By the Ten, Henri hated the rain. It was cold and wet, instantly soaking his thin worn clothes and causing them to cling to his skin clammily. His boots squished with every step, and it was impossible to tell the mud color of the leather from the mud color of the mud that caked them. And worst of all, he couldn’t perform in this kind of weather.

Usually he would just set up in a sunny spot on a corner or somewhere, sit himself on a crate, and just let the music come to him, bringing appreciative and generous bystanders that always seemed to gather when he got a real good gkacha going. Not only would he be warm and happy, doing what he loves, but with the ging that came his way he could pick up some nice yats and a matt for the night. Yes he was benny at what he did, and he was pretty well off in his denk...

Until it rained. People didn’t much like lingering in the streets for a tune when it was damp and dreary. And it was pouring now, his hat sitting heavy on his head as the rain pounded down on him like the wrath of Hulali. There probably wasn’t a dry place anywhere that didn’t have a roof... and even then, the condition of the roof made for some rather interesting definitions on the word ‘dry’.

Still, he would have to find a dry place soon, unless he wanted to drown in the streets, but luckily he had reached his destination. Clutching his satchel and his precious fiddle case to his chest, he ducked from awning to awning until he came upon the crude hanging sign of an inn.

Quickly entering, his presence went unremarked save for the customary grumbling about the draft. Sighing in relief, Henri slogged his way over to a seat near the smoldering fireplace, sitting close enough to the fire that he would have a chance to get dry without disturbing the regular patrons.

With a soft squish, he removed his bag from his shoulder and set it on the ground within hands reach. Shaking his head to rid it of the rain, he rung out his hat, allowing the water to join the growing puddle beneath his feet.

Returning his hat to his head, Henri was finally beginning to feel wick again, and looking about the smoke filled room, thought about his reason for coming to this place in the first place.

There was something in the air of Anaxas, like the subtle sent of unlit gunpowder. Spoken in hushed tones in the dark, whispered between friends over mugs of ale... something taboo, something dangerous, exciting... Rumors of rebellion.

Although rumors are just rumors, most of which boils down to hot air and empty gossip... But if there was truth to these rumors, any truth at all, he would find it when all else boiled out, like the dregs of tea leaves in a fortune teller’s cup.

He had to admit, the possibility of an uprising had captured his imagination and his curiosity. The idea, it had such... romance, such thrill. He had to know... and if there was nothing, there was nothing. But if it was true, well... that would be something wouldn’t it?

Waving down a barmaid, Henri ordered a weak ale and settled himself back into his seat. Sipping gingerly, he let his eyes roam about the tavern... If he was going to get answers, this was the place to be.

Charlie was not normally a frequenter of the Black Dove. Too much trouble, not enough payoff. There was rarely anyone worth his interest, and bar fights were much less rare. However, a potential client had asked him to meet there, to work on something or the other-- the specifics had been vague. A meeting with a client who was, at this point, two hours late. Sigh. It had probably been a bum job, anyway, something that didn't require a man of his education or expertise. He flattered himself briefly with the notion that it had been a job related to an entirely different area of expertise than mechanical, and that the potential client had lost his nerve at the last minute. Only briefly, however, before he sighed and decided to turn his attention to the bar. A drink or two would set him to rights.

This was, of course, until the little wickling entered the bar. Charlie Ewing was not a large man, but even so this one seemed a bit small. But my, a wick! A musical one, from the looks of it. His plans for the evening turned rather abruptly-- or perhaps it would be more accurate to say he merely advanced to the last stage of them sooner than intended. A night out was just not a night out unless he'd at least attempted to take some bright young thing back when all was said and done. Here was a stranger, from the looks of it, and not yet used to his reputation. Opportunity awaited.

Drink in hand, he wandered over with an air of practiced ease. "Waiting for someone?" he asked. His free hand gestured to the empty seat next to the be-hatted wickling. The grin on his face was open, friendly, and not at all predatory. Not even a little bit.

The room was dim and smoky, and the flickering shadows from the weak lights only made it harder to distinguish who exactly was present, and the uniform dampness seemed to dull all the colors away, making everyone blend into a kind of blob of soggy misery.

Henri was just about to despair, it seemed that the weather had drained all the interesting out of the people tonight, and so he leaned back in his seat resolving to just wait out the storm... when someone approaching caught his eye.

