[Open] Grinding Edges

Saunders' Forge, Gale is doing day to day work.

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A large forest in Central Anaxas, the once-thriving mostly human town of Dorhaven is recovering from a bombing in 2719 at its edge.

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Gale
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: Artful Gunner
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Tue Sep 04, 2018 8:10 am

Saunders' Forge | Mid-Morning
17 YARIS 2718
Saunders' Forge was hot this day. The under hearth was set to pour out the heat that rose up into the belly of the furnace. The mouth glowed, the innards turned white while the crucible above it all contained the melting contents of steel, before it was capped off with a brick dome. The mouth was sealed, a smaller grill located in it to allow the metalworker to peer in to check the contents. Stepping around, Gale turned her attention to the sand pit, the various mould planted firmly into its surface of the sand in waiting to be filled. Knives were the order of business for the day – primarily for use as tools – and a small side project that she was more open to showing to the public.

Taking up one of her screw drivers, she stepped around to the empty space of sand. A quick feeling of the grains, checking the clay texture it held, before dampening it. It was there that she pressed the length of the screw driver into the sand, casting an impression of it before withdrawing. Smoothing away the handle, she replaced where the joining grip would be with a circular nut. Satisfied, she repeated the process with a knife and a claw-ended can opener; on each she rubbed out the handle and placed in the circular nut. She eyeballed the shape of the can opener briefly, ensuring it had enough of a point before pulling herself away.

While the furnace continued to do its work, Gale opened up the shutters. The light of the Dry Season poured in, the sounds of the streets as pedestrians passed by. The forge doors were hooked back, a few greeting nods as the already filthy - from shoveling in charcoal and preparing the fire - smith went to work. She could not remember the last time she washed, but she knew the smell of smoke and metal masked most of it. Tucking in her shirt and rolling up her sleeves, she claimed the leather apron from the row of hooks – her own ragged coat and scarf hanging there too.

Later.

It was the constant sound of the wheel grinding, the foot pressing the peddle as she tended to some other jobs. The butcher’s meat cleaver was one of them, a hefty piece of iron that was due its yearly sharpen. The sandstone wheel prepared, the edge marked up, there were a few chips in the edge that would be smoothed out in the process. A hum of noise, she focused on getting an even edge on both sides as she squinted at it through the lenses of her goggles. After the first go at it she stopped, wiped the fine residue off with a cloth and studying what she had achieved so far.

“What you making today Mister Saunders?”

His gaze looked up. Peering in through the open shutters were a couple of the local children; Mark and Eleanor, twins if she remembered correctly. Too young to work, but old enough to look after themselves and get into mischief. They were watching with curiosity, for how long she did not know. Not that she had anything to hide either.

“I’m not making right now,” they showed them the cleaver, “But I am sharpening Mister Thompsons tools.”
“Oh!” the girl seemed excitable then, the dark locks whipping round to face her brother, “That’s why he told Ma to come back later!”
“That would probably be why. Anyway, I’ve got to get this done so your Ma has something later.”
She began grinding the cleaver again, not pausing as the small voice of the boy picked up, “Can we come in and watch?”
“Aye, sure, don’t come too close though – and no touching the sand.”


Whatever the children found fascinating about the process was beyond her. She distinctly remembered finding it mind numbing watching her father work. Though, she imagined the pair was more interested in the variety of tools and implements that were hung upon the wall. Slowing her peddling down she withdrew the cleaver before making her way over to the workstation. She paused briefly on her journey to see how the steel was melting, and settled up on one of the stools.

“Is that is done?”
“No, need to use the whetstone now. The grindstone helped me get it started; whetstone helps me get it nice and fine.”
She placed a large block of stone in front of her, a darker colouration of a coarse grit on the surface. Pinching the edge in one hand and holding the handle in the other, she began the process of sliding the blade forward, a low hum rumbling from her throat as she did.
Last edited by Gale on Tue Nov 13, 2018 10:41 am, edited 1 time in total.
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance

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Francis Pusher
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Wed Sep 05, 2018 2:42 am

17 Yaris 2718
Francis liked his jimmies, otherwise known as crowbars, as they were practical tools. For a warehouse worker moving about crates it all simply amounted to prying open crates, forcing out nails and such or just generally forcing things open via leverage.


