echoing at the edge of their hearing. The inside of their palm twitched, nails digging into it as they tried to find some element of much-needed control over the situation. The doubters left in a huff, shoving their way through the crowds - but the few curious remained a much more manageable number.

"How far can it go?"
"The range is around a hundred and fifty miles," Gale answered. "I need to do more testing to get an exact number. But I think it can do Vienda to Brunnhold comfortably with two fills of the tank."

It seemed about right, there were a few raised eyebrows while others seemed to be thinking a lot more deeply about what this could mean - to be able to travel between cities opened up a lot of potential and opportunities. Even Gale knew that, to become a mobilised force capable of moving through the country at relative speed held so much. They caught the scent of smoke before they felt the fields, their skin writhing as an additional sense was forced upon their consciousness. They did their best to give a polite smile - this tight, awkward thing - even if they did not look directly at the onlookers as so much around them. They bumped their heel against the steel horse, taking out the ignition crank and sliding it back inside their waistcoat for safety sake.

Muffey blend? What was it- Silverstokes?

"Speed? I've managed twenty miles in an hour on it. Or at least recorded that consistently. It can go faster, but after a certain point it becomes a boneshaker." They turned their attention to the smoking Galdor-

Shorter. Glasses. Hair like a badger, but stinking of ash. And a red-head. Sibling? Daughter? Something else?

"Smoking is fine around it. I've done that enough times myself even while riding it." A true enough fact, they had cruised the streets of Vienda so far without incident. "But obviously, don't throw the ends in the tank. It... does not like that."

Frowning the smith turned to the floor, neck withdrawing into their shoulders before they rolled the Steel Horse back onto the platform and threw their coat behind it. Being able to breathe, they rearranged their collar and enjoyed the immediate difference in temperature. Fortunately, demonstrating it would only take a few minutes each time, as long as they remained hydrated between stints they should be mostly fine - beyond dealing with the internal screaming rattling in their skull. They made sure it was securely in place and not at risk of rolling away to freedom before addressing the pair once more.

"No offence taken, Ma'am." Gale gave a half bow-

If anything. He is currently more mild-mannered than the others.

Before straightening out. They needed to remember to breathe, to not allow themselves to be swallowed by the pair of fields that thrummed around them. Gale tugged at their waistcoat to smooth out the crinkles.

"Steel Horse is what I call it. But I supposed to define it, one would call it a Motorised Bicycle. I imagine in time there would be a lot of others each with their own unique names. Maybe in a year someone will create a different one and give it..." Gale's voice began to grow quiet. "... an equally silly name."

Fuck. Steel Horse is a stupid name.

The Smith glared at the middle ground then, the corner of their lip twitching as the growing internal crisis took root in their brain. How did they miss this? After working on the damned thing for approaching two years and that was the best name they could come up wit-

Miss.

That was a word that jarred their growing spiral of thoughts. Their expression grew sharp, lips drawing into a line as they returned to reality. The Smith inhaled, pushing their features back down into neutrality through sheer force of will while their voice crept out from behind their lips.

"Saunders is just fine." They erred over the question, shrugging as their eyes darted between the pair. "It's uh... well... this is the prototype. Second, technically. The first was a lot more... well, a chimaera of parts from other pieces welded into a single frame that ended up being scrapped to create this one." Gale brought their hands in front of them, wringing out the tension that had gathered in them. "They are... not on the market yet. Or in production... or well..."

Dejection was the word Gale would have used. They could feel themselves crumple inwards; sure it was a nice feeling to have someone actively curious about buying one. But what that actually entailed was a lot of logistical and educational problems - a factory or workshop would have to be made, Gale would have to train people to build and assemble them, then there was the issue of actively financing all of this. And judging by the exclamation of the red-headed woman, they were not the sort to be able to actively sponsor such an endeavour.

