Grigori needed some time to himself. He'd spent yet another night without sleep, turning from his normal post at his lathe to work with steam hammer and tongs. Forging the main steam cutout valve had taken him eight nights of constant work, it was a monstrous thing that required reduction gears and an outsized hand wheel to turn, and would be the most vital piece of metal in the entire engine. It was all practically hand made, and he was having one of those few moments in his life where he wanted to see anything but the inside of his shop.

The angry glow that lit the backs of his eyes had been replaced by a grey veil across his vision. Everything moved slow before his gaze, he had been run down, well and truly. He needed rest, he needed a decent meal. More than anything else though, he needed coffee.

He dragged his body across the street. He was looking for anyplace that would provide him with his fix. He had run out of beans in his big percolator at some time before sunup. And to be fair, his coffee pot made everything taste like steel.

His head turned up at a sign to his left. It read the Murky Moon, not that Grigori was reading it. All he needed to do was smell the rich, dark aroma, and he knew he found his place.

All but crashing through the door, he banged his fist on the counter and yelled into the kitchen. "Whatever swill slinger you got back there bring me a clocking pot of coffee and four fried eggs!" he yelled hoarsely.

Having made his demands known, he trundled to the nearest chair at the bar and sat down in wait, his brow furrowed even further. The smell was maddening, it was all around it! He could practically taste his first cup. If the cook wasn't out of the kitchen soon, he was going to tear through the kitchen like a bear until he found their coffee maker.

"What, what, it's a ten, we're barely---"
He then saw Grisha's face, and stopped short on his remark. This man was clearly going to gut a small wick cook with some concealed weapon if he didn't run back to the kitchen and get the eggs and coffee on.
"You got it."

The man sitting angrily at the counter looked like a runny eggs, strong black coffee sort. He already had a pot on for the owner whenever he came down, and June had grabbed his cup earlier, pouring immense amounts of sugar into it. He hated black coffee with a passion.

He poured the steaming hot coffee into the Moon's largest mug, rough bluish stoneware with a hefty handle, and set it along with a full pot on the bar in front of the man.

"Eggs'll be out innabit. Rough night?"

Grigori did not even register what the child said. As soon as the cup and pot were in his line of sight, everything else in the world became unnecessary. He snatched the big earthenware mug with one hand and knocked the whole thing back in two gulps. The scalding heat was nothing to him, his tastebuds had shriveled and hardened under the pressure of his intense anger like the rest of his body, and they all but hissed in furious joy as the bitter liquid splashed his tongue on its way down his gullet.

All this happened in only a few seconds, but the transformation was almost instantaneous. He set the cup back onto the table, and smacked his lips a bit. The glazed look in his eyes became one of quiet cogitation. His brow unfurrowed oh so slightly, and one could almost see a smile develop around his eyes. Maybe not a smile, actually, but still. He wasn't frowning nearly as hard.

He poured himself another cup of the coffee, and drank it a bit more thoughtfully. He looked at the small boy who had served him the coffee, and nodded slightly "This is good coffee, boy," he said. "You made this did you?"

"Make it up every morning. Thanks. Goin' to get yer eggs on."

Juni went back to the semi-closed-off kitchen and got eggs from the dimpled plate they stored them on. He put a pat of butter in a skillet, swirled it around on the hot surface to coat. When it was a melted white bubbly coating on the black surface of the heavy little pan, he cracked all four eggs in, and waited for the white to turn just opaque. When they were done, he slid them off onto a plate and brought them out to the man's bar seat, steaming hot.

"Anything else?"

"I'd take some toast if you got any." He emptied his cup for the fourth time since Juniper had left, and poured the last dregs from the pot into it. "And another pot of coffee, thanks."

He broke open one of the lightly browned buttery eggs and scooped the mixture of egg white and runny yolk onto his fork. Taking his first bite, he was pleasantly surprised. The little cook had not skimped on the butter, and the eggs themselves were pleasant. He didn't feel the unpleasant crack of biting into a piece of shell, and this was one of the few ways one could truly mess up fried eggs.

Quickly finishing two eggs, he looked up at the boy with a slight scowl. "Boy, I wish two thirds of the cooks in the navy were half as good as you. I'd not mind you cooking on any ship I was on."

A quick beat passed before he followed this with. Realizing Juniper was still here, his eyes narrowed and he growled, "why ain't you getting my coffee?"

