Forums » Fantasy Roleplay » The Watchmaker's Son {Open RP}

Ben sits slumped in the chair, head on the desk in the back of the shop as he snores contentedly. His dark hair falls in tangled waves across his face, strands stuck to the corners of his mouth. Gears and small mechanical parts on the desk press into his cheek, leaving small marks. The doorbell causes him to jerk awake with a small "Huh?"
Standing, he absently runs a hand through his hair and shouts, "Coming!"

There were not many worldly possessions that Cabal owned that required immediate care. He could let his boots wear to holes and patch up a vest a million times before collecting a new one. Goggles were easily lost and just as easily replaced. The device he cupped between his hands, however, was another story entirely.

Its soft tic-tic-tic had been in his ear for as long as he was aware. The shining cover, polished and gold, was never chipped or scratched. No imperfections went without checking and the moment the watch's heart stopped, Cabal knew as if his own had shuddered to a halt. To say the pocket watch was precious would have been a vast understatement. It was like a vital piece of his own body and not just anyone could fix it.

So, after performing his own 'work' in finding out which person was best suited, he walked in through the door and stared anxiously towards the voice. "Hello?" he called. "Are you the watchmaker?"

"Well," Ben started, pinching his lips into a thin line and furrowing his brow as he ties on a grease-stained apron. "I'm the watchmaker's son, but I do most of my father's work here. What can I help you with?" He speaks softly, making an effort to give his friendliest smile.

This boy didn't look like the type who would even own a watch, but his father had taught him never to judge a customer by appearances. He steps behind the glass-fronted counter filled with watches and other softly-clicking devices. Leaning on it, he faces the boy and waits for an answer.

Relief washed over Cabal and his shoulders sagged. He knew this had to be the right place and the moment his eyes settled on the lad, he knew this was the person he was meant to find. As soon as the question was asked, he approached with the pocket watch opened on his palms. The blue face gleamed up for both to see. Beneath the glass, the tiny gold stars spread through and among the numerals glimmered and winked.

"It has stopped," he said. Worry knitted his brows and his jaw tightened. "I tried to wind it but that did not work so..." A slight smile was offered. One would have thought that he would simply learn how to take care of so precious an item himself but there was a problem in that. He would have to touch the objects required with his bare fingertips, with his own skin, and that brought up so many more problems. "Can you fix it?"

Ben smiled confidently. He might not deal with people all too well, but machines were his passion. They always seemed to tell him what was wrong, to show him what was broken. "Here, let me see." Holding out his own hand, his eyes examined the small timepiece as the eyes of an artist would observe a subject to paint. Glimmering gold and blue winked up at him from the face of the piece, but his mind is on what is inside. "It certainly is beautiful. Custom made?" He asks, glancing up at the watch's owner.

Cabal did not doubt the hands his watch had gone to, but he fretted none the less. The sooner he had it back, the happier he would be. The question made over it earned a small smile.

"Yes. It was made long ago for an ancestor and has been passed down from father to son...an heirloom of sorts. There was some story behind its creation and only fragments remain."

"Plenty of sentimental value, eh?" He says softly, opening the watch and examining it with gentle, dexterous fingers. "I will take a look at it. Name, sir? And is there a date you need it by, or can I take my time?" He says smilingly, carefully setting the watch in a small lidless box filled with soft tissue paper. "Oh, and anything else I ought to know? Some customers don't want me to tell anyone they've been here, or tell anyone about the job they have me do. Which of course I am obliged to do…"

As he nodded, he observed the ways in which Ben handled the watch. If he had been anxious, his concerns were soothed. He was watching the watch disappear into a box when the stranger question was asked. The option of keeping his presence here secret had never crossed his mind, nor did it anywhere else.

"Oh...Well, I can't imagine who would be looking for me," he admitted. The thought made him feel anxious, though. He looked over his shoulder, and then around the shop. "Um, I guess...Yes. You can keep it a secret, but do take your time. I will stop by after a few days to check in and if it is not ready then I'll just come back another day."

Ben nods curtly and turns, stepping over to a bulky typewriter sitting in a corner. "ER…name, sir?" He asks, hands poised over the keys after adjusting the blank paper in the machine. "I get a few odd customers, and some who are simply commissioning a gift and want it kept quiet for that reason. I don't take any illegal jobs, if that's what you're wondering." He laughs, speaking with his back turned as he types on the machine.