"Perhaps, Sir. Ask that question again in a few months. The machine has only recently been patented and there are various hoops that need to be jumped first, I am sure you understand this." Gale gestured to the machine then. "But if you wish to inspect it closer, please do. Just..." Gale's face wrinkled up, their northern accent slipping out. "Please dunnae touch it."

[PJ Jenkins]

Yaris 7, 2720 | Midday
Steel Horse Stall, Gala of Physics

.

They weren’t the only interested parties here, but while Dora was clearly smitten and ready to run her hands all over the thing, the little printer had a boyish curiosity. He didn’t care how the damn thing worked, probably couldn’t wrap his mind around its workings—well, perhaps to some degree considering he knew his way around more than one kind of press—but he did like the idea of what it could do. It had more generous seating than a bicycle typically provided and he didn’t imagine that it could shake and tremble any more than a carriage going over a rough or uneven surface, so it couldn’t be all that bad really. Most importantly, it was different and there was a high chance that it would upset his neighbours if he brought it anywhere near his childhood home.

He always enjoyed putting their noses out of joint, it was something of a hobby at this point.

PJ drew on his cigarette, nodding along thoughtfully as the smith explained that he could smoke near it. Taking more care than he had not too long ago, he released the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, directing it away from the human. Even so, a snort of laughter made him exude a small cloud before him, which he hastily attempted to disperse by waving his hand through it as the snort grew to become a wheezy chuckle.

“It doesn’t like it?‘” he echoed, eyebrows managing to rise above the level of his glasses as he chortled. “Are you saying that you’ve done it? If you haven’t… well, now you’ve put the idea in my head, I’d like to see what’d happen! Would it bung it up or just explode, do you think?”

”PJ!”

“I’m not saying that I’m going to do it! Lady’s sake, you don’t have to get so affronted, it’s not as if you invented it!”

The galdor rolled his eyes, followed by a swift wink in Gale’s direction as he heard his companion murmur something that sounded suspiciously like, “Are you sure you won’t get offended?”

He stepped to the side, cocking his head to view the machine. The cigarette clamped between his lips, he used his newly unoccupied hand to tug at his already loose cravat, puffing in the heat.

“Far easier to say than ‘Motorised Bicycle’ and doesn’t sound toffin either. ‘Steel Horse’ sounds fine to me. I’ll admit that it makes a damned strange looking horse but I doubt it shits like one”—there was some tittering among the other spectators—“which is a definite improvement, plus if it almost kills you or something, at least you know that it isn’t personal.”

“Beyond smoke, is there any waste? Is there any maintenance required? You know, like cleaning ashes from a fireplace before you light a new fire?” Dora interjected, flexing her field slightly in a less than subtle attempt to urge her employer to shut up; it was preferable to jabbing him with an elbow.

“Not that I think it’s anything like a fire, you understand, I merely use that as an example,” the redhead hastened to add, adjusting her goggles as she drew nearer to the machine. “You’ll have to forgive me if it’s an idiotic question. My experience with machines is limited to more mechanical- that is to say that I have no real knowledge of anything involving combustion.”

PJ tugged at his lip, pondering the matter of acquiring one of these things. Sure, the smith said that this one was a prototype, but in time, there could be more and while Dora said that he couldn’t afford one, he’d never allowed a little thing like a scarcity of funds to dissuade him from spending them—even if that often ended poorly for him. If the smith had cannibalised the parts from their last prototype to make this one, this was probably the only one that they had so he could hardly haggle with the human over this particular specimen, which was disappointing to say the least.

“Please dunnae touch it.”

His manager had been growing ever nearer to the Steel Horse, plainly intent on touching it, but she drew her hand back now as if she’d been stung. Her disappointment was palpable.

“Of course, my apologies,” the freckled girl murmured, her habitual smile sliding from her face.

Instead of being concerned with his chastened co-worker, PJ had begun to smirk knowingly to himself, the mona in his pathetic excuse for a field humming a little as he perked up.

