the foundry
word count // x xxx words
summary // the town of wesfair was never not busy, and it was never not loud. not that arkwright minded, though.
summary // the town of wesfair was never not busy, and it was never not loud. not that arkwright minded, though.
Arkwright had been given a message via messenger bird to come to the foundry as soon as possible, due to some mishaps with a few of the mechaniks there. He didn't waste time (he was even a little eager to be able to do something; the past week had dragged on with nothing out of the ordinary happening), standing and pulling his coat from the wooden coat rack, pulling it over his collared shirt and buttoning it. He started towards the door, but stopped before his paw reached the knob, pausing before turning back to the kitchen table where he had been sitting before. He picked up his glasses, perching them on the bridge of his nose, and felt something crawl up the side of his sleeve. He gave a little smile, completely aware of what -- who, really -- it was; Rocky. The kalon turned on his heel and quickly made it out of his house now, locking the door behind him and inhaling sharply.
The air outside wasn't the best smelling, that was for sure. Smoke and other muck polluted the city air, but at the same time, it was familiar, it was his city. His wonderful city of Wesfair. The streets were busy, as well; another kalon walked by with a caninesque on a leash, and a thin stray fox walked along the sidewalk. A human and wolf were talking across the street, and two beings of which species Arkwright could not pinpoint were walking, one looking mischievous and the other looking happy as he could be. A feline in a large, flowing dress boarded an expensive-looking car, and another car drove in the opposite direction on the other lane, slowing sharply with a honk to avoid hitting a mouser that was chasing a rat across the street. A jackal in dapper clothing sprinted by a huge tigress mechanik, and it was a wonderful picture of the controlled chaos that was his city of Wesfair. He grinned slightly, but he could spend more time lollygagging and just watching. He held out a hand to warn the driver of the car that nearly had run over the mouser that he was about to pass, making a quick sprint across the street. When he reached the other side of the street, he turned his head -- and at the same time, noticed the lack of a familiar weight on his shoulder, and just as he heard the car's wheels turn and drive forward. Arkwright's eyes widened, seeing a little bronze gleam right before the wheel covered it, a yelp escaping his mouth -- Rocky! He let out a tiny noise from the back of his throat, rushing back into the street to pick up the motionless piece of bronze, cupping her carefully in his hands before backing away to the sidewalk once more. "Rocky? Rocky, are you okay?" he asked, voice worried. A human looked at him weird as he walked past, but Arkwright was not paying attention, focused solely on the little clockroach. He got no response for a moment before Rocky's antennae twitched and the contraption wiggled, making a small clicking of colliding metal, and Arkwright grinned when the clockroach, seemingly unharmed except perhaps for the normal sheen on her shell, got up and scurried into his sleeve. Apparently, Rocky had had enough for the day. Breathing a sigh of relief, he started back towards the foundry. He had a mechanik to fix. |