Palmer, squinting in the afternoon sunshine, stopped at the end of the dock. Overhead, wheeling, were seagulls calling loudly, making vague feinting motions as though they kept thinking about diving down but kept stopping themselves. A breeze ruffled Palmer’s hair, the collar of his shirt, and in the distance there were shouts of men who had just come back from fishing, the distant thuds as they transported things to the docks.
“Oh, Master, you’ve really come.”
There they were, in a peculiar position. Palmer rubbed his palm against his stubbly jaw and narrowed his eyes in confusion. Asuen, his first golem, was bent over a figure sprawled in a strange pose. He had caught his arms underneath the other’s, as if he had been trying to pull him up, to little success. The reason for his lack of success became apparent when Asuen got whapped in the face with a white and grey wing and those arms thrashed against his grip.
“You did send birds to get me,” Palmer said and continued his approach. The figure sprawled was his second golem, Lewin, staring balefully at Asuen, though this glare switched to his meister when Palmer got close enough. “They kept pecking at my head, y’know… Anyway, what’s going on here?”
“He’s injured,” Asuen said gravely, at the same time Lewin burst out, “none o’yer business, ol’ man!”
Palmer paused. Lewin’s voice had a strange slur to it. It couldn’t be…
“Is he drunk?”
“Yer drunk!” Lewin raged.
“Not yet.” Palmer scratched his jaw again and looked to his responsible, even-natured golem. “I didn’t know you guys could even get drunk.”
“I did not know either.” Asuen shook his head, but then he indicated downward with a nod of his head. “Master, please look at his foot.”
“Let’s see, let’s see…” Ignoring Lewin’s slurred ramblings (they sounded insulting but it was no worse than he heard from many people before), Palmer lowered into a crouch in front of him. He looked at one foot, found nothing off, and then the other. Somehow, Asuen had wrestled Lewin out of his boots in the time it took Palmer to get here. “Oh, boy.” He grimaced. There, parting the normally smooth skin was an ugly fissure, a crack that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was worrying, but nothing that he couldn’t fix.
Lewin had gone quiet, and his head had turned to the side. His face had an unusual flush to it—maybe because of whatever he’d been drinking. If he had been. Could golems really get drunk…?
“You should tell Master how you hurt yourself,” Asuen said, frowning down at Lewin’s head. He just made a sound, a stubborn huff through his nose. Usually he wasn’t this badly behaved, but if he were in pain and if he had gotten drunk, Palmer could hardly blame him.
“Eh, it’s fine. We just gotta take him back and fix him up.” Palmer shuffled closer and saw Lewin look back at him with confusion. Then, his expression morphed into horror, embarrassment and then fury when Palmer unceremoniously scooped him up into his arms, one arm underneath his knees and the other at his back. Palmer grunted. “I’m so glad I didn’t use all heavy materials to make you…”
“Put me down, old man!” Lewin spluttered, kicking his feet.
“Don’t do that, you want your foot to fall off? Asuen, grab his boots, would’ja?”
“Yes, Master.”
Lewin thrashed in Palmer’s hold despite the warning and the meister stared off into the distance, feeling like he was trying to wrangle an especially young child into obedience. Well, Lewin was no more than three months old, but he was a golem, so he was different. Palmer oof’d as the wings on Lewin’s head smacked him in the face, then again, until he arrested that movement by firmly tucking his chin over Lewin’s head and pulling to pin it against his collarbone.
An inarticulate noise was his reward. ‘I wonder if he’s gonna bite me.’ Even if he did, Palmer wouldn’t drop him.
—that crack of his ankle wasn’t some small thing, after all. Well, it was for now, but it could get worse if one gave it the chance. He wondered how the hell he had hurt it like that, and had a sneaking suspicion that Lewin had crept onto a ship that he wasn’t supposed to be on. Perhaps those people had something to do with it.
In which case, Palmer would find and beat the shit out of them, but that was for later. After he took care of Lewin’s foot and also had several drinks in order to bolster him. Palmer wasn’t a particular confrontational person, after all. And… he felt far, far too sober to be dealing with this right now.
Asuen followed along faithfully at his side and Palmer looked over at him fondly. He never made trouble. Sure, he was often silent and he took everything far too literally but he didn’t smack his meister with his wings and dig in his sharp chin like Lewin was right now.