“Mm bureaucracy is incredibly tedious and I’ve never been a fan of hoop-jumping myself, but I used to work in that kind of thing, you know. Oh I’ll admit that it’s been years, back before I went to prison—”

“Circle preserve me!”

“—but I might still be able to offer some pointers about how to skip over some hoops. Things might have changed somewhat since I was young, but I doubt it—the civil service doesn’t like to embrace change.”

He started rooting around in his trouser pockets, not finding what he was looking for there. Wetting his thumb, he used it to extinguish his cigarette, tucking the dogend behind his ear before holding his coat up with one hand and using the other to root in the various pockets.

“No. No, not in there. No- Oh I’d forgotten I had that, huh! Where are the little buggers? I know I have them in here somewhere, I always keep some on me-”

“You keep everything on you, that’s the problem. What are you looking for?” Dora asked, struggling between fond amusement and exasperation in her expression.

“One of my cards. That way Saunders here can- Well, the option’s there if-”

He’d found them, dog-eared and a little grubby, which made him hesitate. He didn’t care about being presentable himself—as was self-evident from the cravat damn near dangling from his neck, the shadow of stubble and his sweat-stained shirt—but he did have some pride when it came to his work. However, he was saved by his manager, as per usual, who had a card case in her pocket, freeing a crisp card and proffering it to the human.

“Not that I expect anything, but at least you know where to find me—or get word to me. You’re more likely to deal with Dora here, she’s my manager when I go off on uh… business… trips.”

He cleared his throat, a smirk twisting one side of his mouth as he scratched the underside of his chin vigorously; the stubble rasped under his nails.

“At the very least, you can let me know when these things are… well, when there’s more than one of them. Don’t suppose that you have a card or something if I wanted to get ahold of you…?”

[Gale]

Steel Horse Stall | Midday

07 YARIS 2720

Gale stepped to the side as the Steel Horse was visually inspected, the curious eyes searching its parts in wonderment; from the pipes that flowed from the engine, the crankshaft bolted up to the moving components that forced the rear wheel in motion while the front served as the steering and the pair of levers that were shaped around the handlebar for the brakes. It was a carefully measured, designed and weighed machine; Gale's pride made real. Yet, something still felt as if it was missing; even as they scanned over the shape they could hear the faint drumbeat of hooves and thunder rumbling in the back of their mind.

"Aye. I was filling up the tank while smoking, coughed, and the cigarette fell in. Kerosene smouldered for a bit, but putting a cap on it starved it nicely." Gale sighed. "Issue was the loose unburned tobacco getting into the tubes - ended up having to drain, dismantle and clean through the entire system." They shoved their hands into their pocket in an attempt to stop them from fiddling openly. The idle fingers pulled at a loose thread in the inside of their pocket. "No exciting explosions here."

The pair were bickering if it could even be called that; perhaps the man, PJ, was coaxing her into reacting - pushing the proverbial levers in order to get something out of her. Not that Gale could quite get a grasp on their relationship. They averted their gaze when PJ winked, focusing on the polished brass pipes that fed the cooling system, catching the glimmers of reflections in the surface. Around the back of their neck sweat had gathered, their expression was starting to show the edges of discomfort - slowly being crushed beneath the fields, even if they were far from anything particularly imposing they were still Galdori and therefore Gale had to behave.

"I dunnae. Early tests showed me it had its own sort of personality; it demanded revving, tried to escape twice into the canal and tried to trap me beneath it more times than I can count. I like to think I've since broken it in."

You also drove it through a hedge and almost crashed into a cow. But they don't need to know that.

When the more mechanical based questions came, the tension in the smith eased; clearing their throat they brought the redhead's attention to the coolant tank. It was the rear mudguard, built up into a shallow crescent over the wheel and sloping down behind the seat, with a brass pipe snaking their way down the inside of the frame, down to the engine, weaving its way through it, then going back up to the rear tank.

