Little Tinkerer [Lizalia]

[Zen]

Lizalia Age: 4 Turns

“Momma momma look!” the little blonde came running into the sitting room where Hiralia sat knitting.

The woman frowned upon hearing the girl and looked up from her work, “Lizalia, you’re meant to be napping… what is that?”

“A flit! Like daddy's!” the four turn old held up her new toy proudly.

“Is that one of my spoons?” her mother hardly sounded pleased as she set her knitting aside and shifted with some effort due to her very pregnant belly, pushing to her feet and holding out her hand, “Let me see that.” Grinning, the girl handed her ‘flit’ to her mother for inspection. It was a simple thing, but she’d made it all by herself and she was quite proud of it. “Young lady... is this fabric from your dress?” her mother sounded even less pleased now and Lizalia’s grin faltered at the harsh tone.

The girl’s hands went immediately to the hem of her dress as if she could hide the mutilated edge, “Um… maybe. But the flit needed wings, momma.”

“Child, I put you down for a nap. You were meant to be sleeping but instead you stole one of my spoons and destroyed your dress?”

Lizalia flinched, “But… but I wasn’t sleepy, momma….”

“That is hardly the point. You have plenty of toys, you don’t need to take things that aren’t yours and… just look at your poor dress!” The woman rubbed at her forehead in exasperation before pointing back to the child’s room, “Back to bed with you. Now.” She really didn’t understand why her mother was so upset. It was just one spoon, they had plenty of them, and it was her dress. So what if the edge was all ragged now? She didn’t mind. She held out her hand, expecting her new little flit friend back, but her mother only raised an eyebrow at her and then shook her head, “No. Bed. Now.”

Lizalia turned indignant, “But I made it!”

“With something that does not belong to you! Do not make me drag you back to your bed myself, young lady.”

