[Medieval] Hammered

[Layla "Nimbus" Karimi]

(Note: This roleplay is essentially a spinoff of Party Capital, and takes place during the same event. You won't need to read Party Capital in order to understand this, but if you want to see even more Medieval drunken shenanigans then that's the place to go!)

"FIRE-SHOOTING DRAGON AUTOMATONS!"

This bizarre shout, combined with the slamming open of the door to Clarissa's room and workshop, startled Ginger awake with enough of a jolt that she let out a rather undignified squawk and nearly fell off her perch. The kestral fluttered to keep her balance and shot the blacksmith a confused look as she strode to her table and started gathering materials.

A dozen questions flicked through Ginger's mind, most of them consisting of some variation of '...What?' Finally, though, she settled on a more coherent one.

"I thought you were spending the day at the festival," she said, flying over to the workbench. Metal plates, gears, screws and other things that the falcon couldn't name were beginning to pile up around her. It was strange -- when Ginger had first gotten to visit Clarissa's workshop back before her human-communication pendant had been made, the girl's "magitek" had generally been crude in make and consisted of little more than cleverly enchanted objects. But her own smithy and the higher pay that came with being a master in the craft had allowed her access to more materials for personal work, and the influence of learned inventors like the noble Ambrose had given her access to more complex ideas for her creations.

"I wass at the festival!" Clarissa chirped in reply. "It was shoooo great -- there'sh all kinds of thinsh to eat an' drink and Lyellian street performers and one of them has theshe trick birds an' --" She froze for a moment and turned toward Ginger, eyes wide. "Heeey, why don't you do bird tricks? Yer shmart, you should learn to be a performing birdie too!"

Ginger hopped back, startled by the sudden shift in conversation. "Uhh..." She shifted for a moment while the blacksmith stared expectantly.

"So why did you come back early?" the kestral asked. It was clear now that Clarissa had gotten herself drunk at the festival, and she hoped that this would leave her companion distractable enough to accept the changed topic.

Clarissa's face lit up. "I had thish idea and I had ta come an' start working on it right away!" she turned a mass of metal that she had been slowly and sloppily piecing together so that Ginger could better see it. "Look! Thish is jusht a pro- a proto...thingy, the real thing will be huuuuuge! Ish like a dragon, except most normal dragons don't get along with people and don' wanna help us unless we use summony dragonsh and shummoning dragons takes a lot of magic an' only a few people can do it. But thish'll be an automaton that flies and breatsh fire like a dragon and and and if Courdon triesh to kill our princessesh again we can have lotsh of automatons to eat them!"

The blacksmith grinned triumphantly as Ginger tried to process what she had just said. The falcon didn't really know much about technology or the military, but she had heard Clarissa explain before that she tended to have some... wild ideas when she was inebriated. Ginger wasn't really sure just how the normally cautious woman had gotten this way, but she did know that Clarissa was stubborn enough sober and would doubtless be dangerously hard to reason with in her current state.

I should find someone who knows what she's actually talking about, the kestral thought to herself. Maybe they'll be able to keep her from blowing up the workshop.

"That's, uh... nice, but it sure sounds like a lot of work. Why don't you just wait here while I fetch one of your inventor friends to help you out?" she asked hopefully.

Clarissa waved the comment away, her attention turned to her work. "Thass nische, but I haffta build this before I ferget!" Ginger would have grimaced if her beaked face was capable of it -- the tools Clarissa was trying to work with now seemed too delicate to be used by someone in such a muddled state.

Ginger decided she'd been wasting too much time in the workshop and flew out the window. If anyone can talk some sense into her about this, it'll be Ambrose, she decided, setting course for Stallion Manor. That particular noble was the right combination of calmly reasonable, good with technology, close with Clarissa and not likely to be drunk out of his skull right now.

SPOILER: Click to show

Clarissa is on a drunken inventing spree and Ginger is beginning to fear for the continued existence of the smithy. While her human companion attempts to build a prototype for a fire-breathing, flying robot while inebriated (gee, what a wonderful idea!), Ginger goes looking for Ambrose to see if he can talk some sense into her.

