Apprenticeship

Apprenticeship

Postby Treadwell » Fri Nov 18, 2016 4:54 am

Morning of the eighteenth of the eleventh month.

Myrkentown.

The back room of Tready's Toys.


"Careful, careful, my boy, hm hm! If you would learn to make toys, mmph, then you have much to learn to do well, hrm hrm!"

Aloisius Treadwell stands beside his second eldest son, Nicholas, in what is usually the bath chamber between his toy store's kitchen and master bedroom. Father and son are dressed alike and dressed down, each wearing nothing more than a simple, red, one-piece suit of pajamas. Both are starting to sweat; the saw between them, which is mostly through a plank that will eventually be the side of a new doll house, is the reason why. Said plank rests atop two boxes.

"You have to guide the thing, mmph mmph, back and forth, and let it do some of the work! You just have to make it go where you want it to go, hm, and not be so rough with it!"

"But my arms hurt, Father. . . ."

"Oho! This is the hard part, son, hrm, but after, we can rest, we can eat, and then we can smooth off this thing's edges and see what we can do with it."

"You said it would be," a huff for breath here before Nicholas can continue, "the side of a new doll house?"

"The back, mmph mmph, after it is painted and, mmph, carved some." The toymaker nods, reaching a hand out to grab a handkerchief to mop between chin and breast.

"So it will look like the one you have in the front room, in the corner?"

Another nod follows. The handkerchief is stuffed into a pocket, and Aloisius lifts a nearby mug of beer to lips. A good gulp or two later, and it is passed to Nicholas, who downs the rest. Even at twelve, the boy is a veritable copy of his elderly father.

"Now, a little more work, dear boy, mmph, and we are finished with this for now."

Grins exchange, and, a few more hefts of the saw, a few more hard cuts for a young boy and old man, a spray of splinters and sawdust. A few more moments, the saw carves through, the board gives away and falls into two equal sections, and the saw is pulled up and lifted safely.

"Against the wall, hm hm. We--" but Nicholas is already lurching forward alongside Aloisius, guiding the two of them toward the wall as directed before the elder Treadwell gets to finish his breath and sentence.

"There!"

"There, mmph mmph!"

"Father?" between pants of air.

"Nicholas?" One plump hand braces Tready against the wall while the other lays claim to his cane.

"Lunch?"

"A little early, yet--"

"But that doesn't matter at home." Another wide grin, mischievous and merry despite the labor of sawing into a piece of wood.

Lunch passes quickly enough; Aloisius and Nicholas had the sense to prepare it in advance. Soon enough, the two rest at the kitchen table, each one leaned back in his own chair, happily full. The son mirrors the father, hands resting on the top curve of stomach.

"We should keep working," from the boy, his eagerness returning with a warm belly. "The animals--those were fun to stuff and sew! And you let me paint a little, and--"

"And you have a good hand for it, mmph mmph."

"But, Father?"

"Nicholas?"

"Why do you label everything? Your yarn, your paints?"

"Colors, my child, mmph."

"What of them?" Nicholas here slowly stands, showcasing the beginnings of the same difficulties his parents both face in that simple act. In moments, though, he is by Aloisius, bracing to help him up to his legs and cane.

"I, mmm, well, your mother tells me I don't see 'em right, mmph mmph." Shoulders shrug. "So I have her label things for me."

At this, the boy brightens, and even more so once his father is not leaning on his arm so much. "I can help with that! If I am to work here--"

"Which you are--"

"Then I can keep it all neat and proper!"

Treadwell nods his head, smiling.

"Now, dear boy, mmph, dear Nicholas, we have a doll house to fashion. What say you?"

For a moment, Nicholas says nothing. He disappears, scurrying as quickly as his heavy frame can carry him into the front room. He returns, pursy and flushed but grinning wide and holding up a wood-carved husband and wife who look suspiciously like his parents. "I say 'yes!'"
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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Re: Apprenticeship

Postby Treadwell » Sat Nov 26, 2016 2:35 pm

Night of the twenty-sixth of the eleventh month.

Myrkentown.

The front room at Tready's Toys.


It is dark in Myrkentown. All of the shops are closed for the evening in the middle of town, but at Tready's Toys, despite the sign outside being turned around to read "Closed" and the window shutters being drawn, Aloisius and Nicholas Treadwell are sprawled comfortably in the two rocking chairs by the warmly glowing fireplace. Just as they were a few mornings ago, they are dressed down for the night, wearing the same red pajamas as earlier, each covered in a plush blanket as he gently rocks.

"A week and a day, dear boy. Look around us! We have many new creations, hm hm, in here: two doll houses finished and painted, dolls to live in them, and a proper farm, mmph, of plush animals taking up its own table! I am quite impressed, Nicholas. You are learning very quickly."

The boy stays silent, letting his father speak, but that doesn't stop him from smiling the same cheek-jiggling smile the old man is showing off at the moment. The father's smile, though, slips away as he continues.

"Now, this morning I received a letter, hrm, from Roderic, my sometime partner here. He says he must take leave of his work with me as he has business, hm hm, to return to doing with a group of elves he has not seen in some years. I do not suppose, hmph, that he will return to Myrkentown any time soon."

"You have said many times, Father," the child interrupts, "that he helps you sell toys in other, distant towns in Myrken Wood."

"He does, and he has, and, should I ever need him to do so again, I reckon he might, mmph, but for now, I must focus on my efforts here." A plump hand comes out from under the red and gold blanket, stabbing down into the arm of his rocking chair. "To that end, Nicholas, I will need help. You, my child, mmph, have shown an extraordinary talent, hm hm, in working here this week. I would have you be my apprentice, working here with me."

Treadwell returns his hand under the blanket, settling himself and giving his son time to think. The boy's reply is simple and short; he nods his head and grins even wider than he has been.

"Good! Good! You show great skill already, hrm hrm, and I think that, one day, mmph, you might do well to take over this toy shop, to own it for yourself. Until that time, though, you and I, my dear child, mmph mmph. . . . well, we shall be spending a great, great deal of time together here, eh?"

"Of course, Father! I would be delighted!"

"Now, that means, hm hm, being here with me when I am here, mmph, instead of playing at home with the other children all day." Fluffy eyebrows rise at this direction. "It would mean working when I work here, hm, and eating when I eat here, and, well, I reckon you could nap when I do, as well, hee hee."

"What of when you are not here?"

"Well, when I am not here, mmph, then the store is closed--at least for the time. A year or so, perhaps, and I might let you handle sales. You could, of course, feel free to work here if you like, or go home, mmph mmph. Either would be fine."

Nicholas nods, reaching a hand up to rub thoughtfully at his roly-poly chin.

"I wish for you to be a perfect and happy toymaker, my son, jolly and merry, mmph mmph. That means spending much time here, hm, and working much, and enjoying much. One cannot make toys properly without loving the work, Nicholas, and loving the children, mmph, who will gain by it."

Up comes a pudgy pointer finger, free again from the blanket as it waggles at the listening young man.

"Do you understand what I say?"

"I do, Father! Of course, I do!"

"That is deeeelightful, hm hm! We shall continue this work tomorrow after my visit with the few Tubbians left in Myrken, mmph. I have a half a dozen stuffed pigs I want ready by tomorrow night."
"Looks like a table to me. Do you think it could hold up someone as bulbous as Treadwell?" -- Dr. Brennan, Myrken Wood Rememdium Edificium
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