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes at being denied and she yelled, “You’re mean!” But she quickly ran back to her room before her mother could scold her for that too.

~~~

Lizalia refused to come out of her room after that, hiding under her blankets, not at all wanting to see her mother. She was too angry and upset with the woman. She didn’t feel like playing either. Zelhirin couldn’t even get her out from her blankets, though her brother certainly tried his best. Eventually he’d given up but not before calling her a baby. It left her wondering why everyone was being so mean today. She heard her father arrive home for dinner but just pulled the blankets closer around her, wondering how he would be mean to her next, because everyone was mean and she just wanted to be left alone.

From her room she could hear her mother and father talking, though she couldn’t make out what they were saying. She heard her father laugh, and her mother’s tone turn sharp shortly after. She reached up and covered her ears because she didn’t want to listen to them, closing her eyes tightly as if that would help drown out the sounds. She wished her door was closed, but she didn’t want to leave her blankets to do it.

Suddenly there was a weight on her bed that startled her and she kicked out at it, expecting Zelhirin again, “Go’way!”

The hand that came to rest on her foot was far larger than her brother’s though, “Liza, you made this by yourself?” Her father's voice, simply curious, with none of her mother’s sharp scolding tone. She peeked out from her blankets after a moment, hesitant, and saw him holding out her flit. She gave a little nod and then pulled the blanket back over her head, waiting for him to scold her too. Instead he laughed, a short, happy sound as he leaned over her and she squealed as his hands found ticklish spots even through the blanket. She wriggled, flailed, and giggled until her father relented, and the blankets had half fallen off her, “There, now I can see your pretty face.”

He reached up to tap a finger against her nose and she giggled again, shaking her head. She looked at her flit again where he had set it on the bed beside her and frowned, “Momma got mad at me.”

Chizewlin sighed, “Indeed. You shouldn’t take things without asking, Liza.” He saw the shift in her features, the defensiveness the scolding was bringing back out, and he leaned closer to whisper, “But I think you’re quite smart.”

She blinked up at him in surprise, then her eyes narrowed as if trying to decide if he was tricking her. She was tired of being scolded and if he was going to scold her more she would rather he just leave. “You do?”

“Mm… I would love to see what else you can make… but, not with your mother’s utensils,” there was amusement in his tone that softened the light scolding even more, “Or your dresses. Though I understand why you did it. You can only use what’s available to you, after all.” He looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing at his chin, “Tell you what, I’ll find some things for you to use so you don’t have to take your mother’s things or ruin your dresses anymore.”

He wanted to help her make more things? “Really?” She’d been so proud of what she’d made and her mother’s displeasure over it all had hurt. She hadn’t expected her father to want her to keep doing it, not when it had made her mother so mad.

Chizewlin chuckled, “I got in trouble for it too, when I was little, but no one gave me another option. I could only use what I could find… and that sometimes meant things that weren’t mine.” He looked a bit sheepish about it, “But, fortunately for you, you don’t have to do that. I’ll bring you your own things to use if you promise not to take things that aren’t yours anymore. Or destroy your clothes. Your mother is very unhappy about that.”

She pulled the blankets up over her nose so only her eyes were visible, “What if there’s nothing gooder to use?”

He sighed again, “I understand that too… but if you’re patient I’ll bring you plenty of supplies and you won’t have to get in trouble with your mother again. Wouldn’t that be better?”

“I guess…,” she murmured. It was, but being patient was hard. She really didn’t like waiting for things.

“And… no more making things when you’re supposed to be napping,” he added.

She sat up unhappily at that, “But I’m not sleepy all the time!”

“You need to mind your mother, Liza. Especially right now with the baby so close…. If you’re a good girl I’ll bring you plenty of things so you can make whatever you like, but I can’t bring you gifts if you’re not listening and doing as your mother says. That’s plenty fair,” he insisted.

Lizalia let herself fall back onto her pillow, clearly not entirely happy about it, “I don’t like laying down and not doing nothing!”

Chizewlin chuckled again, “Could have fooled me. Your mother said you’ve been laying in here for hours.”

She didn’t really know what to say to that, as he was certainly correct, and muttered stubbornly, “It’s not the same.”