"Ma'am, I find in life no question is stupid. If anything, asking shows cleverness and a willingness to understand." Gale cleared their throat, their fingers tapping on the coolant tank. "Here is the coolant tank, which is necessary to stop the engine from overheating. You can use water in it, which would need to be topped up daily; But I would recommend a low-grade alcohol and water mixture, or mineral oil as they both have a tendency to not require as frequent changing or topping up. Though all work equally effectively." The smith continued, their hands moving up to the engine itself and gesturing to a selection of nubs in the top. "Inside the engine are the ignitors; Have seen a fire piston before, maybe to light tinder? Well, imagine several tiny ones of those are inside, causing a spark to ignite the fuel. The inside though is prone to pressure changes caused by the engine heat, meaning these tubes are at risk of wear and damage over time. A yearly inspection would probably suffice, with replacement of parts as necessary."

Gale tilted their head then, offering an awkward smile - as if the lips were not quite sure what they were doing.

"Then there are the usual checks one would do with a bicycle. Brakes, tires, visual inspection-"

The talk of prison gave the smith pause. Their eyes slid from the woman to PJ, the smile falling away while the edges of their face creased. As the man continued to speak, and the woman looked as if she wished the ground to swallow her whole.

Minder. She has to be his minder.

Gale's hands almost possessively curled over the seat of the Steel horse and handlebars. Was this a weighing up to see if they were an easy mark? Where they looking to steal their invention-

The presentation of the business card gave them pause. They blinked dumbly at it as if at first it was something so foreign that Gale did not know what to do with it. There was another beat, the brow-raising as the rest of the necessary information finally caught up with their brain. The lips pursed, eyeballing the crisp card with suspicion before they gingerly reached out and took it. A Printers? Civil service, guidance. Was this an awkward way of offering help? Why on vita would a Galdor ever help a human unless it was for their benefit? Where was the catch here?

Wait. What? Jenkins Printing and Engraving. He must be Jenkins?

"Manager?" Part of Gale's brain fizzled. "Right yes, that... makes sense."

They were still staring down at the back of the business card; a tiny white square with fine print embedded into the surface. No, it still felt alien in Gale's hands. It was something so far beyond their actual reach as a human that they continued to stare at it for a good few seconds longer than necessary. As the rest of their mind caught up, the question presented dawned on them; they felt themselves shrink again, an inadequacy sinking its hands into their spine and promptly ripping it out. When the words failed, Gale shook their head, cheeks puffing as they stumbled over the vowels and consonants caught on their tongue.

And he wanted their business card? A thing Gale had not even considered making, or- was this even necessary for the Gala? Or some form of sick joke? No, this felt serious. But it gave the smith a moment where they realised they were well and truly out of their depth.

"N- nay- no. No. I. No card." They shifted over to the rear of the platform, dragging out a shallow toolbox. Shifting through the tools inside they found a pencil and promptly wrote their address in Vienda on the back of the business card - legible, but nothing fancy. Hesitating, they leaned to give the card to PJ, before quickly changing their mind and returning it to Manager Dora. "Sorry. I don't... I dunnae expect... interest."

The Smith tucked the pencil behind their ear and put their hands back in their pockets. Immediately they began to fiddle with the thread inside them again.

"I don't have a time frame for when they will be entering into public use. I mean... I use this one, but I mean on the market. I- things. Aye. Things." They were burbling. "Thank you for your interest? When I have a better idea on time... Sir, Ma'am, Did you have any further questions?"

Stick to the mechanical. It was much easier to focus on the raw information of engineering than those of business. They did not even have an idea on how they were even going to cost it, let alone work out how they were going to make them much more publicly available. They would need a much bigger work team for one, and to train them, and a bigger forge or even a workshop by extension - but those were matters for another time to discuss with the people who it mattered to-

A thought tickled the back of Gale's mind, their lips moving as the question came and dragged with it clarity.

"Do you print manuals?"

[PJ Jenkins]

Yaris 7, 2720 | Midday
Steel Horse Stall, Gala of Physics

.

