[ The more he considers it, the more he seriously thinks he should quit this dumb courier job, bite the bullet, and ask if that blacksmith guy if there's any work for him there. Partly because the shit he sees there whenever he vists to talk about his upcoming prosthetic just seems kinda ... cool. Completely foreign in its details, but somewhat familiar to him in ultimately being manual work, while still being interesting. More interesting than the job of delivering stuff, certainly, so a job change would be a good move, right?
And also partly because this courier job sucks.
Late in the afternoon finds Gen making his way through the streets of Kowloon on his last delivery of the day, huffing as he scuffs his sleeve past his jaw to wipe away the steady stream of sweat beading off his chin. He's had to haul around heavy shit all day, the heat's still pretty formidable around midday, and running around like this is doing wonders for his physical condition, but damn is it exhausting. Not to mention, Kowloon's still a pain in the ass to do deliveries in -- he might have grown used to the geography by now, but making his way through all these dingy allies and up these rickety staircases to cut through twisty streets is annoying.
Gen's clearly a little worn out by the time he makes his way to his destination, giving a hard huff as he leans against the wall by the doorframe and pounds his fist on it once, twice. ]
Delivery.
[ His voice, too, is a little hoarse as he calls out to whoever's inside. Hopefully they answer the door fast. A canine ear twitches as he listens for the sound of footsteps, staying where he is leaning right next to the door with fabulously unprofessional posture. ]
[ The address that Gen delivers to belongs to, for all intents and purposes, a battered door attached to a heavily-decaying, abandoned factory. The native, neon-pink mushrooms have grown throughout it — through windows that once had glass panes, through the cracks in crumbling walls, through the ground and the foundation below, weaving together to form a braided, warmly-glowing structure that is perhaps the only reason the old, squat building even exists anymore. Sandwiched between other abandoned structures, it looms at a strange angle, as if the building itself had leaned forward, loomed over those who might come knocking on the door.
Within it, there is the sound of footsteps. No startled crashing, no scuffling for purchase upon what must be a floor in terrible disrepair. The heavy tread of boots grows louder, louder still as the heavy, metal door ( perhaps the only door left, apart from the sliding loading bay shutters ) seems to briefly rattle in its frame. Through the narrow window, located just above Gen's eyeline, there is a light cast within — violet, where the mushrooms are pink.
The door rasps, squeals as it is pulled open; a single, fluid motion that should not be possible for such a battered old thing, yet there it goes. Controlled, swinging wide to reveal the dark, armored form of the thing awaiting its? his? delivery. Bondrewd has to bend down slightly, to peer under the top of the door's frame. The interior of the building is pitch black, only lit by the violet shine coming from his armor. Horrifying, or maybe normalized? because there are a lot of weirdos in Kenos these days. ]
Aah, wonderful. [ Subarashii Counter: 33. ]
You are perfectly punctual, and I am pleased to see you. Would you like me to help you carry my packages in? I am afraid I must have them brought directly to my office, as it is the only room I have cleaned thus far.
what do you mean, he's just doing a job for a nice polite guy
[ ... of course the intended recipient is some fucking weirdo.
Stubborn bravado keeps Gen from backing off when the door swings open to reveal that jagged, eerie figure coming melting out of the darkness to loom over him. But faint signs of tension do manifest in his body language -- the square of his shoulders, the grit of dirt underfoot as he subtly shifts his weight on his feet, the slight backwards cant of those canine ears of his. Not to mention, something about the guy's tone of voice makes his nerves crawl in a way he can't ignore. His gut tells him this guy is truly dangerous. ]
-- fine. [ Still, pride dictates that Gen can't show any sign of discomfort. And faced by Bondrewd's impeccably polite and gracious request, he technically can't raise any complaints. After fixing a flat stare on Bondrewd for a moment, an ear flicking in consideration, he speaks again at a deadpan drawl, almost a dare for Bondrewd to give him shit about it when he adds: ] But unpacking it's not my job. You're on your own for that.
[ Look at how wonderful his customer service skills are. Truly perfect.
He huffs a disgruntled sigh as he shifts the weight of the backpack-style shoulder harness his cargo sits on, then ducks his head to wipes his face on the upper portion of his sleeve. The fabric comes away darker with sweat; he really is quite tired. ]
Just tell me where you want it.
