Barter and Banter

Title: Barter and Banter
Time Period: February 8, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Needles, bobbins, carpentry and delivery are all swapped for new threads when the smith, the seamstress, and a medium meet in a shop.

"Where are you hiiiiiding" A bolt of red fabric goes to the floor with a resounding thud, prompting a flurry of twitters from the birds in their enormous cage in the back corner, the ddoor to it open, and sans one yellow bird. "No! No! Come back here!" thump goes another bolt. Sorcha up on a small wooden stepladder as she's searching for something. Dress form with a half made dress pinned to it, baskets of wool in varying hues sitting on shelving opposite her, lamps giving light to darker corners where sunlight from the few windows doens't quite reach. Bells above the door will signal the arrival of anyone, but for now, she's up on her toes, reaching to pull another bolt down. "you are here…. somewhere. Come out, come out wherever you are!" Fingers grasp to grab what's scratching along the wall and shelves.

Most men don't come to the shop often — their wives or mothers or girlfriends or sisters tend to do it for them, but Beisdean has none of those things and so it is he who steps into Sorcha's, looking amused at all the hustle and bustle as the woman chases what seems to be a bird.

"Is everything quite all right, Mrs. Ferrier?" says Beisdean in that ultra-polite manner he has with the children of his youth he's come across. The marten on his shoulders looks very curious at the scratching and the tall man looks to the creature to tap it on his nose. "No helping."

A thick-knuckled knock sounds to the tune of dampened, fabric-inspired thunder toppling in threaded storm around Sorcha's seamstress shop. It is quickly followed by light jingling bells heralding the latest second arrival. Niall's throat clearing and announcement reaches out as he pushes the door open. "Hello? I've brought those needles and those bobbins you needed…" He trails off, spying the woman's precariously perched person, and Beisdean along with the man's furry familiar. But rather than offer his immediate aid, Niall simply looks on, exemplifying the other's phrase. No helping. He does, however, offer in curious question, "What are you looking for?"

"Niall! Shut the door, shut the bloody door!" Daring to lok over even as she fishes around behind some fabric for her wayward pet. "Both of you, one of your! close it before butter gets out!" Canary's won't last long out in the cold of Dornie. The full lipped woman makes one last attempt to fish and her eyes light up as her fist closes around something and she yanks it back.

yellow fluff and complaining avian in palm she holds her hand up triumphant. "Nope! No help needed, I got her. kids came in and left the door open, thought it would be funny to see me chase after a bird. ohh I almost wanted to beat them" Back to the ground she goes, making sure to keep beasts and fowl apart. "How are you gentlemen today!" Niall familiar, Bei's somewhat familiar. "Lemme put butter away"

Beisdean reaches behind Niall, giving the man a nod, to push the door closed, while Darklight stands up like a Meerkat to peer at the bird cupped in the woman's hands. "Tch," the marten says curiously, but Beisdean reaches into a pocket to pull out a bit of jerky for the creature to gnaw on in distraction.

"Are the others toast and jam?" Beisdean asks mildly, before moving to look at fabrics and textiles, fingers stroking a bit of cloth thoughtfully.

Niall does in fact shut the door behind him on command, waiting patiently. Watching the mini spectacle unfold, he keeps careful watch at the threshold until the free bird is caught and the houdini is put back. "I'm well enough, thank ye for asking. Though, I can't believe you named the bird 'Butter'," remarks the blacksmith in turn as he steps away from the door and over to Sorcha, careful about avoiding the fallen bolts of fabric. A hand slips into an open pocket on his belt, bringing out a small pouch of burlap. "Here y' go. Three needles and two bobbins, enough for a mending, right?" states Niall, eyes wandering to Beisdean and marten.

"How did you know their names?" She gestures to the smaller of the trio. "Jam, and toast." the door firmly closed, she's wiping her hands on her skirts so that she can tak ethe small bag from Niall. "Mending and a couple pairs of pants, ifn you like" Metal after all isn't cheap, even if he is just melting down and recasting her old needles with a bit of new metal once they break. "I have some pants ready, over there, if you want to try them on, see if they fit" They should, and there's a gesture to the tall partition that denotes the changing area.

'now you" Beis. "What can I do for you and…" And she still can't put her finger on it. "I shoudl know you, shouldn't I?"