“Hm… well, it is up to you, my little tinkerer… be a good girl and I’ll bring you crafting supplies, or disobey your mother and get yourself in trouble again. No one can make your choices for you,” her father reached out to ruffle her hair affectionately and stood, “Now if you’re ready to apologize to your mother, you can come to dinner with me. Otherwise you’re welcome to stay here.”

Her lip jutted out in a pout at that. She didn’t want to apologize. She still didn’t know why her mother had gotten so angry. It wasn’t like she’d torn up her mother’s dress. And what was the big deal about one spoon? But then her tummy rumbled and she realized that if she didn’t apologize then she wasn’t going to get dinner tonight. With a frustrated little groan, she pushed the blankets off her and slid to her feet, “Okay….”

“Bring your toy along, you need to give the spoon back,” he told her then.

She grabbed it from her bed and clutched it to her chest, shaking her head, “No, I don’t wanna! It’s mine! I made it!”

A soft smile settled on his face and he crouched down to her level, “Don’t worry, Liza, you can make a new one. And you know what’s so great about that? Now that you’ve already made one, you’ll know how to make an even better one next time. One you can keep.”

A better one? She looked down at her little flit toy, so simple, and started thinking about how she could possibly make it better. That was kind of an exciting idea, wasn’t it? She could make an even better one. She still didn’t like having to give this one back to her mother… but she supposed if she could make a better one later then it was a small price to pay for dinner tonight. She looked up at her father and nodded once, grinning, “Okay daddy.” He smiled and stood again, holding out his hand for her and she took it so they could walk to the kitchen together. She took comfort in her father’s presence, and his support, as she prepared to face her mother.

[Zen]

Lizalia Age: 10 Turns

Lizalia sat at her father’s workbench, her arms crossed over on the table and her chin resting on her arms as she watched him work, her feet kicking absently where they dangled from the stool she sat on. He was just tinkering, as he called it, putting together a basic version of something he had in his head so he could see it in the physical world and refine it into something properly usable. That’s what they did, the two of them. Most people drew up plans first, but it was easier to just go ahead and make it and refine it until it did what you wanted it to do, at least for them. It was why he kept so many scraps about, because one could hardly waste proper materials on a prototype. To most, her father’s workshop looked a mess for all the random bits and baubles he had collected that seemingly had no use. But one could never be sure when you’d be able to find a use for something. There were too many possibilities.

“Did you learn anything new today?” he asked her, still intensely focused on his work.

She made a displeased noise, “No. Just more working the bellows and sorting ore. It’s boring. And my arms are tired.”

He chuckled, “There’s a good reason for new apprentices to work the bellows. You need to build up that upper body strength. Smith work can get quite physical. It will help in the end.”

She kicked her legs some more, lip jutting out in a pout, “It’s still boring.”

“Hm…,” he agreed softly, “Have you made any friends with the other apprentices?”

She shrugged, “I don’t think they like me.”

Chizewlin’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t stop working to look at her, “Why do you say that?”

“I dunno. The boys keep saying stuff about how the smithcraft is supposed to be for boys, not girls, but they’re just ash-heads,” she tilted her head slightly to better see what her father was doing, her tone making it clear that she was unconcerned with the things her peers had been saying. If they didn’t like girls in the craft that was their problem not hers, because she certainly wasn’t about to go anywhere.

A light sigh passed through her father’s lips, “I suppose that isn’t surprising. There are a few girls among the apprentices, though, aren’t there?”

She shrugged again, “I guess. All they seem interested in is making jewelry. It’s always ‘Master Dehlia this’ and ‘Master Dehlia that’. They’re boring too.”

“What, you don’t want to make pretty jewelry?” she could hear the light teasing note in his tone because her father knew her well enough to know the answer to that question already.

She made a face, “I wanna make stuff that does something. Not just… sit there and look pretty. Why is jewelry even allowed? It’s a waste of materials. It doesn’t do anything.”

Her father laughed, “Where there is a demand, someone will provide.”

“Huh?” Liza lifted her head off her arms to squint up at him.

“Enough people want it, so people will make it,” he explained, “It brings in plenty of marks for the Hall, and marks are decent motivation for most.”

She stuck out her tongue at that, “That’s dumb.”

He laughed again, “That is how the world works, Tink.”

