Suitably fortified, the humans have re-entered the pen show. I’m not sure what they didn’t see already–I was pretty certain they’d seen/bought all of it– but they seem just as eager to get back in there as they were to arrive.
Sigyn has stumbled on a craftsman who specializes in rather more primitive writing utensils than the rest of the vendors.
Yes, my love. The shiny peacock feathers are quite beautiful!
This same vendor has some of his own inks with beary good names: Blue-beary, Straw-beary, CUCUM-bear, etc. (I think he was kind of reaching on that last one…)
Sigyn is nothing if not predictable. Gently, love, gently.
This same merchant also has some other low-tech, suitable-for-the-aftermath-of Ragnarok writing supplies. He makes a line of ink out of plat-dyes, and his brother-in-law makes some lovely pens. And hey! They have something that is right about at the human female’s intellectual level:
This is where I tell my latest THFS– Typical Human Female Story. You know how she likes to find errors in other people’s work and feel superior when she fixes them? And then turns around and does something utterly stupid? Well, little children, listen to Uncle Loki: One of the activities at the show is a silent auction. Various bits and pieces of pen accoutrements are laid out on tables in the lobby, with a sheet of paper underneath identifying said clutter and stating the opening bid and the minimum bid advance. One writes down one’s name and offer and, at the end of the show, the highest written bid is the winner. No shouting, no waving funny numbered paddles in the air. The human female, very early in today’s exploits, found that the bid sheets on two adjacent items were reversed–quite obviously, as one pen was blue and the other green, and the color word was in the description. So she switched the sheets around–no bids on them yet, so no fuss. And she felt very smug (which is not a good look on her.)
Not all that long afterwards, she was testing a vintage pen. It is a Thing Which is Done–one asks if one can try the pen, the pen tip is dipped in ink, and there is enough ink to write a sentence or two so one can see how the instrument performs. No need to actually fill the pen, which is messy and wastes ink. Then the pen tip can be swished in some water, blotted dry, and there you are. Usually, the proprietor does the cleaning, but not always. So there the hapless female is, writing with something Italian, old, and far out of her price range. She finishes, and the stall proprietor is busy talking with someone else. This is the human female’s first Pen Show, and she desires to be seen as Knowledgeable and Helpful. She sees the plastic cup of water practically at her elbow and helpfully dips and swishes.
Which is when the Affronted Matron standing behind her says (with enough ice in her tone to qualify as an honorary Jotun), “That is my drink.”
Did you know that hotel carpet is actually tough enough that one cannot chew through it and keep going until there is a hole of sufficient depth that one can disappear into it? Lessons one learns the hard way.
Speaking of disappearing, mortals, isn’t it about time we were going? How many pens can one look at, anyway? Gather your friends and accessories. We’ve been here all day and still have a long drive home.
See? Sigyn is ready to hit the road already!