Somewhere in the collection of casts was the original template for the buttons, but Gale did not have time to search for that. Not while there were much more important things at hand.
Nails filed with the grime dragged from beneath, hair brushed back and tucked beneath a flat cap. The satchel slung across them contained everything they thought they would need; duplicates of their designs and invention notes, a letter of patronage from one Mister Valentin and a letter of recognition from their Landlord Mister Aurelian. With another drawn in breath to suppress the growing fluttering within their chest - nerves, probably - they had locked up the Forge, had slotted the start crank into the side of the Steel Horse, and with a quick series of rotations were on their way.
For those on the immediate block and adjacent streets in Vienda, watching the smith take the Steel Horse around for test driving had become a somewhat regular occurrence. with it Gale was exposed to a collection of compliments and complaints; the latter of which was filtered into the useful and the wheezing of those who liked to complain because they can. As the season progressed elements became refined, the muffler quietened the engine to a softer, less grunting chuff, the exhaust was directed further back, the suggestion of oil to serve as coolant was tested and the small, tiny tweaks were made and polished off. Further afield there was still the looks of confusion from the locals, the bewildered expression to the idea of a machine propelling a rider forward; with it came the whispers and the lurking of eyes that were clearly trying to steal whatever it was they were working on.
It was a sign that Gale had to act before it was taken from them by force.
Stopping at the Painted Ladies Postal and Scrying Offices, Gale chained the Steel Horse up at the end of a bicycle rack outside, smoothed down their clothes and braved the bustle within.
There was something strangely sterile about the postal offices, the main foyer had its high ceilings with the paint chipped and peeling. The Floor that was polished on its day of opening was long worn and scuffed, the interlocking wood slats now bending beneath every footfall. The large windows that would have let in daylight were murky from the smog from the factories or from the lanterns that illuminated the interior. There was the stale scent of tobacco, of gentlemen puffing on pipes as they sent their post and caught the latest news on the stocks; elsewhere were women laughing with the dull clink of teacups, the attempts to look pretty against the worn backdrop. There was a service bell, a sharp chime that dragged Gale's attention around to the postal desks, the orderly queues formed before the mesh barriers that protected the bored Galdori - Gale presumed they were Galdor- that worked behind them.
The smith sidestepped out the way of some Galdor as they entered behind them, skin shivering as the field slipped over, consumed and quickly passed. Their hand clung to the satchel strap, shoulders rising up to their ears as they shuffled away. There was another noise, a clatter of pots, the slump of paper stacks, wood varnish sticking to sides-Gale sucked in the air, the finger and thumb pinching the bridge of their nose.
Breathe. Just breathe.
They twitched when the service bell rang again; rough, coarse laughter; a baby crying as a mother tried to argue with another at the desk. They could feel the heat beginning to gather beneath their collar, their fingers tugged at it - were they sweating? Were they hot? It was Roalis, maybe it was just the heat. Gale eased the clenching in their jaw, forcing their eyes to look upwards to the signs that hung above head level. The sooner they got where they needed to be, the sooner they could sort their paperwork and by extension, the sooner they could leave.
Stiff limbed the Smith marched over in the direction of the desks, shuffling around the traffic within. Knuckles were white around the strap, eyes wide and darting as the scents and sounds continued to circulate around the room. Everything echoed, even down to the squeaky wheel of some trolley taking letters outback; Gale rubbed at their ears to beat back the high pitch, their brow drawing into a line as they finally reached the threshold of the scrying desks - and then noticed the rack of forms. Gale eyeballed them suspiciously and then looked to the plaque that hung alongside:
If the form you are looking for is not here, please fill in Request form 17a and take it to the service desk.
The service bell rang.
Shuffling over to the rack, Gale loitered in front of it and scanned the ones available.Marriage, no. Birth, no. Writ of Reading, no. Death, no. Taxes, no. Change of Address, no-The hand hovered over the top of the sheets, erred for a moment, and then awkwardly tugged on what they thought was the supposed Request form - it had '17a' in the corner, so it had to be that one. There was a quick scan of the printed letters, the brow furrowing as it looked down all the tick boxes and blank spaces - Gale fumbled within their satchel for a pencil, their lips moving as they attempted to make sense of what they were looking at.
Application form? Housing Association- Water mains- Patent request form? That one.
Pressing it against the side of the rack the Smith began awkwardly filling it in, features pinching as they tried to blot out the background noise of the offices; someone, somewhere was in the midst of a row and Gale was doing their best to ignore it even as the language bombarded through the foyer. The paper crimpled as they hastily scribbled on it, desperately trying to spell things correctly and ensure it was legible before awkwardly signing it. Certain it was finished, Gale slid to the back of the queue and joined the coughing bodies. Some half-deaf man was arguing with a clerk, another gentleman was looking at his watch with impatience.
The service bell rang again, and Gale shuffled forward. It would be easy, the Smith tried to assure their nerves - they would get the form they needed, go off to a corner to fill it in, and then deliver it with the evidence and then everything would be fine.
You have everything you need, and I'm sure you can fill it all out correctly-
The service bell rang.- and you have all your evidence with you-
"Next!"
Gale blinked, not registering they were at the front of the queue. It was the frustrated sigh behind them that spurred them back to reality. Taking off their cap they edged their way over to the available clerk, gave a short half-bow and placed the form down. Gingerly, Gale attempted to clear up their usual heavy, slurring accent into something gentler on the ears.
"Good day, I require the patent submission form?"
The smith gave an awkward smile. That was the correct way to do things, right?