[PM to Join] Fragile Flowers

[Meraki]

Hot House Glass
Late Morning, 38 Dentis, 2719

For the first time since he’d woken up in Old Rose Harbor – almost twenty days ago – Meraki used the actual entrance for Hot House Glass like it was a shop. In the evenings, he’d gone, in and out, from the apartments a few times by now. Specifically, Lars’ apartment. This time, though, Meraki wasn’t here to visit the pale passive. He was here to introduce himself to one Mister Albigence Fitz. He’d cleaned up for it with his hair combed, face washed, clothes pressed. He’d even tucked in a new shirt of black cotton, cuffed his sleeves down, and buttoned his dark vest – a rare look for the Anaxi tsat, who tended to keep his vest left open and his sleeves rolled up.

In all his young life, Meraki had never thought that he might need to find a new place that wasn’t in the Stacks. So many times, in the span of the years, he had done whatever necessary to keep his dismal little flat that it didn’t occur to him that he could find somewhere new to live. He had enough coin that he could leave for Brunnhold, and never look back to the harbor, but he didn’t want to do that. Because in the past several days, he’d found a certain freedom in Rose that he could never find in his neighborhood. His home in the Stacks now felt like a crypt by comparison, and he didn’t want to put himself back in the ground quite yet.

Besides, there was Lars... He didn’t want to leave until he’d helped the passive out from the contract with the Mad Queen, and he didn’t know how long that would take. Best have a more secure place to stay than the various spots he’d been crashing for the past several days. So, he checked his reflection in the shop window, fixed his hair some so that his bangs hung to the side rather than directly in his face, then he entered Hot House Glass with his goal firmly in mind.

His steps faltered within a few seconds. The wick’s eyes widened. He hadn’t really looked before, hadn’t seen the shop in the daylight. The front room was filled with beautiful works of glass. He’d caught glimpses here and there, while going to the apartment, but hadn’t seen it like this. Meraki felt nervous, suddenly. All this fragile glass around him… he stepped a little slower, a little more aware of where he was going.

“Hello?” he called out, while he looked up at little glass birds hanging from the ceiling. Light reflected from them, sending refracted colors through the space of the shop. In a slow step around, he examined the shop. He added, though he’d already gotten distracted by everything there was to look at. “I’m lookin’ for a Mister Fitz?”

Meraki halted his steps, close to a display pedestal that had an elaborate décor vase on it. His gaze flitted over to look at the colorful glass flowers hung on the nearby wall. He glanced about, then walked over to look at some of the flowers. The wick set his hands in the front pockets of his vest, and wondered how easy it’d be to fit one of the flowers in the interior pocket or not…

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Without looking to see if the shop keeper had showed up yet, the wick called out slightly louder in case he was in the back or similar, “Mister Fitz? I’m new to Old Rose and come to… inquire about one of the flats above here? Your- uh… these flowers are… shiny.”

Shiny didn’t seem like the appropriate compliment for glass, but Meraki wasn’t sure what else to call it. He lifted one hand out of a pocket, then gently touched a yellow-colored rose before he took it down from the wall. Meraki twirled the stem between his calloused fingers. His hands were wrapped in bandages that had rusty-brown splotches over the joints. He’d thought to wear his gloves to hide the bandages but decided against it since his gloves looked even worse than the bandages on their own.

The bandages on his hands weren’t the only indication that he was in a state of healing. His bottom lip had an old bruise along it, dappled yellow and violet with a chapped over dark scab over the pouty flesh. Tender faded marks of bruises were along one side of his temple and jaw. Everything else hid behind his clothing, though. He scuffed his boots against the floor, shuffled in the spot, and he twirled the glass flower about and brought it up… and sniffed it, as if it were a real flower, then realized that made no sense to do. Meraki winced slightly and glanced over to see if he was still alone or not.

[Albigence Fitz]

Late Morning, 38 Dentis, 2719....