They were also incredibly sturdy and useful bludgeons, hence it wasn't uncommon for a soot worker to carry one. It was quite commonly used by those who tread on the other side of the law as well for those very same reasons.

Of course, the Gollies and their cronies would frown upon anyone carrying such a tool in areas where they shouldn't need it.

But there was no need to drift off to that now.

Francis had a task at hand given to him by the super which involved his favorite tool, 'bout half a dozen of 'em in fact. Worn and old, and ultimately bent to varying degrees, he was tasked to get them 'unbent’.

And unlike taking a stiff a to a house of lady favors, this task needed a much more forceful touch.

The old bars rested in a sack he carried over his shoulder, their 'beack’s sticking out for the world to see, a slight clang of metal against metal as he took his jovial steps towards Saunder’s Forge, for that's who the super reckoned would do the deed.

It wasn’t the first time Francis had been to to the place, but it was the first time he'd be expected to linger while the process gets done and the last time he’d been there had been months for a simple pickup of a part which was just a new hook for a crane.

He recalled the worker as a young sort, nothing else but that, simply giving the money to him by his super and getting the hook in exchange as it was pre-arranged.

As the open doors of the place caught his eye, he could see the business's familiar shape with the sound of work being done.

Without further ado he entered, his hand giving a few good knocks on the forge door “ 'Scuse me, Ol’ Conny’s sent me ta get some crows unbent an’ 'es given me ‘nough jangly ta get it done today, so 'e says

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Gale
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Wed Sep 05, 2018 6:09 am

Saunders' Forge | Mid-Morning
17 YARIS 2718
A total of ten of these pushed one side, the blade being flipped before she proceeded with the other. Satisfied, she picked out a finer grained whetstone and repeated the process. Once done, the blade was wiped once more before being slipped into a large leather sheath. The children by this point were taking great interest in the drill stand, hands far away but heads leaning in close to inspect. She paid them no immediate worry; they were not interfering with her work. Standing, she checked upon the crucible once more, gave a powerful pump of the bellows to feed the flames and ensure the heat was maintained, before answering the knock. Wiping their hands down the Apron she gave only a curious glance to the man, “Oh right. Conny. Put ‘em on the clear bench.”

He was one of the workers, could not remember which one exactly – built like an ox however. Was it Frank? She stepped around, taking up one of the misshapen crowbars and inspecting it. Simple enough, she would have to warm the steel through to make it more malleable – then it would be the process of hammering it out flat.

“Oes, I can get this done for ‘im, take me a few hours mind,” she glanced up at him, remembering that despite her time working the forge she was comparatively scrawny, “Heat it up, hammer it back. That alright with you, uh, Frank right?” The name currently did not matter but it was always useful to confirm, “Few tallies will do it for him.” She inclined her head to the children, “Got to work on some stuff now, if you want to keep watching doing it outside. Yeh Ma would have my head otherwise.” A few whining of complaints, rolling tone turning harsh, “Oi. Pack it. Now out.”

The Children sulked outside, though it was not long before they were once more peering through the open hatches.

Taking up the crowbars, she moved back over to the forge. The heavy sealed door was opened, a rush of hot air blasting against her features. Inside the half-dozen crowbars were hooked into place, the warped ends exposed to the roaring heat that continued to grow. Hooking the door back and leaving the mouth exposed, she fed the coals and charcoal, pushing on the bellows once more. Arms strained, every inhale brought a rise, every exhale a squeeze of air into the below. The blackened base grew, embers smoldering as the fuel began to turn white. She held it there for a moment, removing herself from the bellows and raking the base. An even spread established – she withdrew and waited.