[ His whippy tail curls close to his leg, but otherwise Gen does an admirable job of feigning casual as he jerks his chin, indicating for Bondrewd to lead the way into that delightful, totally-safe, totally-cozy warehouse that will surely not be dangerous or sketchy at all. ]
[ That, and he would much rather handle the equipment he has coming in with his own hands; itemization and organization are better to do as things come in, than be faced with the task of cataloguing what he has available once it is all present. He is perfectly logical, like that. He truly has concluded that having Gen bring everything in, to the small office he inhabits at this time, will expedite the process; the thought of having the young man set everything down, only to have it picked up again and dragged piece-by-piece into the decrepit warehouse, is a thought accompanied by the idea of time wasted.
So, he holds his arm across the door — towering a few inches above the dog-eared courier, and gestures for him to enter. The warehouse is dark, save for the neon glow of the mushrooms that grow heavily from the floor, from the distant wall, from the ceiling itself - punching through in patches, through skylights and roofing. The ground below crunches with debris, save for a dutifully-cleaned path that must be the result of consistent, methodical travel. Amidst the pink glow, the lights of Bondrewd's heavy tail glow strongly, and it is by the hypnotic, easy sway of it that Gen will find his way. ]
In here, and on the desk. You needn't lean over. Poor thing, you look quite tired.
[ The office is not far, a former foreman's area located on the first floor — in the far, back corner of the dark, strange place. There is a lantern lit within, oil wicking strongly against the flame to cast flickering shadows and illumination upon the walls. A desk has been neatly cleaned off, a chair behind it. Bondrewd seems to be in the process of discarding broken file cabinets, judging by the heap of twisted scrap metal and drawers just beyond the door to the office.
There is! A little coffee pot and a pitcher of fresh water on the bare-bones shelves behind him, though. The scent of acrid, bitter beans fills the air — definitely burnt, it's been brewing all day in the pot. It is the pitcher of water that he moves to fetch, after heaving the sheer bulk of himself between the corner of his desk and some of the collapsed file cabinets. ]
I believe there is glassware in these packages. At least, I hope that it is my alembic system...
[ he cannot pout, but he is pouting eagerly............ ]
[ His courier sure does have animal ears -- animal ears that continue to swivel and twitch, casting about warily for any sounds as Gen follows after Bondrewd into that incredibly creepy warehouse. It's not like he's completely blind to what a sketchy situation this is, but at the same time, his pride won't permit him to admit he feels at all threatened by this situation.
He's just finishing off a job. Nothing's going to happen, right? This guy's just a fucking weirdo, but as long as he gets his package, then nothing will happen.
Probably. ]
I'm fine. [ He's snapped out of his cautious considerations and back into the moment by the mere insinuation that he's faltering -- 'poor thing', what the hell -- and huffs an indignant noise as he digs through his pockets for the waybill. ] Yeah, there's glass, it's been clinking in there the whole time I was bringing it over.
[ Paper crinkles as he unfolds the waybill to squint at the writing there. ]
... I think it's your system. [ Whatever it is. ] Here.
[ He shoves the piece of paper into Bondrewd's chest before striding over to the indicated desk, turning around so he can slowly lower the harness' contents to sit on its surface. The soft sound of glass clinking from within can be heard with the movement, though it's notably muffled; for all his shitty attitude, Gen at least knows to do his job properly, and he's taken the care to ensure his cargo's been properly packaged and transported without any danger of breakage. Buckles click and leather creaks as Gen eases himself out of the harness with a sigh of relief, then turns around to begin unpacking Bondrewd's precious delivery. ]
I'm putting everything here, so once you've confirmed that -- [ his voice breaks with a hoarse crackle, and Gen clears his throat, brow furrowed. His gaze flickers towards the pitcher of water on the shelf behind Bondrewd, though of course he's not about to ask for any of it. Another clear of the throat before he continues brusquely: ] ... once you've confirmed everything's been delivered without damage, just sign the form and I'll be on my way.
An alembic system. It is an alchemical apparatus, used to distill liquid mixtures by heating to selectively boil and then cooling to condense the vapor. Would you like to see it?