What on Anaxas was a galdor doing in these parts? Although it was rather hard to tell, his wickish clothes and the very fact that he was here throwing him off a bit, but there could be no mistaking the confident stride that all galdor’s seemed to possess.

Not one to jump to conclusions, Henry kept his head down, the brim of his hat shading his eyes just a bit as he watched the golly swagger over. He hadn’t had much experience with the race his spoke had so cursed and loathed, and word of mouth was only so reliable...

Yes, the galdor man was definitely heading his way. Rolling his shoulders, Henri made himself relax and not tense up suspiciously; curious to see how this would play out.

As the man addressed him, Henri raised his head slightly to get a good look at this strange golly to be here in this place, actually willing to talk to a wick boy like himself.

He was short for a galdor, which was still quite a few inches taller than him, much to his dismay. He’d never be one to intimidate by hight alone, but then neither would this golly would he? He had a dark shock of hair, and a wide open, friendly grin- a very odd look to see on a galdor, especially one directed to someone like himself.

“That depends on who’s willing to show up,” Henri replied raising an eyebrow, his voice neutral enough to not seem overtly friendly without totally shutting out his unusual visiter. There was something in this golly’s eyes that seemed a bit off, but he waved it off as a trick of the light and nodded his head slightly towards the other seat in a way that could be assumed as a welcome to sit if that was man’s desire.

Oh delightful! He was new, then. Humming a bit to himself, Charlie took the unoccupied seat. Brilliant, brilliant, this night wasn't going to be a waste, after all. While the welcome hadn't exactly been warm, it hadn't been frosty either. You never knew, with wicks. Charlie supposed that was part of the charm of the lower races, their absolute uncivilized lack of predictability.

"So not waiting for anyone, then." Oh he liked that. The grin started sliding into leer territory. "You are not a Harbor native." It wasn't a question.

“Ne, I’m not,” Henri replied to the strange galdor sitting in the seat next to him almost a little too close for comfort. The odd glint gotten stronger in his eyes, and his smile was starting to make him feel on edge.

“I just denk about,” he continued, leaning back in his seat slightly away from his visiter, he sipped his drink, “Looking for something interesting to maw about... I’m not to close with any place.”

Glancing back at the man over the brim of his cup, he raised his eyebrow, “You native then?”

If this man was a native, well, that would call for quite a story wouldn't it? He could already hear the beginning tune starting to hum in the back of his mind... or perhaps that was the galdor humming.

Native? Charlie laughed. As if there were any galdori native to Old Rose. The little wick was darling. "Cute and funny, my my." Really. Native! He couldn't stop chuckling to himself. "No, I'm not a native." By this point he was grinning from ear to ear. He hadn't touched his drink yet, but his fingers traced the wet sides of the mug. Wetted fingers swirled little designs on the table as he pondered the wicklet boy. "A musician, are you?"

’Cute!?’ Henri thought, his eyebrows soaring up under his bangs in shock, only to come down in a slight frown, ‘Wait a minute... was that a hight jest?’

“I ent cute,” he murmured under his breath as in a bout of childishness, he pouted for a moment. Nobody ever took him seriously because of his hight. But he didn’t linger on the expression for long, not more than a moment... the galdori’s chuckling was rather distracting, and slightly disturbing.

“Oes, I am a musician,” Henri said replying to the question, nodding to his case on the floor, “I play the fiddle most of the time, but I can pipe and maw some too. And I’m fair benny too, if I say so myself...”

Henri shifted back in his chair slightly. The galdori’s scrutiny was getting to be uncomfortably intense, and his smile was just a little bit more than disturbing. Raising a hand, he nervously adjusted his hat on his head and brushed his two-toned hair out of his hazel eyes.

“I like to find interesting things to maw about,” Henry began abruptly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he decided to take a bold chance, “Things like, why a galdori man, such as yourself, would be in a place like the Black Dove... for instance, if ya chen.”

He took another sip as he raised a eyebrow, “Interesting, ne?”

'I ent cute' he says. Well if that wasn't just all the more enticing. So he didn't like to be called cute? It must be because of the height. How old was this one, anyway? Old enough, Charlie supposed, if he was in the Dove alone at this hour.

