Making Time (Open)

The wind picked up for a moment, the platform swaying dangerously in the strong evening breeze, moving back and forth from the clocktower. Anselm didn't even notice, shifting his balance almost automatically to compensate, cursing slightly as it brought his screwdriver slightly off course. He wasn't going to get that recalcitrant gear this way, it was too bent to be removed without a little force. The old clockmaker pushed the screwdriver between his teeth, adjusted his headlight, pulled out a small pair of pliers and returned to fishing, the wooden platform swaying back and forth as he moved, softly tapping against the stones of the building. The church clock had been silent for almost a week now, but Anselm had been adamant. He would only repair it at night, he didn't want the people to be staring at him when he worked, he hated being the center of attention or being talked about. Made him feel uncomfortable, like they were all talking about his many flaws, like they could see through him like a pane of glass. Compliments were even worse...He took pride in his work but...Of course, the mechanic failed to see that repairing a clock in the middle of the night was exactly the thing people would talk about...But he had never been good with people...At least machines are predictable.

There! Anselm could feel the jaws of the pliers finally snap closed around the last piece of metal that resisted his efforts to restore the clock to its function. Gently wrenching left and right, careful not to damage anything he had already repaired, he began to pull out the last rebel, quickly reaching in with his other hand once that was done and replacing it, liberally applying grease to the machine. He checked his work, adjusting the mirrors around his headlight a few times as he scanned the metal labyrinth of gears, springs and bolts...It looked in order. Not like he would've built it in the first place, but he hadn't been around at the time...Good enough. The watchmaker closed the panels around the front, making sure no pigeons could get in and begin winding it again. Checking his own time-piece, he adjusted the hands...Made a good time at least, was only a few minutes to midnight. He began packing his gear back up, noticing for the first time in a few hours how high up he really was...Damn. This job sure took you places...But it was interesting. Biggest clock he'd likely work on in his life. You had to pick sturdier materials, like steel, higher tolerances, tighter fittings...And powering it was an important factor as well...Anselm stroked his mustache gently, fiddling around with the lantern around his head. A quick peek might give him some ideas...Maybe make a few additions...The screwdriver walked over his knuckles...Yeah, then he wouldn't have to come back as quickly...And this thing could use an arm for the seconds too...Oh and...

Shaking his head, he shoved the thin tool back into his belt. No, it was getting late...Besides, the job was done...Nothing more here to do. Go home, tinker some more there...Or better yet, get some sleep. He lowered the platform to the roof again, made his way to the ground floor and closed the door behind him. Streets were empty at this time, besides the harbor district or around the taverns of course, which was exactly why he had picked night to work. Still, being alone at night was never a lot of fun...The thin craftsman threw his heavy satchel with tools over his shoulder, pulled up the collar of his coat and adjusted his glasses...Go home. Get a cup of something, preferably tea...Anselm shivered...Had it been this cold yesterday too? Damn...He ducked his head between his shoulders, bent forwards slightly as he walked, his booted feet slapping softly on the cobbles...The only sound in the street until the clock finally struck midnight for the first time this week, causing another shiver to run across the clockmaker's back.

The Republic of Luxur. I city of glamour. A city of wondrous fascinations and an acceptance of all the people. During the day. There was no Curfew in Luxur, but it was hardly needed. People came home when the sun went down. They stayed out of the streets as soon as the shops closed. The city had a certain charm to it. A rather healthy feel to it. Of course, when the laugh of devils came down the street, no one stepped forward.

5 men were walking their way down the street, 3 of them rather burly, while the other 2 were lean and lithe. They were talking loudly and yelling down the street as they went, kicking rocks here and there. Anselm was out alone on the street, so he was easy to spot. The men ran forward quickly and let out a whistle. "EY! Ole man! Whatchu doin out here! Dis is a dangerous place at night. DIdn't nobody ever tell you dat?" They immediately circled the man. Each armed with rather large swords at their hip or on their backs.