[ Accepting the waybill from Gen, he turns the paper around and examines it — methodical and slow, running the tip of his gloved finger down the length of the list, checking for the initial record of all that is present in the packaging. Once he is satisfied he knows what ought to be there, he sets the waybill down upon the creaking desk and reaches for the packages. He tugs the first towards himself, and the flash of shadow over his shoulder is hardly illuminated by the dim glow of the room. Instead, it is lit from within, as the bulk of his tail curls fluidly over his shoulder — setting the sharp tip of it to the box, slicing through with surgical precision and tensile strength.
He does the same with the other boxes, opening them all in turn to examine his order. ]
Ah.
[ He pulls his hands from one of the boxes, instead to turn and reach for the pitcher of water on the shelf; attentive, at all times, to his surroundings and the observable elements of individuals. Gen is hoarse. Gen has been hauling his delivery. Ergo, Gen might require refreshing. Lightly, he sets the pitcher upon the edge of the desk, near to the dog-eared courier. ]
Help yourself. You are a commendable young man, for not a single piece of my system is damaged. Are you the regular courier, who takes this route? I would enjoy seeing you make all of my deliveries, from here on out.
[ Gen snorts, not bothering to pause in his movements as he continues unpacking the many different packages and boxes that have been tetris-ed into his courier's pack. ]
You think I'm gonna understand anything if you show me? [ He'd only stayed enrolled in highschool to maintain some pretense of normality; he knows he's too stupid to understand anything as technical as chemistry. His movements do falter with a slight flinch when he notices the sharp slice of that tail, but Gen only squints for a moment before resuming his work. ] As long as you can sign off that nothing came damaged, then that's as far as I care about your system.
[ His customer service is truly gold star-worthy.
Still. Even that shitty attitude of his does have small cracks. Because once his pack's empty, Gen leans against a counter off to the side to start nursing a glass of water (without so much as a word of thanks, of course) -- and looks up with a blink at the compliment extended his way.
He's silent at first, but the flat expression he wears is rather betrayed by the intrigued flick of a ear, and the way his tail wags slowly behind him, just once. It's not that often that he's commended for his work, after all. ]
... too bad for you, but only for a little longer. [ Gen drains the rest of his glass to try and flatten out his voice, attempting to maintain his usual pretense at apathy as he pours himself another glass. ] I'm the regular for this area, yeah, but I'll probably only stick with this for another week or two, so make your requests fast. Unless you're gonna be looking for a blacksmith after that.
I do. [ He does. ] I believe you can understand anything that you wish to.
[ Such is the liberating, elevating power of science! It is a practical, methodical process that anyone can learn, anyone can use, and all results — provided that no corners are cut — are resoundingly solid. Science is a great equalizer in method, and a great divider in application. As he pulls apart the boxes, slicing them into panels to stack them neatly in the sagging chair he probably never actually sit in, he examines each piece of complex, nigh-alien glassware and sets it aside upon his sturdiest shelf.
As he does, he checks off the itemized list, affirming that the equipment has arrived perfectly intact. This young man truly is a credit to his trade! ]
Ah, that truly is a disappointment. I endeavor to hold on to individuals who do their jobs well. It is an inconvenience, to have to work alone after years of functioning in tandem with others. [ 'In a team' would be the normal thing to say, but let's be honest here, Bondrewd definitely means 'in tandom', since the Umbra Hands were all part of his hivemind-soul. As he steadily checks off all of the materials, he comes to the end of his list and grips the pen — signing off, with a tidy, flowing script. Finishing the task, he examines the list — diligently, and then places it on the desk. Facing Gen.
He does not speak as though he is aiming to rush the young man out the door, though. ]
A blacksmith. [ If his voice had any ebb and flow to it, he might sound mildly chiding, like a father scolding his child for not having enough faith in himself. Instead, he is brutally straightforward, robotic: ] A trade in which a master smith takes an apprentice under their tutelage, and show them a craft. That you learned such a trade, means that your assessment of yourself in regards to my alembic system is decidedly incorrect.
[ He briefly brings his hands together, a staccato burst of applause. ]
I am always in need of someone willing to assist me with repairs to my armor. It is a complex system, of both metal and organism, and additional hands always have made light of such work. See?