"Hmm, this depends entirely on one's definition of 'interesting'..." He laughed again, taking a sip of his beer. There wasn't much to tell, really. Nothing important, at any rate. What mattered was that he was here, and this wicklet was here, and he was very much interested in keeping him talking long enough to need another drink. And another. A few more after that wouldn't go amiss, either. Drunk people were so much more amicable.

Surreptitiously he motioned to the barmaid to refill the wick's cup while he was busy asking Charlie about himself. "Charlie Ewing, by the by," he said. There was a note of teasing in his voice, as if he were chiding the boy for not introducing himself sooner.

"As for why I'm here, well. I do live in Old Rose. I was meeting a client, who decided not to show, and now I am enjoying a middling ale with more pleasant company."

“Henri Lockery,” he said automatically in response, relieved to finally have a name. He had gradually learned that it was better to let others choose to introduce themselves when in shady places like this. Things could get rough rather quickly, and people had a tendency to take serious offense to people prying into their business, and as small as he was, staying out of fights was benny for his welbeing... especially since he did have a tendency to pry.

“Interesting,” He said, lifting his freshened cup, “For me at least, is anything branching out of the usual. Like, for instance, a galdor actually choosing to live in a place like Old Rose instead of Vienda, or at Brunnhold and the Academia. Such a thing is very out of the ordinary, wouldn’t you agree?”

Henri leveled a piercing gaze at Charlie, as if to challenge him to deny that he was out of the norm; to try to pass himself off as mundane. The wick boy knew there was something off about this man, something that was not out in the open at the moment... and his curiosity was piqued. And whatever caught his attention usually made for a good song.

“But then,” Henri chuckled slightly, breaking off the stare abruptly before it could become offensive, “I am of the mind that every man’s life is an adventure to another. Perhaps I let my imagination denk away with me too much... but it is what I like to maw, and people seem to like it when I do.

“So tell me, if you don’t mind,” He said with a careless air, “Whatever sort of business would require the services of a jent like yourself to bring you to the Black Dove on a dreary night like this?”

He spoke the question like he could not care less about the answer, merely making conversation. He had found that people were a lot more willing to talk about themselves if they didn’t know how interested you were in the answers... especially the longer they talked and the more ale that flowed. Fortunately, Henri had been blessed with a rather strong constitution; a benefit of his wickish upbringing. Very strong if one considered his slight stature. The weak beer he was drinking at the moment wouldn’t do much more than give him a slight warming buzz as the night wore on... perhaps he could outlast this golly long enough to get some interesting answers.

Oh, how dreary. The boy wanted to talk about his work of all things. Now, Charlie Ewing was a man who loved what he did for a living, this was a certain enough thing. It was, aside from his sister and his whice, one of the few things in the world that he was capable of loving. This did not mean that when he was attempting to chat up wicks in sordid little Harbour bars, he would be particularly pleased at the opportunity to speak on the subject.

"I am an engineer," he said shortly. Irritation crept in around the edges of his voice. This boy was awful clocking thick if he hadn't caught his intent by now. It might have been unusual for a golly like himself to be talking to a wick like this, but the contents of the conversation weren't so unusual. Certainly recognizable, at least. "And the specifics are more than likely going to go over your head, boy, so let us not even attempt to get into the subject." What an absolute bother. If he'd wanted to discuss mechanics, he would have stayed, as the wick had suggested, in Brunnhold or Vienda. Galdor he might be, but he was hardly of the usual sort. This included being disinclined to such activities as academic discussions about the machines he built and repaired for a living.

He took an annoyed swallow of his beer, quickly followed by a few more. Perhaps it was a mistake, drinking so quickly when he knew he hadn't the head for it. Perhaps not. It certainly flushed him with a renewed spirit and interest. "Something of an inventor, even." There was a sudden flash of brilliance wherein he decided that perhaps if Henri were so interested in what he did for a living, he might as well make it seems as impressive as possible. Worst came to worst, perhaps he could invite him back to... see his machines. "Are you interested in such things at all, Henri?" The emphasis Charlie put on the name was filled with such obscene promises.

‘Uh oh,’ Henri thought, the sound of slight irritation beginning to creep into this golly’s voice setting off warning flags. Irritation was the forerunner of anger, and anger to violence; and even though this galdor man was not much taller than him, Henri had no qualms over who would actually win should a fight break out. Galdor people were clocking powerful, and it was in his best interest to assume that this one was no less.

