Out of Character:
Sweat trickled slowly along her hairline, the moisture adding to her discomfort. She wiped her heart-shaped face absently with a grimy sleeve, either unaware or not caring about the dark streak of grease left in its wake. Surrounded by the chaos of a factory in mid-shift, Jaunie was focused solely on her task, her thoughts drowning out the din of clinks, clangs, and raised voices. By now the loud hum of the machinery in operation was simply white noise. Before her, strewn across the unfinished work bench, were several pieces of a printing press.
Worry creased her forehead, the serious expression wildly at odds with her youthful features. Wide, intelligent eyes the color of leaves in sunshine, framed by long, dark lashes, examined each part for damage with great care. Dark streaks of dirt, used grease and various shades of ink stained her pale cheeks, still slightly rounded with the last vestiges of youth. Absently she chewed on the inside of her full, bow-shaped lips, drawing the corners inward in a habitual expression of deep concentration.
Lifting a tension roller in her hand, she tested it by twisting it around the axel. With a quick, loud screech, she felt a grinding against the inner casing, dragging the motion to a halt. Setting it down, she leaned forward onto her hands and released a sigh of frustration. Without further examination, she was certain that the fragile steel ball bearings had been worn down, and a few had shattered, rendering the whole press useless. Even after we get the parts, this will take hours to put back together… Unease knotted her stomach, nauseating her, as she considered the task of explaining to her employer why no printing could be done for the next few days as the new parts were ordered and smithed, and the press rebuilt and recalibrated. That would mean thousands of books unprinted, countless orders late or unfulfilled, and certain monetary loss. Such news weighed heavily on the young girl, who knew that many would be without income for nearly a week while the press was being repaired, from the operators to the page boys. And who knew how deeply this could cut into the factory's reputation?
Taking a shaky breath, she looked out a nearby window to gauge the time. The first sun, Stern, was sinking into the west, wrapping the city in a soft amber glow. Ignus had set hours ago, and the darkness of early evening would not be long in coming. By now many of the factories and related crafters had begun to close up for the night, leaving her no way of placing an order until the next morning.
Suddenly weary beyond her fifteen years, Jaunie picked up the tension roller and searched for the balding head of Mr. Bernard. She knew from experience that he would prefer to hear the bad news sooner rather than later. Having worked at the factory for just over one year, she had been guided through the ranks by the old man who took great care in educating her. She knew every inch of every machine, and felt personally responsible for every mishap, took to heart every consequence.
Catching sight of him, she slipped away from her bench, weaving through the crowded factory floor with the ease of youth and familiarity. Solemnly, she tapped on his shoulder, dipping her head with respect as he turned to face her. His dark eyes, the color of rich soil, were bright and alert behind his thick rimless spectacles as he assessed her sharply in a single glance. He wore a neatly trimmed goatee and shock of snow white hair circled a large bald spot and framed his well-wrinkled face. Despite not being very tall by any standard, he still stood about a head over Jaunie, who was just coming into her last growth spurt before reaching full maturity. Though he had never told her, he was very fond of the girl, and considered her to be the granddaughter with whom he had never been blessed. He was also impressed by her passion and dedication to the job, and her natural mechanical ability.
"What can I do for you, my dear?" he yelled over the noise, his eyes the only hint at his inward smile.
"I have some bad news, Mr. Bernard," she began, her voice also raised. Despite her attempt to appear calm and competent, she shook slightly and her voice quavered with nervousness. His bushy eyebrow lifted heavenward quizzically, prompting her to continue. "The ball bearings in this roller have shattered, and we can't run press three without it." Lifting the tube in her hand, she twisted it around the axel again with the same unpleasant result. "The paper won't run through properly at best, or will jam and tear at worst. Even if I can order another one in the morning, it will take at least three days to craft, and another to put back together." She dropped her hands, but kept them wrapped around the shaft as they dangled in front of her hips.
The old man's brow drew into a thoughtful scowl as he pondered the information. Folding his arms across his chest, he did not speak for a long moment before he nodded acceptance. "Thank you, Jaunie. You can go for now – it's getting late. Please make sure to place the order with Killian before you come in tomorrow, and let me know what he has to say." With that he turned away and returned to his previous survey of the factory as it closed down for the evening. Understanding the dismissal, the girl turned on her heel and made her way to the exit, intent on getting home as quickly as possible.
~*~
Shivering slightly after a cold shower, Jaunie dressed herself quickly in a careworn and bland but tidy brown dress, and a clean white apron. Heated water was a luxury she could not afford. After toweling her dark hair with a threadbare hand cloth, she inspected her image in the small round mirror hanging above the washbasin. Her heart-shaped face was pale and delicate compared to the midnight-black tresses that hung in limp, wet strands to her shoulders on either side. The stark contrast only served to accentuate the bright forest green of her eyes, the natural pink of her lips. A slight dimple in her chin broke the angles of her face, adding softness to her features. She did not see herself as lovely, or even attractive, but was merely grateful for the ability to appear clean and neat after her work at the printing shop.
Despite the tarnish spots and rusted edges, she was able to see well enough to comb her hair into a presentable ponytail, tied low at the nape of her neck with a bit of twine. Though the fashion was to wear waist-length curls and finger waves, she did not have the luxuries of long hair nor time. As it stood, she had only begun to grow her hair out from a pageboy style over the last two years, and it was just now brushing her shoulder blades.
Satisfied that her locks were sufficiently restrained, she gathered her threadbare hand-me-down wool cloak – dyed black to cover the myriad stains from years of use and abuse – from the hook on her bedroom door and tossed it over her shoulders, securing it at her throat with a straight pin and a bit of used candle wax. By then it was quarter 'til 6th mark, and she was running short on time. She scrawled a quick note on leftover parchment from the factory using charcoal rescued from the fireplace: Ravi, I'm off to the inn, off at 10th mark. ~Jaunie. Tucking it into the door as she closed it, she turned the lock and tucked her copy of the key into the pocket of her skirts.
In a flurry of motion, her feet padding quietly on the stairs, she made her way down two flights to the alley and into the street. The flat she shared was above a small, popular tailor; but due to the late hour, there was very little traffic outside. As the evening faded into darkness, men and women with long poles walked up and down the lanes lighting oil lamps, illuminating the area dully, stretching the shadows of the alleyways and adding a nightmarish quality to them. Jaunie had never quite gotten used to the city at night, but marched on resolutely toward her goal, the Golden Stag Inn.
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