Awww yiss

[actionreaction]

I got my flow back. Still need to tie things together but I'm getting to the plot and intrigue now and it ain't just romance. Woot!

That afternoon and the next week continued in much the same way. I served more as a personal assistant for Lippett, running errands for him, keeping the workshop tidy, doing minor organization. He rarely came out of that private workroom and never invited me in. I wound up using some of my time there to work on Jessamyn's mixer while I waited for Lippett to give me another project.

I was in the middle of soldering a shaft to hold the bowl in place while still allowing for some flexibility when the doorbell rang. I waited only a heartbeat before setting everything down and crossing to open it. I knew the professor wasn't about to. He had me to do these things now, didn't he?

There was a contraption alongside the door that was actually a viewer that connected to a series of mirrors poised outside and above the door jamb. They reflected just so that when one looked into the view, one could see who was waiting on the doorstep. It was quite ingenious, and I used it to see two men beyond the door, each with a grim face. One was burlier than the other, with a chest like a boiler, and fists like holiday hams. The other was shorter, slender and wiry, his face somewhat weasel-like.

Who were they and why were they here to see the professor? I opened the door with some caution. "Yes, may I help you?"

The burlier one, who had a stiff straw-colored mustache leading into mutton-chops, looked down at me in confusion, then at his companion. The weasel looked me up and down, grinned, and spit only about three inches from my feet, a dark stream of tobacco juice that stained the step. "Well lookie here. Professor's got hisself some company, don't he? I ain't never seen anybody else open this door before, not besides him." He wrinkled his nose at me. "Who're you then?"

I frowned at him, tensing, but immediately retorted, "Who am I? You're the one who's come a-calling. State your business with the professor please."

The weasel's eyebrows raised. "Oh la-di-dah, Boug, you hear him? Ain't he a mini-professor hisself?" The boiler, Boug, merely grunted, but the weasel seemed to think that was an eloquent enough reply. "Look here, boy. You gives this to the professor straightaway and tells him Gil and Boug came by. Tell him we'll be by again soon. Think you can manage that?"

I felt one of my hands twitch like it wanted to clench into a fist. "I can manage that better than you can manage the language. Thank you for stopping by; I'll see he gets the message." I slammed the door shut as they were both working out the insult and made certain it was locked. I watched them glare at the door and then leave, Gil moving with a jaunty walk, and Boug fairly stomping behind him. What had that been about?

I'm back to liking this again.