There weren't as many accidents as she had thought there would be. The stories advertised severed arms, fingers, and heads. The reality was much less...bloody. The heavy machinery was run by humans, who had worked near, in, and around machines their entire lives. They were dexterous and quick around the tons of moving iron that could break their bones as easily as a man might break a twig. Of course, the few casualties that there were were horrifying. It was hard to forget what a man's finger looked like when it was turned to hamburger meat. Wendy had learned to relax in the factories (although never enough to get careless), and she'd gotten quite good at what she did. Her hands were calloused and worn enough that the physical activity didn't pain her enough. The gloves she had gotten from Fion were sturdy, and she hadn't yet had to mend them.

Wendy had noted that her arms had strengthened significantly, and although she was still not as familiar with Viendan streets as she was with the ones in Brunnhold, she had managed to memorize a significant portion of the winding streets. Although the weather was still damp, Wendy simply didn't put her energies into feeling miserable about it. There were other things to worry about...Her bills, the food, how to get rid of the small grey cat that had taken a liking to her and insisted on sneaking into the room at night, among other things.

And as if she wasn't busy enough at the mill, she had taken to volunteering her hours as a makeshift nurse in the Sanitorium on the nines. She had never worked so hard in her life, and she had never felt so entirely free. It was like breathing clean air.

Wendy was on her way there now, and she hummed a tune that didn't seem to have a melody. Her feet knew the road almost by memory now, and she didn't pay attention to where she was going.

Gannon had bread under his arm. It was a good large loaf too, he'd even gotten a discount when he'd shown the baker the rim of mold that had started to grow along the bottom. Gannon wasn't so squeamish that he couldn't slice mold off of a loaf to save a tally. He'd even made sure to use his loud baritone to see to it that everyone else browsing in the shop heard the conversation. Shop owners would give just about any discount to save reputation. Taxes demanded it. It wasn't stealing, really, nor was it being underhanded. Several times Gannon had spotted that particular baker's wife slipping her thumb onto a scale to make a loaf bring more. Gannon just figured he was taking back a little bit from the bakers they'd unfairly taken from someone else. It was the kindest and most just sort of reprimand there was, really.

And with that, Gannon Oranos found himself on a minorly cheerful note, which was odd, as cheer didn't have much room in Gannon's repertoire. He even found himself almost smiling. This bread would taste very good with butter. It wasn't often that the big human tasted food that was any good.

Gannon stepped out of an alleyway onto the street he'd been looking for when something small collided with his blinded side. Electricity snapped up his spine and he leap away from the object with a sharp shuffling of steel-clad feet, turning about, hand on the hilt of Roxanne. It was not smart to walk around with one's head in the clouds in Vienda, had Gannon been someone of more sinister intent, not just someone who'd exited an alleyway at the wrong moment, Wendy might have found herself becoming acquainted with the point of a blade rather than jacket back of some huge man.

"Alios!" Wendy blurted as she stumbled back. Her hands had immediately gone to her skirts, and she'd even begun to curtsy apologetically. Instead she blushed hotly and let go of her skirts. She crossed her arms and glared at the much, much larger man, who was currently holding the hilt of something that was probably very sharp. She seemed unconcerned by such matters, instead concentrating a fierce beam of annoyance at the man's face. Wendy worked around burlier men than this one on a daily basis, and she had learned that most of them were not nearly as terrifying as they looked. At first she had been quiet and respectful, and as a result had been largely ignored by...well...everyone. And while she had considered this safe, it was also very lonely. She'd had enough of that at Brunnhold.

"Watch where you're going!" She snapped. Her posture indicated confidence, and extreme stubbornness. It didn't look like she was going to move until she got an apology.

It had happened like this at the factory, too. She'd been pushed out of the way one too many times and finally lashed out. It earned her recognition, respect, and in some cases even friendship. Or-- as friendly as one could get in a factory setting. Still, it was better than nothing.