The image that the smith painted was hardly an appealing one, the mischievous spark in the man instantly quelled at the prospect at the inconvenience caused by such a minor thing. Clearly, the tank could not be used as a potential ashtray, either accidentally or deliberately.

“Exciting for the wrong reasons, but certainly not enjoyable. Sounds like a nuisance to me if I’m honest. Suppose you’d have to be careful not to get anything into it that wasn’t kerosene—to be safe,” he mused, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.

His casual swearing didn’t make the human flinch, unlike Dora who really should have been familiar with his proclivity for profanity, but he was hardly aware of it himself; he hadn’t said it to shock. If Saunders had reacted, he might have noticed, but instead he was more focused on the idea of the Steel Horse actually being like a horse. Not a real animal, but he could sympathise with the desire to see zoomorphic characteristics in a machine. They all had their little quirks, those little mannerisms that made them seem alive.

“Machines can be like that, lass. They definitely seem to have laws of their own sometimes, although I’ve always thought that real horses were vindictive bastards,” PJ remarked, his expression darkening at the end.

He highly doubted that this particular horse could bite though. Now that would be a trick.

His companion’s face was turned away from him, preoccupied with the machine but he saw the tips of her ears redden and the girl’s head tilt downward and knew that she had been flattered—in spite of herself, no doubt—by the smith’s initial response to her questions. PJ sniggered.

“Ah yeah, I’m the idiot, that’s the right of it. You ask intelligent questions and I ask a bunch of spitch,” he remarked good-humouredly, earning a swift glance and a lip curl from his manager for the Tek word.

The middle-aged man didn’t see the need to apologise. Everyone could view him as a figure of disrepute as far as he was concerned, and more than likely they viewed him as a low character before he even opened his mouth. No use in avoiding a perfectly serviceable word because gollies he interacted with didn’t approve.

It was easy for him to make light of this, especially as not everything the human said made sense to him—but he could follow along all the same. He didn’t possess the same intellectual interest as Dora did. He just wanted one of the damned things! It’d make it easier to go on longer trips, give him independence in doing so and it wouldn’t take the physical toll that cycling would. Cycling would most likely end in him keeling over at the side of the road to die. This Steel Horse looked as if it had some heft to it so perhaps if it keeled over and died, it’d take him with it. At the very least, it would be faster and people could talk about newfangled machines instead of the fact that PJ could do with losing weight, cutting down the booze and laying off the fags. The latter didn’t seem exciting at all, it seemed that pathetic, even though that would probably be what ultimately did him in.

The little man watched the smith’s confusion as they were presented with the business card and asked for one of their own, Saunders gazing at it as if they’d never seen a business card in their life before—maybe they hadn’t. Once they stopped staring at the white rectangle, they produced a pencil and began writing on its back. A tremor of what could only be indignation excited the mona in Dora’s field and he had to resist laughing at her. They were his business cards, not hers and it didn’t much matter what people decided to do with them. Besides, it seemed a practical solution.

The redhead made no attempt to hide her disapproval as she accepted the card with every bit of reluctance, her head tilted back in order to peer down her nose at Gale; it was ludicrous.

”I dunnae expect… interest,” the smith admitted, pulling PJ out of his entertainment.

His eyebrows rose.

“Why? Because you’re human?” he asked bluntly, eliciting some more tutting and a quietly hissed admonition from his coworker.

“What? I didn’t say anything offensive, it’s not a slur or a dirty word. Some people are human, some people are wick, some are galdor. Well, sorry for saying the thing that you’re trying not to think about. You’re interested in this thing, Saunders made it, Saunders is a human and therefore, you’re interested in a human thing,” he explained sardonically, clearly enjoying himself as he retrieved what was left of his cigarette and lit it anew.

“Don’t know what gives anyone the right to be all haughty when you can barely understand how this thing works—and that’s me being kind. I doubt I can manage ‘barely’ myself.”