“Ow,” Palmer sighed.
“Master, should I take him?” Asuen asked him. Palmer presumed that Asuen was looking at him through the feathers of the wings on his head. He didn’t often show off his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. He’d be even worse with you,” Palmer replied dryly. He hadn’t the slightest why but oh well. Lewin, perhaps resigning himself to his fate, was thrashing less, though he’d still give Palmer smacks in the face with his little head-wingies. Palmer praised his past self for making certain that his house wasn’t too far from the docks at a time like this, because it meant he only had to pin Lewin to his body for a short amount of time. Asuen opened the door for him and he sighed as he brought Lewin to the large, squishy chair that was Palmer’s favourite but that he’d let Lewin have while he tended to his foot.
Lewin had gotten surprisingly quiet, so Palmer peered up at him.
“Did you sober up a bit?” the meister asked brightly. Lewin’s lips compressed. “Thought so. Asuen, go get me my tools.”
He went to do so, and Palmer wiped his hands, fetched glasses that he set on his nose, a scope equipped to one side so that he could adjust the magnification and look more closely. He brought Lewin’s foot into his lap and got to work, carefully working to scrape out any dirt or grime or spare bits that would not be able to be glued back together. He warmed the adhesive, working single-mindedly and with steady hands to use the adhesive, working his now-gloved thumbs to spread and assure it’d look like there hadn’t been a break to begin with.
When he paused to have a short drink of the water Asuen brought and look up, Lewin’s face was tight.
“How’s it feel?” he swatted his knee affectionately. “Hurt?”
Lewin sighed. He’d apparently sobered up more. While Palmer had been focusing, he had drained a glass of water that Asuen had brought for him. Maybe more than one. “It’s fine. It feels hot.” The golem shifted uncomfortably but he didn’t move his foot.
“That’s the adhesive,” Palmer said, looking back down as he wiped his brow. “Don’t worry, it’ll cool soon enough. Lemme know if you need a break.”
“Yeah.”
Lewin did not, however, and he remained quiet as Palmer continued his work. He reconstructed the ripped ‘skin’, rubbing and molding until the shape of his foot matched his other once again. Asuen brought a light for him (it had grown dimmer, somehow more than a few hours had passed) and when Palmer at last leaned backward with a groan, his back popped in several places and his neck ached.
“Master, perhaps you ought to see a doctor about your back,” Asuen offered mildly. He had stayed in the room the whole time, quiet but attentive as usual.
“Bah, don’t give me that. I’m only in my thirties, got it?” Palmer still stretched and grunted in the way an older man might. Then: “Heyyy, Lewin. Wake up, kid, it’s all finished.” He patted Lewin’s chest several times and the golem roused himself, blinking and rubbing his hand against his face.
“Old man, you took forever,” he commented, leaning forward to peer down. He whistled then, lifting up his mended foot. “Whoa, it doesn’t even look like it was cracked! Not bad.”
“I did make you,” Palmer said flatly. “If I couldn’t fix something this small, it’d be pathetic.”
Lewin just grinned and Palmer could just picture a saucy retort, so he raised up his hand to silence that before it happened.
“Now just stay there for a while. You can move it a bit, but no walking around until it’s completely solid.” Palmer pushed his palms against his knees and stood up, stretching some more. “Nngh, I need a drink. But before that, supper!”
Clapping his hands, it made Asuen lift his head.
“Master, supper is almost finished.”
“…” Palmer looked at him. “You’re too efficient.”
Asuen merely inclined his head, as though accepting a compliment.
It had been some time since the three of them had all ate together. Technically, the two golems didn’t need to eat, but Palmer insisted. It was like he was eating with his children… no, actually, if he was going to have kids he didn’t want to have any kids like Asuen or Lewin. One of them silent and taller than him (how did that happen, did he make a mistake in his construction?) and the other flighty and the type who acted completely on what he wanted to do.
‘I’d rather have a cute daughter,’ Palmer thought wistfully, which was a lie.
The truth of the matter was that he had been trying to make a golem, any golem since the days he first came to Yozellin. He had been younger then, fresh-faced and eager to learn and to excel. Each of his attempts ended in failure. Until Asuen, at least. When he first laid eyes on him, when he realised that he had done it he had been so moved that he thought he might cry.