She smiled a little despite herself as he called her by the special nickname only he used, and only when it was just the two of them. It was dumb, she knew it was, that a silly little nickname made her feel so special. Every time he called her that she felt... warm inside, and it was weird, but it was nice. He used to call her his little tinkerer but when she’d gotten a bit older she’d insisted that she wasn’t so little anymore so he’d come up with something new, something he could call her even though she was ‘big’, even when she was all grown up. She was sure she would be sad if he ever stopped. After a moment she couldn’t help asking about it, “Daddy… you won’t ever stop calling me Tink, will you?”

The sudden concern in her voice made him finally pause to look over at her and he gave her an easy smile, “Of course not. Not unless you want me to.”

She shook her head vigorously, golden locks whipping about her face, “No!”

He chuckled and ruffled her hair, “Then Tink you shall be, forevermore.”

She giggled, feeling that familiar warmth, and watched him work quietly for a moment. “Can I just come work with you, daddy? You’re a master. You’d let me do fun stuff, wouldn’t you?”

He tsk’d softly at her, “Just because I’m a master doesn’t mean you get special treatment. You have to do what all the apprentices are doing and you have to earn the ‘fun stuff’ on your own. Besides, you're too young for more than the basics.”

“Uuuugghhh,” she groaned, pouting as she continued to watch, “I’m not too young… I can make stuff.”

“You’re too young to be risking burns at the forge and too small to have enough strength for half the work involved,” he replied simply, “That’s where working the bellows comes in.”

She threw up her hands, “How long til I’m big enough? It’s gonna be forever until I get to do anything fun.” She slid from the stool, quite unhappy with her father’s answer and more than a little annoyed with him for not using his rank as a master to let her do what she wanted. “I’m gonna go find Zee and we’re gonna have fun,” she told him in a stubborn sort of tone, her displeasure clear.

“You do that,” he told her absently, more interested in his work than his daughter’s whining, particularly when he had given her perfectly reasonable explanations. Children were so often unreasonable creatures, he couldn’t help but wonder how much longer it would be until she grew out of it.

[Zen]

Lizalia Age: 18 Turns

Humming absently to herself, a tune that probably sounded rather grating to anyone else as they were more random noises than proper notes to a song, Lizalia made her way to her father’s workshop. She was looking forward to working a bit more on their plans for their steam wagon, as they had taken to calling it. Neither of them were terribly good at keeping schedules, but they almost always spent part of their rest day trying to work out more kinks in the idea. It was going to take so many materials to manufacture it once they finally settled on how to go about it that it was important they theorize and figure and draw every possibility before they actually began work on constructing the machine. It might have been more efficient to bring the idea before more masters, bring them onto the project if they were interested, but it had become something of a pet project for them. Eventually, other minds would be brought in, after they had done most of the figuring themselves and hopefully had a prototype built, or at least in progress. They might end up needing help to actually make the thing.

“Liza! … Lizalia!”

It had taken a few calls for the voice to get through to her and Lizalia paused to turn toward the young man calling her name. She waited for him to catch up, blunt as ever when he did, “What do you want, Jokken?”

“Ah… nothing,” he looked briefly taken aback by the question.

Her gaze narrowed at him in annoyance, “... Bye then.” Honestly, why was he wasting her time then? She turned to leave but stopped again as he spoke.

“Wait! I mean… I don’t want anything from you, but… I mean… that’s not exactly… uh… h-here. This is for you,” she turned back to him as he held something out to her, a bit of twisted metal.

She plucked it from his hand and turned it over in her own, inspecting the piece before looking back at him, confused, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

He blinked at her a couple times, as if trying to decide if she was joking or not. When she didn’t laugh, he cleared his throat awkwardly, “Um… wear it? It… it’s a bracelet….”

“A bracelet?” the disbelief in her voice was clear and the young man flinched at the harsh tone, “This? This is not a bracelet. Bracelets are supposed to be pretty. This looks more like a runner’s shoe than a bracelet. Where did you even get this?”

He flinched again, suddenly looking a bit smaller at her merciless criticism, “I… uh… m-made it? I… I tried my best….”

She snorted, sure he was joking, but he only looked… upset, somehow. Her gaze narrowed at him, studying him for a long, quiet, awkward moment, “Your best is awful then. This is a monstrosity. What a waste of good metal.” The disgust in her voice was plain and she turned then and stalked away, annoyed over the whole incident, leaving Jokken looking lost and dejected behind her.

