Setting Sail 10- Cantankerous Clothier and Sultry Smith

Beatrice rose from his bed and began to gather their clothes from the entryway. He rubbed Daisy’s belly idly, a happy grumbling coming from his pet. He stared at his ceiling somewhat intently. He’d met his father again, even more briefly than the first time. He’d met an older sister he never knew he had. Well, technically his sister. She cast doubt on how strong their relationship was from the get go. Yet… there was someone else in his family. Someone he had apparently known indirectly all his life by operating within her domain, by using her name as his job title. The sound of clattering pans and water being poured into a pot told him that Beatrice was starting on dinner. She appeared in the doorway again, his clothes folded in her hands.

“I’m going to fetch the boar flanks from home. You’ll keep the fire going and let the water boil while I’m gone?” Beatrice phrased it as a question, but he knew he had to do his part. He stopped rubbing Daisy’s belly and got out of bed. He noticed Beatrice’s eyes run over him like rain down a hillside. He wiggled his hips so his cock would swing and she bit her lip. He chuckled and took his clothes from her, getting dressed while she watched. She stood still staring at him dreamily in the doorway.

“Ye were gonna go get the boar flank right?” He teased her. She nodded slowly before walking off. Wilkes was left purely with time to think again. To be his own person in solitude for a time. Fire wood was stacked neatly in the corner by the stove, he tossed a smaller log onto the coals. The flames began to heat the pot to a low simmer. Feeding the flame was a simple enough task. Whenever the flames would start to mediate themselves he’d add another log and stir up the coals. Keeping any ash that was being formed from choking them out. Slowly but surely the water rose to a rolling boil. A smile tugged at his lips now, the fire would hold the heat there for a while. A log every few minutes or so. Walking over to his bookshelf, he pulled out the elven technique manual. Thumbing through it idly, he finally made it to the actual polearm section. The basics of unarmed techniques had been helpful enough when combined with strong gust. He preferred a sword out of familiarity, but a polearm would give him better control of a larger area. The idea of controlling space through weapon reach and manipulating the wind was simply too great a concept to pass on.

The illustrations were simple enough to follow, even if he didn’t fully understand why he would need a stance like that. A polearm was almost always a two handed weapon, but it seemed elves would use them with one hand to keep more limbs in motion. A lot of the movements depended on whirling either the weapon or the body with only a single planted point. Sometimes the planted point was the butt of the weapon. Using it as something to leap off as a “vaulting pole.” what an odd idea.

Beatrice came back with the dried flanks, noticing his nose deep in a book with a roaring fire nearby she went about preparing the stew. She hummed softly while mincing the meat into fine cubes. Once that was done, she prepared a variety of vegetables. Carrots, Potatoes, Crythums, and Shallots turned into hearty slices one by one. The vegetables were added alongside shoulder bones from a boar. The stock would take a while to be properly cooked into existence. Turning his attention back to the manual in front of him, the depictions moved from basic movements to resting points. Guards more than stances it seemed, a way to keep his weapon between someone else’s strike and his body. He reviewed them again and again, at one point standing and attempting to emulate them.

The moon rose high into the sky. The stock was finished, and Beatrice now watched him move through the motions. She seemed amused at first, but by his fifth go around of recreating each stance without a weapon she realized he wasn’t just swinging his body around. The motions were flowing, intuitive to keeping your body moving as much as your weapon. To change position rapidly within a relatively wide step from where you were. He caught himself bracing and catching in relatively the same way he would on the ship. Feeling where his weight was more likely to settle evenly before his foot even made contact. Beatrice clapped her hands sharply once and snapped his attention over to her.

“Dinner’s ready, if you’re ready to eat instead of moving through stances all night.” Beatrice teased him. A hot bowl of stew left a trail of steam behind her as she settled down at his table. Daisy walked over and planted herself beside her. Big puppy dog eyes seeming to beg for a bite of stew. Beatrice chortled at the poor dog, scratching behind her ears instead of offering a bite of food. A single paw stomped in response followed by a whine. This only drove his beloved to tease the poor dog harder.

His own bowl had a similar trail of steam as he walked. Settling down across from her it just felt right. Sure his future held a lot of possibilities, but this seemed best. Sitting in a humble home, surrounded by what he loved and food enough to satisfy. The stew was hearty, the thick chunks of vegetable and tender bites of meat had him practically shoveling it into his mouth. He knew Beatrice well enough to forego a bit of table manners. Considering she had actively seen him naked a few hours ago, pigging out wasn’t so bad. Wilkes made sure to thank her for the food before washing the dishes. It wasn’t exactly an even trade, but making her clean after cooking seemed a bit unfair. After all she only had to cook because he won their little spar. With the dishes set on a rag to dry suddenly he felt himself getting tired again. Sure they’d had their little nap, but he was still usually asleep by now.