[Celestial]

The soft hum in the air contrasted harshly with how empty Stallion Manor was. Most of the servants had been given a day off, or had taken the day off, to go see the Lyellian performers that were going to be in Medieville. By the sound that carried in from the festival grounds, creating the background buzzing that echoed off the stone walls of the Manor, it seemed like they had joined the entire town in the celebrations. Certainly only the whole of Medieville, carousing and revelling, could make enough noise to carry all the way in here.

Ambrose knew he had made a very wise choice not to go. As long as he could remember, he hated being in large groups. If he was vulnerable with a small number of people when his visions came over him, that danger was multiplied a hundredfold in a crowd. A festival of that scale in the capital was likely to attract pickpockets and, knowing Medieville, drunks of every variety. An old noble staring at nothing would not be safe around either and there was no way Ambrose could ever enjoy himself with that thought on his mind. No matter how infrequent, whether they were explained or not, his visions were still debilitating when they came. It was better not to take the risk.

Besides, this way, he could relish the peace and quiet of the Manor to catch up with his work. Everything Aldrich and the Council required of him had been done this morning and was now stacked in a neat pile in his office, and Ambrose wanted to wait a few days before he began writing his letters to both Alain and Lucinda. Which is why right now, he was up in his workshop, the blueprint lying open in front of him and his tool-kit spread neatly off to the side along with the parts that he had commissioned from Clarissa. Right now, the focus was putting it all together and then seeing if it worked. Though he had put a lot of thought into it, since the vision had not given him much in the internal mechanism of the prosthetic limb he had seen. But if he had gotten it right then perhaps, perhaps it could help somebody. Woo knew, there were a lot of people, especially former soldiers, who would appreciate a functioning leg again. But the balance and all the small parts which seemed so easy on paper was complicated...

It was only the sound of occassional barking that snapped him sharply out of his concentration. Ambrose turned to the source of the noise; Nutmeg. The stray dog that had followed Kirin home not too long ago that they had taken in. For some reason, she had taken a shine to Ambroseand frequently hung around him if he was working or inventing. Not that he minded, he liked the company. But normally she was much calmer than this, she did not bark at nothing. Unless...

He turned his head to the window and finally saw what had attracted Nutmeg's attention. There were a few kestrels around Medieville but only one wore the construct that allowed her to talk: Clarissa's kestrel, Ginger. Ambrose frowned. Normally she did not come all the way out here to the Manor, at least not alone.

But that was a question that could not be answered immediately. Ambrose leapt out of his chair as Nutmeg continued to bark, scared that Ginger would fly away at the sight and sound of a potential threat. He kneeled down beside the dog and stroked her head and her back, especially putting a little pressure on her muzzle, hoping that would help. It worked, thankfully. Nutmeg calmed down, at leatst enough to stop barking. However, she still kept giving Ginger a very curious look, seeming to assess her. Just because the dog was quiet doesn't mean she was alert.

Relieved that Nutmeg would at least not scare the kestrel, Ambrose got up to his feet and turned back towards the window into which Ginger had flown. He moved towards her, wrapping the thick sleeve of his robe tighter around his arm to provide a perch for her if she so wanted. While Ambrose himself had never been into falconry, there were plenty of Stallions who were, enough for him to observe and learn the basics at least.

“Hello, Ginger,” he said calmly, stretching out his arm to her to see if she wanted to perch. “I am sorry about Nutmeg but I promise, she means no harm,” Ambrose's look turned to one of concern. “What happened? You don't normally fly out here on your own, is Clarissa okay?”

SPOILER: Click to show

Ambrose decides the festival is definitely not his thing and spends the day happily inventing things, until Ginger shows up. Once he's calmed down team pet Nutmeg, he offers his arm to Ginger and asks her what's wrong.

[Layla "Nimbus" Karimi]

Ginger was plenty familiar with Medieville's fondness for grand festivals, but as she flew over the town she swore that this particular one had grown even rowdier than usual. While the presence of drunken partygoers didn't surprise her, the sheer number (and for that matter, several identities) of them did. The kestrel couldn't help but suspect that whatever had encouraged so much alcohol consumption was also behind Clarissa's unexpected drunkenness.

When Stallion Manor finally came into view, Ginger picked out a window and dove. She had been out this way with Clarissa a couple of times before, and knew which room Ambrose's workshop was in. If he wasn't in the workshop... Well, she'd worry about that when she got there.