Anselm had never liked being out at night, never really liked being outside really. Where there were people, there was trouble. Really, there was trouble everywhere, but people just made it more likely to occur...Or his presence did. Either way, he didn't like it. His footsteps were once again the only sound being made, the tapping of leather on stone, his breath resounding quite loudly through the otherwise empty and quiet streets. It had something surreal, something frightening. As if the city had emptied itself of life, afraid of something. And it sure wasn't him...The only person afraid of Anselm, was Anselm himself. And only of a small, insistent part of himself...

Then there was a laugh, almost disembodied, hauntingly echoing against those dark and seemingly empty facades, buildings now looking more like walls in a massive maze. Anselm jumped slightly, almost subconsciously palming the little brass time-piece in his pocket. A bland thing, a simple thing...Only one hand...He stopped, looking around for a moment to pinpoint the direction of the sound...But in darkness and in silence, it travels far and strangely...Voices now...Anselm stepped up, without trying to stand out, but without the crowd, he was far more visible than normal...

They came from the opposite direction he was traveling in, too close for a quick exit, not with this heavy pack. Not to mention it'd make him stand out even more, like a red flag to a bull. The little chronometer almost burnt in his hand, his mouth ran dry...Like the gears in a broken watch, this was turning out all wrong...And no way to stop it. He swallowed once as they broke up, swarming around him...

”Ehm...Ehm...” His eyes darted from one side to the next, one man to the next, one sword to the next, noticing in the passing that they were all closed to him, largely unwashed and unshaven and of definitely bad craftsmanship, in that order. Even he could work steel better than that...”I didn't sir, but I was just on my home anyway....It's not far” His voice was slightly higher in pitch than normal, the rusty tone obviously needed some oil after this...Probably grog...”So if you don't mind, I'll be fine...” He nervously licked his parched lips....

The group crossed their arms and shook their heads. "Oh your home isn't far eh? Well then, allow us to escort you." The man who spoke's voice was vehement, full of want to harm. They took a step forward as if to grab when a small sound resounded from behind them. The man's hand froze in midair and he slowly retracted it.

He turned around to see a green haired man sitting on a barrel on the other side of the street. Instantly the men began to back away from the one they had trapped and bowed their heads. "Joek, I uh... We were just going to take this one home and... Collect our fee from him."

Joek clapped his hands slowly, a leather on leather thudding sound. "Bravo, truly, that line work with the other fools you try to trick?" He hopped down from the barrel, his body movements fluid and almost joyful. "Tell me, in what sense do you think his death would have given? Perhaps a bit of arrogance? An enjoyment of it?" He stepped forward and slipped a dagger from his belt, twisting it before him.

"You there. I saw you working on the Clock. Honest work yes, but rather wasteful. Telling time merely counts down the day we hit the dirt. Tell me though man. You haven't wronged anyone, have you?"

He waited for an answer before stepping forward and smiling a devilish smile. "Alright then. Let's play a game." A shiver ran through the group behind him. "You see this lad behind me?" He pointed the one who'd been bullying. "He was going to kill you, take all your possessions, and probably never have to answer for it. I've stopped him. Should he be allowed to walk away and possibly do it to someone else?" He snapped his fingers and the others grabbed the man, pushing him to his knees. He began sobbing uncontrollably. "You overstepped there Uhren. You know better. Now your fate lies with the death teller." He smiled and twirled the dagger, hilt forward.

"Kill him? Or no?" The smile on Joek's face seemed to glow in the dark.

Anselm was afraid, he wasn't much of a fighter, never had been. When his older brothers, especially the brawny one, David, had been around, he had been the least of them. Small, wiry and lacking in the natural aggression that made a good fighter. He could throw a punch, swing his fist and he would connect...It'd hurt, but it was just...Unnatural to the watchmaker. Violence was the anathema of the order that his trade demanded, destruction the one thing that had limited place in the hands of a craftsman. Sure, you could break things down, take them apart or scrap them completely, but all with the intent to rebuild them...No, destruction wasn't part of his daily life...Only in that other part of him...But even a rat will fight when cornered, when it can't flee...And Anselm was getting desperate as they hulked ever closer around him. In one hand was the strange little brass circle, his fingers hesitantly twisting the dial this way and the next...Now? No, no that wouldn't work...He had no idea what it was meant to do, but not this, not here...In the pack, there...No, no time to get to it, no use for it now...Damn it...They closed around him again, the big one first. In a flash, a reflex, Anselm grabbed the screwdriver again. A thin piece of metal, not enough against a sword...But a rat will fight tooth, nail and tool...He grit his teeth, preparing to stab, wildly, viciously if the man took a step forwards, baring white teeth underneath that thick mustache, nostrils flared like a scared animal...