“Stop blocking the entrance and sit down,” The Smith knelt down at the sandpit again, rubbing her jawline with thought. The crucible and its contents should be ready soon, then the long process of cooling would begin. Judging by the appearance of visitors however, she would probably have to cover the pit for safety. The green eyes glanced at him from beneath her brow, “So, if you’re one of Conny’s boys then you do a lot of cargo, right? Got a question for you,” She leaned back onto her heels, “What tools you use, beside crows?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Francis Pusher
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Wed Sep 05, 2018 7:22 am

17 Yaris 2718
Other than the two little kids, the guy inside was as Francis recalled, kinda short for a guy and wearing an abundance of clothing that must’ve made working the forge a sweaty prospect in all seasons other than the cold ones.

Following his words he emptied the sack upon the bench, letting the heads of the crow bars thud in succession upon it then thudding again as the bodies soon followed.

While he took a brief glance of 'em his eyes wandered the place, taking in the forge, the tools, and the the tools and pieces being worked on. There were so many things here of differing shape and sizes he was amazed that the guy here used them all.

His gaze turned back to to said guy, who was done with his breif looksy at the bars and gave confirmation that it could be done though it would be a few hours.


's Francis actually” He replied automatically, no malice in it. Unfortunately for him, the guy was hardly the first and was likely not the last to call him Frank. Even when he was just a babe, his ma said she had to correct like a dozen tens of folks. His da found it hilarious.

An’ s’alright with me, Conny said don’t come back till its done. So I don’t mind waitin’” he said shortly thereafter. Then he watched as the guy shooed the kids out, curious duo sulkily exiting but watching from outside.

The fella quickly went to work with the bars in hand, opening the forge, hanging the crowbars and feeding more coal to the flames.

He wasn't close yet the just looking put a sweat on his brow.

At her beckoning for him to move, he moved further in and took a seat. Then green eyes met his and conversation began.

Uh yeah, lotsa tools. Dollies, cranes, ladders, wagons ta move stuff from an’ to.”. He never quite got why dollies were called that, since they didn’t look like the child's toy. “ an’ hammers to close up any crates we open with the ‘bars. Oh an’ we usually get a few bits an’ pieces we get for the factories, but I ain’t knowing what those do ”. He answered, thinking he may have covered everything. So if they were doing conversation he might as well run his own questions.

So whatsit like runnin’ a forge an’ stuff? Gotta be interestin’ to make all them things an’ ya look the sort ta do good work”. He tried to complement, hoping to live vicariously through one who did work much different than his own.

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Gale
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Wed Sep 05, 2018 8:23 am

Saunders' Forge | Mid-Morning
17 YARIS 2718
"Francis, right, right,” the name was pushed to one side. He made himself comfortable, somewhere not in her way, while she continued to plan her next stage. Somewhere sweat was accumulating, but she was used to the roaring heat – numb to it even. She gave a small nod, “S’fair, S’fair.”

Standing, she claimed a heavy wrought iron set of tongs. A firm testing clack, she squared herself up to the mouth of the forge and sent them in. It was something she had done numerous times, the arms and grip flexing as she pinched the crucible in and under its lip. With it locked in her hold she carefully lifted it free of its setting, gradually stepping back and away from the forge. The molten metal hissed within, her arms lifting it over the water trough, and to the sand moulds. It was there she began the process of pouring it out. A small hiss as it met the damp sand, the careful lift as she preserved as much as she could. Silent as she filled in the four knife blanks, the orange glow marking them at hot. Lifting away, she adjusted her grip and begun work on her smaller moulds, pouring them out with more care this time – they were smaller pieces and required the correct dexterity. Once done, she did not hesitate to return the crucible back into the belly of the furnace.

Her doing her work gave her enough time to think about his words. Moving around, she studied the molten metal before shifting the larger metal lid over the top and covered it. She would tend to it later, “Lot of basic machine then, got it. Keep you moving, keep you good.”

Leaning up against one of the beams she put aside her thoughts to answer his question, “Early start and late nights. I do this alone so it’s the way it’s got to be. Got to keep the fires hot – getting the furnace up to heat is a bitch otherwise.” Fingers scratched at her chin, the other hand idly clacking the tongs, “Got to know your metals. All behave different, some melt quicker than others, some bend different. Means not just muscle, but thinking. And planning. Can’t rush things, probably go wrong.” Gale snorted, “I do solid work. Keep it clean, keep it fair. No funny tricks. It’s what gets your boss to get me to do things instead of the big mills.”