[ And that is the point where he rounds the desk once more, heaving the great, dark bulk of himself elegantly and gracefully towards Gen, holding his arms out now, to allow the dog-eared young man to see the pieces of his armor that are already suffering damage. Old, filed-down chunks torn from the knuckle guards, the helm scored with both nicks and the intricate, thinly-etched mark of a Kenosian Stargazer. ]
[ Still sipping at his second glass of water, Gen picks up the form first to make sure the signature's in the right spot and there's nothing else that needs filling out. And once he's confirmed it, he puts the glass down so he can fold it and tuck it away into his pocket. Job complete, then.
And aside from an idle flick of the ear, he listens to what Bondrewd says in relative silent -- it would be polite if he weren't still slowly nursing his drink, deliberately giving a rude slurp when he hears that praise (?) about his new choice in jobs.
It's only when Bondrewd finishes speaking that he drains the rest of his glass, puts it down, and leans more heavily against the counter before drawling, ]
-- sweettalking me doesn't get you shit. I'm just an apprentice for now. Go waste your breath talking nice to my boss if you want a discount or something.
[ His tail sure isn't wagging any more, because -- that first little compliment he could have dismissed as a nice fluke, but nobody's this pleasant to him for this long without some sort of ulterior motive. Whether it's a teacher attempting to rein him in by treating him with simpering cowardice, or one of his father's employees trying to win him over to their side for an extra day off, there's always something at stake. He's not the type of person that others are nice to, and he knows it.
And of course, he doesn't take kindly to people he thinks are trying to take advantage of him. The counter creaks when he shifts his weight against it, and Gen cants his head to give Bondrewd a crooked smirk. ]
Or, what. You some sort of creep trying to lure people in? S'that why you put on this -- [ languidly waving a hand at Bondrewd's everything ] -- whole show in your horror movie warehouse? [ He's just spouting bullshit, deliberately making himself unpleasant, but those last words still peter off into a laugh because -- real funny. As if he'd ever fall prey to some bullshit like that. ] Nice try, but try it on someone else, instead.
Aah, I see. You must think I am trying to flatter you. You are not the first person to make such a claim.
[ Truly, Bondrewd has made a number of brows knit and lips curl already, as he speaks not in insipid praise and fawning adoration, but in experience, fact, method. Gen drawls at him, resistant to whatever perception he has developed of Bondrewd's mild 'pleasantries' and intent, while he remains utterly unaffected by the twisting tone that has been aimed in his direction. Badly, he wants to rest his hand upon this young man's head already, and ruffle the space between those dark ears; how cute they are, and how vivacious he is proving himself to be! ]
Not at all. You are free to leave, whenever you would like to. Do be sure to finish drinking your fill, before you go. I am speaking less to 'sweettalk' you, and more out of factual evidence. Many of my subordinates in the Abyss were naught but rogues before they came to the Ido Front. They were uneducated, difficult young men and women who said things similar to what you just did. Each one of them was able to change their lives, to their own satisfaction.
[ Ha ha! Aren't they cute! ]
I am only telling you what I told them, Mister Courier. You reminded me of them, very much. I loved them all, and dearly.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
action ; backdated to early pelu (mid-march)
And also partly because this courier job sucks.
Late in the afternoon finds Gen making his way through the streets of Kowloon on his last delivery of the day, huffing as he scuffs his sleeve past his jaw to wipe away the steady stream of sweat beading off his chin. He's had to haul around heavy shit all day, the heat's still pretty formidable around midday, and running around like this is doing wonders for his physical condition, but damn is it exhausting. Not to mention, Kowloon's still a pain in the ass to do deliveries in -- he might have grown used to the geography by now, but making his way through all these dingy allies and up these rickety staircases to cut through twisty streets is annoying.
Gen's clearly a little worn out by the time he makes his way to his destination, giving a hard huff as he leans against the wall by the doorframe and pounds his fist on it once, twice. ]
Delivery.
[ His voice, too, is a little hoarse as he calls out to whoever's inside. Hopefully they answer the door fast. A canine ear twitches as he listens for the sound of footsteps, staying where he is leaning right next to the door with fabulously unprofessional posture. ]
for once i really do feel sorry for gen
Within it, there is the sound of footsteps. No startled crashing, no scuffling for purchase upon what must be a floor in terrible disrepair. The heavy tread of boots grows louder, louder still as the heavy, metal door ( perhaps the only door left, apart from the sliding loading bay shutters ) seems to briefly rattle in its frame. Through the narrow window, located just above Gen's eyeline, there is a light cast within — violet, where the mushrooms are pink.