~~~

Liza strode into her father’s workshop, irate, and tossed the small ringlet of twisted metal onto a table where it made quite a clangor before it stilled, “I have about had it with the boys of the Hall. Twice this month I’ve been presented with flowers, as if anyone but a healer has any need for flowers! But now I’ve been given this… this absolute failure.” She waved her hand at the metal, which was, in fact, a bracelet, before picking it up again to thrust at her father as the man watched her with some amusement, “Look at it. Not only is it useless jewelry but it is terribly made besides! Jokken clearly had no idea what he was doing, because why would he? All he does is beat out crude pots and pans all day. He hasn’t an ounce of creativity in his simple head and no… no finesse! Look how lumpy this horrible thing is! Jewelry is meant only to be pretty and this fails even in that frivolous task!”

Her father took the bracelet from her to inspect it. It really was an ugly thing, though at least there were no sharp edges, the boy had at least enough sense to see to that. Teasing, he replied, “And yet you kept it?”

Liza nearly hissed, “Only so he could not further abuse it! I will use it to make something properly useful.”

Chizewlin did his best not to laugh, more out of respect for the poor boy his daughter had likely burned quite badly over what had been a heartfelt gift than anything. “You know you will never be a master if you do not learn some tact, Tink. A master must teach, and must not berate the passion out of their students.”

She huffed, “I never said I wanted to be a master. I will be perfectly happy as a journeyman for all my life if it means I no longer need to suffer this nonsense!”

He did laugh then, much to her annoyance, “My dear Tink, I think you shall suffer this nonsense for most of your life. You are a beautiful young woman and men often become fools for beautiful young women.”

“Perhaps I should burn the pretty out of me at the forge then,” she snapped moodily, eyeing her father for a moment, “Did you become a fool for mother?”

“Mm…,” he seemed thoughtful for a moment, “Perhaps a little. I like to think I have always been practical in my affections, and I do think she appreciates that. She is a practical woman. Though perhaps she has not always appreciated my more creative attempts.” He set the bracelet back down on the table between them.

“Well you never made anything like that for her, I’m sure,” she muttered, again waving her hand at the monstrosity.

He laughed, “No. But I certainly had some failures. I tried to do, or rather to make things that would make her life easier. Contraptions, as my father always called them. They did not always work as I hoped… I once made a terrible mess of the kitchen that hardly impressed.”

Laughing, Lizalia imagined an invention gone terribly wrong and her mother’s utter exasperation in response. “Well I’d prefer an invention that didn’t work properly to that thing... at least it would prove he had some imagination.”

“Hm… everything in moderation, Tink. People like you and me, we need a more… stable partner in our lives, I think. Someone to ground us now and then so we don’t get too lost in the clouds.”

Lizalia grimaced, “I’m never going to want someone like mother. Anyway I have Zee. He does that well enough. Anyone else would just hold me back.” Sometimes, in the moment, it felt like her brother was holding her back. But afterward she could grudgingly admit that maybe she was going too far and not thinking things through well enough. He saved her from herself on plenty of occasions, and though she was always annoyed about it initially, she came to accept it after she had some distance from it. After she’d had some time to think it over and realize what Zelhirin already had: all the ways her plans could have, sometimes quite literally, blown up in her face if he wasn’t there to reel her back.

Her father chuckled softly, “You two will lead far more separate lives eventually, I would imagine. What will you do when he’s not there?”

She looked at him as though he had said something incredibly absurd and she replied firmly, “We’ve always been together. We always will be.” Even the idea of being well and truly separated from her twin had a sick sort of feeling writhing in her belly and she did not like it one bit, so she snatched her ‘bracelet’ back from the table and spun around to hurry out before her father could try to drag her into any further discussion of the matter, forgetting her plans to work on the steam wagon with him. It wouldn’t happen. They may not be joined at the hip but they were never apart for long, and never would be. Never.

[Zen]

Liza had moved into her own quarters at the crafthall some months ago after becoming a journeyman, choosing to live at home before that instead since apprentices most often shared a room with one or two others and she didn’t care to share such an intimate space with most of her peers. But sharing a room with her younger sisters wasn’t always the greatest either. She loved them, and liked hanging out with Chai more often than not, but she was excited to finally have her own space for the first time. Journeymen had their own private quarters at the crafthall. It was nothing extravagant but that was fine with Liza.

Her father insisted she come home for family dinners at least once a sevenday, however, as it was important to her mother. She probably wouldn’t have gone most times if not for her father’s request, though she also thought that Zee would probably make her go if nothing else. He seemed to care a lot more than her about keeping their mother happy. She made good food at least, so Liza grudgingly went of her own accord.