Albigence had been hard at work all morning. A loyal customer- a bar owner across town who, with a rather violent gathering of customers, tended to always need new glassware- had had a bit of an unfortunate go round with gravity and an entire cabinet of beer mugs and needed as many replacements as possible by night. She had sent her son to him just at sun rise, and the boy had jingled up the back stair way, always unlocked, up to the door of Albigence's flat and woke the man up with knocking and the jingling of the box he carried, a box of a starry sky of broken glass. Albigence had hissed at the boy, waved him away, taken his box, pulled pants on over his night clothes, and, as quietly as he could, he had descended the stairs barely dressed. Some afterthought had occured to him as he slipped the heavy apron on over the loose shirt he had worn to bed and wrinkled trousers and he hoped he had not stirred Cailen, but, frankly, as much as Albigence liked the company of his renter, business was a priority. Quickly, he had cleaned and melted the glass, and quickly, he had gotten to work on the simple but incredibly monotonous process- collecting the glass at the end of the blow stick, shaping, heating, shaping, blowing, heating, jack-lining, heating, marvering, shaping, and a glass quickly done but, with years of practice, done well.

By late morning, he was hungry, hot, and knee-deep in glass cups. His long hair had fallen for a third time from a hasty bun, and he had burned himself too many times grabbing a jack-line or blow stick that had not properly cooled. He had shed his apron, a sin he rarely committed in the safety of his shop, but, then again, he was rarely pressed to make so much in such a hurry.

"I'm looking for a Mister Fitz?"

The shop bell had not registered in his numbed mind as he again collected a globe of molten glass at the end of his blow stick from the orange furnace, but the voice- something completely foreign to his morning of isolated concentration- elicited a sigh from him. He scraped the molten bulb against the inside of the furnace mouth, hastily pulling the blow stick out, dipping it in the basin of water (cool end to hot end safely, of course) then capped the open end with his finger and returned it to its barrel. All the while, he listened from the back workshop of his establishment to beyond the open doorway and the desk.

He stepped out of the workshop to lean in the doorway. The man- a blonde man of svelte youth- hadn't noticed him, entranced by the flowers, birds, and plethora of other fantasies Albi had hung on the wall. For a moment, Albi smiled. He loved the childlike wonder that seized every child-hearted wonder that entered. His face fell, however, when the man reached a hand- a severely bandaged had- to touch. Strictly, this was a no-touch store and Albi liked to keep it that way.

"Break it, you buy it," he greeted the man sternly. The sternness stumbled as it registered in Albi's ears what the man had said-

He's here for the apartments, Albi thought. He had become slightly desperate for more renters, Cailen being his last and only successful renter. But I want good renters that don't break things, he reminded himself. He pushed himself off the door frame and around the desk to stand before the man, arms still crossed and eyebrows still dancing in a scrutinizing suspicion.

"I have two flats still available- two rooms, bed and heat provided. Four shills a month- I just ask to keep it relatively clean and don't break anything." And he stopped his rehearsed lines before he could go on, thinking. Had this man seen his simple posters, he would not know Albi's name, would he? No, the posters had the address, had a little information about the rooms.

"Who told you about the rooms? I assume you were told- you know my name, after all." Who had suggested this man to come to Albigence would tell Albi all he needed to know about this renter.

[Meraki]

Hot House Glass
Late Morning, 38 Dentis, 2719

“Break it, you buy it.”

“Ah!” Meraki accidentally threw the glass flower up into the air, due to his shock of the other man's voice when the wick thought himself still alone. His heart thumped in his chest and his eyes widened. The stem tapped against his hands, evaded his grasp for a few bounces as it fell toward the floor -

- Until the tsat knelt and caught it by the delicately blown-glass bud. He swiftly stood back up, looked at the dark-haired man and displayed a triumphant grin. A couple of gaps from missing back teeth showed due to the smile. Holding up the flower in proud presentation that it was still in one piece, he proclaimed, “It didn’t break!”