”Stay...Stay away you!”

When the man actually stopped, when he actually did as he was told, Anselm stumbled forwards. He hadn't expected it to work, quite the opposite really. It had been an act of desperation on his act...But there was fear in this men now. Dilated pupils, shifted breathing, poses of..Guilt? Anselm peered at the satchel on the floor...Nothing there...He didn't built anything like that anyway. Not that he knew...They backed away, turning to the side and Anselm hopped a few paces back, peering over his shoulder to whatever they were bowing to...A man, his hair the color of copper left out in the rain too long, greenish...The hand holding the flat brass cylinder in its palm pushed his glasses back up a little further up his nose...Joek...Never heard of him. But Anselm doubted that bode a lot of good...Anselm stepped aside as he seemed to be intent on talking to the men, keeping himself out of the way and out sight as much as possible...Keeping a hold on the screwdriver so tightly his already pale hands turned whiter than bleached bone...

It was all happening so fast...These men had indeed been criminals it seemed...Hardened ones, most people had a distinct...problem with killing. Anselm knew that, he knew it about himself. Some people got over it due to their youth, others through trauma and some suffered from mental...Deformities...Sociopathy, psychopathy...All this talk about death, his own, made Anselm distinctly nervous, his tongue once more darting out to wet those parched lips...As the green-haired man turned to him, he almost jolted out of his skin. He recognized that glance...That sparkle...Madness...It transfixed him...Cold fire and lightning, the strike of electricity across copper wiring long rusted...

”Wronged anyone? No, no I don't think so...”

Well, not yet. Anselm guessed it was only a matter of time. He'd been lucky till now, most of his devices had only hurt him...A little, when they didn't work. He was very careful. There had been a few close calls before...Scuttling things that had escaped the basement and hidden themselves in the store or things he had accidentally tinkered with, meant for others, but he'd managed to keep his customers from them...He shook his head slightly...

”A...a game...Sir?”

It was hard to remain focused. Anselm felt a headache coming on...Stress-induced, most likely...But there was the glare of this strange man...It seemed to...Call to him...The clockworker stood still as Joek twirled the blade, like a showman, telling of miracles and wonders...The blade went round and round, like the arms of a silver clock, spinning in the moonlight, each second a rotation, till it stopped...12 o' clock...The echo of those ghostly bells spun in his head. His voice was rusty, bit calmer now...

”Behaviour is defined...By the past of an organism, designing the future through the experiences already gained...” His own eyes were growing cold beneath his glasses, but the fervent light didn't go out...He put the screwdriver away, taking the knife, gingerly, but certainly, as he handled his own tools. It was a good blade, balanced for...Something Anselm wasn't used to. He weighed it. ”To assume any situation will repeat itself exactly outside of perfectly equal circumstances is doubtful, yet patterns of behavior dictate...” He swayed slightly, his mind jolting along a new track, gathering steam, speed. ”Variables, mind ruled not by logic, but by impression...” Inspiration struck inside his mind, flicking open the top of the brass cylinder, the connected some wires, cutting others, using the kinfe then tightened the spring, mumbling still under his breath about chemistry, psychology and lightning as the small machine came to life...A spider-like thing, all scuttling legs on the opposite side of the one he'd opened...The man tried to curl away from it as Anselm approached, the others did too, slightly, but obviously more afraid of the man with the green hair than of a babbling clockworker, whatever he was holding...

