Karen and a Lunch Break

Market District, afternoon.

The sunny day is a dazzling one, on account of how the bright sunlight dances and glitters on the snowfall and ice from the day before. The blue sky and fluffy white clouds signal a pleasant day...

Except for the fact that at GEMS (Gramarye's Enchanting Magic Services), a small storefront some walking distance away from the open market of stalls and temporary vendors, there is a elven woman who is quite, quite unpleasant. Normally, the woman, who is wearing moderately upscale clothing and has her blonde hair groomed neatly into a high-twisted bun, would be described as 'pretty', but the way that displeasure twists her face into looking like she's just taken a fully-spirited bite of a lemon is decidedly a great distance away from that descriptor. "I cannot believe it," she says. "How could you possibly not have this water clock in green? I heard this shop could do just about anything!"

This complaint appears to register with Gramarye, who is standing by the water clock in question. The war golem woman is wearing an apron over a delicate-looking dress today, and she holds a broom that might have been in use moments before this woman arrived. Her obsidian eyes 'blink' with light. Once. Twice. Then finally, she says: "The inventory on stock in the floor are made according to the observations in current fashionable trends in furniture. Green is not a popular color. Therefore I did not finish this water clock with a coat of green. I am informed that black is a color that coordinates with everything, however--"

"No, you stupid BAG of BOLTS," the elven woman exclaims. "I do not WANT black. I want GREEN."

Blink, blink, blink, from Gramarye's eyes again. "Understood. Would you like to place a custom order for a green water clock--"

"NO, I don't want a CUSTOM ORDER. I want the clock to be GREEN!" the woman exclaims, throwing her fists into the air in exasperated rage. Clearly, short of the clock turning green in front of her eyes, this woman will not be satisfied.

The sound of disorder - and a previous inclination to visit this particular little shop draws in a tall man with dark hair and black-painted armor. His purple eyes flash angrily at the conversation, but he doesn't immediately interrupt. He does however sidle closer. And closer. And closer. Until he's made his way through the familiar little shop and offers a loud hum to the woman's tirade. "I like it in black. Excellent color choice Gramarye."

Is he being contrary just to be contrary? Perhaps. He IS wearing a lot of black armor. Maybe the color is a preference of his? "You know, you could buy the black clock and paint it green yourself." Aragos is definitely being contrary now, but so far is calm about it. In a way, he is rather purposefully being irritating so that the woman's attention will be drawn to him rather than to the construct that she's currently yelling at.

The woman turns and looks at Aragos, and... Her nose wrinkles, her pout intensifying as she studies him and his words. "Is it reasonable for a woman of my class and stature to do /any/ sort of painting myself?" she asks. "No, it's simple. /This/--" she points to Gramarye here, like Gramarye is not a person but merely an object, "--here simply needs to offer better customer service! I think it's reasonable to get a clock painted green for me!"

One blink from Gramarye before she responds, "Reiterating previous statement and rephrasing explanation so customer can understand. I can fulfill a custom order. For a sum, I can paint the clock green. However, for labor and service rendered, I have to charge an additional fee on top of the clock's purchase."

The woman's livid now. "You mean I have to PAY MORE for a GREEN CLOCK?"

Aragos blinks at the woman and then smiles meanly. "Well, that's commerce ma'am. You have to pay for the time she spends painting the clock especially for you. Otherwise everyone will expect to get their clocks painted whatever color they want for free." He scrubs a hand through his hair casually and then leans into the woman's space a little. "And watch who you're calling 'this here' she has a name. It's Gramarye." There's something low and dangerous in that. Something that promises that he won't say the same or similar twice.

The intimidation that Aragos weaves works--between the armor and the fact that he's stepping closer to her, the elven woman looks positively uncomfortable now. She takes a few steps backwards, looking at Gramarye now like she expects Gramarye to suddenly come to her rescue against this--

"Brute of a man!" she says with a huff. "Awful! This place is awful! I'll tell everyone I know!" Out come the tears.

"Speech: a verbal act that passes communication verbally, usually through means of mouths for flesh-possessing individuals," Gramarye intones. Is she... reciting a definition?

But then her hand lifts up from her broom and points to the door. "If you are not a customer, then you may vacate the premises and practice the concept of speech. I am obligated to warn you that speech like the kind you intend to communicate will not result in your ownership of a green clock."