The tongs were hooked back in place, “Still, sometimes it’s quiet. Things starting to get made on mass. No need for individual stuff. Let’s me think, make stuff I have ideas about. Like uh…” Her lips twisted, “You know the folding knives some folks have? So think that, but imagine it ain’t just a knife that folds into it; it’s a bunch of other stuff too. So, screwdriver, can opener, bottle opener, that stuff.”

Fingers still fidgeting, she felt the dry taste in the back of her throat.

I need a smoke.

A cursory glance back to the warming crowbars, she stepped around the other side to her coat. It was there she fished out her tin of cigarettes, pulled one out and promptly lit it with a match. She gave a glance to Francis offering him the tin, “You want one?”

Inhaling, she took in the bitter taste, letting it fill her lungs before exhaling, “Gonna be a while. Still that’s my lot on it. People are happy. Why, you want something made?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Francis Pusher
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Wed Sep 05, 2018 12:10 pm

17 Yaris 2718
So it was the sort of work that took all day he understood. Lotsa things to get ready and things to know, in fact it seemed particularly the knowing part was just a bit more important than the muscles. Francis felt a pang of envy at that and winced. He wondered if that meant the guy knew his words and his maths? It was probable; he knew some of the guys at the warehouses knew some reading so why not a metal worker with all these tools?

His eye fell upon the forge, then back to the guy, whom he ought to get the name of he knew since it was only manners after all. Was Saunder’s the name? It was probably whats written outside and that’s what Conny told him that was the name of the place, but it could be named for someone else after all.

This brows raised, mouth going in an ‘o’ shape as he pondered the idea of the tool the guy just described. He was familiar with folding knives; it wasn’t uncommon as a tool since their compactness was a selling point, but he tried imagining it with all the tools the guy mentioned. He could only imagine it as something bulky and wide.

Don’t sound easy to make” But if the way things were being made lots nowadays were making days slower sometimes…. Well, he supposed everyone needed a hobby, he’d just find folk to joke around with.

He raised a hand in denial to the cigarette, he never really like the smoke “ Nah, I mean that there foldin’ thing ya mentioned sounds right nice ta have if ya can make it. But what I want made ain’t somethin’ I can touch with me hands

He then paused a good few seconds, silently contemplating something before his stomach growled. He chuckled at that, a good distraction he felt as he gazed to the guy “ If its gonna take a while, ya wantin’ me to grab some Noodles from a street cart? Know there’s one jus’ a minute by an’ back"

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Gale
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Thu Sep 06, 2018 4:56 am

Saunders' Forge | Mid-Morning
17 YARIS 2718
Gale shrugged, withdrawing the tin and jamming it into her pocket. Another puff, she let the silence drift between them, hanging there – she enjoyed it, simply listening to the sound of heat, the background noise of life outside reaching her. Her shoulders relaxed, eyes setting on the mouth of the furnace. A spark hissed as it escaped, the steel slowly beginning to warm. Time, something that she had to be patient with. Cigarette hanging limply in her mouth she contemplated his words as she shifted about her forge.

It was an exercise now of feeling him out, mentally at least. Most in his line of work were not particularly bright – the successful became the floor leaders, others were just labourers. It did not mean however there was a lack of understanding however, it was simply a case of having it refined.

“Dunno yet, I’ll make it and see,”
the orbs watched the streams of smoke escape from the tip, “All a big experiment. Curiosity to see if it is possible. Got to satisfy that itch somehow.”
“Well you are super smart Mister Saunders!”
One of the children squeaked from their viewing point, “You make this stuff, and you let us watch, and show us, and help Ma sometimes!”
The smith rolled her eyes, “By keepin’ you both out of mischief?”
“And showin’ us words too!”


Sighing, she pulled on a thick leather glove over her left, before reaching around the mouth of the forge. She claimed one of the exposed, cooler end of one of the crowbars and withdrew it to study the end. A faint glow had begun to set in, her mind recognising it as the start of it reaching the desired temperature to work with.