Franticly, he searched his mind for something witty to say, in an attempt to defuse the potential offence as Charlie raised his mug. He took a sip, then a gulp, and then another, indeed the mug was about half empty when he finally returned it to the table. The sight of which alarmed Henri, he’d be in quite a lot of trouble if this golly was such a hard drinker as to put away beer like that.

Perhaps not; as the sight of slow flush spreading across the man’s face assured the wick that this man was not meant for the life of a hard drinker. The slight line of irritation that had graced his face as he had lifted his mug was now hardly a memory as the alcohol took its strong affect, and the flushed golly had a much more amicable expression on his face. Henri smiled as the man began talking once again; congratulating himself on his good luck, when the light of a thought flashed across the galdor’s fogged eyes set off a much different sort of warning flag.

‘Uh oh,’ Henri thought in alarm once more as the guttered golly leaned forward, whispering in a tone that sent the wick boy’s instincts screaming for him to dust. Henri was no stranger to fact that some fellows liked a different sort of bedfellow, in a wick caravan it was near impossible not to once you’ve reached past the age of knowing. But he himself had never been close with ‘the left wheel under the kint’, the whole thing sending shivers down his spine.

“I’m… I’m afraid not,” Henri said, a searing blush flooding his be-freckled face at the realization at what, exactly, Charlie was implying, “I like to play with a different sort of instruments…”

And that was all the cleverness his mind could supply him with at the moment. Cursing his ineptness at dealing with these particular sorts of interactions, Henri scrambled to figure out some way out of this awkward and embarrassing situation he had blundered into.

Well now! Finally it was getting entertaining. Charlie pushed his mostly empty glass around the table without paying much attention to what his hands were doing. It was obvious to Charlie, schooled as he was in interpreting the postures and gestures of other people, that Henri was clocking uncomfortable. It was also obvious to Charlie that this didn't actually mean that he had no chance at all. Merely very stacked odds. Charlie Ewing was a gambling man. "I was merely asking you if you had an interest in the mechanical," he said mildly. A dark brow arched and the grin on his face was absolutely wicked.

"Although, were you thinking something else..."

"Yes, I mean no, that is I, uh..." Henri fumbled for words, wincing at this horrible betrayal of his tongue. He was proud of his ability for snappy, witty comebacks, wether in mid-song or conversation; but in this subject, if it were not in lyrics his wits would fail him... and he would be left floundering and gapping like a fish. Much like he was now.

His embarrassed blush spread with every fumbled syllable, until his freckles stood out like stars in a dark sky on his face. Once again his hand reached once more to the cap on his head, straitening it nervously.

"Mechanical stuff is all vodundun to me," He said finally, hoping that by sticking to the safer topic the uncomfortable subject would be dropped, "I like to fiddle and maw. I ent close at all with gears or wires and such things...

"Once I even broke my da's pocket-watch trying to wind it," Henri chuckled as his embarrassment grew. By the Clocks, he was beginning to babble now, as if it couldn't get any worse, "Took him a ten-day just to get it fixed."

A laugh escaped Charlie, and it was not a particularly kind one. Babbling! It had been absolutely days since he had inspired babbling in someone. The blushing was rather cute, too, setting predatory senses on edge. He was going to swallow this one whole, he decided. Come hell or high water, he was going to have this one.

"Are you really so hopeless, then? More's the pity, then. I've really only got the one with me." The phlogiston exhibitor was finished and in his pocket. Of course it left a much softer impression when he had to announce it. The greatest and longest-lasting effect came when he got the chance to oh-so-casually pull it out and flick it open, lighting something for someone. This little wick, this Henri, did not seem the terrifically difficult to impress sort. Perhaps it would turn out entertaining after all. "Would you like to see it? I assure you there are neither gears nor wires in it."

Henri joined in laughing with Charlie's sinister chuckle nervously, silencing himself by downing the rest of his drink. Something about this odd golly set his nerves on edge, and it would take something stronger than the weak beer he was drinking to sooth them. Seting down his mug he flagged down the barmaid and subletly signed for something stronger... It wouldn't matter if he got a bit suzzed, Charlie was already guttered, and it would make him feel more at ease.

