"Well if you're vouching for him sir, then I can probably work him into the schedule some time within the next year."
"Such matters are entirely at your discretion, my masters simply bid me make the introduction, and with that done I bid you good day." The Master Smith's brow wrinkled in a disapproving frown once the retainer turned his back and slipped out the door. Slimy little toady; making as if his master's introductions were of as little consequence as breaking wind. An introduction would have cost the young man leaning against his wall some considerable service, and a service to the Velasquez probably meant that someone, somewhere, was dead or else wishing to be. "So what was it you were wanting done, Mister...?" The man lurched away from the wall, head spinning back and forth in a panic before settling on the smith. Must have fallen asleep on his feet, judged the craftsman, not bothering to repress a snort of amusement. The man quickly pull his hood back forward as it threatened to slip off his head. Bloody adventurers, always trying to maintain their 'mystery'. "I'm Mister...I'm...you're asking, who am I, right? Ummm... that's, that is you see....my name being....They're calling me Timothy now." The smith blinked and then forged onwards. Fellow was just a little simple maybe. "Alright, Master Timothy then, what can I do for you then? Here for a blade, I should think right?" "Yes, Timothy will do...it's not really...oh the blade. Yes, yes, yes, please! I want one. The best, the best." Surging forward the adventurer seized the smith's hand in his own gloved paw and began to shake it vigorously. "Your work, very nice, good swords all of them. Piero's blade is beautiful, so sharp, so very...but I like his father's better, all those golden serpents; so many teeth!" "Um, yes. Thank you." Eager to extricate his hand from the overenthuiastic client, the smith clenched his grip bonecrushingly tightly around the offending hand. Much to his dismay he felt the young man's hand give and splinter within his grasp; worse still the fellow didn't seem to care and continued to rave his appreciation. He sighed; bloody Velasquez. The sooner he was rid of this loon the better. "Look, before we get started we should talk payment, because you know my work isn't chea-""Oh no, of course not, of course! We all have to pay for the best don't we? Yes, we do. So whatever price, whatever price."
The smith turned from the window and paced across the room to his bench. The surface was covered in papers, which were in turn covered in a mess of sketches, notes and diagrams. Here a design to store poison inside a rapier's hilt and send it flowing down the blade with a twist of the pommel. There a series of mandala to be worked into the steel each time it was folded. Say what you will about the Velasquez but their requirements kept things interesting.
*Crash*
Something sailed through the window and thumped off the table leg. From outside an uneven hooting laughter echoed down the street accompanied by the heavy patter of running feet. The Master Smith cautiously peered under the table, and then with a pair of tongs in hand extracted the projectile and brought it out into the forgelight. The weapon that had demolished his poor window was a bulging sack of hexa. He wiped his head wearily. He should have mentioned that he didn't take deposits. Now he had the madman's money and no way of handing it back. Fantastic.
The Boy slides the mirror beneath the pallet on which he rests, then hugs his legs tight to his adult's body and for once as sleep reaches out for him there is a grin upon his face.
And in his tower the voices sit upon their broken chairs and argue over who is next.