The passive frowned up at Gannon with an expression that, for all it's fierceness, was still somewhat endearing (although she'd most likely strangle anyone who'd suggest such a thing). It was difficult being small and pixie like. People didn't always take you seriously.

Gannon blinked down at the little thing. Wick? Nah. Human? He didn't know. She was one fine-boned little human: fine face, slender arms and legs. Not the typical substantial human stock at all. His eyebrows raised at her spit-fire tone and her sharp demands. Spirited thing, to be sure. She had guts if she was so ready to verbally backhand a mountain. It reminded him of an osta yowling at a chrove.

A grin twitched at the corners of his mouth, exposing canines. He removed his broad paw from his weapon and hooked his thumb into his belt. It was a common enough gesture in the Farmlands, a sign of a calm person, a show of no ill-intent, a message that said: "Look? You see my hands? They is no weapon in them, they hold nothing that does not belong to me,".

"I would," he rumbled, his grin still apparent in his tone, "but, ah..." Here his grin faltered a touch, the side of his mouth twitched. Still, talking about his blinded eye put cotton in his throat.

Gannon coughed.

"Didn't 'xactly mean t' smash inta' ya', miss, an et takes two t' make a slip, I'd expect." Gannon's grin--arrogant nonchalance--returned to its typical position, "Mighty easier t' miss a slight little wisp such as you rather than someone like me."

His logic was rather infallible. Wendy's mouth twitched to the left in annoyance.

"That's not-- I'm not that small." She muttered. "Everyone else is just...bigger." The passive sighed and ran her hands through her short hair. "Chimes and Bells I've been on edge, of late. I'm sorry for running into you." Perhaps when she was younger she wouldn't have even thought of apologizing. But it was far past time for Wendy to grow up. Although she was still prone to childish anger, she had learned her life was much easier when she let it go.

"I was on my way to the Sanitorium... I'm a nurse on the nines."

[sfsp!!!]

Gannon rubbed the back of his neck and refrained from telling her that she was indeed small. She was very small and he was even pretty sure that his littlest cousin Lizzy would one day grow taller.

Truly he wasn't too sure what to say to all that. "I'll grant...I'm much much bigger... but.... Nurse, y' said, huh?" He'd never met a nurse, not a real one, anyhow. He wasn't too sure what one did, actually, as the term 'healer' was far more common in his book.

Gannon pointed behind himself, vaguely gesturing in way of meaning direction. "Where you headed? North end...?"

Now why did you say that, Oranos? his mind huffed at him. Was it because she was a particularly little thing? No, not really. She had hips like a stork and a face that made him think of a scruffy golly woman, 'cept that there wasn't any way she was a golly woman. He wasn't too sure.

"North end or...Northwest, maybe...?"

Wendy stared at Gannon. "Are you drunk?" She couldn't hide the shock from her voice. It was only noon, after all. He hadn't seemed like he was swaying-- but it would explain why he had bumped into her in the first place. His voice was sluggish... but it could mean he was just tired.

"It's a little early for that, isn't it? We don't need any more honest men turning into drunkards. There are enough rogues out there as it is. You don't look like the type, but be careful with the drink. I've seen what it does to people." The passive said somberly, straightening out her dress. She only wore dresses on the nines any more. She missed wearing them every day.

"Sometimes we can't tell the difference between a man who needs a drink, and the loonies. Sometimes we just don't know and put the drunk men in with the--" She signed a the universal indicator for crazy and shrugged. "They can get stuck in there for days."

Gossip. She chided herself. Wendy blushed a little. "Sorry. Running my mouth. I didn't mean to keep you from your business."

A dazed stare followed Wendy's words. Drunk? Drunk? Merciful spirits. Was this chip moony? What in blue blazes lead her to believe that a man currently as sober as the High Judge himself had even a drop of alcohol in his blood? How old was this little snip, anyhow? She seemed young. Clocks, did she even know what a truly guttered man looked like.