A little longer.

“Only because yeh wouldn’t leave me alone till I did, yeh bloody buggers,” she jammed the crowbar back into the heat. Her head turned back to Francis then, “You a riddle speaker? All cryptic like? Say it straight.” She rubbed at her jaw then, momentarily contemplating the prospects of food, “Aye, twist my arm, I’ll bite.”

It was all just a process really, a step to provide a front. After all Mister Saunders is a good and reputable young man who is doing very well at filling his late father’s position – even if he has yet to take a wife.

Rummaging around in her pocket she pulled out a tally in loose change; she counted them out and offered them over to him. She normally skipped lunch, too consumed in her work to take pause, so was largely unsure if it was the correct amount, “Gran Su’s Cart is probably the one yeh mean. Run by a tiny little lady, does the circuit round ‘ere a lot. Somethin’ hot, somethin’ with spice. Otherwise, not fussy.” She tossed the last of her cigarette in with the coals. It quickly burned up, “Should be ready to start hammering after all this.”

She then flicked a fort at him then, “And uh, pick somethin’ sweet for the kids. Cart should have a snack or the like.”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
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Thu Sep 06, 2018 6:02 am

17 Yaris 2718
Blessing of the Lady upon the two kids, he at least had a name to call the guy other than well… guy. So Saunder's was the name? That answered one of his other questions as well… in fact the kids also helped another question.

Words, this Saunders fella knew words and could show it to the kiddies! And by that he meant this Saunders fella could read, write and probably do the numbers stuff cuz why not?

He chuckled awkwardly and scratched the side of his head but decided to deny clarification of his cryptic words since Saunders didn't linger on it. The distraction of food having taken over.

As he rummaged with his money, Francis looked to the curious kids and then back to Saunders and nodded to him.

Ay, that cranky ol’ biddy’s the one ” he grabbed the money enough for presumably Saunder’s meal, the other would be with own pocket. Then snatched the flicked fort from the air with a nod and a wink to the kiddies “Right, back in a few chimes then” He answered, taking his leave for the open air of the world which suddenly felt mich more refreshing than the air inside the forge, ruffling one of the kid’s hair as he exited Saunder’s sights.


Wandering the path it didn’t take long to stumble the lady with the streetcard, the old gal it behind a cranky sort that worked with an efficiency that defied her age as practed hand stirred the noodles in a frier along with bits of hingle mixed in, the sound of oils hissing upon the friar and the scraping of the metal of her utensils against the frier’s surface. She then grabbed a disposable carton and slid the food into it before shoving it i to the hand if a waiting customerz took the money, and waved him off for next line, an unfried batch of noodles and hinggle onto the friar , then being doused in what oils and herbs that sent a fresh aroma to be taken in by hungry workers.

Quickly taking his place in the short line, he allowed his thoughts to wander back to Saunders.


So Saunders had smarts. And had been teaching those smarts, albeit reluctantly he assumed, to those kids. Could he get the same deal? Francis didn’t really wanna impose though… hard nuff it is makin’ money to feed yourself nowadays, so how hard was it keepin’ that forge running AND feedin’ yerself?


Next!” Came a bellow, and the line shifted onwards.


But it presented an opportunity, his da an’ ma could never teach him words or numbers, since they didn't know how an’ their friends didn’t know either. And now he found someone who did!

But he and Saunders weren't friends, they were that word that people said when two folks barely knew each other. Clock, they were practically strangers really.

He couldn't expect a stranger to sacrifice his own time just to teach him words and numbers.

Could he pay Saunders then?

Next!


But he could barely afford to support himself, in fact they way the current things are it was likely he was to see less money in the future, might have to bunk with someone else. And he hadn’t any skills to offer as an alternate form or something, nor favors either.


Next!


He felt dejected really the more he thought about it. He wanted to find a line of hope in all this but unless he wanted to become friends with Saunders to learn stuff, well…. He was tick out of options.


And what kind of friendship would it be if he just wanted something out of it? That wouldn’t be a fair thing, now would it?