As Charlie began talking about his inventions, Henri descreatly sighed in relief; it looked like he had successfuly diverted the conversation into safer waters, a good thing too, he wasn't sure how much more heat his face could take. Now maybe he could gather enough of his wits together as to not make a total fool of himself.

"Boemo Charlie,"Henri said taking a more relaxed posture as he sipped his new beer, leaning back in his seat, "But if you want to keep it from turning into spitch, I'd just as well keep my hands to myself."

But do I have to keep my hands to myself? He didn't say it, bit his tongue. Wouldn't do to chase the boy off quite so soon. Still, he could never resist the chance to show off his own brilliance. He pulled out a rolled cigarillo from his breast pocket. With an air of absolute studied casualness, he put the phlogiston to use. Inhaled deep, and blew the smoke very deliberately in Henri's face. "What do you think?"

Henri cocked his head as he looked on mildly, watching with curiosity as Charlie casually withdrew a cigarillo. Then with an artistic flick of the wrist, an unexpected flash of light appeared where he had expected none. Henri sputtered, choking slightly on his drink in his start, his eyes growing wide as he watched the golly light his smoke with a steady unwavering flame.

“Wo chet,” Henri exclaimed softly, leaning forward to get a better look at the strange, useful contraption, only mildly disturbed by the smoke in the already smokey room, “That’s a nifty little thing ent it? Benny vodundun, that is. You made this?”

Charlie grinned from ear to ear, and this time there was nothing shady about it. He truly was a man who loved his work, and there was nothing he loved more about it than to hear that someone else thought it was brilliant, too. Charlie had to admit that even after two years living in Old Rose, he still had no idea what half the words wicks said at any given time meant, but he knew praise when he heard it. "Oh yes. You see there's a little cloth wick in there, and the whole thing is filled with a really volatile liquid-- oh I can't even tell you how long it took me to get that part right!" He smiled a bit, lost in the memories of previous phlogiston exhibitors and how often he had to throw them in buckets of water or sand. "Then a flint strikes and creates a spark and there you go!"

Her arrival was like an explosion of swearing and fliratious chatter, bursting into the Dove with a grin, green eyes flashing mischiveously. It had been too long, far too long, since she had been in the Rose, and now, it was time for a drink. The rest of them had disspersed after mooring, tired and worn, and shellshocked. How they had survived, no one really knew....perhaps one day a story would be written about them and their conquests. Till then...

"A DRINK, ME HEARTIES! A DRINK ON ME, AS LONG AS YE DRINK RUM!" The blonde yelled, taking a few large steps to the bar, before jumping up on it. Hands on hips, she grinned.

"C'mon me laddies and lasses, git yerselves a drink befor' I change me mind. Captain Lacey Lovell does not give out free things often." Laughing suddenly, she shrugged.

"Well, not free rum anyway!" Reaching over, she took a bottle of rum from the drinks shelf, throwning a Bird down at the keep and pulling the cork with her teeth.

"'Ere's to the Rose!"

Henri returned Charlie’s grin with equal fervor, glad to see an honest smile finally. This was a man who loved his work… he could quite relate on that matter as there was nothing that he didn’t love better than music. Whether fiddling or tinkering, the passion of simply doing so was just the same.

“I can well see how that would be a problem!” Henri laughed lightly at the allusion to past explosions, “But it seems fair safe a thing now. Benny clever… Why, I know of many a kov who would pay a mant manna ging for something as useful as that. Make more, an’ you could be fair well off at that.”

Henri grinned again; the prospect of earning a bit more ging never failed to bring a smile to his face, even if he wasn’t the one to get it. Lifting his drink he went to take a sip, when a near litteral explosion at the door startled him, sending him sputtering as he choked on his beer for the second time that night.



'Well, that certainly brought the life back into the dreary place', Henri mused as he looked around at the now lively occupants of the dreary bar he had entered, scrambling to the bar, chattering and hollering greetings to the blond nattle who had entered so boisterously. Laughing at the theatrics, Henri lifted his mug to her, now very much glad he had changed his drink to harder stuff. The rum was quite good actually, sweet and warm with just the right amount of burn.