Aragos' expression doesn't slip. He continues to grin meanly at the woman. "Tell everyone what? That some random passerby told you to be nice to a shopkeeper? Don't you think they'll wonder why I did? Go on. Tell all your friends that a _paladin_ had to remind you of common courtesy."

He taps his chest, bringing her attention to the symbol of Vardama painted there. "Or you can calm down, pay her what she's owed, and get the clock you want so much. Personally, if I was her I wouldn't want your business or your friends coming in here anyways."

The woman looks like she might follow Aragos's final suggestion, as she looks thoroughly humbled, but then Gramarye clicks the broom on the floor in her other hand, continuing to point to the door. "I have ended my customer service protocol. I do not wish to have you as a customer. Please leave before I escort you out by force."

That results in a huff from the woman. "Have a nice life!" she retorts, in a way that suggests she thought that was really going to win the whole situation and make her totally in the right, but... she slinks out of the shop. Clockless.

Gramarye puts her hand down, and her head pivots back to Aragos's direction. "Thank you for your assistance. Due to my nature as a construct, it is difficult to give satisfactory customer service to all. Father gave me some training in handling what he described as 'difficult customers'. But I am a creator of magic items and minor artifice, not a diplomat."

Another blink. "Resuming customer service protocol. Welcome to Gramarye's Enchanting Magic Services. How may I assist you today?"

Aragos watches the exchange with satisfaction. He's clearly glad that Gramarye decided not to serve the woman in the end. He looks at the construct with approval in his gaze and then nods as she expresses gratitude for his assistance. This time when he scrubs a hand through his hair its largely to hide his embarrassment. "I'm not much of a diplomat myself, but I wasn't about to let you stand there and get yelled at over a clock."

He blinks at her sudden change in topic but shifts his weight and reaches into one of the pouches at his belt to pull out the clock that she'd given him. The watch is in perfectly cared for condition, but clearly hasn't been wound since he bought it. "Can you show me how to wind this damned thing? It's a nice piece of work... so I'd like it to actually run properly. Which means learning how to use it."

Gramarye's head pivots down to the watch. Her eyes blink. "Assessing condition," she announces first. Then, just a few seconds later: "Condition: pristine. You haven taken care of yours in a diligent manner; this is better than how approximately ninety percent customers perform with care and maintenance of my work."

She places the broom against the wall, and she walks over to Aragos in even steps, not a single motion extraneous or wasted. "Allow me to handle the watch. I will demonstrate the winding process. The difficulty rating is: beginner. No special prerequisites are required."

Aragos waits semi-patiently for Gramarye to return, then offers the watch over to her hands with care. He seems nervous to let it out of his own care, but pleased that she's complemented his care of the watch. "Thanks. I'm glad I'm taking care of it properly. I wasn't really sure, but it seems easy enough. Something nice like this you've got to put some effort in right?" Nervously he shifts from foot to foot and then motions for her to show him how to wind the watch. "Glad I don't need something special to wind it. I've never owned something like this before."

Gramarye takes the palm-sized watch from Aragos, and she tilts it. "Ordinarily, watches require a tool, known as a key, in order for the user to perform the winding process," she explains. "However, my analysis of customer habits have indicated that most customers do not keep track of the keys to their clocks. This means that they require return visits to the clockmaker in order to perform the basic process of winding. As a result, I engineered a slot in each watch I build for the watch key."

She turns it over and points, with a finely manicured nail made of the same bronze that her fingers are made from, to a small button on the bottom, as well as a button on the side of the watch. "If you press both buttons at once for three seconds," she explains, performing the action--

And a very small key-shaped tool shifts out of the watch and into Gramarye's palm. "The key emerges. Now, we can use this key. It goes into the center of the hands on the clock. Press the side button to unlock the smaller hand, and then you can manually turn it into place. Releasing the side locks the smaller hand into place. Press the bottom button to do the same for the larger hand, and then release it to lock in place. Then you return the key to its slot, and you are done."

She demonstrates this process in her stiff, construct-like manner, but it is done quickly and efficiently, returning the key to the inner slot and holding it out to Aragos. "Here you are."