"I'm gettin' yer coffee, I'm getting yer coffee."

Juniper sounded angry, but this was his natural state. Inside he was glowing from the compliments he'd received. A ship? The man worked on a ship? Interesting. He poured more coffee, quickly toasted up a few slices of bread and put them on a small plate, and brought them back with a pat of butter to the counter.

"You're in the Navy? Onna ship?"

He sat expectant behind the dark pot of coffee and hot toast, wanting to hear more from his customer. It was a slow hour; he could listen as long as he wanted.

Grisha's teeth caught on each other. "I was in the navy. For more'n twenty years, I worked on ships. All types." He could feel the anger building, he let it. His father had taught him that there were times when it was good to hold the anger in, and let it out with your breathing. Other times though, it was just good to let it vent, otherwise you'd kill yourself. "I gave a few of the best parts of me for the ship. Broke twelve bones, lost two teeth, I have spots of my body that don't even feel." His voice was getting lower, going from a rasp to an actual growl. "And they kick me out, just with a clockin pittance for the rest of my miserable life!" The snarl came out. "Cause I made some little golly midshipman piss 'is shorts, and they're scared I might have taken a fist to his pretty face! Decades of service, distinguished performance, ALL WORTHLESS!" The snarl had turned into a full blown bellow. His face had gone red and his pupils dilated. He slammed the bar with each word. "AND NOW I'M WORKING FOR MY FOOL OF A DAUGHTER, BUILDING HER DAMN DREAM CONTRAPTION-"

Realizing he was probably talking too much and that he was working a splintered dent into the wooden bar, he stopped and poured himself another cup of coffee, which he dipped some of the toast into. "Take my word for it, kid. When talking with the galdori, keep your tongue behind your teeth. They get jumpy if you raise your voice. Clocking bunch of hingles..."

He had another egg as he let himself depressurize.

He stood silent as Grisha ranted. It was good that it was a ten and the Rose was sleeping in, or there would've been more customers and Buehler to deal with. The owner was out getting supplies for the Moon, or so he said. In reality, June thought, he was probably out romancing some lady too young for him, as usual. Apparently they were easier to catch in the morning when nobody was going for them. June wouldn't know...he preferred more conventional times for getting girls. Late night, a good bar, a drink...he'd had many nights just like that, although nowhere near as many girls as he'd have liked. Maybe one or two telling him he was 'cute.' Pff, cute. He was clocking handsome, manly...all those would suffice. Never this 'cute' business.

Anyway, the Navy. June had never been on a ship, never even gone swimming. He was secretly afraid he'd drown, be pulled down by deep blue unseen forces, become fish food. But the ocean was both deadly and beautiful, and he was both drawn back and pulled in at the same time. The first time he'd seen it had been the first morning he worked at the Moon, when he'd been sent out to buy food and seen the sun sparkling on the waves. He certainly couldn't imagine being out over it, only metal or wood rather than solid ground separating him from the depths. But at the same time he could, was fascinated by it. Maybe he'd be on a ship sometime.

June had always been warned about galdori, especially since his father was most definitely one. Delly said she remembered the field easier than his face, his voice, his name. Then again, maybe he'd never said his name. He often though he didn't like his mother, but he'd always been slightly contemptous towards his father for leaving her, even though they hadn't been in love, hadn't known each other, and couldn't have stayed together anyway. It was really the principle of the thing. He often wondered if his father knew he even existed. He doubted it, as Delly didn't remember his name and couldn't read or write anyway---maybe her name, but not enough to write him a letter explaining that whoever he was, he now was the proud father of a half-breed child. What was the point, anyway? June had trouble with galdori, as a result. He didn't like them by principle, but the incident of his parenthood made it worse. He didn't even like having them for customers, though that was about as rare as catching sight of a blue hingle. If one managed to show up in the shabby little establishment despite their breeding and magical blood, June wouldn't even grant them the few words he gave other customers and would always subconsciously make the food lackluster--not bad, but not good enough for them to come back and bring all their stupid golly friends. As a consequence, they never did, and June barely had to deal with them, thank the gods. He'd already learned that mouthing off to someone who thought they were better than you got you nowhere.

Even with all this activity, he stood silent. He really didn't have anything to say---he wasn't a babbler. Soon, however, the silence got awkward. Realizing this, he sputtered out a quick "S-so, erm, y'want anything else this mornin'?"

