#baronyofthesilverwolf

Thistle's studio is aglow. But then again, it's Brigid's festival. Does that not call for color, fire, and creation?

The Nevers, as ever, add their own sparkles and glows to it, but they seem to have an almost fire like trail about them, fortunately not setting anything ablaze.

Thistle is armed with brass and a small torch. It could be worse.

It could be.

The brass torch seems a bit brighter today too.

Indeed, it maybe a day of creation. Wudlig is in his own lair and from the half obscured passage to it, one can still hear humming sounds that oddly spike into roars.

She has a table of disassembled old clocks and other small machines, putting the springs and gears together to make Something New!

Even non nockers are feeling creative. The sound of a Native American flute blows... often poorly, but there, as Gwen gets in touch with her own creative side. Dee, a better musician, plays along side the official and young troubadour in the halls. Normally she prefers her horses, but today seems a day for music.

And Goddess only knows what Briar was doing with those extra thick cattle bones, chicken wire, and duct tape.

None of your business!

A eyeball peeks in Thistle's workshop.

The flames reflect off the green glass of her goggles, and the music is pounding. She... doesn't notice the eyeball. A never might.

POKE!

"OW!" Rochalor jerks back from snooping "Darn it, Joe!"

Oh, this is a fun game!

"Eye spy with my bruised I?" The boy tries once more

"Help, I'm being eyepressed!" the boy calls out as he nearly gets pocked again.

The bluetooth speakers cut out. "What?"

"Your guard tinkers went after my eye when I was only spying a LITTLE" the horse pooka explains.

"Looks like you still got both."

"Yes, but I was hoping to see what you were making because I've got the Ill unids and want to know?" He mimes a sneeze.

"Nuthin' particular? Kinda dickin' around, really." She picks up a cooled object and holds it out on her (still gloved) hand. It's a brass butterfly with colored glass set in its wings.

Citrine gives it a look and makes a petulant chime.

"Yours are prettier, nimrod."

Mollified.

"Ooo that's awesomer than ice cream and berries plus rocketfuel." He does sound impresed, "Uhm... did you have any spare beautiful things you want to just leave on the curb? I'll take it there and totally NOT for my mom's birthday."

One plumed eyebrow quirks.

"When isn't her birthday?"

"Tomorrow is NOT her birthday, every day but that" Sheepish.

She scrunches her face up. "Right. Okay. Never been accused of much foresight, eh?"

"Glasses are for Superman," He nods "Because he's so far sighted."

"What color does she hate?" Thistle stands, stretching out her cramped back muscles.

He smiles "Pinks and purples. LOathes em"

One purple Never clutches at its tiny chest and falls over!

The pooka winces

She picks up a mug, turning it thoughtfully back and forth under the light. "What would you offer in trade?"

He came prepared , and pulls out numerous items... well, three:

A) A Tin Star, clearly worn at some Rodeo that was in town, meant to resemble a western Sheriff.

B) A thin joke book "Dad Jokes, to make your dad laugh"

And lastly, C) A bit of Peacock Copper about the size of a grown man's thumb

"Take the one that makes your head explode," He smiles.

She reaches for the bit of copper, bringing it close for a good look.

And... yes, just a little tap to her tongue. It's copper.

The nevers certainly like the colors of it.

"For this, you could pick one of these." She sets out a little line of objects - a mug, a necklace, and a wee brass figure of a horse made from clock parts.

He looks them over one by one . Thinking what makes his mom happiest.

Then takes the necklace, and says "Your tip" And he hugs her.

She grumbles, but hugs him back.

He beams, backs up letting her go, and says "I'll tell Muppet to keep out the riff raff" And zooms off to wrap the present.