A Necessary Pint

Writers: Vix, Yvonne
Date Posted: 19th January 2008

Characters: Larstad, Hartam
Description: Larstad has a pint before confronting the Lord Holder about his workroom.
Location: Vintner Hall
Date: month 6, day 2 of Turn 4
Notes: OMG SO LATE! All my fault. This occurs right when Larstad gets back from Barley Hills Hold.

Larstad hadn't bothered to visit his workroom after he arrived back at Amber Hills Hold. Weary and chilled, he'd stumbled off to his rooms in search of a hot bath and a familiar bed, and had slipped into a dreamless sleep.

The Smith woke late, but then found himself caught up in the mundane details of returning from a trip; he had to arrange his laundry, clean his dirty traveling boots (as they doubled as his regular boots and Zelanka would murder him if he tramped more mud through the halls), unpack, and find somewhere to store the brandy and marks he'd earned from Holder Thorril. It was late afternoon by the time he unlocked his workroom doors and stepped inside.

And froze.

The place was immaculate. The work tables were clear, the shelves busy but organized, and the floor spotless. And none of it was by his own hand. Larstad ground his teeth, then dashed frantically over to the table where he'd laid out his project, only to find it as bare as the rest. He spun around, searching the room for his things - the stained glass lampshade for a cotholder's wife, a finished set of fire irons, a ring with a glass stone, a repaired teakettle. His stomach twisted in anger as he picked them, one by one, off the shelves that lined the room and replaced them on their respective tables.

Where were his tools? Unmatched, jumbled, laid neatly in no sort of order on shelves and in drawers and hanging from the walls. His hands shook with rage as he touched his lathes, hanging from a completely illogical place on the wall.

But that was nothing to the rage he felt when he finally found his project. A small chest of drawers, placed on one table, held the delicate, carefully measured cogs for his clock. The cogs were jumbled together in three drawers, loosely organized by size.

But not by measurement. It had taken him months to cast, then file down the cogs that he'd deemed suitable for his clock to exact proportions, and some of them were impossible to tell apart just by looking. Larstad roared a curse, then picked up the chest of drawers and hurled it across the room. It hit the wall with a bang and a hiss as the cogs fell out and fell like snowflakes across the floor. Larstad kicked a chair over, then grabbed his coat and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind himself.

It was a good thing that the drudges scurried out of his way when they saw him coming, and it was an even better thing that he didn't see Zelanka on his way out of the Hold. Larstad wasn't sure what he'd do.

~*~

By the time he'd stomped from the Hold to the Vintner's Tavern, Larstad's temper had cooled enough for him to not feel the urge to violently beat the next drudge he came across. He was even beginning to feel a little foolish as he pushed open the doors and entered, pausing briefly to let his eyes adjust before slinking off to a table in the back.

Upon the stage, Hartam finished the final chords of a song, allowing both the gitar note and his voice to hold steady, and then trail off into silence. He waited a moment and then smiled at his audience, acknowledging the smattering of applause from those who had been listening. "Thank you. We'll be taking a break for a quarter candlemark or so, but will be back later. If you have any songs you'd like to hear, be sure to mention it to me or to one of my associates." He nodded his head to indicate the apprentices on the stage with him.

Rising from his seat, the harper strode carefully to the steps, aware of the stiffness of his legs but not wanting others to notice. He directed smiles to those sitting at tables as he worked his way toward the bar, nodding at words spoken to him. As he moved, he also scanned the crowd, noting the crafts and locations of those present. His glance fell on a familiar face, one that he had not seen in this setting, but a person he had invited to join him for a drink. With a quick change of direction, he made his way to the far table.

"Larstad. I heard that you were away from the Hold." Hartam sank into the chair across from the smith. "I hope your trip went well?"

The Smith stopped scowling at his beer long enough to nod somewhat pleasantly at Hartam. "Oh, the _trip_ went well. It went so well that I should have sharding well stayed there," he muttered.

To Hartam, the remark sounded even grumpier than Larstad's usual attitude. "Has something happened since your return?"

Larstad sighed. "What did you do to earn your Senior knots?"

**What an unusual question!** Still, Hartam offered a bright smile to the smith. "I was required to complete a variety of tasks, including the completion and editing of several songs and copying them meticulously to be distributed to the Masters who were reviewing them. In addition, I had to demonstrate that I had continued to grow in the other areas of my craft. Why do you ask?"