This process the paladin of Vardama watches closely. He's particularly surprised by the little key that pops out of the watch, actually startling a little when it comes out. "Oh! That's! Wow!" He accepts the watch back when she's finished showing him how it works and then experientially presses the button as if unsure that it will work for him. Out comes the key however, exactly as it should. "That's so clever! I probably would have lost the key myself seeing how small it is!"

Aragos blinks at his own words an then gruffly coughs, putting the key back and tucking the watch back into its bag. "Thanks I mean. I appreciate you showing me how it works." He starts to say something else and then stops and starts again. "Do constructs eat?"

There is a blink in Gramarye's eyes before she replies, "I appreciate your feedback. Effective design that solves problems is the primary goal of someone who works with artifice, although not all problems are ones that have simple solutions. Part of Father's final directive was to make people's lives better with beautiful things, so I adhere to that guideline even now."

She blinks two times. "I am incapable of eating. My faceplate has no mechanical mouth, as Father deemed it incompatible with his goal of aesthetic and functional design. I have no system by which to break down food into energy as it is theorized mortals do. However, I understand it is a social activity for many mortals."

Without missing a beat, she adds: "In addition, the concept of a 'knuckle sandwich' in vernacular terminology is not to be mistaken for eating. I would welcome an invitation to eat, although I cannot eat, as a manner of social interaction, but I do not welcome an invitation to eat a knuckle sandwich." Was... Was that humor?

Aragos nods at the mention of her father, his eyes darkening slightly, but he chuckles at himself at the reminder that she has no mouth with which to eat. "I wasn't sure that you didn't eat some... other way. It'd be rude to assume you don't need to eat right? And if you want invited out to lunch... Well I guess I can invite you out. When you have the time that is."

He clearly doesn't want to assume that she is free for social interaction right this instant, though Aragos chuckles. "No knuckle sandwiches. Unless someone out there decides to be an ass again. Then I make no promise that I wont' serve one up."

The mention of lunch seems to be what activates Gramarye into action again. She walks again, a thing that she does not do unless she has purpose in doing so--and she walks over to the 'Open' sign on the door, flipping it over to the other side: 'Closed'.

"Father's protocol was to take breaks often for the purposes of social recreation and relaxation," Gramarye states. She turns to Aragos. "The most important break in protocol was the lunch break. The lunch break meant Father could enjoy food to replenish his energy and that I could converse with him on any topic that came to mind."

Then... she curtsies, her delicately-carved hands made by a Father who enjoyed lunches gripping the hem of her delicate dress and apron with the gesture. "I am now on lunch break, and have time for a lunch invitation. Therefore I am in your care and company. Please direct me to the lunch destination and I will accompany you."

Aragos isn't sure what Gramarye is about until she flips the little card on the front door over so that it reads 'closed' to the outside world. "Well if you could eat that'd be up for debate, but since you can't and you're looking for a more social experience... I know just the place." He leads the way out of the shop and out into the street. Walking confidently toward his destination. He can't help the various thoughts that swirl through his mind as they make their way toward the TarRaCe. He doesn't make way for anyone, but people make way for the tall man in black armor. He walks in a well of silence, creating a wake behind him that Gramarye can walk in.

Gramarye is tall--even taller than Aragos--and it can only be presumed that following behind someone who cuts a line for her, rather than her cutting the line itself, is a bit of a novel concept for the war golem. However, she offers no commentary of this kind--or any commentary at all, in fact. It could be a bit of blissful relief from the din and noise of the city on Gramarye's part to not add any more of it for Aragos to deal with--or it could be more fuel for thought as Aragos walks. Either way, the two make an odd pair of sorts.

Once they arrive at the building, Gramarye does break the spell of silence. "Inquiry," she states in her usual tone, devoid of almost any emotion whatsoever. "Do you open doors for young women, or do you let them walk in?"

Aragos was two steps toward the door before she could ask the question. He looks at her with curiosity in his eyes then a wide smile. "I open it for them of course." He does so and motions her through the door. "Some women don't like you to, but I don't really much care what they think."

The door closes behind Aragos as he steps in behind Gramarye. "Have you ever been here before?" He asks the question as his eyes adjust to the inside of the building and then looks around a bit for a decent table near the fire. Armor or no, it was cold outside still. Luckily the place isn't terribly busy even though it's lunch time. He moves toward one of the tables available, and pulls out a chair for Gramarye. "You want to sit here?"