"Drunk, Ms.?" he responded, his eyebrows rising. The more he thought about it, he more humorous it seemed. What a little prude, he thought. It made him want to laugh and he found that it brought out the scoundrel in him. "I'd like t' mee th' drunks you've ever met," he grinned. "They sound like right nice fellows if y' slot me in such ranks. Nah, Missy, I ent drunk—" Gannon put a hand over his heart "—onna' Bastian's honor." He couldn't help a little chuckle then. "Trust me, if I were any way knackered, y'd look a grand sight prettier."

Having said that, the big human gave her a one-eyed wink.

Wendy grinned up at the giant. "Nonsense. I'm too short to be pretty. Even with drink in you, I'd gather. You'd likely think me a child." The longer she stayed, the less she wanted to go work. "I'm Wendy, by the way." Had she said that already? Her tired mind was going in circles.

"You know what? I think I'm too tired to work today... Do you know anywhere I could get a bite to eat that's nearby? I haven't had time to go to the market..." Wendy was oblivious to any implications Gannon might make out of her question.

Gannon was only a mite shocked at Wendy's response. He'd perhaps expected a scrunched nose, or squinted eye, at worst a proper chewing out for his impudence, not an offer to have a meal with him. It certainly wasn't because of his aesthetic appearance that he'd gotten off. Gannon hadn't seen a proper reflection of himself in a long time, but he expected his mug wasn't any prettier than it'd been the last time he'd had a peek at it.

Gannon made a note to be more impudent more often.

And the Stag seemed as likely a spot as any other, what with acquiring Jane among the staff as a more than decent cook. He shrugged and adjusted the bundle of bread beneath his arm.

"There's always my place," he offered.

[In Russia so replies may be slower than usual! sorry!]

Wendy turned pink at his offer. "Y-your house!? I-- I would really rather buy my meal, sir." Back to formalisms. "I mean I certainly-- I appreciate the offer but-- It's very unusual and I'd rather not ah... monetarily... financially...put pressures um..."

I'd rather not go to a strangers house... Said her expression.

Gannon blinked. His house? Had he said that? He didn't remember saying his house.

My place.

Oh.... One had to remember that this was Vienda and people did not always know people. Thus, when he replied 'my place', that automatically registered in the heads of most people as 'my house' or 'my home'. Why couldn't he have just said 'my bar'?

Again, Gannon found himself grinning. Grinning at her misinterpretation and grinning at that pretty pink blush. There weren't enough girls who blushed these days.

"Ah, nah," he replied, "I meant my tavern. Y'see, I own the place (well...I own it as much as I can) an'—well—I do live there, too." Gannon chuckled again. "I'm not that hasty, lass."

Wendy's blush deepened. "I wasn't implying that you were, sir." She managed to gasp out. She let a few seconds go by to collect herself, and took a deep breath.

"Yes. A tavern. That. Would be lovely." She stumbled over her words slightly, still embarrassed but letting it fade. "Lead the way!" She chirped.

The grin on Gannon's face turned into something of a smile. Possibly a genuine one, at that. He figured he liked this one. Just a little bit. She was nice, for a short bird-like little thing. And that pretty little blossom of color on her face was encouraging enough. If she could put up with a scoundrel then he figured she was rather alright.

Gannon offered a brawny arm--not really pausing to consider that she would have to reach up to put her own hand through it. His next words were just plain cheeky. "Only if y' promise not t' bump us into nobody else."

"I'm not the drunk one." Wendy answered primly, and followed him to the pub. The inside was dark, but it was warm. And it was full of...well... men. Oh, there were one or two women, yes, but Wendy's eyes slid over them. A spry looking man was serving everyone and cleaning the counter, dodging the bulky bodies of fellows who quite obviously worked in the soot district.

You'd think I'd be used to being around this many men. Wendy thought to herself, chagrined at her own discomfort.

She set her jaw and glared at everyone in the room, then looked up and smiled blindingly at Gannon. "Did you say you had food?"