The door to his bedroom creaked open again. More labors for keeping his shack well together piping up about their existence. He’d spend the whole of tomorrow on the little errands and chores that needed him. Only eight more days at this point, and then he’d be off to the mainland or Osan as Sayila had called it. Naming a continent made sense only if there were more of them, it was probably a remnant from when there were other continents easily reached from the isles. Erik or Amy probably had some information on why that was. He made a mental note to tell Dortas the proper name of the continent when next he saw him. The lad was his to train.

Wilkes' clothes hit the floor unceremoniously. His naked form slinked under the sheets that still smelled of sex. Beatrice leaned on his door frame while looking at him. He waved her towards the bed but she stood firm in the doorway.

“Wilkes, your sheets were soaked with sweat. You’re better off washing them and leaving them to dry in the morning. Come sleep at my house instead.”

“But I’m so comfortable, why would I leave being comfy?” he argued back, she sighed and decided to strip down and join him. The sheets weren’t wet or clingy or anything. Perfectly fine to sleep in, just a little musky. When the gentle grip of sleep pulled him from the waking world, there was nothing there to greet him.

No fields of amber, no terrifying prophecies in the middle of a wet dream, just pure and simple emptiness. His feet rested on what felt like an impossible large body of water, cool to the touch but not overwhelmingly so. His eyes wandered upwards, the infinite expanse above was a blank black. Almost like the back of his eyelids, but without the slight seam from the two halves of the lid. He nestled down, sitting with his legs crossed. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and wind whistled beneath it. Rather than turn towards the sound, he let it be. If a storm was coming, he would just cast Sailor’s Shelter. He had no reason to fear either sea or storm anymore. He could respect it, he would oblige it, but he would never fear it again.

Rain fell upon his skin in this dream now. Water falling from what he understood to be above in the empty expanse. An idea crept in. If the wind responded to him, perhaps other bits of the storm could. In a way it already had when he punched a hole in the storm, he had figured he just pushed a massive wind into the sky. Was it that, or had he manipulated the clouds? The rain stopped as quickly as it came. Morning light shone on his eyes, and he woke in his bed. Still cuddled up with Beatrice.

As much as he would have loved to lay in bed until noon came and let another day slip through his fingers, he had work to do. Carefully pulling his arm out from under Beatrice’s neck, he regained his personal space inch by inch. With a slow step he awkwardly reached the floor without jostling his sleeping courtship too much. Pulling his clothes on he grabbed his coin pouch and prepared himself for a day at the market. One of the last eight days until it was time to ship out. One foot after another he made his way to the tailor bright and early. Redbeard’s sign had just been flipped to open when he pushed the door open smiling. The bell gave a soft chime heralding Wilkes’s arrival.

“Wilkes! Good ta see ye boyo, I’ve got that spaer sleeve ye commissioned all finished up. Oh and a few more shirts in yer size. Do tell me if ye like the shades as I believe they suit you.” Redbeard was enthusiastic to see him again. The dwarf was practically beaming as he scampered to grab the garments he had mentioned. Something was off with how cheery he was being, the red faced screaming was somehow more charming than this. After Redbeard headed into the back, he then walked in from the front door. Wilkes did a double take. Staring at the dwarf in the front of the shop, then back to the rear of his store.

“Well if it ain’t the horn swaggling fool that went using me hard work as blood bandages! Come ta get somethan beside scraps to cover yer raggedy hide?” The mean redbeard hounded him. Wilkes kept glancing back to where the first redbeard had vanished to. Then redbeard walked back into the room. Redbeard stared at Redbeard.

“Well is he?”

“Aye brother.”

“Wait, so which is the Clothier, er Gondrid? I called one of you the wrong one once, and since then have been hoping not to run into both of you again.” Wilkes admitted sheepishly, the angry redbeard belted a laugh while raising his hand.

“Ah told ye the lad needed proper dwarvish customer service! Went about thinking we were both Gondrid, suckle on tha one Dondrid! E’ryone remembers the clothier more than the tailor!”

“I’ll buy ye both a pint if ye let it be Gondrid. Yer brother’s a cheery type, don’t go raining on his parade. I’m just used to the crass and abrasive sailors I work with.” Wilkes said snappily at the laughing dwarf. The mention of free alcohol caused the laughter to cease. Gondrid stood from his shop floor and dusted himself off.

“Come now lad, lemme tease me poor brother. He makes nearly nine times the commission I do on account of his sunshine behavior. Bastard practically dropped from the unceiling.”

“Mother and Father were married when they had us! I ain’t a bastard!” Dondrid piped up with a seemingly uncharacteristic anger. Gondrid chuckled at his brother’s anger, blowing a raspberry.

“What’s wrong with being a bastard?” Wilkes folded his arms and tilted his head to a side. A mimed accusatory stare laying heavy on the dwarf. Dondrid began to sputter an apology before Wilkes just chuckled and waved it off. “S’alright, I got the idea. My pops is a right bastard as well. Took the time to talk to me, just to blow me off.”

The pair gave him a sympathetic glance, Wilkes dropped fifty gold pieces into a waiting hand. A week’s wages gone. He sucked the air between his teeth as he cinched the pouch back up and tucked it into his pants pocket. A glance was exchanged between the brother dwarves.