Meraki nodded. He carefully set the flower back on the wall where he found it. He knew how many rooms were available. The wick hadn’t walked in from the street on a whim, after all. He’d been scoping out the place for days now. He’d even snuck up to the third floor on his own, when Lars was out and the landlord who now spoke to him had been busy with the shop. It was simple enough once he’d learned the back stairway was always unlocked, and Lars’ apartment was similarly always unlocked. He didn’t even need to pick a lock! Just walk right in, all quiet like. Not that Mister Fitz needed to know that. All he needed to know was…

“Ah, I’m a… friend of yer renter,” he explained quickly with an upward point in the general direction of where Lars’ apartment would be located above the ceiling. He wished he had a better term to say than friend though, but he didn’t know if he could say cousin with a straight face. Everything else felt similarly off, not that friend didn't also feel odd to say. Yet, it was the closest he supposed and it'd be best if he attempted to act as simple and honest with the potential landlord as he could be. “Blond fellah, goes by Cailan?”

Meraki casually surveyed the petite Hoxian man who was almost half-a-head shorter than him. Messy dark hair barely held in a bun, with long strands hung around a delicate-boned face fashioned with facial hair. Simple wrinkled trousers and shirt adorned a thin, sharp body. The scowl, however, with the dark brows and suspicious eyes had a certain intensity that made the wick feel a little nervous.

“I’ve gotten to see ‘is flat,” he added. “Visited the other week, once or twice. Gotta say, mate, yer place is… it’s good. Clean. I like ‘at, the clean and all. And quiet. Nice and quiet.”

He felt the scrutinizing gaze of the shorter man. The wick fidgeted with the bandages on his hand, then averted his own sight to survey some of the nearby glassworks. Meraki cleared his throat, thought of what he’d heard other renters in his old tenement talk about when it came to renting in Brunnhold, and he said, “Like that there’s a bed too, reasonable price for that. What about the runnin' water? That included wit’ the heat or… y’ got anythin’ extra ‘bout that?”

“I got… I gots it right now, if y’ want it. I don’t need to look, I want to live here, if y’ll… if y’ll let me.” The wick ran his hands over his vest, then drew out a small cotton envelope buttoned shut. His heart felt like it was going a bit too quick. Why did he feel so nervous? He didn't know and he tried to ignore it, though he felt a faint ruddy blush rising on his cheeks. He opened the cotton holder, then took out coins while he counted out four shills right there without waiting.

Meraki held the four shills worth out, bandaged palm full of various coins, for the other man to take from him. Some of the coins had flecks of old dried blood on them. The Anaxi blond anxiously smiled, stepped closer in gesture for the money to be taken from him. “For Vortas, yeh? That’s how it works, yeh? Y’ got keys for the door, right? I don’t gots to get one made, do I?”

Rolls

Catching the Flower:
SidekickBOTToday at 11:16 PM
@Lazulum: 1d6 = (3) = 3

[Albigence Fitz]

Late Morning, 38 Dentis, 2719....

Albigence's expression and arms-crossed posture didn't change as the man jumped, nearly dropped the flower, caught it, and grinned, instead waiting for him to finish.

"It didn't break!" he exclaimed. Albi's left brow rose high. "Lucky you," he responded, pushing himself off the doorway and ambling into the shop as if he were a much bigger, much more threatening man, to see this renter that stood above him a little better. At the mention of Cailan, though, Albi visibly lightened up. His arms untucked themselves from around each other, dropping to his sides. Cailan had not failed his expectations as a renter who kept to himself but brought enough sound and motion into the building to make it a little more welcoming. Too, his payments had been on time and, the few times Albi had brought up wood or water or seen into his neighbor's apartment in passing, he had been nonetheless satisfied with the cleanliness.

"Mm, clean and quiet- if you can keep it that way and keep your payments up, well, it seems you've already got your mind made up," he tried a smile on, but, as he listened to the man before him, he forgot to keep it up, letting the edges of his mouth drop. He leaned his weight back onto the desk behind him.

Running water- he nearly chuckled at the notion. Sure, the technology was available, but Bjorn had bought the building nearly 25 years ago, and Albi had spent every day since his death trying to make up for 25 years of repairs and updates.

"You'll have to forgive me for correcting- water and heat are free, no worries about that," he held his hand up as the man mentioned having to possibly pay extra, as if humbly not accepting a reward. "However, the water's from a pump just behind the building, here, by the stairway, and the heat's nothing but the fireplace."