“Th’ Rose!” Henri called out with the rest of the crowd as they toasted to their generous benefactor. Glancing back over at his golly companion, he raised an eyebrow as he laughed, “Well, things have certainly gotten exciting now…”

She walked in just as the shouting started, laughing as people toasted the rose and joining in. Aye walked up to the counter and was about to order a drink, when she realized she was a tad bit shorter than she originally thought. She frowned and looked around, seeing one of the bar stools, she hooked a foot around the bottom rung, and pulled herself up. Aye did not like being short. She grinned at the bartender and ordered a Blushing hingle, she didn't exactly know what that was, but she did want a hingle.

She paid for it, with pick pocketed money of course, ad then hopped off the stool. Once she had regained her balance, she looked around to find a place to sit, seeing an empty space beside a boy she hadn't seen before. The girl smiled and walked up, sitting down as she asked to join him.

"'Ey, kov, Seat taken?"

Henri turned at the sound of a young voice, and grinned brightly at the sight of a spry young witchling with roped green hair. She was rather a cute young thing, for a child that is, even with the obvious signs of street-life on her. She seemed rather young to be visiting a place of such a rough nature as this, but she seemed perfectly at ease so he chose not to mention it.

“Seats yours Tekaa,” He said with a wink as he pushed the crate turned chair over to the young one with his boot.

“Name’s Henri Lockery,” He nodded his head over to the hitherto silent occupant of the table, “An’ this here odd jent is Charlie."

The golly had been awful quiet since the place had gotten lively. The young wick only hoped that this was a sign of further inebriation than any other, more sinister reasons. Or perhaps, he was simply unhappy that the peace and quiet of solemn misery had been so rudely interrupted... And drunk. The golly was most certainly looking quite guttered at the moment. Perhaps it was the free rum that 'Captain Lacey' had so generously given out... Charlie didn’t look to be one to hold the harder liquor all that well.

"Where ya’ denk from kov?” Henri said with a smile, hoping to defuse any unwanted confrontations with simple conversation... a ploy that worked just as often as it did not.

There was a sigh of great and unending sadness when the little girl came to sit down. All his fun, ruined, just like that. He knew he loathed children for a reason. Whatever else might be said about Charlie Ewing, he was not the kind of man to finish what he started in the presence of a little girl. A little girl who was certainly too young to have been served in such an establishment. The traces of good breeding left in him frowned disapprovingly.

Gratefully Charlie took the free rum-- he hadn't the coin to pay for such things himself, nor the desire to keep a presence of mind. Such a potentially lovely evening. All spoilt now, entirely spoilt. Rum was knocked back with ferocity. Plans for the night be damned, he was getting well and properly soaked. "Interesting, you say?" Charlie glanced meaningfully in Aye's direction. "I would say exponentially less so." Livelier, though, it was certainly that. He could only hope that someone else would come along, someone less flat-out resistant to his really rather mild advances. Oh but he wanted to swallow that boy whole. All sorts of drunken filthy things flashed through his mind, though he did his best to let none of it show through on his face. Conversation, he was finding, was getting a bit hard to keep up.

"Mujo ma, kov." She said with a grin, as she sat down on the crate, and took a sip of her drink.



"Name's Aye. Junta, Henri, Charlie." she said with a smile, and a couple nods.



"Dorhaven, wandered back here to see the harbor, been quite a visit so far." she said laughing.



Aye looked at Charlie and raised an eyebrow, she didnt exactly know what the word 'exponentially' meant, so she decided not answering Charlie was a good idea. Instead, she asked how the pair was doing.

Henri shot Charlie a quizical glace at his strange remarks. How could meeting a new wickling ever be any less than interesting? Shaking his head at the obtuseness of the golly, he returned his attention to the little witch who was curently swinging her feet in the seat across from him.

"Aye you say?"Henri said raising his eyebrows in surpise at the odd name, laughing lightly, "Ha ha, well then Aye it is. Junta!"

Henri quaffed back another gulp of his rum, in toast to the wickling. He was getting to be in a very good mood, rum always had that kind of affect; not drunkenness per-say but very much in a state of good will that would most likely last the rest of the night.

"We've been benny," he said with a growing grin, "Charlie-o here's been shown me his Fillo-whatsit-gin Thinger. Real nifty it is, made it himself."

"Why don't you show her Char?" Henri said turning his grinning face back over to the Galdor, "The whatsit-sparker thing? Vodundun like that will really get her kint, I betcha."