When she walked in, her mother made an exasperated noise when she saw her, “Lizalia. You are not sitting at my table looking like that.” Liza looked down at herself. Oh. She’d forgotten to change again. Her work clothes were often sooty and had little burn holes in them, not to mention the sweat. Her mother waved her hand in front of her face, screwing up her nose, “Or smelling like that. Go at least rinse the worst of the stink of the forge off and for Faranth’s sake put some clean clothes on!”

Liza’s eyes narrowed and she huffed in annoyance as she turned to go clean up. It seemed like every time she interacted with her mother, all she got were criticisms. It wasn’t exactly a great start to dinner. Fortunately for her, her mother focused more on her siblings during the actual meal and she was able to sneak through by just being quiet and letting them take the spotlight. Unfortunately for her, her mother noticed how quiet she’d been and after everyone had finished eating asked her to help clear the table, which she shortly found out was a pretense so they could talk.

She had no desire to talk to her mother about anything. They just didn’t understand each other and never would. They had nothing at all in common. They may both be practical women, but they were practical in entirely different ways. Her mother was practical in a… traditional sort of way. A boring sort of way, if you asked Liza. A stifling sort of way. While she clearly found her father’s innovative mind somewhat interesting or she wouldn’t have married him, that same interest didn’t seem to extend to her daughter. Her mother had never discouraged her pursuits outright, because it made her father happy, but she had certainly never encouraged it either, never been supportive. It seemed like all she ever earned from her mother was exasperation and frustration.

“You were quiet this evening,” her mother began, getting right to the point, which Liza at least appreciated.

“I didn’t have anything important to say,” she replied dismissively as she began scrubbing at a plate.

“Your father mentioned something about a young man making you a bracelet?” her mother probed.

Liza instantly tensed, and wished her father hadn’t said anything about it to her mother for this exact reason, grumbling, “He made an atrocity, not a bracelet.”

Hiralia sighed, “Liza, you’re never going to find a decent husband if you keep-”

“Great Faranth,” Liza spat, “I don’t care about finding a husband! I don’t want one. How many times do I have to tell you that before you just… stop.”

She hated how her mother was looking at her. There was disapproval on her face, one would think she might be used to seeing it by now but it still grated. There was confusion too, and if Liza had cared to look a little harder maybe concern, but she didn’t care. “I’m just worried for you, Liza. I want you to find someone who will love you and take care of you, protect you, have a family with you. I would hate for you to miss out just because-”

“I don’t need to be taken care of and I don’t need someone to protect me! Shards and shells. What have I ever done to make you think I want to start popping out babies as soon as possible? Why do you think I care about that at all? It’s like you don’t even know me!” Obnoxiously, she felt a burning in her eyes that meant tears were threatening, because her mother really didn’t know her. Her mother had never tried to know her, to understand her, to accept her as she was.

“You just don’t understand. Wait until you hold your first child in your arms, then- Lizalia!”

And apparently she was never going to either. Liza whirled around and hurried out, out of the room, out of the house. She wiped at her eyes once in annoyance to clear the worst of the blurring and drew in a deep breath to steady her emotions. Why had her father had to mention the stupid bracelet to her? Did she have to stop telling him about these stupid incidents? It hurt to think that there could be something she couldn’t talk to her father about, just because it would start something with her mother if he told her about it. Ugh, she didn’t want to think about this anymore. Why did her mother have to be this way? It was always the same thing with her and it was getting worse the older she got.

When her father found her, she was back in the forge, pounding away at a chunk of metal, for once working on the mundane, something simple and mind numbing that didn’t require much thought, taking out her frustrations in the work. “A blade? I hope it’s not for your mother,” he joked.

She shot him an angry look, “Why did you tell her?”

“You’ll have to be more specific, Tink.”

“Don’t play dumb,” her gaze narrowed and she shoved the metal back into the fire to reheat, “You told her about the stupid bracelet.”

“Am I not supposed to speak with my wife about our daughter?” he questioned, making a simple amount of sense that only angered her further.