”Hold still...There we go...” Anselm placed it on the mans shoulder, who was sobbing and shivering, the skin crawling where metal legs poked, the brass spider moving up swiftly along the arm, to the top of the head, nestling there, embracing the skull...”Let's see...” For a moment nothing happened, before the spider suddenly lit up like a torch, the smell of burnt hair mixed with ozone and electricity reaching the nostrils as the footpad spazzed and shook, his eyes void of thought, his jaw slack and no sound coming from him...He slumped forwards, another shock...The light lit up Anselm, who pushed back his glasses with a look of strange interest...”Fascinating...”

Of course the man was terrified with the much larger ones around him. Joek shook his head at the scene and smiled down at him while the man was captured and held down. "Your choice?" He crossed his arms as the man began to start tinkering. One of the men stepped forward as if to interrupt, but Joek's hand raised to stop him. Curious. This little man seemed to have understanding that none other that Joek had met seemed to have. His sharp eyes followed every movement, making a note to try and make it himself, though not at near the speed this man was going. His fingers were so nimble and the twisting of the wires were so absolute. It was a show all on its own.

When the item was complete, Joek cocked an eyebrow at the little thing. It didn't look too harmless, but it climbed of it's own accord. "Are you a magician? Able to breathe life into the inanimate?" He blinked and stared like a child looking onto a new toy as it climbed on the criminal's head. When it burst into flames, the two holding him jumped back screaming while Joek stared at it nonplussed.

His smile only widened as he heard the word from the other side. With a nod of agreeance he smiled at him toothily. "Isn't it? Beautiful..." He met the man's eyes and gave a whistle. "MetalMage, what is your name?"

Anselm nodded as he heard Joek agree, yes...It was beautiful. He was proud of his toil, proud of his ideas...To control the behavior through impulse...Direct electrical impulse...The possibilities were endless, to empower, to weaken, to hurt and to heal..Such dreadful, beautiful significance... His voice was hushed in awe and wonder over the crackle of lightning....The mind of men at his fingertips, the keys to his own potential...Glorious...

”Isn't it though?” The man fell forwards, the second pulse running through him. ”A bit rush-job, I must admit...”

The sudden bright light left a single, frozen image of the man as the current ran through him burnt on the retina, the moment the lightning started winding its way through his body to the ground captured fully. Anselm could clearly see the man's panic, the pain and the horror as he felt that bright flame worm its way into his body. He could see it, but he didn't notice it. It was...unimportant to the matter at hand, a side-effect, something of a bother really...Without all those emotions, he could've perhaps gained clearer understanding on what exactly had been happening to the muscles when the device shorted out its own battery...The second shock had had largely the same effect though, spams, especially in the arms and legs...Not surprising there, they are the most mobile limbs...Smoke started rising from the body, a singularly unpleasant smell, that of burnt keratin and skin...Anselm moved his hands a few time in front of his face, walking over with crisp steps, almost ignoring the two men who stepped out of his way in a fright...And the green-haired man behind him...

He placed a pair of slender fingers against the man's wrist, checking for any pulse, more out of curiosity than anything else. There had been people who had survived a full lightning strike...That warranted further inquiry if this subject was as resistant...Sadly, this appeared to not be the case. He checked his watch. ”Subject deceased...Time of death 00.14...Cause of death...” Anselm checked the metallic spider on the back of the deceased mugger's head. Completely fried...Absolutely useless now. He sighed in frustration, peeling the metal off the back of the skull with the knife. Burns, high degree...But nothing immediately deadly at first glance...”Hmm, I wonder...” He stood up, wiping the clinging ash of his hands...”The dosage was obviously too high but...Was it the heart that gave out, or the brain...” He stroked his mustache, rolling over the body with one foot. An autopsy would probably be a good idea...He bounced the knife in his palm. Skin the skull, take out the hacksaw...Quick peek...