The tall man dips his head in acknowledgement. "Beisdean Skye, ma'am. It's been a long time. I was just coming to see what sort of things you might have and if I could do any odd jobs for them. I've come from England with just a small bag of clothes with me, and the wear from washing's starting to show a bit. I don't have much to trade so I'd do work, if I could, but if that's not doable, it's quite all right."

Clearly he expects to be told no — and clearly he cares about his appearance, as beneath his coat, the clothing he wears is functional, just a bit faded, the sweater getting a little thread bare though layered on top of other shirts it is warm enough.

Toast and Jam. The two names cause a double raising of Niall's brows in tandem, and a stifled, humored chuckle for it. "That reminds me a friend once who'd name the fishes we caught by the river by the ways he planned on cookin' them: Boil, Fry, and the like," notes Niall in a flicker of nostalgia. The warmth cools quickly though, as the small talk fades back to business. And business, it seems, is good enough for two pair. "You're awfully kind to put that price on some slivers and round, Miss Sorcha. But I'll take them, if they fit." Not one to pass up that deal, Niall moves for the partition while Beisdean speaks to the seamstress next. He keeps his ears open though, eavesdropping on the conversation going on on the other side.

"I'll not hear of it. Your time and skill, are what keeps me from having to try and make them myself, so off with you behind the panel there, shoo" Snatching up the pants to drape them over the top, ready to be tried on. But, there is business at hand and she pays some attention to the animal bedecked man in front of her with a furrow of groomed brows.

Swift steps bring her closer, reaching out to check his jacket - giving wiiide berth to the martin - size the man up before ending up back in front with her arms crossed and leaning against a counter, chin up.

"Good with carpentry?"

Beisdean chuckles in low tones at the man's naming of fish; when he sees Sorcha's uncertainty around the marten, he nods to the little beast, and steps back to open the door. Darklight does not drop to the ground to exit but instead leaps off of Beisdean's shoulder, fur turning to feathers and lean weasel body becoming that of a raven as the creature takes flight into the pale winter sky outside. The door is closed once more, and Beisdean turns to smile at Sorcha.

"Not horrible at it. I can build basic shelves and the like, but nothing fancy. I do delivers for Mrs. Fairbairn but it's not too much of my day," he says politely, then tips his head curiously. "You do remember who I am, aye? Just so that's out in the open." In case she wouldn't want to hire someone who talks to ghosts.

Another snort huffs from behind the partition, sounds of boots being removed and fabric slipping on and off. A couple of moments within the minute pass, and Niall emerges with the first pair on. "So far so good," he judges with satisfaction. "A couple of days in the fire, should be enough to break them in." Canting his head to the conversing pair, he shuts his mouth to avoid interrupting the interview. At Beisdean's last question, Niall also tries to guess, but internally and with a squinting of his eyes in the medium's direction. Does he know him? Doubtful.

"They'll have holes in thems oon enough and you'll be coming back begging for them to be mended" She cants her head in Niall's direction to assess whether indeed they do fit and with a nod, he's sent back the few feet. "Second pair now!"

And now you. Beisidean Skye. With a martin, that turns into a bird, means he's one of those. "The ghost. I know, once you gave the name. Makes no matter what it is that you do. Just so long as you don't use it for ill in my shop, or with my mother, then you're welcome. I have some shelves in need of some repair, steps, little things here and there. In return, I'll make you a few things, replace what needs replacing or some mending. Your companion, stays outside, if it' pleases. I'm none too comfortable around them truth be told. That and I don't want him thinking he can just up and eat the breakfast foods" A gesture to the cage. "Deal?" Sorcha offers up her hand.

"I try not to use it at all, ma'am, let alone for ill," Beisdean says, a slight flush to his cheeks, but he extends his hand. "Sounds like a good deal to me."

Niall gathers his attention and Beisdean chuckles at the other man's more "masculine" approach to clothing — that they'll only be good and wearable once they're dirty and worn in. "Darklight won't eat anyone's pets; he just hadn't seen any birds so bright before. He likes bright things, shiny things. He'd probably like some of heir feathers to decorate his raven's nest with, if he has one. Your baubles and buttons and pins are more likely to go missing than a canary, but he does return them… after he's played with them a bit."

The man smoothes the scarf around is neck, and says — it's hard to tell if he's being ironic or not — "I don't know where he gets it."