"'Course," he added, afraid to scare him off, "There's a bucket provided for the water in your room, and I'll deliver wood for the fire outside your door every morning." But he was already offering Albi the coins, already aware that he didn't need to pay for the last few days of Dentis. A little bit of pride danced into Albi's eyes as the man said he wanted to live here. He had made it homely, the shop warm with the heat of his work against the autumn.

"Well- yes- keys-" and he gave up, the man already holding out coins, already asking about his key. He made sure there were truly four shills, and- was that blood? and turned to the counter behind him. He reached over it, reached blindly for the knob of the drawer that was there, opening it, brushing the bloody coins in without trying to give them more thought, and feeling for the key. "How soon are you moving in?" he asked as his fingers found the key, the ribbon tied to it familiar to all of the rooms. Discreetly, he wiped his hands on his pants, overly-conscious of the want, the need to wash his hands, and turned back to face the man. He held up the key, and paled ever so slightly.

The head of the key was threaded with a yellow ribbon. It was the key to the room Bjorn had died in, the room Albi had drug his corpse out of and to the wat-

He bowed stiffly to hide his distress, to give him time to recompose himself. He could just turn and grab a different key. He could turn this man away. But he had already been asked about the final room several times, already accepted this man's friend. It was just a room. As he rose, he inhaled, then animatedly spoke, holding out the key.

"To formally introduce myself, I am Albigence Fitz, and you have a room awaiting just above your friend's," He nodded towards the stairs. "I-I've got a load of work to return to before tonight, so, if you're ready to get up there, it's the third floor, room on the left. Let me know if it is to your liking, okay? And I can bring you some firewood tonight if you're planning to stay." he quickly wrapped up his loose ends, the protection of his workshop pulling him back.

Should the man- well, Albi hadn't even asked his name!- but should he be satisfied and competent enough to find his room, he would find a set up much like Cailan's. Two rooms would greet him, first, a living room lit by a large, single, east-facing window on the right wall, illuminating the small dining table and two chairs that were trying so hard to match each other. Lovely wine-red wall-paper above a smooth hugged the room above a smooth, wooden floor, each complemented by the white curtains with green vines and flowers the same color as the wall that hung around the window. On the left, a white fireplace, certainly reminiscing and longing for older days, napped before a worn, green loveseat and his suitors, a plush red bergere armchair and a stiff, wooden, yellow-seated klismos whose rickety posture told that it knew it was incredibly out of place against the red of the room. A far door would stare back like a mirror, shouldered by an empty bookshelf. In that mirror, the wallpaper and flooring was the same, with a simply but cozy bed and a dresser of white with delicate red flowers and green vines, clearly meant to match the fireplace but just as clearly aged-better, chatting quietly to themselves. as a window facing the north looked on.

And Albi would return to work, straining his ears to hear the emotions of his renter against the heat of the workshop.

[Meraki]

Hot House Glass
Late Morning, 38 Dentis, 2719

The landlord of Hot House Glass might have been a petite fellow, short and diminutive in stature, but he had a certain intimidation to him regardless. Meraki didn’t mind that, though. He preferred a man to have an upright spine, rather than a noodle for a back. He noticed how the other’s distanced cold attitude seemed to ease slightly after he mentioned Cailan though. Of course it did. Cailan was so incredibly charming, and the sole tenant of the entire place, so how could Mister Albigence not like the pale demure blond? He understood. Meraki felt rather fondly for the harlot as well, though he did wonder if the landlord was aware of what that demure blond did to make his rent. Some landlords didn’t take kindly to harlots, as it was almost inevitable that they’d bring around clients to come in and out of the flat eventually when given enough time.

“Clean and quiet, yessir,” agreed Meraki again with a few nods of his head. “I can do that, promise. Not much for mess, myself, sir. I like to keep things tidy. Used to work as a… well, maid, sir for lack of a proper term. Cleaned out the rooms in a lodge, I did, and a couple hotels, back home before here.”