"My project is to build a clock." He paused. "An _accurate_ clock, or as accurate a clock as one can build. You can imagine the tediousness of having to meter every cog properly, and since I've spent the last sharding turns galavanting around and writing sharding books instead of earning my knots, I haven't had much time for it. Except now I'm settled enough to set up a proper workshop, and you know what that dimglow of a Headwoman did? She _messed_up_my_clockwork_."

Hartam's initial reply was voiceless, simply his mouth forming an "O" of understanding. However, he recovered quickly, gesturing to a passing serving girl. "Another drink for the smith, please - and quickly." He turned his attention back to his companion. "What did you say to her?"

"Nothing. Yet." He smiled briefly, bitterly. "I'd be wanted for assault if I'd run into her on the way over."

"Just as well you didn't run into her then," observed the harper. "Have you considered how you can handle this without getting yourself into trouble?"

"What the blazes are you talking about?"

Though taken aback by the other man's reply, Hartam explained patiently. "I don't know how it is in other crafts, but few harpers make it through the ranks unless they are able to relate to those outside the craft in a civil manner. Losing one's temper with a headwoman would be considered a serious strike."

"Yes, well, harpers are expected to be-- pleasing and sing songs and whatnot. Smiths are expected to get the job done." Larstad's grip on his mug grew a little tighter. "And I cannot get the job done if I cannot _find_ anything, can I. Nor does it benefit the Hold in any way, shape, or form if the Headwoman is impeding me from attaining my knots."

"That's certainly so," the other man agreed. "But if you antagonize the Headwoman, you'll give her leave to tell others about how poorly you've treated her and to make your life miserable in countless little ways. Unless you'd care to risk those consequences, you'd best tread carefully."

The Smith didn't snort in disgust, which he thought was very tactful of him. Harpers: they were the most spineless of men. For a Holding to succeed, everyone in the Hold had to do their job and not interfere in the spheres of another - the Headwoman needed to stay out of his workshop, and he wasn't going to tell her how to wax a floor or 'reorganize' her shelves in the kitchen. If she wanted to act like a petty, spoilt child and try to make his life miserable, well... he wasn't going to stand for that, either. Frankly he thought Zelanka had more sense than then to indulge in such idiocy, anyway. **Although she didn't have enough sense to stay out of my sharding way,** he thought dourly. No - he'd take his complaint to Lord Benaroy, and the Lord would settle it. That's what Lords were for. "I'm not going to cower because _she_ did something wrong, and I've already decided how to deal with it. A trip to the tavern was supposed to cool my temper, not inflame it."

Hartam bowed his head slightly. "I regret if I've aggravated the problem. I meant simply to give you an opportunity to talk out the circumstances and to consider all of your possible ways of handling this."

"And what, exactly, would you suggest?"

"Find an intermediary rather than confronting her on your own."

"If she didn't listen to me before, then she won't now. That woman is _impossible_." Larstad snorted again. "She has _no_ respect for Crafters and their work."

Hartam nodded. "All the more reason to find someone else to help get the idea across to her."

"I just cannot _fathom_ why she would be so malicious in the first place." The Smith shook his head, scowling. "I'll have to change the locks for certain."

"And you think that will stop her?" The harper shook his head as well. "Most Headwomen that I've met are very protective of that ring of keys they carry and would not take kindly to having a room _not_ accessible to them."

"Then she ought to know better than to muck about in a Smith's workroom uninvited." So much for a calming beer at the tavern -- the Harper was less than supportive. One had to stand up for the things that they believed in, and if that meant an argument, then so be it. Zelanka was usually very good at her job, but the fact that she'd gone in and ruined his Journeyman's project infuriated him -- especially since he'd expressly asked her to wait until he could oversee the operation so that something like that wouldn't happen. She didn't respect him.

"I won't argue with you that it shouldn't have happened," conceded Hartam. "But unless you want to prolong the battle with the Headwoman and risk worse to come, I'd still tread lightly."

The Smith snorted into his beer. "Duely noted." How unfair that it was _he_ that was being cautioned, and not that meddling wherry of a woman. He'd handle the situation in the way that suited him best, and right now he wanted a beer.

Last updated on the January 20th 2008

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A Necessary Pint