He flicked the ash that had accumulated and took a long drag, fully aware that he could feel the heat from the burning tobacco as it burned nearer to his fingers. His manager was saying nothing, chewing on her lip and avoiding his gaze, but it hadn’t been addressing her—not solely.

Turning slowly, he let his gaze move over the other galdori that still remained.

“But what do I know after all, when there are mites in Brunnhold who have better fields than me, right? Did someone want to say it? You, sir? You look like you’re ready to put me down, make yourself feel more superior. Go right ahead because… I do not… give… a fucking toss!”

He spoke slowly, being sure to enunciate carefully and if anyone thought that he took satisfaction from it then they would have been entirely correct.

Without further ado, he dropped his cigarette, twisted it beneath his foot and turned back to the human smith.

“For your information, I do print manuals. I will print anything and I mean, anything so long as I get paid for it. If anyone tells you that I print anything for free… they’re lying.”

”You need to provide the copy written legibly, or ideally typed, any images and depending on how long it was and the scale of the print… it could be very expensive,” Dora explained quietly.

“I wouldn’t be quite so hasty now. It’d depend on a number of things. I’m sure I could print a fair few manuals in exchange for an alternate form of payment—”

“Don’t you dare even-”

“—like a Steel Horse? Or something related to the press… maybe?”

PJ sucked on his bottom lip.

[Gale]

Steel Horse Stall | Midday

07 YARIS 2720

Gale felt the fields; with it their skin itched as they resisted pulling away. The thread knotted around their finger, squeezing tightly as the pressure kept them sober. It was hard to get a reading on PJ, though Manager Dora was a lot easier to obtain some bearing of; disapproval, perhaps. But what else was Gale to do? What other options did they have on hand beyond being prepared for something they had not even planned for. While the red-head may have been shorter, Gale felt themselves withdraw, instinctual almost in a way they had not comprehended - they had to behave, this was not their home, they did not know these streets. A level of caution and wariness kept their mind sharper than usual, the careful inhales that were not too quick and not too deep, the measuring of their heart within their chest that threatened to rip itself from behind their breastbone - or wither up and die. It was hard to tell the difference.

They kept the steel horse between them and the Galdori as PJ went off on a rant, as if somehow it would protect them from the verbal onslaught, not at them but everyone else. It was not pride they felt, but instead, dread - as if they were being hoisted up onto a platform by the will of another and not their own. Though, in reality, this was always the case - Gale did not need to think too hard to contemplate what machinations were going on elsewhere to get them into this position to begin with. But Mister PJ Jenkins had turned the full beam of the light onto them, and now the Smith felt all so small and insignificant.

The Galdori he was addressing seemed to squirm uncomfortably; some looking away, one scoffed loudly with his field flexing as if weighing up his target - at least until he was distracted. A lady on his arm touched his hand, shaking her head - with it his bubbling field withdrew to a very present seething. That Galdor stuck to scowling, his lip twitching as his eyes continued to follow PJ for the moment. The few others tactically retreated, or moved on - to associate with something a human had clearly made? How could they? Disgusting.

I can't breathe.

Gale's ears were pink, a prickling heat that was quickly turning into throbbing. Their voice became caught in their throat, the eyes darting between the faces, barely resting on any for too long. Was it sneers, laughter, scowls or- No, too fast. The smoke of the cigarette crept in, overwhelming the odour of kerosene and grease; sharply alien- there was a pop of noise elsewhere at another stall, the mumbling of the crowds in the background. The smith's eyes were moving faster now, the finger pulling tighter around the thread as it coiled and dug in. Drink, smoke- they needed- no they could not have it. It was forbidden-

I can't breathe.

Slowly the colour began to leach away from their features, head tilting downwards, the small twitches as the body reacted to sound and sight; Shadow passed over the grain, the warped wood of the stage covered in a thick lacquerer to protect it from the elements. Something somewhere else was dripping; a child let out a screech of joy, a strange background buzzing hum. It was a hum, quietly crackling away and simultaneously drowning out the meaning of the sounds but making them louder and present.

