A healthy Flute Planning

[12:28] Thrim Underforged says, "Mm."
[12:31] Thrim Underforged says, "Ay ther', Yvelle."
[12:31] Yvelle Vacerayne asks, "-ah. Hello again, Thrim. How are you?"
[12:32] Thrim Underforged asks, "So fa' fine, fine. How about yerself?"
[12:33] Yvelle Vacerayne says, "I could be better! I- could be better."
[12:33] Thrim Underforged asks, "Did somethin' happen?"
[12:33] Yvelle Vacerayne looks down, shaking away a few vestiges of mist surrounding her feet.
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[12:33] Yvelle Vacerayne says, "-nothing much. Just a reminder of truth."
[12:34] Thrim Underforged tilts his head to side, somewhat confused as always! But then, gestures for her to follow him.
(Thrim Underforged)
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[12:35] Thrim Underforged says, "Well, we can talk about it if desired - whil' also! We talk about what ya wanted from ma last time."
[12:35] Thrim Underforged says, "Come, this way."
[12:36] Yvelle Vacerayne says, "... ah. Alright, then. That does sound quite nice, hmm."
[12:40] Entering the Cafofo, as the dwarf put it, he moved to a huge stone seat, while gesturing to the chairs - which were small, made for Stone Folks clearly, so surely Yvelle would probably not be very comfortable.

Still, it was what they had.

"So, do ye wan' some mead?" He questioned while looking at a barrel, before turning his attention to her - "Ah, ya may begin to speak about wha' ya wanted in specific.

We have all the time in the world to talk." With those words said, the little dwarf then awaited the answer.

Leaning on the table with both arms, remarkably he was still dirty with dust - because he was always working! And that, it was something common already.
(Thrim Underforged)
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[12:44] The chairs are small. She's massive. What ends up happening, bluntly, is that she winds up sitting on them like a fucked up version of a stool; that's the only way she's going to make this comfortable, after all.

… are her antlers hitting the roof?

"We do have time, I suppose - quite a bit," Yvelle ponders, scrunched up like a bad Samus imitation. "I'm still figuring out what to do, but- I know my skillset. I know what's preferred. What're your thoughts on water-based weapons?"

A pause. "Not as in it being nigh water-made, but more of an attunement stuck within."

Another one strikes.
A sigh.

"Do I strike you as holding an odd style?"
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[12:50] If she were sitting down, surely her horns wouldn't touch the ceiling! But, the dwarf turns his gaze up to check it out.. And no, she wasn't! He gave a sigh of relief, because she really was tall.

That's good, he liked that.

"Weapons based on water elements?

Oh! I rememba something tha' ma grandfather created, a staff tha' held the core of an elemental - he refined the gem so that it was almos' intertwined with the user.

Usin' the dwarven runes for this!" As he spoke he touched his chin - thinking, remembering these facts - "Runes tha' have been passed down from generation to generation, since tha time of Ganur - tha one who forged our people.

And whe-." He gave a little cough, to clear his throat as he got carried away with what he said.

Whereas well, he almost started talking about his race's past!

"Wha' kind of weapon do ya prefer? Staves.. Swords, axes, hammers or somethin' else?" The question was asked, before he fell silent and awaited her words.
(Thrim Underforged)
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[12:56] She really was tall! She's going to get taller. She's going to cap out at 7'4, Thrim. Are you ready for that future where you get absolutely loomed over by a Faeborne?

There's a readjustment; it's clear that Yvelle is listening, although at least some of it is probably passing through a mind contaminated with obsessive thoughts and active depression that's being neglected in favor of an overactive egomaniacal mental state.

"... I'm a stave type, but- I can work with most things offered to me, even musical." She stretches while sitting there-

-and in that moment, butterfly wings unfold from her back with her stretching and her yawning and her readjustment, folding high up into the air in turn. She does, it seem, take up a lot of air room. She also hasn't processed it exists. "Or a sword, should it channel magic well."
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[13:04] The future is scary and certainly, Thrim wouldn't know what to expect or how to act when the time came.

Now, had he noticed that she was.. having problems? Rather, her expressions, the vagueness of her words making it clear that something wasn't right, but who was he to say anything?

He is just a tiny dwarf.

"A staff could be it then! But maybe a musical instrumen'? Maybe.. a flute, I can work wit' tha' - it woul' be the best suited kind of instrument for something like what ya want.

Or maybe a sword, I can also make a beautifu' catalytic sword." The ideas were many, he just needed to know which one she preferred.

Now.. a break was taken from all the speech, he got up from his seat, went to a barrel that was in the corner of the room - took two mugs that were on top and filled with the liquid from this barrel! A drink, mead! Which was then brought to thefaeborne.

Offered to her.

"Her', this might do ya som' good." He offered before continuing with his speech, "Now, tell ma which one is preferable and then I'll come up with somethin' quick to give you a taste of what we'll do.

Aye?" And while he was waiting for the answer, he started to drink his mead! Partially wetting his beard due to splashing.

But, that didn't seem to bother him.
(Thrim Underforged)
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[13:11] There's a lot of ideas there - although the vagueness of her words perhaps provides the concept that there's a problem, Thrim can't help but get the idea that maybe she just kind of talks like that.

