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Southern Winds Weyr

Author Topic: Working and work [05.05.2590 // 6pm] [SOLO]  (Read 345 times)

Offline Vironethian

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Working and work [05.05.2590 // 6pm] [SOLO]
« on: July 16, 2017, 01:19:39 AM »
"Sharding hell!" His leather cutters clattered against the wall where he threw them, and Virosk growled as they skimmed a little too near to his resting place.

"Oh stuff it." Vironethian growled back at the blue, who would have rolled his eyes if it were physically possible for whers to do so.

It had been a long day, his forge was refusing to maintain temperature today, and he had a significant amount of orders to fulfil due to the now official re-creation of the peacekeepers. Now, instead of individuals trading with him for protective goggles, he was getting trade directly from the Lord Holder and his constituents.

All the peacekeeper's had been granted the opportunity to commission a new set for their working whers,
 and he had been swamped. Additionally, in light of the newly found double wher bonding, most people wher now having to request brand new goggles, instead of just reusing almost unusable goggles from the pass.

At any rate, business was good, and with the apparent helpfulness of whers with their little Hunter problem, it seemed to be looking up a little more permanently. Those peacekeepers would have to come back to him for adjustments, and the growing whers would have to constantly return for refittings as they grew.

Fallen hall or not, Vironethian was doing just fine in terms of commissions. It was a shame that his bloody forge was now cracking every single piece of glass he tried to smelt.

He decided to give up for the day, dampening the forge for the day angrily, intending to pull everything out, fiddle with some things, before he even considered starting it back up again. Shard it if he couldn't fix it himself and he had to get some arrogant equipment specialist in here who would undoubtedly be pathetic.

"Fuck it. Come on Virosk. We're done for today."

And he swept out of his area, slamming the door behind him on the way out, and trailing a cloud of anger and annoyance in his wake.

The apprentices that met him along the way did well to cringe back, and hide away in corners as he went. This was not the time or place for questions.

Regardless, Vironethian had a reputation of being particularly… cantankerous, and most of the apprentices were well aware, so it wasn’t as if anyone was going to approach him if they had any other choice. Mostly because a stupid question would’ve been answered by a scathing review, and a smart one would be answered with a scowl if anything at all.

It was safe to say that Vironethian was not one to run apprentice classes if anyone could help it. The masters had had enough of forcing him to teach and having to deal with the crying apprentices that showed up in their office the next day. Vironethian was always satisfied when he made someone cry.

Virosk slunk beside him, his icy blue hide shining in the fire of the forges. When he was younger, the blue had a penchant for snapping at people as they’d walked, trying to catch ankles and fingers. But Vironethian had successfully managed to convince him that getting turned into the next rider’s flying leathers was not worth the satisfaction of scaring a few smiths.

Before he left completely however, he grabbed a few of his almost completed commissions, stuffing them into his tool belt along with the few smaller instruments.

Regardless of the ruddy forge and it’s refusal to cooperate. He should be able to experiment with some new designs on these almost completed pieces.

Entering their small room in the Smith caves of the Weyr, Vironethian threw  his smock onto the hook by the door, and kicked his shoes under the single chair within. He was a Senior Journeyman, yes. But that only meant he got his own room, that didn’t mean it had to be large or well furnished. He had sacrificed most of his furniture for the sake of a desk. And so, he had chair, desk, bed and storage chests. That was all. No decorations on the walls, no artists renditions of family or friends, or small little trinkets given to him by lovers or loved ones.

He had loved ones, yes, a sister, parents, but they had never really given him anything they he cared about that much. Not enough to sacrifice needed workspace.

The small labels he had wrapped around each gave details of commission date, wher size and wher colour, along with a few other coded notes, about personality and shape, such things that may be deemed offensive if one read them.

This one read: 12/04/2590, 3.23m, Blue and a symbol for lovely wher, bitchy handler.

Ah, now he remembered. The woman who had brought this wher in had been arrogant, annoyed that he required so many fittings and measurements ‘Just for a ruddy wher’. Vironethian had scowled and told her that she could piss of if she didn’t like it, and find someone inferior to make the wher goggles for her. The woman had quickly shut up.

And so, he set to work on a design to suit the whers personality. He’d carve it into the leather, then treat it so the designs wouldn’t cause any fraying or weakness of the straps.

When Vironethian had met the wher, he’d been quiet, but unafraid. Virosk had been in a bad mood, oh what a shock, and had tried to intimidate the smaller blue. He’d simply sat, and gazed unimpressed back at Virosk, who had given up in a huff quite quickly, quietly impressed by the other blue’s strength.

Vironethian spent the evening carving the design, not bothering to sketch before he worked, creating straight from his mind. What was produced was something similar to an ocean, soft and floaty waves on the top, with hard and harsh straight lines with brooked no argument underneath.

It wasn’t quite so literal that when the woman returned she would see an ocean. She’d probably just see a splat of lines on brown, but Vironethian made it for himself, and for the memory of the wher. So he would be as abstract as he damn well wanted.

“What do you think, Virosk?” He said finally when he finished, holding the leather towards the ice blue. With a look, which could only be one of disdain, Virosk looked, made no reaction, and looked away again.

“Next time yours is be going to covered in fucking daisies.”

All powerplay by SirAlahn/SanctifiedSavage by way of Jossekayne/Quenneca allowed


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