According to the sluggishly ticking clock hanging above the door to the store, it's five o'clock. But the young woman pulling down the protective grating knows that the clock, like many things out there, is brimming with accidental lies. Her mobile phone is attuned to the atomic clock and that claims the clock shaved off an extra quarter of an hour. Time had gotten away from her again with the clock attempting to thieve what she had missed.
Her understated black heels are a clicking counterpoint to the clock. The weak February light that streams between the tightly packed buildings looming over the little shop glints off of her bronze name tag. She is convinced that no one reads it, let alone remembers what is imprinted by the precise stamping machine. The shop is one of glass and glittering items; compared to the precious stones and metal encased in the elegant cabinetry, she knows that she and her uniform do not stand out in the least. To do that was to detract from the wares and it wasn't her that the clients were shopping for; this shop was not for that.
But now is after-hours.
The young woman, her hair neatly pinned back in a bun that resembles a knot of wood with its coloration and shape, gives the glass cases a final spritz and polish to prepare them for the morning. The shop was painstakingly decorated in such a way as to encourage the perception of sufficient space, cleaned regularly to welcome customers. In the Court Quarter of the city, most of the shops shared the same dimensions and similar window shapes; any way a business could find to stand out was of critical advantage.
The rooms sequestered behind the 'Employees Only' sign are a hybrid of a workshop and a makeshift break room that could easily support a person staying for a few nights. This was often the case for a small jewelry shop that had a small range of clientele which would make unusual demands. It was better for the business owner to make small repairs in-house rather than send out for services he and his trained associate could provide. Like the tastefully tiled area of the shop which welcomed customers, the back areas were cleaned regularly. Unlike the determinedly welcoming place beyond the nondescript door, break area managed to amass the sort of clutter that comes with living rather than urging to purchase.
The working desk, the sofa and the small table between were findings rescued from the verges on trash day. It results in a weathered and mismatched appearance very much at odds with the shop and breathes of different personality. The desk is cluttered, the couch welcoming with an extra pillow nestled on top of a folded woolen blanket, and the little round dining room table in between them was hosting a pile of mail.
Most of the mail was to her employer but one on the top was addressed differently. The girl looks down at it, carefully manicured fingers reaching out to cover the name until only her nickname peered out at her. 'Tani.' She can take a moment to marvel at the way the pearly robin's egg blue of the envelope made the natural tan of her hands stand out, accentuated the manicure that was mandatory in this sort of shop.
"Finally," she breathes, her thoughtful expression clearing into a pleased half-smile. It was the letter she had waited years for, the engraved invitation more than one mutual friend had made affectionate bets about. Her fingertips drag to the top left corner of the envelope before she flips it over. On the back were clear instructions to RSVP before August.
Tani turns away from the table, pausing to use it to steady herself as she steps out of her heels. The floor feels unforgivingly cold through the leggings but after the shoes it's a relief. It wouldn't take her long to change into more comfortable clothing before she settled in at the work station. Nice professional clothing for reasonable price was difficult to come by so she saw no reason to put her uniform at risk.
Once Tani takes the time to change clothing and grab a snack, she settles herself at the workstation both she and her employer used to make repairs to pieces brought to them by clients. Rarely would they work with things to make unique pieces. As she scans the board in front of the desk to decide on which instrument to begin with, she rubs her fingertips together.
In the end, she drags out a weighty hunk of metal that has a pair of straight and shallow troughs in it. It was like iron beneath her now-warm fingertips. It was made of a dense metal, as weathered as any grandmother's finest cast-iron skillet. Like the rough-hewn marble work surface that was actually a salvaged off-cut, the heavy mold was also a rescue. Her employer had no more need of it but Tani saw no reason to dispose of it. It, like the battered desk and couch, had been given another chance.
Consideringly, she plucks one of their steak knives from the kitchen from its secret spot beneath the desk organizer, turning it over in her hands as she stares at the mold. The metal blade glints with a strange warmth beneath the glow of the old yellow bulb that hangs above the table.
With a quirked smile, she twists the instrument so that the metallic shark teeth meet her skin and presses it roughly into the meaty part of the palm. To make sure, she folds her fingers around the sleek steel. The smile morphs almost instantly to a pained hiss as the flesh parts but as she pulls the sharp implement from her hand, she can only hope the shallow gouges were enough.
Welling from her palm are not the bright red of blood but steaming droplets of glowing metal. It lights her brown eyes strangely in the small space, promises to catch fire to anything unprepared for it ferociously. Tani knew that it would cool quickly in the air, turning her hand so it was palm down above the marble and deliberately pressing a thumb into the softness near the teeth-marks of the knife to encourage more flow.
The key was to bleed her gold into a straight line without spattering it and that takes concentration. This was the best gift she could think to give them. Her friends would need bands for their vows. They were only starting and had about as much as any young married couple would have. . . so Tani would provide. It would take time to process the gold into her desired shape, repeatedly subjecting it to heat and pressure until it was the right size for the intended, to polish it appropriately.
Tani had until August. She had time.
*~*~*