No, seriously. She's always talked like this. It sounds like she's from some shitty Delphinian play or another.

"... a flute." A pause. "I think that would be quite unique! Count me in on that one. I like that one." Catalytic swords were good and all, don't get her wrong, but there was an allure to a weapon whose very existence was meant to draw attention towards her presence.

A drink of mead is accepted, given the good presence around them; there's a toast and a gulp, liquid finding itself forced to undrip should it attempt to run down.

Damn. She's even got to be dainty while doing that.

"I should ask about the pricing, really. Justto know how much more I'll need for this."
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[13:20] A flute would be! Without saying anything, he took a roll of parchment from his pockets and a piece of charcoal, which he then used to make the schematics of the thing, which then... took the form of an ornate flute.

Ideal. As was wanted.

"We can use Prismithium for the base given its elemental capabilities, together water crystals to focus the material's capabilities - as well as orichalcum and mythril for the details, as well as being foci for magic.

With that we might have something suitable and proper, for what you want." As soon as he finished speaking, the paper was slid to her - the mug from before, the one that belonged to Thrim, by this point was lying on the floor.

Given his current focus.

While this, he was smiling! It wasn't something very visible due to the beard, but it was there because that he enjoyed his work.. And the funny thing was, he had a massive beard.. But like last time was said, it was not because he was old, as he wasn't even an adult yet.

He was nothing more than a young dwarf, perhaps as young as Yvelle.

"I'll make ya a special offa, which dependin' on the final product - we'll decide when it's finished.

Sounds good to ya?" he asked before then leaning his shoulder on the table.
(Thrim Underforged)
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[14:41] … it's ornate. Thrim gets the idea of what exactly Yvelle wants out of this already - and for once, she feels almost visible underneath the gaze of a smith, a blink cast upon the page as he sketches.

"Prism for its base, focusing with those; it sounds quite nice to me, and healthy, too," she half-jokes, clearly thinking of the Faeborne's tendency to go a bit more solarpunk than perhaps most people would lean towards.

As Thrim discards his own mug on the floor, she keeps special care in making sure hers doesn't spill, mainly because you really aren't supposed to litter in a place where you've been invited. It's okay if the hosts do it because they live there, but the guests?

No. They should exist without a trade.

"Sounds good to me." A nod. "I like special offers - although I hope that it's affordable. I feel as if it will be, at the least..."

She doesn't know why she feels like that, but there's confidence. Speaking of-! A single wave is cast towards Barry as he enters the small, small structure.
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[14:53] Apparently Barry arrived in the Cafofo, soon receiving a wave from the dwarf. Before then his attention was turned towards Yvelle, as she was the focus there! His client and certainly at this point, a friend.

Maybe.

"Healthy indeed! Aha." He would comment in return before then going on, "And dontch ya worry, it certainly will be! As I ten' to do the best I can, followin' ma client's wish - as well as makin' somethin' tha' most resembles them.

And the price, it will be fair - I swear by tha name of ma clan, tha Underforged." That being so, he would do something more than fitting and accommodating, perhaps something would be reserved for the moment of payment..

Some Stone Folk joke, but for now.

"Tha' would be all, I'll send ya a letter in the upcomin' days - when we begin tha work.

Unless you arrive earlier, to talk and in the middle we'll put everythin' into action." With that said he would then rise and extend a dirty hand to the faeborne to seal their deal.
(Thrim Underforged)
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[14:53] Barry Garrick says, "Don't let me keep you. Nice to meet you... Miss."
[14:58] It will be fair. It will be as you like it. All of these words are hitting a spot that Yvelle had no clue existed before now, let alone comprehended that it needed shooting at by somebody. There was a sense of-

power, perhaps? That came with it. A sense of satisfaction, knowing that whatever job she would request would actually come through as long as she could pay for the dues. It was a profitable business relationship for both, nonetheless.

"Then on my name, we both shall keep our sides," the Faeborne nods, clasping his hand without fear. Whereas Thrim's is dirty, hers is almost insanely clean; it's almost as if she's been adjusting and cleaning them constantly, albeit with no fear found once a bit of dirt does get on them from him. Sometimes you've got to be willing to get a little dirty.

Just for a while. Just for a little bit. Just for what's worth it.

"I look forward to thatletter, Sir Thrim. Now- should I get out of your hair and home?" A glance goes to Barry, a soft bow (made awkward by her height and horns). "Dor'alanor, by the by. I'm Yvelle."
(Yvelle Vacerayne)
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[14:59] Barry Garrick says, "Barry. Thrim's brother."
[15:00] Thrim Underforged says, "Aye and not a sir, I'm just fifteen years old."
[15:00] Barry Garrick says, "I know the beard can be confusing"
[15:00] Thrim Underforged says, "Ya can remain aroun' if desired.. But I will take a nap naw."
[15:02] Yvelle Vacerayne says, "I think that sir can still be fitting here. People have already called me ma'am, so... like."
[15:03] Yvelle Vacerayne exclaims, "I will depart either way. It'd be rude to watch you nap in your chair, after all. Adull aul eruna - fare thee both well!"