The door rasps, squeals as it is pulled open; a single, fluid motion that should not be possible for such a battered old thing, yet there it goes. Controlled, swinging wide to reveal the dark, armored form of the thing awaiting its? his? delivery. Bondrewd has to bend down slightly, to peer under the top of the door's frame. The interior of the building is pitch black, only lit by the violet shine coming from his armor. Horrifying, or maybe normalized? because there are a lot of weirdos in Kenos these days. ]
Aah, wonderful. [ Subarashii Counter: 33. ]
You are perfectly punctual, and I am pleased to see you. Would you like me to help you carry my packages in? I am afraid I must have them brought directly to my office, as it is the only room I have cleaned thus far.
what do you mean, he's just doing a job for a nice polite guy
Stubborn bravado keeps Gen from backing off when the door swings open to reveal that jagged, eerie figure coming melting out of the darkness to loom over him. But faint signs of tension do manifest in his body language -- the square of his shoulders, the grit of dirt underfoot as he subtly shifts his weight on his feet, the slight backwards cant of those canine ears of his. Not to mention, something about the guy's tone of voice makes his nerves crawl in a way he can't ignore. His gut tells him this guy is truly dangerous. ]
-- fine. [ Still, pride dictates that Gen can't show any sign of discomfort. And faced by Bondrewd's impeccably polite and gracious request, he technically can't raise any complaints. After fixing a flat stare on Bondrewd for a moment, an ear flicking in consideration, he speaks again at a deadpan drawl, almost a dare for Bondrewd to give him shit about it when he adds: ] But unpacking it's not my job. You're on your own for that.
[ Look at how wonderful his customer service skills are. Truly perfect.
He huffs a disgruntled sigh as he shifts the weight of the backpack-style shoulder harness his cargo sits on, then ducks his head to wipes his face on the upper portion of his sleeve. The fabric comes away darker with sweat; he really is quite tired. ]
Just tell me where you want it.
[ His whippy tail curls close to his leg, but otherwise Gen does an admirable job of feigning casual as he jerks his chin, indicating for Bondrewd to lead the way into that delightful, totally-safe, totally-cozy warehouse that will surely not be dangerous or sketchy at all. ]
no subject
He badly wants to touch them. ]
Naturally. You are a courier, not a maid.
[ That, and he would much rather handle the equipment he has coming in with his own hands; itemization and organization are better to do as things come in, than be faced with the task of cataloguing what he has available once it is all present. He is perfectly logical, like that. He truly has concluded that having Gen bring everything in, to the small office he inhabits at this time, will expedite the process; the thought of having the young man set everything down, only to have it picked up again and dragged piece-by-piece into the decrepit warehouse, is a thought accompanied by the idea of time wasted.
So, he holds his arm across the door — towering a few inches above the dog-eared courier, and gestures for him to enter. The warehouse is dark, save for the neon glow of the mushrooms that grow heavily from the floor, from the distant wall, from the ceiling itself - punching through in patches, through skylights and roofing. The ground below crunches with debris, save for a dutifully-cleaned path that must be the result of consistent, methodical travel. Amidst the pink glow, the lights of Bondrewd's heavy tail glow strongly, and it is by the hypnotic, easy sway of it that Gen will find his way. ]
In here, and on the desk. You needn't lean over. Poor thing, you look quite tired.
[ The office is not far, a former foreman's area located on the first floor — in the far, back corner of the dark, strange place. There is a lantern lit within, oil wicking strongly against the flame to cast flickering shadows and illumination upon the walls. A desk has been neatly cleaned off, a chair behind it. Bondrewd seems to be in the process of discarding broken file cabinets, judging by the heap of twisted scrap metal and drawers just beyond the door to the office.
There is! A little coffee pot and a pitcher of fresh water on the bare-bones shelves behind him, though. The scent of acrid, bitter beans fills the air — definitely burnt, it's been brewing all day in the pot. It is the pitcher of water that he moves to fetch, after heaving the sheer bulk of himself between the corner of his desk and some of the collapsed file cabinets. ]
I believe there is glassware in these packages. At least, I hope that it is my alembic system...