Niall turns the 180 and marches back around the partition. "Aye there's the rub isn't there, having to come back and mend the pants what comes from mending needles," he says from behind the privacy wall. Second pair comes on faster than the first when all's said and done, and he emerges once more, looking comfortable. It's the exchange about familiars that gets him less so, and Niall spares a glance outside one of the windows. Somewhere in the fields, no doubt, is his own Stands-Fast. "I think you can believe him," puts in the blacksmith of his own faith in the younger, taller man. "And if ye don't work out with Miss Sorcha, then you c'n always come to the forge and help with a few cleanups there." A slight smile crosses his mouth at the thought.

"Well" Well. Softening some to the thought that the familiar is more apt to just want feathers and shinies. "I have some feathers, that he can have and buttons… well. Well he can work for some. If he's any adept at catching mice or other such small things, then he can earn a button and feathers" Put the familiar to work. "Just have to give me a week, to get my hands on some lumber and dowels, for the shelves and other things around here, but if clothing is of some imminent need, you can come in and sweep, maybe perhaps…" Perhaps what? "Some deliveries, to others"

'and yes, tis a vicious cycle, mending, making, holes, mending, terribly ahppily vicious circle that benefits the lot of us! And trying to steal him out from under me! Niall! I should whistle for my mother to turn you over her knee!" Empty threat, the woman up in the living spaces above them, bedridden and unlikely to ever recover. Age does that to one.

Niall's vouching for him earns him a nod of thanks from Beisdean, and he grins a little at the idea of sweeping a forge. "I'll keep that in mind, thank you. I used to work in a book shop, so I'm not sure how handy I'd be in a forge, though sweeping is probably easy enough."

To Sorcha, Beisdean grins as well. "Aye, he's good at catching mice and whatnot indeed," the man says with a chuckle at his familiar working for his shiny things. "Thank you. There's nothing too pressing — no pun intended — but I thought I'd see about it when I saw your shop today. It hadn't dawned on me before, but I've a few more weeks to make before the spring." He gives a dip of his head that's something like a bow to the seamstress.

"Now now, no need to go to the extreme," Niall replies kiddingly, black spotted and calloused hands lifting with palms out to show his non-fear of empty threats. "Unless you mean to keep him busy at all hours, anyway," he adds cheekily. Oh, he could get turned over for that salty remark. Quickly before he does more damage to the innocent show of conversation, Niall sweeps back to the partition and makes to hide - ineffectively of course - while he puts his original lower clothing and footwear back on.

Swat goes a hand, to the back of Niall's head before he dances out of the way and tot he safety of the partition. "For shame sir! I am a married woman! Such thoughts are invoked only by mine husband!" The one perpetually at sea. "Ignore him, his banter is harmless. There is a shelf, over there, with mens things already made. See if anything there will fit you that is warm, replace something on you that has the looks of threatening to fall off you. I'll see to some feathers for your friend." sweaters knit and generic in color and size, warm socks, scarves, the like, things not custom made and for those who have a whim when they come in.

Brows arch at the salty joke and Beisdean laughs, eyes following the other man with amusement, before sobering when Sorcha turns his way, lest she think he is thinking untoward thoughts about her while her husband is away. "No, ma'am, I'll wait until I've earned it first," he says solemnly. "I can get through another week at least. I'll stop by each day while doing deliveries for Mrs. Fairbairn, see if you need any errands run, and make you some shelves at the end of the week. Let me know if you need me to pick up the wood, as well; I've a horse and can borrow a cart."

He dips his head, reaching up to the cap to tip it slightly. "Have a good day, both of you."

Niall ducks, though not in time to avoid the swat. The man's still laughing behind the wall when Beisdean chooses the time to exit. A hand swipes over the top of the partition in a vague wave of farewell. Once more decent (if dirty), the blacksmith steps back out from behind the partition afterwards with pants over arm. "Truthfully though Sorcha, I didn't mean any harm by it. Just observing that you are doing quite alright, with the circumstances. It's admirable." It looks as if he too is headed back to work, now that transactions are done and made. "So I'll be stopping by again when the need comes. Let me know if you want a lock for that cage - the kind little fingers don't open so easily," he adds on his way out.

"You can help Mrs Fairbairn out with my sheep and llama's, you can do such. She keeps my meager flock" More little things for Beisdean to do. "Have a good day regardless, and be well" letting the man that she's remembering from years past start to take his leave. 'As for you Niall, you are not the first, nor will you be the last to be jesting like that. As for a lock, all is fine. I don't mind them wanting to play with them. Livens up the day. Get on with you too though. I have work to do" Dismissed Niall! Out of her shop too!