He shrugged off the idea that the water was from a pump and the only heat was from the fireplace, though he paused when he heard a quick follow-up. Oh, realized Meraki, should he be acting like he hadn’t already made up his mind? The details didn’t much matter to him, even if he had thought to really think of them on his own volition. There was one important reason why he wanted to live in Hot House Glass, and that reason lived upstairs and he hadn’t seen that reason in far too many days, and he wanted to get the apartment so he could clean up and make himself respectable and then court that reason in a mannerly fashion that wasn’t entirely insulting and foolish. That reason deserved an attempt from him to be a proper man, and having an actual warm clean home of his own was part of that. It wasn’t like he could take Lars to his little slum hovels in the crime-riddled areas of the harbor.

“Every morning?” he inquired, a bit delayed and after he’d already handed out the rent money, as if he’d gotten lost in his thoughts for a moment. He hummed then said, “Vortas, is all. First couple of days, was thinkin’…”

The tsat’s eyes widened when he saw the key, threaded with yellow ribbon. An eager grin cracked over his face, revealing his missing back teeth due to how wide it was. His eyes nearly sparkled while he held out his hands like a beggar about to be gifted the greatest coin possible in all the history of beggardom. As he received the key, he nodded with a sort of fascinated expression while the other man introduced himself formally.

Had he introduced himself already? He didn’t think so… he nodded at Mister Fitz, key held tightly in his fist. And it was the room above Lars’? He hadn’t even had to ask! How wonderful! He couldn’t stop smiling and he said, “Oh, Mister Fitz, thank you. Rightly, y’ don’t know how much this means to me, y’ don’t. I lived in my old place all my life, and this is my first… suppose y’ could call it real place of me own and I get to be real close to my friend like too, and- well, thank you!”

“If you’re busy with work, makin’ all these marvelous things and the like, I can always bring up my own firewood and water. In fact, I prefer that, I do. Always used to get my own water from a pump at my old place, and didn’t have any firewood at all cuz had no proper heatin’ so… I can sure rightly do it, I’d be goin’ up and down the stairs anyway since I mostly work in the night time, and sleep during the day.”

He nodded again, then added, “Name’s Lucky, by the by, if anyone comes askin’ ‘round about me, or y’ need to find me, right? I work down at the taverns, dependin’ on the night and y’ ever want a free drink, y’ just look around and I’ll get y’ one right quick.”

Yet Meraki could tell that the other man wanted to get back to his work. So he nodded, and hoped that his request to get his own water and firewood would be respected, then he headed away with the key closely held in reverence. He went up the stairs, two at a time, in a swift hop – though he slowed on the second floor and glanced at Lars’ door. Meraki wondered if the passive was inside or not… then he hurried up the rest of the stairs to where his new apartment was.

As soon as he opened it, his eyes grew wide and his lips parted in a gasp. He had expected something similar to Lars’, and it was, but it was so… very… “Perfect…”

He left the front door ajar, then hurried around to check out the rooms, and he ran his hands over the red armchair. One of his favorite things about Lars’ place was the pink plush armchairs, and now he had one; and in red! That meant he didn’t have to drag the pink chairs out of the other apartment and sneak them into his place. He lowered to rub his cheek against the chair’s soft fabric and almost happily purred. The place felt so huge to him, so grand. Living twenty-two hard years in the flat that was the size of a closet meant he felt dizzy at the wondrous palace suite that was now… his. It was his. It was his! He ran into the bedroom, rolled onto the bed, then winced when he felt the injury on his side finally protest all his frantic and eager movements. He laid there, staring at the ceiling, grin on his face, key still tightly held in his bandaged hand. Meraki laughed a few times from giddiness.

Then he got himself up again, hurried out of the room as he recalled that he wasn’t moving in quite yet. Meraki ran down the stairs in a flurry of steps, found his way to the workshop where he’d find the other man.

“Mister Fitz!” he called cheerfully. “It’s absolutely perfect! I love it, I do! The colors and the chairs! And table! And windows, and curtainsandhearthandbedanddresser and it’s all so very wonderful, I shall write a poem about it! Maybe two, even. I must get going, but I will certainly return when Vortas is upon us, and- and- if y’ ever need anythin’, Mister Fitz, y’ just ask. Anythin’, I got lots of stuff I know how to do, I can be a right use to y’ if y’ ever need it.”