Settling on to the windowsill, she immediately saw that she was in luck. Before she could call for Ambrose's attention, though, a dog spotted her and started barking. Ginger nearly jumped at the sound of the first excited yap, and gave the dog a wary eye as she edged away from it.

Fortunately, the sudden noise alerted Ambrose, who quickly moved to calm the dog. Ginger nearly sighed with relief and gladly flew to his proffered arm.

“I am sorry about Nutmeg but I promise, she means no harm. What happened? You don't normally fly out here on your own, is Clarissa okay?”

“Thanks,” Ginger replied, though she still kept one eye on the dog just in case. Rubbing the back of her head with a wing, she went on, “Clarissa? Well… That depends on what you define as “okay.” She’s doing all right, but, um…” She would have blushed if she could have, suddenly hoping that this whole situation wouldn’t embarrass her friend too much. “She seems to have had too much to drink at the festival. And it turns out she’s kind of an excitable drunk, which in her case seems to mean trying out crazy inventing ideas that will probably do more damage to her workshop than they’d be any good.” She gave the Stallion a sheepish smile. “When she started up I, uh, panicked and decided to come find you. I figured, being another inventor and all, you could help keep her from doing something that she'll end up seriously regretting come tomorrow.”

SPOILER: Click to show

As Ginger passes the festival, she notices that the levels of drunkenness are higher than normal. Upon reaching Ambrose's workshop, she is accosted by Nutmeg, but is able to relax again when Ambrose calms the dog down. She explains the situation to Ambrose in the hopes that he'll be able to keep Clarissa from doing something she'll later regret.

[Celestial]

"Thank you for telling me, Ginger," Ambrose sat her down on his workbench and began wrapping up the blueprints and the bits and pieces of invention scattered around the wooden surface. Nutmeg approached Ginger, though she was quiet this time. Even though she could not reach, not with the workbench being as high as it was and Ambrose blocking the way, she still tried to sniff the new strange bird who had spoken to Ambrose. The Stallion pushed her away gently, though he was glad she was not being aggressive. He decided not to bother putting everything back in its proper place, hoping that he would come back to work on it soon. However, he did pack up his toolkit and hooked it on to his belt, letting the clasp click in place. Who knew if he was going to need it?

Once that was done, he gave Nutmeg a final scratch around the ears, telling her he'll be back soon and picked Ginger up again. Once he had gone downstairs and put on his cloak, Ambrose put her on his shoulder, where he figured he would have the best view.

"It seems odd that Clarissa would get so drunk. She never seemed like the type to lose control of herself like that," he remarked, letting his worry come across in his voice. Then again, if she was not, Ginger would not be here sounding as concerned as she was. Even the best people lose control sometimes, especially in such an atmosphere as the festival, the Stallion thought. "Then again, I suppose it doesn't really matter what happened. I'll do my best to make sure that she'll be alright, and that her inventions don't hurt anybody."

Of course, he had to get there first. The atmosphere and the noise of the capital hit him like heat from an oven as soon as he stepped out of Stallion Manor. Suddenly, Ambrose remembered exactly why he was staying indoors for the duration of this festival. Nevertheless, he had to go, for Clarissa's sake. He was not about to let his friend get hurt, or let her hurt somebody else.

The Stallion kept away from the main streets, holding himself away from the centre of the road and as far from the crowds as possible but even so, he could easily gauge the mood of the crowd. Almost everyone was drunk. Not just tipsy but roaringly, completely drunk. This was unusual even for Medieville. Ambrose swallowed, thanking whatever force it was that prevented him from going. He would not have been able to handle it. And if he had somehow gotten drunk with the rest of the crowd well...the Stallion shook his head, preferring not to think about it.

"Wwww-heeeey! Nishe bird, old man!" a man shouted at him and Ginger. Ambrose looked up in horror but the man had moved on, or at least stumbled on before bumping into a passer by. While the drunk was distracted, the Stallion ran on, quickening his pace as he headed towards the smithy. What had happened to the capital?

He did not have much time to ponder that question as he finally reached the workshop. The door had been flung open and he could see Clarissa inside, busy tinkering away with something. Ambrose coughed, trying to attract her attention. "Clarissa? What are you doing?" he asked. "I heard you weren't...in the best of states."

SPOILER: Click to show

Ambrose packs up his toolkit, makes his way through drunken Medieville thankfully without incident and finds Clarissa. And begin the drunken babysitting...