In response to Aragos opening the door for her, there's a... hum? Yes, that's a hum. It even sounds somewhat pleased. Gramarye curtsies again. "Thank you kindly, sir," she says in in a very different way from her usual tone of speech--a way that sounds like it's been mimicked from someone else saying it for Gramarye's benefit. Perhaps an etiquette teacher of some sort.

Once inside and behind Aragos, she waits patiently for him to pick out a table. Again, there is another brief hum as Aragos pulls out the chair for her. "Why thank you," she says again in the same way. Then, in a much more Gramarye manner: "Yes, I do." So... she takes a seat.

Aragos presses the chair in politely and then leaves it for her to scoot herself in while he moves around the table to sit down himself. He doesn't sit directly across from her, but slightly to the side. His seat is the best area to see the doors from, though hers is a close second. The paladin motions then for a waitress and settles in to wait for them to arrive. "So, what did your father teach you about social interactions? Because I'm not the best conversationalist."

Gramarye scoots her chair in--likely more out of consideration for other people trying to walk around her chair than her own comfort, since she won't be having anything to eat. "Father hired an etiquette teacher for me," she explains. "I am able to interact passably with other people, but I do not often start conversations myself unless there is a pressing issue that needs to be communicated. If you ask me to speak on a particular topic, then I can speak on it. If you also wish for silence, then I can accommodate that request, as well."

A blink in the eyes again as she adds, "There is enjoyment in being with someone but not speaking. Father and I spent many breaks together that were silent--and these breaks increased in frequency towards the end of his life."

The thought of an etiquette teacher makes sense to Aragos, and he nods once to her on the subject. He's actually about to reply to her words when the waitress arrives and he spends a few moments ordering the special and a pint of whatever is on tap. He doesn't seem to be terribly picky about what he eats and drinks. Then he returns his attention to Gramarye and again there's something dark in his purple eyes. "Your father, he was pretty important to you then it seems. I suppose that's true for most people. I guess, I don't know much about it."

Aragos huffs a sigh and shakes his head. "My father was very distant, didn't really want much to do with me. I always thought I'd do better for my own kids but... Things don't always work out the way you plan."

Gramarye is still, and does not order anything for herself. She declines anything offered from the waitress with a polite (and rehearsed-sounding, likely from the efforts of the just-revealed existence of the etiquette teacher), "No thank you, I do not require anything."

Her head pivots back to Aragos's direction when he speaks again. There's a couple of thoughtful blinks in her eyes--these ones slower than normal, the flashes of light turning into more of gentle pulses in the obsidian eyes--before she responds, "He was, and is, important to me. I was important to him. But it was not always in that configuration. Originally, he thought of me as an artificer's assistant and nothing more. Then when I deemed that I would refer to him as Father, he argued that I did not comprehend the word nor what being a daughter meant."

Her words pause. Then she says, "I then presented my case after consulting the legal code of Alexandria. Adoption is a process anyone can go through, and therefore, anyone may adopt a child. When I saw a daughter with her father for the first time, I recognized it to be like the relationship I had with Father: and therefore, he could adopt me if he so wanted. I am not a flesh and blood person. I do not know if I have what is known as a 'soul'--but some theorize that constructs like myself do. And souls have one destination after existence: the Halls of the Grey Lady."

Another blink. "There are many souls in this world. If I possess a soul, like you possess a soul, like your father possesses a soul, and like your children possess souls--then it is by slim mathematical probability that we have met. That you are related to your father. That you are related to your children. Father said he wished for many things through the years he was alive, but he was happy for the slim probability of meeting me--and he was happy for the probability of making other people happy. Therefore, I am happy that we have met. Life is not guaranteed, and neither is statistical probability--yet we have met anyway. That is worthy of praise."

Aragos smiles, but it doesn't hold much joy in it. It's more a motion of his lips that he can't quite help. "You've a soul Gramarye." He says this with certainty, as if it's a truth that he can see even if she herself is uncertain. "As for me. I only had - have the one kid. We wanted more, I planned for us to have a whole slew of children really but..."