“Actually Wilkes, ye overpaid slightly there. Here.” Dondrid pushed ten pieces back into his palm. Before Wilkes protested the dwarf’s hands gripped his hand into a fist. A sharp glare from the diminutive man made the message clear. The stack of shirts on the counter stared up at him. Each a different slightly vibrant color. One in navy blue, forest green, a sandy yellow color, a deep red that reminded him of wine, and finally a plain white one. Not offwhite like his original shirt had now become, but a true cottony white. “Ye done enough for this town, ye ever need clothes ye come talk to either of us. We’ll work something out.”

He took off his damaged shirt and slipped a new one on. The fit was cut to his lean build, while still giving him plenty of room to move. He nodded happily. He leaned on their counter in the center of the store while Donrid worked quickly. It couldn’t have been much longer than a minute when he returned the old shirt with its new sleeve attached. Compared to his work shirt the new ones were far softer and in admittedly better condition. Three quarter sleeves stopped just past his elbows and sat comfortably there. Space enough for a thumb and finger to pinch the sleeve to pull it back down, but also enough fabric to be rolled up if he needed to do some dirty work. He thanked them before heading out the door.

“Of course, thank you, sirs.” Wilkes forced proper human out of his mouth. The words felt a bit like too hot of a bite of foot, slipping around unevenly. He smiled widely at them as he walked out. With his new shirts in tow he had a few things left to do. He needed to confirm his weapon of will with the smith, and he needed to return the elven manual. It had taught him all it really could, he had the stances mostly memorized. Didn’t need to be able to recreate them perfectly, just well enough to defend himself.

When he returned home, Beatrice had made his bed, refilled Daisy’s food and water, put away the dried dishes, and left. He hated to have missed her, but she’d get it. He had to go to the Tailor’s first thing, and then probably check in on the crew. He was still on bedrest, again, but he wanted to be working. Dortas was short on time before his first major voyage, and it was Wilkes’s job to be sure he was ready. Walking into his bedroom he realized he didn’t really have anywhere to put his spare shirts. Stacking them in a pile in the corner would have to do for now.

Setting back into town he went through the square to keep with the flow of the rare foot traffic and putted along to the smith. A wave of warmth washed over him after clearing the threshold into the forge. The air was dry and smelled faintly of metal. He smacked his lips a few times just to get back to his usual level of moisture. Pressing on he rang the bell on her counter. The smith rounded the corner beaming at him.

“Ah Wilkes, I had heard you paid a visit to the Redbeard brothers, I had an inkling you’d be here as your next stop. Have you decided on the weapon you want?” She asked

“Well, sort of. I know a polearm is what I need, it just suits me best. But I’m stuck between a trident and a halberd.” He admitted to her. She raised an eyebrow at the mention of a trident. “I know its not a standard weapon, and I may be better off with a spear, but trident fishing is an older practice than this island. It fits my relationship with Erik y’know?”

She nodded for a few beats. Before stepping away. She came back after rummaging through a storage closet. An armful of rolled up scrolls tucked beneath her left. She spread the first of them out. She put out three first and began to unfurl them. Each one had a drawing and notes for how to recreate each design.

A trident whose prongs were based around an octopus, laid heavily in a silvery steel. Its haft was covered in what looked like the leather from a manta ray. Second was one of a deep black steel almost like ink, and it had several spines like the urchins he had fished up a few years back by mistake. The haft was bound in leather with a scale-like pattern. It reminded him roughly of tuna. The third was the one that spoke to him the most. It was called Reitarius, named after the human hero from myth. A bronze head, wooden haft bound in simple leathers with a slate gray scarf on the butt. It was intentionally soft spoken, but wonderfully done.

“You fancy the Reitarus don’t you, over the two more loud mouthed ones?” The smith asked him, he nodded plainly. “Figured, you seem the type to speak softly and carry a big stick.”

She winked after that line. Wilkes felt a faint blush creeping onto his face. Was she flirting with him?

“Yea, I’ll pay you half now and half when its finished if that’s okay?”

“Nah lad, keep your gold. I know you’re good for it. Besides the Reitaurus is only expensive for the cow leather on the grip. Otherwise I could probably have it finished by next week.” She said with a smile. That made more sense, this had a wooden haft compared to the others’ metal hafts. That would mean less smithing time and just outsourcing the one part to the truebranches, who were naturally speedy workers.

“Oh, alright then. I guess just have someone wait on the docks for when I’m about to sail to the mainland, or I guess send someone to collect when I come back?” Wilkes offered, the smith only smiled wider.

“If you can’t pay with coins, I might think of another way you can pay me back. I know you’re skilled with manual labor, and you’ve got such nice, strong hands.” Her smile now seemed to have a hungry edge. He gulped and gave a slightly nervous chuckle.

“Right I could haul firewood for ye and make it into charcoal. I’m in good with Rangpar so that’d be easy. Thanks for helping me, I’ll be seeing ye.” He spoke quickly while he sped towards the door. He could have swore he heard her lick her lips as he left.