[OPEN] Start with Goodbye

[witheredpeonies]

Who: Annabel Lee Whitlock (witheredpeonies) & You!
What: Arrival and CR-building opportunities
When: Early June
Where: All over the place!
Warning(s): None yet, comment titles will indicate any that arise.

1. Never a hand hardly to hold [Downtown]
A new arrival has...well, arrived! Annabel Lee Whitlock, a pale blonde wisp of a woman with clever eyes and an easy smile spends her first couple of days exploring her new surroundings. Today, it's the downtown. Walking with a dainty gait and curious glances into the shops, weighing her desire for better clothing against the limited amount of brass in her pocket. Clearly, she's going to need to find work for herself. Nothing nearly so nasty as hard labor, fishing or farming, of course. It's good work, but nothing she'll set her hands to.

When she sees a thimble in the window of a general store, an idea starts to form. Implementation may take effort and aid, but she has time to work it all out. Right?

Feel free to encounter her anywhere in the downtown, looking every bit the tourist.


2. Big city sway, move with the day [Bulletin Board/Workshop]
A message written in an elegant script, on cheap paper:

Now Open, with the Support of the Artisan Guild!
Whitlock Needleworks
Embroidery and Mending at Fair Prices; Braiding, Tasselwork and other Embellishment also Available.
See Annabel Lee Whitlock for More Information.
[Address]

Should someone come seeking the workshop where Annabel's set herself up, they'll find her working on a display piece of embroidery meant to show off her skills. Peonies, of course.

"Welcome in. Was there something particular you were looking for, today?"


3. Wanting it bad, ever-returning home [Wildcard]
Feel free to contact me on almost any social media (discord, plurk, etc.) at darkersolstice to get a custom starter

Comments

[daddy_topside]

The creature reaches over his shoulder, and retrieves... a slate. He also pulls a chalk out of one of his pockets, bracing the board against his forearm. The squeak of chalk against slate somewhat undercuts the air of untouchable menace.

Upon finishing, he turns the slate around for Annabel to read.

how much?

The handwriting is wide but legible, although the chalk is bit lumpy from the slate's wet surface.

[witheredpeonies]

He's communicating, and that's a good sign! Intelligent, capable of language, and willing to bargain. Right, much less scary now.

"Call it twenty-five brass? Do you want me to try to match the original fabric, or to pick coordinating colors to make it look like something new?"

[daddy_topside]

utility only

No point in making it like something new when the owner is regularly going up against the local sea beasts and sharp rocks. All it needs to do is reliably hold salvage.

[witheredpeonies]

She taps a finger against her lower lip, before nodding. "I can do that. I think I have some denim or canvas, very sturdy. How soon do you need it?"

[daddy_topside]

morning

It's not a hard deadline: the bag wasn't really essential equipment. But would be annoying to work without it, especially for smaller treasures that'd fall through the gaps of the lobster trap.

[witheredpeonies]

There's a thoughtful pause--it would take her the rest of the afternoon and part of the night, but she's certain she can make it work with a little effort.

"I think I can have it by nine, but I might charge you a little extra for expediting it. Is that alright?"

[daddy_topside]

There's a little momentary pause filled with a idle tap of chalk against slate as the tin man seems to do a bit of mental maths. Then:

how much?

[witheredpeonies]

“Hm, call it thirty-five brass total? If you give me until tomorrow evening, just twenty-five, though. You decide if you’re in that much of a rush.” She’s doing all the business math by the seat of her skirt, but it feels fair to her.

[daddy_topside]

evening

If slate weren't such a terrible medium for it, Annabel Lee Whitlock would be in for the pettiest haggling of her life. This Daddy needs his cigarettes, booze, and speargun money, dammit.

[witheredpeonies]

“Then you have a deal. Your bag will be patched and reinforced for future use my five tomorrow night.”

She holds put her hand as if to shake, unsure if the suit is capable of such but gosh-darn willing to try!

[daddy_topside]

The heavy, armored gloves are perfectly dexterous and quite up to the task — and besides, this tin daddy's drill didn't get pulled into this world along with him.

The sheer size of his palm however, makes it more of an envelopment than a proper shake. Annabel's hand all but disappears between the brass and heavily oiled leather.

Despite it all, the shake is surprisingly gentle.

[witheredpeonies]

There's only the very faintest of surprise at how gentle he (erm, she's been assuming there's a male form under there--is that a safe guess? She isn't sure how to ask) is.

"I haven't gotten your name yet, by the way. I'm Annabel Lee Whitlock."

[daddy_topside]

Upon releasing her, the man straightens and points to the back of the hand holding his slate up, where a triangle is painted onto the metal plate attached there. You familiar with the Greek alphabet, Annabel?

[witheredpeonies]

She is, but a single triangle without context is so hard to interpret.

"Triangle? Pyramid? Equilateral?"

Heading for a wrap?

[daddy_topside]

He makes — a sound. An odd cross between a whale call and a goose honk that shakes his broad shoulders in what seems to be a laugh. Rather than trying to correct her, however, he tucks the slate back between his air tanks and counts out the brass.

It seems Annabel will just have to keep guessing.

He hangs the brass sack on his belt once more and gives her a little wave before turning to leave.