[ he cannot pout, but he is pouting eagerly............ ]
no subject
He's just finishing off a job. Nothing's going to happen, right? This guy's just a fucking weirdo, but as long as he gets his package, then nothing will happen.
Probably. ]
I'm fine. [ He's snapped out of his cautious considerations and back into the moment by the mere insinuation that he's faltering -- 'poor thing', what the hell -- and huffs an indignant noise as he digs through his pockets for the waybill. ] Yeah, there's glass, it's been clinking in there the whole time I was bringing it over.
[ Paper crinkles as he unfolds the waybill to squint at the writing there. ]
... I think it's your system. [ Whatever it is. ] Here.
[ He shoves the piece of paper into Bondrewd's chest before striding over to the indicated desk, turning around so he can slowly lower the harness' contents to sit on its surface. The soft sound of glass clinking from within can be heard with the movement, though it's notably muffled; for all his shitty attitude, Gen at least knows to do his job properly, and he's taken the care to ensure his cargo's been properly packaged and transported without any danger of breakage. Buckles click and leather creaks as Gen eases himself out of the harness with a sigh of relief, then turns around to begin unpacking Bondrewd's precious delivery. ]
I'm putting everything here, so once you've confirmed that -- [ his voice breaks with a hoarse crackle, and Gen clears his throat, brow furrowed. His gaze flickers towards the pitcher of water on the shelf behind Bondrewd, though of course he's not about to ask for any of it. Another clear of the throat before he continues brusquely: ] ... once you've confirmed everything's been delivered without damage, just sign the form and I'll be on my way.
no subject
[ Accepting the waybill from Gen, he turns the paper around and examines it — methodical and slow, running the tip of his gloved finger down the length of the list, checking for the initial record of all that is present in the packaging. Once he is satisfied he knows what ought to be there, he sets the waybill down upon the creaking desk and reaches for the packages. He tugs the first towards himself, and the flash of shadow over his shoulder is hardly illuminated by the dim glow of the room. Instead, it is lit from within, as the bulk of his tail curls fluidly over his shoulder — setting the sharp tip of it to the box, slicing through with surgical precision and tensile strength.
He does the same with the other boxes, opening them all in turn to examine his order. ]
Ah.
[ He pulls his hands from one of the boxes, instead to turn and reach for the pitcher of water on the shelf; attentive, at all times, to his surroundings and the observable elements of individuals. Gen is hoarse. Gen has been hauling his delivery. Ergo, Gen might require refreshing. Lightly, he sets the pitcher upon the edge of the desk, near to the dog-eared courier. ]
Help yourself. You are a commendable young man, for not a single piece of my system is damaged. Are you the regular courier, who takes this route? I would enjoy seeing you make all of my deliveries, from here on out.
no subject
You think I'm gonna understand anything if you show me? [ He'd only stayed enrolled in highschool to maintain some pretense of normality; he knows he's too stupid to understand anything as technical as chemistry. His movements do falter with a slight flinch when he notices the sharp slice of that tail, but Gen only squints for a moment before resuming his work. ] As long as you can sign off that nothing came damaged, then that's as far as I care about your system.
[ His customer service is truly gold star-worthy.
Still. Even that shitty attitude of his does have small cracks. Because once his pack's empty, Gen leans against a counter off to the side to start nursing a glass of water (without so much as a word of thanks, of course) -- and looks up with a blink at the compliment extended his way.
He's silent at first, but the flat expression he wears is rather betrayed by the intrigued flick of a ear, and the way his tail wags slowly behind him, just once. It's not that often that he's commended for his work, after all. ]
... too bad for you, but only for a little longer. [ Gen drains the rest of his glass to try and flatten out his voice, attempting to maintain his usual pretense at apathy as he pours himself another glass. ] I'm the regular for this area, yeah, but I'll probably only stick with this for another week or two, so make your requests fast. Unless you're gonna be looking for a blacksmith after that.
no subject
[ Such is the liberating, elevating power of science! It is a practical, methodical process that anyone can learn, anyone can use, and all results — provided that no corners are cut — are resoundingly solid. Science is a great equalizer in method, and a great divider in application. As he pulls apart the boxes, slicing them into panels to stack them neatly in the sagging chair he probably never actually sit in, he examines each piece of complex, nigh-alien glassware and sets it aside upon his sturdiest shelf.