NEXT!

In fact it would be a scumm-

At that moment there was a thwack against Francis’s head and he snapped out of his thoughts to look down at an angry old woman.

Francis chuckled sheepishly as hr olaced his order, Saunder’s, and of course the sweets for the children.


And also another smack with a cloth as he inevitably got lost in his mind again, with another as a parting salvo as he made his way back with the food.


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Gale
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Thu Sep 06, 2018 8:08 am

Saunders' Forge | Mid-Morning
17 YARIS 2718
On a general first proper observation of Francis, the Smith would have marked him as a bit… she was not sure. He had yet to leave much of an impression on her apart from a man who worked for Conny. He seemed polite enough, that was a certain – though she was unsure if it was to fill his waiting silence with small talk. She wondered, briefly, if too much had been said. Her mind trickled back, trying to recall the small actions and features – the creases and folds with each expression; no, nothing seemed out of place. Least, not to her knowledge. He may have simply been good at keeping his emotions hidden.

Perhaps it’s best to chalk it up to him having no agenda. Just wanting to do his job.

He left granting her enough time to relax. She did not like people waiting around in honesty; it made her uncomfortable and forced her to priorities them. The children to continue to watch with interest, and with a single finger she beckoned them back in, “Yeh can sit at the front work bench, on the stools. But yeh not allowed ta move further, ya got? No Buts.”

Children, she had little problem with them as long as they were not too much trouble; but she certainly did not want any of her own.

Taking off the glove and resting it on the anvil, she washed the worst of the dirt off her hands in the quenching trough and smeared most of it from her face. One of the loose rags was used to dry off the features, the darkened hair slicked back, as she surveyed her work space. Everything was still where she left it. Nothing was amiss. A cough dragged her attention back to the door however, the outline of the butcher catching her vision. She welcomed him in, gesturing over to the cleaver. Letting him handle it, he gave an approving nod to the sharpness before sheathing it. A small cloth wrapped parcel, a small peak inside told her it was some cured and cooked meat – enough to see her through the next few days.

It was a common trade-off between the pair of them, no coin was exchanged and therefore less was lost to taxes. She wrapped it up tightly, and placed it half way up the stairs to her living quarters. With a small nod, the butcher was away and she was left to the quiet of the forge once more.

Which was not as long as she hoped. She could smell the greasy food before seeing it, nostrils twitching as Francis made his return. When he came back there would be a small nod, thumb gesturing to leave hers on the work bench – she would get to it in a moment. The apron was hung up on one of the hooks, sleeves readjusted as she took a perch on one of the stools, “Ta much. Busy today?” She gave a snort, “here’s to ruinin’ my guts.” A brief pause, she frowned, “Oi, why the face like a smacked ass? You spoon beaten?”
When the last of us will disappear
Like shadows into the night
The broken ones, the fighting sons
Of ignorance
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Francis Pusher
Posts: 37
Joined: Sat Sep 01, 2018 11:16 am
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Thu Sep 06, 2018 11:17 am

17 Yaris 2718
Fancis didn't take long to return, slipping through the entrance with the food in hand, the greasy aroma long giving way his approach.

He no longer let himself be lost in his thoughts, thought that didn't mean its affect show on his face. Leaving Saunders' food upon the work bench as requested before taking a seat on one of the stools himself, with a brief look of realization and raise of his brows he also handed the sweets to the children with an outstretched hand.

Then Saunders' voice entered his head and he looked back and he chuckled weakly, he had missed what he first said but caught the other. He mentally cursed himself, he shouldn't have let his gloom clouded him he supposed. He let out a sigh, opened his mouth briefly to try and say a few words but none came out, before ultimately trying to focus on his food.

"Who taught ya words?" He blurted out suddenly, snapping his gaze to Saunders with a curious and desperate expression "An...an' could they teach me? I ain't got much but..." He left the sentence unfinished, but it was out now. His face looked to Saunders' like a hingle in a way, and one had to wonder if that was a sight the hingles gave before they were chopped up into meats for the noodles.
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