It was true though, Gale was human. No one would really ever take them seriously to begin with, and being biologically female did little to help further that matter. No, if anything it merely made it worse; this would only ever be an uphill struggle-

I can't-

The thread inside their pocket snapped. Eyes screwing up, they pulled a hand over the lids; fingers pressing and massaging as they attempted to blot out a sense. Control they needed control, maintain whatever thin façade they could muster and get through another collection of demonstrations. A breath juddered, head lifting slightly as they registered the voices were now being directed at them. They erred, clearly hesitating as they tried to translate the words in their skull. They mumbled something, lips barely moving as sound hissed out. A final compression of lungs, as their brain registered they had been holding their breath.

"I dunn-" their voice box scraped the sound out. "Think."

Gale coughed, or more the body did reflexively on its own. Turning away, they sucked in the dry summer air, eyes daring to glance in the general direction of PJ. Question, he had asked something - at least it seemed that way. What were they on about before? Manuals? Yes, Gale had asked about manuals, he had put in an offer - maybe.

"Maybe this uh... Well. Should be discussed in... well-controlled-" The smith thumped their chest in an attempt to get the mumbled words out. "Arrange a meeting. See terms, get ideas. Things. Uh." They nodded, weakly, towards Dora. "Get permission from your manager."

Did the horizon always sway? Or seemingly ripple in the light; regardless it brought a level of nausea back to claw at their insides.

"And I need to... well, organise things." Their head jerked as it caught another sound, their nostrils twitching while hands fumbled for another stimulus. It took to lightly tapping the handlebar of the Steel Horse. "If you let me know what to prepare, I can... maybe mock up something..."

There was that noise again. They rubbed at their ear, face scrunching as they tried to reobtain control over their functions.

"This is a lot to consider in a small frame of time." The smith awkwardly shrugged. "Want to slow down, make sure it is right. I'll contact you... or the other way round?"

Was that the right answer? Was it even an answer? It was not like Gale wanted to withdraw their question; it was a serious one that made some sense to them. Manuals meant they could share the knowledge, that they had a point of reference for people to follow. Perhaps they would deviate from it, but the foundation was there and it would forever be a mark of the effort of humans. Not that it was clear enough for them to think, they barely managed to snatch at a thought as it bubbled to the surface. Just a little more.

Please. Just. Go. I don't feel right-

Gale swallowed the taste of bile that gathered in the back of their throat.

"Alternatively, I am around in Brunnhold for a while... but... Schedules?"

[PJ Jenkins]

Yaris 7, 2720 | Midday
Steel Horse Stall, Gala of Physics

.

PJ had never been consciously selfish in his whole life. He was more than capable of being empathetic, sympathetic, kind, all those things that made someone a good person. The problem was that he was so self-centred that he usually couldn’t see past himself. He absolutely could do it, it just required more than a little effort on his part. Given that he’d climbed onto a figurative podium to shove his opinions down the throats of everyone in his earshot, the printer hadn’t been seeing anything beyond himself—ironic given that it was supposed to have been about humans and nothing to do with him at all.

It was his own field that tripped him up, or rather the veritable lack of it. Not everyone had an exceptionally powerful field—most galdori didn’t go into arcane occupations after their schooling—but those who had completed their years in Brunnhold or a similar institution did tend to have one of decent quality. It was what came of deciding on a focus for one’s latter years and the discipline and dedication that tended to go with it. Anyone who encountered him and his dasher field had a fair idea that the little man had not taken his so-called birthright seriously. There were plenty of galdori who tended to judge him on that alone before he opened his mouth, people who thought they understood enough about him from the small, indecisive aura that begrudgingly surrounded him. It had all been academic to him, which certainly hadn’t been where his strengths lay and he had no issue with how things with the mona had turned out for him. Though he’d hate to admit it, he did have a chip on his shoulder about his field, but only when it came to galdori; they always put his back up, some part of him always on edge as he waited for their disdain, their disgust, their pity.

