#scarsdale

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Zara emerges from the manor house, recently returned via trod.

The pale sluagh goes on a quest, towards the upholder's shop.

As she approaches, she hears the nocker's rusty voice in mid-lecture-mode, "... best for everyone, including and especially you!"

She fades against the outbuilding, listening, out of sight.

Another nocker, a woman; Miriam; dully, " I know, I know. It was explained. And I'm good at it, I know. You made me a Master, and about damn time! I'm just.... should I destroy him?"

"Him, what him? It?"

"Patchwyrm was always a him, Hirim."

"Feh." But then there's quiet. "It would be a loss." Grudging admission.

"He's not a -weapon- though!" Frustrated. "He's sentient, but he doesn't carry venom or toxins or blades or ranged weapons. He's a freakin' snake!"

"Heh. A freakin' snake that can think, nu? No, couldn't be a -weapon-."

Her eyes widen, and she works closer - flattened, low, reaching a zen-like connection with the clapboard.

"Look I read... I read that damn prophesy too."

"You -what???-"

"I found it and I read it." Defiant. "Years ago. I had to, didn't I?"

Muttered grumbling from the older voice, easy enough to guess what when you've lived with it your whole life.

Zara hangs on every word - a prophesy? What?

"Yeah, an' twice on Shabbots to you, buddy." Miriam sneers back. "Point is, I read it. An'... and I don't think it applies to me. Not any more. If they coulda got me to make 'em a weapon, they'd have got it done when I was in chains. They didn't. So."

Hirim sighs. "Yeah. I know. Hard to get fabric weaponized, nu? At worst, maybe armor. I read about some of what the mortals are coming up with, underpants to protect your beytsim when the truck blows up. Pretty good stuff. Not drek." Grudging.

"Not drek. An' not mine. So. Maybe that crazy prophesy -coulda- been about me, once, but it ain't now. So it's as safe as it's gonna be to go after 'em."

"Hmmph." Dissatisfied but, perhaps for the first time, unable to argue the point. "Doesn't mean you get to act all meshugah."

"Me meshugah? You, you're the mesugah." Scoffing, but.... fond. Ish.

"Hirim, ya did everything ya could. -More- than you had to. Ya got me into textiles, you protected me when you could from that damn soothsayer's story, you saved Zara... If it ain't ok now, it's never gonna be. Verschtay?"

"Yeah. Get out. I got a presentation case, not gonna line itself."

"Pffft. It could probably do a better job than you will. Don't call me, yeah? I'll call you."

Miriam is moving towards the door to the shop.

Pay no attention to the sluagh behind the azaleas...

Miriam marches off, boots crunching gravel.

Like fog rolling in, Zara drifts into Hirim's shop - no hiding the intensity of her gaze, black eyes flickering like embers.

He's working a fairly large presentation box, cotton batting there, wooden frame cut outs there, velvet still on the bolt.

And, silently, with a familiarity from long practice... there's a hand ready with a tack hammer.

He takes it, then blinks and looks up through smeared glasses. "Zara!" Not displeased. "Bubalah, where've you been a while? Busy?"

"The Dreaming. With August." Well, if Ice needed a distraction....

Hirim is visibly startled. "What?"

He is scooting out from under the worktable and headed for the door, moving as quietly as he can...*

The nocker's attention is entirely on Zara.

"It was an adventure, nu? Home safe. Oh, memories are what they are, but Hehe, it was wonderful." She scoops up a handful of finishing tacks.

OUT he goes. And after a few seconds, he taps casually on the door*

"Heh." He gives her a little grin, nods, takes the wood glue and a clamp. "You had an adventure with the scribbler? Nice."

She swishes over to answer the door. "Aye! I found a treasure, and, I think, parts of me."

Applying glue and clamping the pieces in place in the box. "That's nice, Zara!"

"Ghost," At the door, lifting chin*

"I remember Hehe. At least pieces. I never remembered before. Do you? Any lives? Hey Ice."

"Already pissed off half the nockers in Ma's shop, figure I'd come see if any here needed it."

His eyes flick to Hirim as he says it*

"I heard you suggested they just use GPSes instead of astrolabes?"

"HA!" A barked laugh at the suggestion.

"Yeah, some memories. Not a lot. I work, I don't go gallivanting off in the Dreaming with whoever."

"Well, not exactly." A scowl at Hirim, striding in*