|
|
Post by Mesa Coal on Aug 9, 2013 18:32:10 GMT -5
It wasn’t so different from what she was used to, not really. How many times had she needed to hand-shape a fender piece? A suit was really just a master cylinder wasn’t it? Something she’d have to puzzle together? Mr. Cast… William, had seemed pleased with her work. Lucky for her he hadn’t taken a look at her craftsmanship two weeks ago. Never in her life would she have gotten the job then. 18 hours a day, all day for the past three weeks on top of the few months prior she’d spent just trying to figure out how her skills translated here.
He stood in the door, his shadow looming across the workspace. He was definitely tall, wasn’t he? She’d had to crane her neck just to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes were blocked behind a pair of odd looking glasses and his hair… Wherever the lost lands were, his hair was definitely from there. She’d never seen a color like that to have been found before.
Mesa tipped her hammer, resting it on the forge. There would be more of this, not just the one off’s she’d offered to show her work. She had no doubt at that time she’d kill for a lathe. If anything, she’d enjoyed the helm the most. Restoration, he’d called it. She’d noticed how carefully he watched her with it. It had to be a very prized possession if it was going on display. And she’d taken every care with her hand so as not to screw up the engraving. Smiling at the accomplishment earlier, she took her arm and wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. If she was going to be doing more of this, she’d need to go back to something that wasn’t long sleeved.
Elvish. He spoke elvish. Keebler would be proud. God how she now wanted a fudge-striped cookie.
|
|
|
|
Post by Mason Caine on Aug 9, 2013 19:22:22 GMT -5
Word had reached William of an outsider, one who's skills with the forge grew increasingly each day. William looked down at the battered, warped helm that he once wore when he commanded G'Harrons armies. Memories of his past in one contorted piece of scrap metal. William would not allow for just any mere human to restore such a valued possession unless "tested" first.
Mesa, a girl from the City of Ari in the land of Zona.
"What an odd place." William contemplated.
She did not look like much, the way she talked unknowingly of the world she was currently in threw William off from his normal "bad-tempered" self. Her hair a muddy brown color, her eyes more brown then green, perhaps hazel. William looked to her hands, full of calluses... even the most veteran of warriors took better care of such things as their hand. Though William was full of judgment he could not deny her ability as a blacksmith.
"Mechanic" Mesa would reciprocate, correcting William each chance she got.
William stood in the door, watching over Mesa in the work space. She was short, looking down at her strained his neck. Where ever this girl was from, it was not a place William was familiar with. Though again, William could not argue with the talent presented in the Kryss she had made to showboat her skills as a "mechanic."
Mesa picked up her hammer, moving toward the forge. She had no doubt in her eyes, her hands steadier then most he had ever seen, sweat dripping from her brow as she restored one of William's most prized items. She had noticed how anxiously he watched her with it. As each deliberate letter was etched, William could see how much being a "mechanic" truly meant to the girl. Mesa took her time so as not to screw up the engraving. Smiling at the accomplishment she handed the restored helmet back to William...
"Helm Of The Bear General."
|
|
|
|
Post by Mesa Coal on Aug 11, 2013 7:42:05 GMT -5
They were actually going to take sticks and smack each other with them. Step by step she counted out the squares of cloth that would be needed. It was going to be a waste of perfectly good material and Fawn knew it. Regardless, this was what the woman wanted done. Rubbing her temples, she walked the pits to double check. She'd crossed over and back twice and was returning once more when she saw a familiar figure to the side. Clothes, normal clothes. He was without his shroud and armor. A little less imposing. Her jaw open like a large mouth bass, she had to mentally tell herself to shut it. Or was he? She stepped closer as they exchanged pleasantries.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.
If anything the man was more dangerous. He may have taken off the armor and put on a regular pair of pants, but there was nothing regular about his eyes. Piercingly blue and coupled with his glare they were enough to sever an artery all on their own. His humor only added to the disturbing picture in front of her.
It was basic chit chat. Her mind worked and reworked, even factoring in the scathing comment about her lack of words, as she thought out what had been asked of her. All in all he made a decent blackboard. Even if it was a disinterested one.
|
|
|
|
Post by Mason Caine on Aug 11, 2013 12:39:29 GMT -5
The cold stone floor beneath him did nothing to quell the burning sensation William felt from the excitement of standing in the arena. A warmth he grew fond of. Walking into the arena stood a familiar face, Mesa counting tiles, an odd site to say the least. William cared not for why she was there but for what the coming tournament would bring, a sound long lost from his ears. The ground shacking with the pounding feet of thousands of peasants in the stands above it.
William's blood lust had begun to grow once again, as he took in his surroundings. His mind not focused on the chattering of a one Miss Mesa Coal.
"This is where people will buy their Soda's" Beckoned Mesa.
"Soduh?" William replied, his focus lost.
"Fizzling goodness, yes SODA!" Mesa barked.
William merely shook his head giving the girl a focused gaze, "what a strange human, this Mesa of Ari..." he thought professedly to himself. With that William retired, the thought of glory once again on his mind.
|
|