“Not about boys that do stupid things for me. You know how she is. Any whiff of a boy’s interest is going to spark some sort of talk of marriage. Why would you tell her?” All the while she spoke, she glared at the heating metal as though her angry gaze might be able to heat it faster.

The Mastersmith sighed lightly, “I had hoped it might soothe her worries about you a little to know that there were interested young men, despite your best attempts to disinterest them.”

Pulling out the half flattened hunk of metal, she set back to hammering at it, “Instead of trying to soothe her, maybe you should try to convince her that I’m not interested in marriage to begin with, since she seems deaf to me.” She paused in her hammering to look at her father helplessly, “It’s like she thinks I can’t possibly know what I want for my own life! She does realize there’s more than one way for a woman to live her life, right?” She went back to hammering angrily, wishing they weren’t talking about this. That was the whole reason she’d come here to work on something as mundane as a knife. She wanted to lose herself in the physical nature of the work and not think about her mother and her constant push for her to find a man to settle down with.

“She does… but it is hard for her to accept, Tink,” Chizewlin explained slowly, watching his daughter work with mild interest, “Where we come from… it isn’t Telgar. Women are rarely anything but wives and mothers there, having big families to help with farm work.” He chuckled, “Faranth knows why she chose me… I was the least conventional young man around, I think. She was excited to leave our little farming hold when she came to Telgar with me. She’d never left before. I think she did dream of something different, once… but then she had you and your brother, found immense happiness in you both, and it only confirmed for her that what she had known, what had been expected, was what was right after all.”

“Right for her, maybe,” Lizalia muttered, her anger sputtering like a dying flame in the face of how she had been part of her mother’s greatest happiness. She didn’t doubt her mother loved her, she just didn’t understand her and didn’t try to. And it hurt. Because her mother was so sure she knew what was best that she refused to listen to what her daughter really wanted. She quenched the blade and looked up at her father as the metal hissed and cooled, “Can’t you please talk to her? Try to make her understand? She won’t listen....”

“I’ll do my best, Tink, but this may be something that only time will temper in her. You are still quite young, and I don’t doubt your resolve about your own desires, but I can see why she might. Given a few more turns, perhaps she’ll begin to believe you really do know what you want, and don’t want,” he offered with a sort of uncertain smile, clearly trying to be reassuring but also not wanting to lie or give any false hope over the matter.

“Great,” Liza replied flatly, pulling the blade from the oil and wiping it off to inspect it. Her father held out his hand and she placed it in his palm. It was a small blade, and unfinished still, but he took a moment to inspect it.

After a moment he laughed lightly, “You turned the bracelet into a blade?”

“I made it useful… and a deal prettier too, I’d say,” she smirked a little at that. Beating the thing with a hammer sure had felt good.

He handed it back, shaking his head, “I know you’ve never been terribly good at waiting, but… do try to have some patience with your mother, Tink. She means well, she just… can’t imagine her life without her children, and can’t quite grasp that you wouldn’t be just as happy as she is. Give her time. I know she only wants you to be happy, in the grand scheme of things. One day, hopefully, she’ll see that you are, and realize there are other ways for a woman to find the joy she’s found in life.”

Liza frowned down at the blade, running her fingers over it to check for rough spots she would need to see to before she sharpened it, “One day soon, hopefully. Just… please don’t tell her, if things like this happen again. I don’t need her cornering me about it anymore.”

“As you wish. I never imagined it would upset you both so much. It seems I miscalculated… but I have always been better with metal than people.”

Liza laughed as she set to work smoothing the rough parts of the metal, “Metal isn’t half as stubborn as mother.”

“Hm…,” Chizelwin considered her, “That must be where you get it from, then.” She tossed a look at him and stuck her tongue out, and he laughed, “I think I’ll go before you finish that knife.” He winked at her and she shook her head, holding back a grin at the implication as her father left her alone with her work.