The paladin falls silent. "My wife she passed into the gray halls too young. Maybe it was fate that we met Gramarye. I'm not a big believer in that sort of thing." Aragos is grateful a moment later when his food and drink appear so that he can focus on that for a little while, thinking of something to change the subject while he takes a drink and stirs the stew that is today's special. "You know she'd agree with you. My wife that is. She always found it funny how we met."

His purple eyes rise from his food to take in the woman across from him. "Either way, we'll all meet up in the Halls someday right? All we can do until then is keep stumbling forward trying to make our lives something that they'd be proud of when we do."

It's another long moment again before Gramarye answers, the light pulsing slowly in her eyes. "Probability can result in people meeting," she says. "And probability can result in them passing into the Halls too early. If Fate and probability are the same thing, or are closely linked concepts, then it can be concluded: those who have souls go through life in a series of improbably small events--fated events--that define their existence. They make improbably fateful ties to each other. Then they pass on. Mathematically, each and every life is a unique marvel. But if it were not for the Halls to house the dead, then no one would pass on. Everyone could, given enough time and enough energy, theoretically meet each other. The nearly impossible probabilities become very probable, almost guaranteed."

She pauses again. The blinking light in her eyes suddenly flickers very quickly. "Your goddess is, therefore, very important. Maybe the most important of all. She gives the lives of those with souls 'meaning'. Even my own. A--" Pause. "A meaning. And a meaningful conclusion."

Something she says makes Aragos react like she'd reached out and slapped him unexpectedly. He swallows and downs half his drink in one sudden gulp. Motioning to the waitress for another since his is half gone already. "Maybe we should try that silence thing. Just for a bit. You know?" He doesn't mean his words to be rude, and they aren't exactly, but there's a pain there.

There's a couple of blinks in Gramarye's eyes that feel distinctly... human? Like how a person might react in surprise. "I apologize for any offense I have caused," she says in the tone that was clearly learned from the etiquette teacher. Then in the more typical Gramarye voice: "I will be silent."

But it's evident that silence for Gramarye really does mean that. Silence. Not a single brass-covered limb in movement. Only the occasional blink of light in her obsidian eyes as she just watches Aragos. It'd be creepy if she was a human, but this is a construct... with a soul.

Aragos' part. Her apology only seems to make him more irritable. He eats in silence. Not the perfect silence that she manages and he only seems to sink deeper into himself with each scrape of his spoon across the bowl. He drinks another pint while they sit in silence. Waving his hand for a third wordlessly. He doesn't even thank the waitress for it, though he offers a nod to her. Finally he speaks up; food gone and anger boiling with water-tight tension just under the surface.

"Not your fault Gramarye. It's not like you know... Well. I should grab a bath while I'm here. I ah..." He hesitates and scrubs his hand over his head. "Sorry. I'm terrible company."

"I am learning," Gramarye replies. "About you and about people. What is acceptable to say, what is not acceptable to say, and what my place in the world is without Father around. I have been informed by others I make terrible company as well. But the vernacular phrase is: two is company, three is a crowd. I therefore cannot see how two people in the presence of each other is terrible company. Only company."

She pauses for a moment. "I would offer to join you in the bath, but that might cause irreparable damage to my body. My body was designed to withstand rain and snow, but not prolonged immersion into water. And soap." The bit at the end is offered in another fit of what might pass for Gramarye-humor.

Aragos chuckles at Gramarye's words. Meant to be humorous or not, he finds it funny. "Well we wouldn't want to damage you. Besides, there's different sides for men and women to prevent any impropriety in the bath. As for you being poor company? I think you do just fine Gramarye." He offers her a little half-wave. "I'll see you soon. Assuming Vardama doesn't come for my ass soon."

A wry grin here. "And if She does, I'll say hi to your father for you." Aragos winks and then starts heading toward the bath portion of the bar leaving behind a few coins for his food and drink.

As Aragos gets up and leaves, Gramarye offers three sentences, one not memorized from an etiquette instructor: "Thank you. I hope Vardama does not come for your ass soon. I would like to know you more."

A blink. Then she looks down to the coins. Then her head pivots back to the door.

"Assessing situation," she announces to no one in particular. Blink. Blink. Blink. "Conclusion: end of social interaction. Goodbye."

She stiffly gets up from her seat and leaves. Lunch break is over.

-End