The lower races never chose to view him as something lesser, something sub-galdor and the differences in his field sometimes made them warmer towards him than his brethren, faced with less of a sense of superiority.

He had no notion that Gale cringed from his field as much as they did Dora’s. He didn’t have an inkling that the smith had begun to shrink into themself, growing ever more withdrawn as he snapped at the crowd on their behalf. It never occurred to him to consider how it must be from the human’s point of view as he went on the combative and helped to chase away potential investors.

Because it had become about him, about the idea that someone would challenge what came out of his mouth based on him being an inferior galdor. PJ was like a wounded animal snapping at those around it out of fear of someone approaching and taking advantage of its vulnerability, and so the human didn’t exist within his cognisance.

While he debated with Dora about the act of printing, the Muffey resident didn’t see any signs of the inventor’s distress, but his manager did. He’d certainly been distracting her, causing her to be preoccupied with whatever fuck-up of his might be impending, but her desire to exclaim over his words seemed to ebb away abruptly. It was his companion’s silence that managed to draw his attention and her gaze fixed on the smith that made him look at Gale.

PJ had definitely looked at Gale more than once over the last number of minutes, but he hadn’t actually taken the time to see them. Now that he was actually actively looking, he could see that their features were sickly cast and the efforts they’d gone to in order to shut out the world…

“Are you all right?” Dora asked rather pointlessly, her tone indicating that she already knew what the answer was.

“No, not at all. What did I do now?” he murmured, half to himself. He made to grab their shoulders then paused as he considered how easily things could go south. Not to mention that he probably couldn’t shake them properly, not when they were up there and he was down here—it’d be more than a little awkward.

The human tried to speak. It couldn’t exactly be termed a valiant effort. They were a wind-up using the very last of its energy, spitting out the last snatches of sound before it went dead. Perhaps someone tried to wind it, the smith managing to string sounds together into syllables which could be strung into words, but it was still piecemeal. They’d start to say one thing, switch to another and end on something else, not entirely coherent and certainly not cohesive. A print of something that had only had the type partially laid out. They improved but it was evident that everything continued to be far from all right. It seemed that something had been wound too tight and broken inside of them.

“Look, I’m sorry, lass. I wasn’t trying to upset you or overwhelm you. Just take a few deep breaths, yeah? Don’t have to rush to explain yourself or…” he trailed off, deeply uncertain. His glasses were filled with furrowed eyebrows as he glanced towards Dora, seeking some sort of guidance. People were more her strong suit than his and if she couldn’t give him a steer here, there was no telling how much worse he could make this.

There was a less than subtle attempt at dismissal, but the printer chose to ignore it.

“There’s no need to get yourself into a knot. I don’t need an immediate answer—any sort of answer—and you aren’t obliged to give it to me. Just letting you know that my services are available.”

For a price, he added to himself, showing a rare bit of forethought by not raising the subject of money.

“I’m usually in Muffey. That’s where the shop is and well… someone needs to look after it,” Dora added, apparently absorbed in unwinding a curl from her goggles, avoiding everyone’s gazes. “It would be rare that I wouldn’t be there.”

“I’ll be around… for as long as I have a little money, I suppose. I'll be in some pub or other, but I'm sure someone can point you my way. Can’t go wrong with a pub—well, you can and a lot can go wrong in a pub—and I might as well enjoy myself while there are so many interesting characters about the place! Speaking of…”

The man pulled a small flask from the depths of some mysterious pocket and popped it open to unleash the sharp scent of a spirit.

“You’re looking a mite peaky. Take a swig. It’s cheap but it does the trick!”

He thrust it under Gale’s nose, grinning cheerily.

“I don’t think it’s appropriate to-” Dora began through gritted teeth, her gaze suddenly sharp as it darted around to see who was watching. This wasn’t Vienda but…

“Posh! It’s medicinal! ‘S always appropriate to offer medicine to those who need it.”