(( This happened... some weeks ago! Oops! ))
The more it went, the more she regretted even buying that stupid chronometer. "A technological marvel," the merchant had barked. "An invention to finally put Althyk's domain within the grasp of mortals! Whatever shall you do without it?" And in that moment Jajara had sincerely pondered just how she could live without such a thing and her coin purse found itself a decent size of gil lighter that very day.
Jajara stared at it from her bed. She could not see its face, the odd mess of gears and bronzed gilding, but she could hear it. Every tick cut lout and clear over the occasional groan of the house around her, and with every tock she swore she could feel the blood throbbing through her veins. Her wounds were well on their way to healing thanks to Miss Reinette and Miss Jancis but they seemed stubborn as the woman who wore them, insistent on reminding her of their presence. Reminding her, of course, of the sea-snake that had delivered them.
Her favored retainer, a bald-headed man who called himself Harvard to her and Blackstone to others, had answered her summons a mere sun after she was able to give it and brought with him a few things with which she might occupy herself: silver scraps, spools of threads and a simple loom with which she might practice her weaving, glass lenses, several needles and pliers of varying shape. Miss Reinette had been very firm in that she not busy herself too much but the longer she lay the more she felt the itch to disobey. Moving her right arm still left her sore but she had to do something and one of the few somethings she was good at was work with her hands. It took her bells longer than it might have otherwise but she fashioned a pair of reading glasses for Chuchukepa, which she managed to smuggle into his room when she was certain neither Reinette nor Jancis were on the prowl. The loom remained largely unproductive. She glowered at it and the numbness that overtook her hands when she tried to work a needle.
The company had been unsettled when Sigurd broke the news. Two sightings of at sea and a call to arms from the Maelstrom. Had they not acted, surely there would have been more casualties. They would go out on boats, he said, and they would face them before they could reach the coast. They would be tethered as not to lose themselves to the sea. They would have crystals as not to lose themselves to the serpent.
The chronometer ticked and tocked, chaining down the moments so that they did not pass but stumble on mind-numbingly slow. Across the light blanket that covered her lap, threads lay staggered like angry waves.
The more it went, the more she regretted even buying that stupid chronometer. "A technological marvel," the merchant had barked. "An invention to finally put Althyk's domain within the grasp of mortals! Whatever shall you do without it?" And in that moment Jajara had sincerely pondered just how she could live without such a thing and her coin purse found itself a decent size of gil lighter that very day.
Jajara stared at it from her bed. She could not see its face, the odd mess of gears and bronzed gilding, but she could hear it. Every tick cut lout and clear over the occasional groan of the house around her, and with every tock she swore she could feel the blood throbbing through her veins. Her wounds were well on their way to healing thanks to Miss Reinette and Miss Jancis but they seemed stubborn as the woman who wore them, insistent on reminding her of their presence. Reminding her, of course, of the sea-snake that had delivered them.
Her favored retainer, a bald-headed man who called himself Harvard to her and Blackstone to others, had answered her summons a mere sun after she was able to give it and brought with him a few things with which she might occupy herself: silver scraps, spools of threads and a simple loom with which she might practice her weaving, glass lenses, several needles and pliers of varying shape. Miss Reinette had been very firm in that she not busy herself too much but the longer she lay the more she felt the itch to disobey. Moving her right arm still left her sore but she had to do something and one of the few somethings she was good at was work with her hands. It took her bells longer than it might have otherwise but she fashioned a pair of reading glasses for Chuchukepa, which she managed to smuggle into his room when she was certain neither Reinette nor Jancis were on the prowl. The loom remained largely unproductive. She glowered at it and the numbness that overtook her hands when she tried to work a needle.
The company had been unsettled when Sigurd broke the news. Two sightings of at sea and a call to arms from the Maelstrom. Had they not acted, surely there would have been more casualties. They would go out on boats, he said, and they would face them before they could reach the coast. They would be tethered as not to lose themselves to the sea. They would have crystals as not to lose themselves to the serpent.
The chronometer ticked and tocked, chaining down the moments so that they did not pass but stumble on mind-numbingly slow. Across the light blanket that covered her lap, threads lay staggered like angry waves.
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