It was only then that the question actually came through to him, or better yet, the fact that he had been asked something at all. He turned around quickly, no sign of his fear, trepidation or shyness left, only a kind of mono-manic stare. ”Oh, sorry, did you ask something? Magic?” His face took that modest, elderly smile as he raised one hand up, slightly bowing his head. ”Oh no, far from it. Just simple mechanics...Cogs, springs and pistons. Far more dependable.” A slight glimmer of pride shone through his eyes then. ”And a bit more...Aesthetic, wouldn't you say?” He sighed as he looked at his fallen construct. The battery had molten most of the gears inside, he could see that right away. It had never been meant for such a thing...But it had only underlined the potential of the idea...His eyes snapped up to Joek again. ”Where are my manners, dreadfully sorry...” He wiped one hand on his coat again, trying to get of the worst of the grease and grime, offering it.

”Name's Ketterer, Anselm Ketterer. I'm a watchmaker...and a bit of a tinkerer in my spare time.” He smiled, a shy kind of grin, as if he was pleased to show of, yet very uncertain of whether it would be liked. Like a young man first showing off his music lessons to his family. ”I take it you are Joek, a pleasure, truly...” Anselm switched the knife around, offering it back to his saviour. ”And thank you for your timely assistance, much appreciated...Though I wonder, might you be interested in helping out a little more?”

Jace watched the man's mutterings like watching a puppy playing with a new toy. He walked over to a barrel sitting up right and planted himself, the remaining thugs leaning against various posts and things, waiting for orders to either leave, or whatever else Joek said. They remained quiet, almost expecting Joek to finish off the chattermouth himself. Even if it didn't seem likely.

At the extended hand, Joek stared at it and flicked his eyes back up at the man's own. He tilted his head and stuck out his hand gingerly, giving a quick, firm handshake and retracting his hand, his black gloved hand flexing. It was obvious the man did not savor the touch of other human beings. Even in greeting.

At the idea of this man asking for a favor, Joek's smile extended once more. "And how exactly, is it that I can help?" This man wanted to have a debt to the mafia? His funeral.

Anselm should've still been afraid, would've still been afraid if it hadn't been for that damnable inspiration that had shaped up to the greater part of the last two decades of his life. A man had died here, just in front of him, by his hand and by his own volition...A man that could've just as easily been himself had the murderer with the head of rusted copper not decided to indulge in his own idiosyncrasies...But it just didn't seem to filter through. As blind as the uninspired Anselm was to the axioms and truths of the inspired, so was the inspired to the truths of society. He knew they were there, just as the blind man knew there was something others called “light, dark and colors”, like the deaf man knew others spoke of music...But it just didn't fit in. There was no place for it in his worldview...People were a construct of impulses, of impressions upon the senses and intellectual faculties. And he wasn't a man either, he was an observer, a chronicler, a catalyst...But not afraid...Even when he should. Tanathos, Eros...The id of intelligence personified...

He barely even noticed that Joek didn't seem to relish in physical contact, even through the thick gloves he wore. An interesting thing, worthy of a mere moment of consideration. The man was obviously a sociopath, perhaps driven by a pathological need for control. Murder as a social tool, especially such a callousness therein could be a means for a damaged mind to assert that control...Anselm dismissed the thought. Perhaps a object of study for later, when there was time and room for it. He had other uses for this man now, and for his...acquaintances. He nodded slightly when the former inquired to the nature of his potential assistance.

”Nothing too taxing, I assure you, quite simple really.” He smiled, looking over his shoulder to the still-smoking body of his late experiment. Would be a waste to just leave him here, not to mention untidy. ”Just a few more moment of your time and a bit of help in getting the subject to my workshop. He looks a little too heavy for a man of my age to carry along with his tools...And it would be a shame to let an opportunity like this slip by.” Yes, finding a corpse this fresh without resorting to dangerous and immoral tactics was slight...Not to mention one that would not be missed and that had already been in service to his experiments before its demise. Anselm was very keen on not missing his chance to study the effect of his little improvised lightning spider...If the design could be salvaged, replicated and further refined, they would be very useful...If he could get the man to his laboratory.