As he does, he checks off the itemized list, affirming that the equipment has arrived perfectly intact. This young man truly is a credit to his trade! ]
Ah, that truly is a disappointment. I endeavor to hold on to individuals who do their jobs well. It is an inconvenience, to have to work alone after years of functioning in tandem with others. [ 'In a team' would be the normal thing to say, but let's be honest here, Bondrewd definitely means 'in tandom', since the Umbra Hands were all part of his hivemind-soul. As he steadily checks off all of the materials, he comes to the end of his list and grips the pen — signing off, with a tidy, flowing script. Finishing the task, he examines the list — diligently, and then places it on the desk. Facing Gen.
He does not speak as though he is aiming to rush the young man out the door, though. ]
A blacksmith. [ If his voice had any ebb and flow to it, he might sound mildly chiding, like a father scolding his child for not having enough faith in himself. Instead, he is brutally straightforward, robotic: ] A trade in which a master smith takes an apprentice under their tutelage, and show them a craft. That you learned such a trade, means that your assessment of yourself in regards to my alembic system is decidedly incorrect.
[ He briefly brings his hands together, a staccato burst of applause. ]
I am always in need of someone willing to assist me with repairs to my armor. It is a complex system, of both metal and organism, and additional hands always have made light of such work. See?
[ And that is the point where he rounds the desk once more, heaving the great, dark bulk of himself elegantly and gracefully towards Gen, holding his arms out now, to allow the dog-eared young man to see the pieces of his armor that are already suffering damage. Old, filed-down chunks torn from the knuckle guards, the helm scored with both nicks and the intricate, thinly-etched mark of a Kenosian Stargazer. ]
Our paths may continue to cross, how fortunate.
no subject
And aside from an idle flick of the ear, he listens to what Bondrewd says in relative silent -- it would be polite if he weren't still slowly nursing his drink, deliberately giving a rude slurp when he hears that praise (?) about his new choice in jobs.
It's only when Bondrewd finishes speaking that he drains the rest of his glass, puts it down, and leans more heavily against the counter before drawling, ]
-- sweettalking me doesn't get you shit. I'm just an apprentice for now. Go waste your breath talking nice to my boss if you want a discount or something.
[ His tail sure isn't wagging any more, because -- that first little compliment he could have dismissed as a nice fluke, but nobody's this pleasant to him for this long without some sort of ulterior motive. Whether it's a teacher attempting to rein him in by treating him with simpering cowardice, or one of his father's employees trying to win him over to their side for an extra day off, there's always something at stake. He's not the type of person that others are nice to, and he knows it.
And of course, he doesn't take kindly to people he thinks are trying to take advantage of him. The counter creaks when he shifts his weight against it, and Gen cants his head to give Bondrewd a crooked smirk. ]
Or, what. You some sort of creep trying to lure people in? S'that why you put on this -- [ languidly waving a hand at Bondrewd's everything ] -- whole show in your horror movie warehouse? [ He's just spouting bullshit, deliberately making himself unpleasant, but those last words still peter off into a laugh because -- real funny. As if he'd ever fall prey to some bullshit like that. ] Nice try, but try it on someone else, instead.
no subject
[ Hm? Oh. ]
Aah, I see. You must think I am trying to flatter you. You are not the first person to make such a claim.
[ Truly, Bondrewd has made a number of brows knit and lips curl already, as he speaks not in insipid praise and fawning adoration, but in experience, fact, method. Gen drawls at him, resistant to whatever perception he has developed of Bondrewd's mild 'pleasantries' and intent, while he remains utterly unaffected by the twisting tone that has been aimed in his direction. Badly, he wants to rest his hand upon this young man's head already, and ruffle the space between those dark ears; how cute they are, and how vivacious he is proving himself to be! ]
Not at all. You are free to leave, whenever you would like to. Do be sure to finish drinking your fill, before you go. I am speaking less to 'sweettalk' you, and more out of factual evidence. Many of my subordinates in the Abyss were naught but rogues before they came to the Ido Front. They were uneducated, difficult young men and women who said things similar to what you just did. Each one of them was able to change their lives, to their own satisfaction.
[ Ha ha! Aren't they cute! ]
I am only telling you what I told them, Mister Courier. You reminded me of them, very much. I loved them all, and dearly.