Meraki hovered nearby, not leaving quite yet, not until the other man would dismiss him properly. Only then would he depart to go and hurry to make more coin so that he’d start on acquiring the next month’s rent already. The last thing he wanted was to get kicked out after only one month of living in such a perfect apartment.

[Albigence Fitz]

Late Morning, 38 Dentis, 2719....

Lucky. Gods, was that a name! he thought. Albigence hated his own name. It was ugly and long and always tying him back to the that family. Sure, he could change it, go by any name he wanted to! Hell, less than a dozen people in Old Rose new his name, and Vienda, that was a world away. But, this name was unmistakable, and one day he would be sure that they'd see his name again, see what he'd become without their help. But Lucky- perhaps it was some cute nickname, or perhaps he was some gift of a child, but Albigence was glad he wasn't named like some orphan's street dog.

Of course, that didn't matter to him. He had a renter now, another one! He pulled the blow stick from the cooling basin and shook it until the tumorous weight of water slithered away. The renter was in Bjorn's room, and he'd love it, Albi told himself. Albi had done everything in his power and beyond to make sure of it. He was certain he'd hear about it, too. The man was awfully chatty, awfully like some bounce-jawed wind-up toy clattering through the streets. What was it he had even said? Lucky's words were several unnecessarily winding trails to any real substance, leaving Albi sifting through handfuls of sand. It was a perhaps youthful loquaciousness, however, and he supposed in some ways and to some deprived socially it could be considered charming if not predominantly overwhelming.

He swung the blow stick spinning into the orange furnace, the heat greeting him with a silent roar against his face. The hot, taffy glass began to form a familiarly lopsided bulb. Maybe those opinions were unfounded, but the blood, the bandages? At the thought, Albi’s hands suddenly felt dreadfully soiled around the blow stick, dreadfully in need of wash. He felt his shoulders tighten at the thought of being dirty, especially with someone else’s blood. What were the blood and bandages from? Who-? But, of course! The taverns- Lucky had mentioned the taverns. Albigence knew them to be dreadful places of unbridled violence and adultery fueled by ugly potions of alcohol. Surely, that was it. It was a shame such a person would get caught up in such a place. Shame, shame, shame! his own grumbling voice narrated his thoughts as his lips met the blow pipe and inflated the bubble of glass.

Of course, he knew no one cared for his opinion and assumed that perhaps his opinions were unfounded and preening. He did truly hope the man would stay. He was trying to fill the elderly building with bright personalities and words to hang on the walls like proud family portraits, and Lucky’s personality would certainly make the building stand a little straighter. His coin would help, too. Yes, it would be nice to see him around, even if not too often-
He heard his name being shouted again, and his shoulders deflated with the hot glass bulb, now a sad, soft remnant of the dream of becoming just one damn cup. He wiped the defeated glass back into the furnace again, resting the hot stick on his shoulder as he stepped back into the storefront.

Lucky was already talking, about furniture, poems, and favors, and this time, Albi smiled a small smile as his work on the room was admired. He was touched ever so slightly, too, as Lucky offered him future help.

“Albigence is fine, sir- no need for a ‘Mister.’ I am awful glad you like it, though” he huffed proudly, only when he was sure Lucky was done. Then, purposely, he let his smile fall, let his eyes dial in to a much more scrutinizing aperture.

“One favor, though,” And he leaned in slightly, conspiratorially. “If you write a poem, can I read it?” Truly, he was curious about the poems- not many men or women in Old Rose would ever think to learn to write, let alone write for fun. He stepped back to bow to the man, the pole on his shoulder riding his momentum and waving goodbye.

“It was good to meet you, sir, and I look forward to having you as a renter,” he said to the ground. He righted himself, turning back towards his workshop. “And, if you need anything, either, let me know. The door’s always open- course, you know that already, don't ya?" He gave a final, customer friendly smile before stepping back into his workshop. He waited for the door to chime open and closed, and, sure he could finish another cup without interruption, he armed himself with the pole and ventured again to the furnace.