Physically, Anselm had never really been strong. Oh, the strength in his fingers was impressive, surprising so, but aside from that he was nothing exceptional. He knew to apply what little force he had well, but carrying a corpse this size was almost impossible without doing considerable damage to it due to dragging and manhandling. Not to mention if one was already carrying a large bag of equipment. Of course, should Joek refuse, he could always come back with a wheelbarrow...But if the man was here, he might as well make himself useful. What harm could it be

"But of course. Anything for a new.... friend." Joek gave a slight jerk of his head and the men stepped forward, Picking up the charred body and throwing it onto the cart they had been pulling. "Well now Anslem. I think that we have a slight problem." He had his hands behind his back as they walked.

"You seem to have proven yourself as having some... prowess of making dangerous items. This makes you a liability to the city..... Now, I trust you with your inventions. Truly, I don't think you are harmless. What I worry about is all these big bad monstrous people around this city who would make so much... terror... with your work."

He walked alongside the old man and took a breath. "I of course have a solution for you though... You make them, and I'll hold onto them for you. I'll keep them from.... entering the wrong hands." He grinned brightly, looking over at the body once more.

"Of course I know better than anyone, that these things don't come cheap. I take it you are a genius. In a sense that other people just don't seem to.... appreciate properly. I on the other hand, relish in it. So, I can see the brilliance you have and would like to fund you. Come work in our HQ and get everything you need. Metal, money, subjects... Women, if that's your calling. What do you say Metalmage?"

The fact that Joek seemed willing to render further assistance cheered Anselm up quite a bit. He had not been relishing the idea of dragging the subject all the way back himself and had honestly been quite torn between letting the man lie where he was now, or force himself to return later. Neither option particularly appealed to him, as they both presented themselves as sub-par solutions...His ideas about the nature of lightning inside of the human body required some materials, baseline human corpses and suchlike. Finding those was hard, as mere grave robbery was quite a challenge and not to mention fairly amateurish. You were never sure what the subject had actually died from (unless in cases of pretty obvious and horrific violence or disease, which screwed up the results right away) and figuring that out required to disassemble the corpse, making it fairly useless for quite a few tests...A corpse with a clear cause of death and limited damage to it...A godsend, really...

Anselm watched as the men hauled their former comrade into the cart with admirable professionalism. They'd make good assistants, if untrustworthy...No, he'd build his own assistant if he really needed one...Or train one...The clockmaker picked up his satchel, slinging it across his shoulder with practiced ease and fell into step behind the cart, next to Joek, cocking his head to the side as the latter spoke of something of a problem...A simple “oh?” was all that garnered, for now, though the watchmaker should've expected the...Offer...He nodded, his face unfazed and unchanged as he listened...A place to work, supplies and a market...And a chain, a cell and someone to steal his inventions, of course...

Paranoia is only untruth when the world ISN'T out to get you...And even if that wasn't the case, Anselm understood the worth of being jealous. Jealous of power, knowledge and especially, freedom and security. The inspired him understood that too...Danger to the self was unimportant, but danger to the idea, to the freedom to work how and on what he wanted to, on his genius? Arrogant perhaps...But unsurprising...Still, the offer of supplies, funding, subjects and perhaps even a chance to have his devices tested in the field? It was an offer that appeared to that greedy side of inspiration...A chance to build truly magnificent things...To garner respect and understanding...An interesting dilemma, one he weighed expressionlessly as they walked...

”An...Interesting idea, Mr Joek.” He said it calmly, still considering the implications. Anselm didn't trust Joek, especially not if the man had a clear line to his inventions...Especially if Anselm was working too closely under his thumb...But an arrangement could be mutually ...beneficent, if handled right. ”Quite unexpected too. Not many recognize the potential of simple mechanics...” He nodded, as if thinking himself...”And I could use someone keeping an eye on some of the more...Volatile of my creations, perhaps even taking the time to put them through their paces in less controlled environs...” It was as close as an open acceptance as Anselm was likely to get, for now...He was willing to deal, but not entirely under this man's terms...”But I doubt using your place of business as my lab is a great idea. Distractions aside, sometimes things get a bit away from me...The results can be a bit bothersome to the day to day running of any business...”