"The eggs are enough. Considering another pot of coffee though." Grisha looked at the empty pot thoughtfully. Six large cups was a good deal of coffee, he admitted. It was funny, Sophie always said that drinking so much coffee at his age was bad for him, but it seemed that as he grew older, it did almost nothing for him. "Think I'll take another pot."

He stretched out a bit and popped his shoulders and back. The hours weren't as easy as they once were, he admitted it. Still, strength wasn't something that left a Hosturn with age. They didn't wear away, they just got tougher and denser, until their bodies couldn't handle the strain of the angered soul tearing at it from the inside. His sinews still tensed and muscles still coiled reassuringly under his wrinkled skin. His joints were stiff and his bones were a bit more brittle, but still. As long as he could lift his arms, he'd work. Hosturns didn't get old. They just died.

"Why're you askin' about ships anyway? Want a job or summat?" The boy seemed curious, and he could have sworn he caught him looking at his tattoos. But then again, even he would admit that he was a paranoid old cuss.

"Sure thing." The pot was quickly refilled and set back down on the counter, aroma of fresh hot coffee now permeating the shop. "Eh, yeah, I'd like another job; owner's nice but this one's a bit boring. Ships boring, you think?"

A ship job would probably be ridiculously exciting for someone like June, cooped up in the Moon all day. Was it one of those flying ships he'd seen? The man who had nearly exhausted his coffee supply couldn't be in the navy still. Unless Juniper had misunderstood him, he had said that he worked for the navy for 20 years, that he was in the navy. He wondered what kind of ship he was talking about, and whether there were actually jobs on it.

"It's boring all right. Menial work. Hard work. And every now and then, it catches on fire. That's exciting, at least." He looked at the inside of his arm. Traced in ink on it was an old Anaxi warship, set ablaze. He had been a mere screamin' seaman, fresh to the ship. When the hydraulic valve operation system busted, he and five others were told to turn the enormous main steam cutout valve to quickly shut the engines down. Steam had built inside of the valve's housing, and the hand wheel shout out. Two men had eight ball fractures, one died with a chunk of his nose's cartilage lodged into his brain. Grisha had had his two front teeth ground in half, with the crowns being forced into the gums, hitting bone. A few of the wick sailors had wrestled him to the ground and weighed his limbs down with their bodies so that he wouldn't thrash as they pulled the teeth out and healed the flesh. They couldn't put them back in, but he was eternally grateful to his wick shipmates. It was funny. Technically, wicks were just as much gollies as they were human, yet when he was with them, they might as well have been brothers. It seemed that if nothing else, misery loved company.

After his bit of reminiscing, he looked to the little wick and said, "I'll be honest with you boy. The boring times are the good times. Peaceful. Still, as it is, my ships looking for a cook. We'd happily take you on. Get paid on commission, course, so you get whatever we get."

He looked down to see that in his musing, he had finished his third pot. Even he knew that if he kept at this, he'd be pissing the stuff soon. "Think I'm good for now. Thanks." He tossed a few tallies onto the bar and got himself up. He had been too immunized to the bitter stuff to feel a coffee buzz, but he did feel a good deal more awake. "If you'd like the work, I'm going off to deal with the captain." From his voice, you would think that when he mentioned the captain he was talking about a troublesome pet.

"That sounds benny," he said with a little smirk. "When do I start? Hafta know so I can move out and get my last paycheck from m'boss here. And, erm, the captain? He ent too harsh, is 'e?" He sincerely hoped he wasn't, and also harbored a secret desire that he was attractive. That'd give him a leg up, at least.

"What kinda ship's this gonna be, hm?"

Grigori looked at the boy and rolled his eyes a bit. "Start when you want, boy. I ain't stoppin' ya and I don't care when. Come on down to this warehouse at the harbor when you feel like yer ready." Grigori took out a carpenter's pen and wrote the number of his warehouse on scrap of paper in his pocket. "Bring the paper with you when you come. And don't tell anyone. If you arrive and no one's there, you're too late. If you arrive and someone's there, tell them Grigori Hosturn sent you. And as for the captain..." the same resigned contempt crept into his voice. "You'll just have to meet the captain, eh?"

His business done, the now slightly less surly mechanic knocked the door open and began his trek back to the warmth and familiar smells of his shop.