He stepped in front for a second, pointing to his store, a lone, sturdy stone building with a small gate leading to a small courtyard. Anselm guided the men pulling the cart to the side of the gate, unlocking the complex lock (of is own design) to the delivery chute. ”Through here, please. Gently, if you could...” The clockworker looked back to Joek. ”But yes, a partnership would be quite welcome.”

Joek tilted his head, cocking an eyebrow once more. "Yes. I agree." He smiled brightly as they walked into the store. Joek looked around at all the different knick knacks and nodded his head. "Fancy place you got here. Love the decor." The body was drug in and the men gave an uneasy look at Joek. They obviously didn't like this new guy's brand of crazy.

The green haired man slipped his hand into his pocket and slipped the pocketwatch from it's place. A bright gold one with embroidery adorned on it. Given to him by a wealthy merchant most likely. Probably not consentually either.

"Well MetalMage. I think I will take my leave. I have other business to handle tonight. Who knows? Might drop by another subject..." If he didn't mangle the body too much. "Good evening. We will speak..... very soon." With this, the man stepped out of the building, his men jogging behind.

As the body of his subject dropped down the shute, the metal cover sliding closed, Anselm opened the entryway to the shop itself, a pair of bells tingling as the door opened wide. It was with a mixture of sadness and pride that the inspired Anselm looked over the interior. So many magnificent devices, a handiwork he was proud of himself...But so, utilitarian, uninspired, content to meander around the same beaten path as all those before him. Clocks, they were his bread and butter of course, he loved them, those little devices that were no more than a social construct, even more so than an actual construction of brass and copper...But still. So simple, so benign, so predictable...He sighed as he heard Joek comment that he liked it and nodded. It was...Alright. Joek probably had little idea of the true marvel underneath the store, underneath the basement itself, built mostly by himself...And for now, there was no reason for him to know. Anselm, even inspired, had learnt long ago that life consisted of two types of information...Need to know and want to share. Joek was entitled to neither, right now. Perhaps later...Perhaps someday. Anselm threw the man a sidelong look...Yes. He did show some...Potential. Perhaps he too was like him, a man who could look beyond what was obvious. Surely, he was already beyond social convention and the belief of what was possible...Whether he was...Inventive...

”A place to work...Nothing more, I'm afraid. Perhaps one day, but not right now...”

Joek then pulled something from his pocket, a watch, quite a pretty one at that. Not one by his own hand, no, far more fancy. Made by the court's own watchmaker, by the look of the engraving. Anselm whistled, knowing all too well that Joek, as powerful as he seemed on this street, was not the man to be granted one. A dangerous one...Very much so...He checked the time, the hands on that beautiful piece of work...Time to go, or so he said. Anselm nodded, quickly scurrying over to a box on the top of some clocks.

”Of course, one moment please...”

He had put it here, somewhere...Ah yes. Digging around the dusty box he pulled out what looked to be little more than a simple blade attached to a brass handle, the latter ending in a thick pommel. It was crude, simple, as if the man had been more interested in the idea than actually finishing it. Anselm picked it, walking back to Joek and offering it pommel-first.

”First trade of our agreement. Twist the pommel, then press the button on the blade...” Anselm smiled, tapping the point of the blade as Joek took it. ”This end to the target...Tell me what a professional thinks.”

A simple tool, a blade on a spring, held in check only by a simple lock...All you had to do was uncock the safety and spring the lock...Anselm had wondered about its effectiveness...And its use.

Joek stopped in his tracks and turned around. A gift? Joek loved gifts. With a small grin he took the present from the Metalmage. He examined it over in his hands slowly, twisting the handle and giggling at the blade's appearance. "interesting... Very interesting... I am dying to try this out. Thank you..." He looked around the room and nodded. "Here. Add this one to your collection. From what I hear, it'll probably be worth most of these combined." He reached into his pocket again, tossing the watch to the other. Upon further inspection, it could be seen that what had previously been thought of as embroidery, had in fact been grains of diamonds tracing it. This watch was worth more than some men's lives. Joek hardly ever trifled with such trivial things though. He only took it because the man had tried soooo hard to keep it away.