(He did later, actually, over a glass of whiskey at the bar, sobbing about how everything had finally paid off but you wouldn’t be able to pry that from him even if you tortured him.)
Difficulties weren’t something that faded, though. People still didn’t accept golems.
“Lewin, where’d you get hurt?” Palmer asked him after dinner, sitting staring into a glass of booze without sipping from it. He had been alarmingly sober all day… he didn’t like it. But he still set aside his glass (receiving Asuen’s puzzled, cocked head).
“Ehh? Eh…” Lewin dragged out the word and shrugged his shoulders, his wings tucked against his back, the ones on his head folded up too. “It was no big deal. I just tripped on my way off of the ship.”
Palmer stared at him. “You have wings. At least come up with a better excuse.”
Lewin started to blush.
“If some sailors did something…” Palmer began and Lewin winced.
“It’s nothing, okay, old man? Don’t worry about it. Look, I’m all fixed.” He moved to stand, showing off that he could walk, placing his palm on his slightly cocked hip to show he was back to his usual.
Asuen turned his head, as though to look back and forth between them. “Lewin,” he said to him solemnly, “you should tell Master. You know that many humans don’t like us. After all, before—”
“Ahhhhhh.” Like a child, Lewin raised his voice loudly to drown out the words.
Palmer smirked bitterly and sipped from his glass.
“I will keep talking regardless of whether or not you do that, Lewin.”
“You’re always so persistent, jeez, I said it’s fine so it’s fine—”
“What happens when your crystal gets cracked?”
“You really think I’m that dumb, greenie?”
“I am experiencing some doubts.”
Palmer sipped more deeply, drinking a great gulp of booze that burned pleasantly on its way down. He considered going to bed and leaving them to their squabbling. ‘Just like me and my brother,’ he thought with something like fondness.
“Well, you’ll see! I’m going right back out tomorrow and when I get back you’ll see it was just a one-time thing,” Lewin puffed.
“Nn? You’re not going back out tomorrow.”
Both Lewin and Asuen stopped. Their heads turned in Palmer’s direction, astonished. Despite being their creator, it was a rare day that Palmer told them they couldn’t do anything. He was alarmingly lax and easy on them (which had likely lead to some of Lewin’s behaviour). But, he was looking at Lewin now, lightly swirling the ice around in his cup, his dark eyes unblinking.
“What’re you talking about, old man?” Lewin spluttered, recovering.
“Just what I said. You’re not going anywhere.” Palmer put down his glass with a solid thunk. He lifted one of his hands, pointing at Lewin with his forefinger. “Even if it’s fixed now,” his finger lowered to point at his ankle, “there’s no way’n hell you’re going right back out on the ocean until I’m sure it’s not gonna crack any more.”
So baffling was Palmer’s order that Lewin just sat down in the chair and frowned. “What’s gotten into you…?”
“You came back broken, stupid,” Palmer huffed (sulkily, Asuen thought) and sipped from his glass.
“It was just—”
“Lewin,” Asuen interjected, quietly, stretching his hand in Lewin’s direction to silence him. Both of them recognised the look on Palmer’s face, after a moment spent examining it. Palmer had had to save Lewin once before, and the look on his face then had been scary, dark, frightening. He had gripped Lewin with one of his arms about his shoulders and held his other hand with his fingers splayed apart in a peculiar way, like he was about to do something with them. At this moment, those fingers were flexing, tightening, opening.
Lewin dropped his head back against the chair, blinking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a big deal… so he thought. It caused a weirdly ticklish sensation to see Palmer, so often lazy and noncommittal, concerned to this degree.
“Okay, okay. I won’t go, old man. There, you feel better, right?”
Palmer sniffed, wrinkling his nose and picking up his glass all over again. “Stop calling me old man. I’m only in my thirties.”
→ palmer • asuen • lewin
Palmer, squinting in the afternoon sunshine, stopped at the end of the dock. Overhead, wheeling, were seagulls calling loudly, making vague feinting motions as though they kept thinking about diving down but kept stopping themselves. A breeze ruffled Palmer’s hair, the collar of his shirt, and in the distance there were shouts of men who had just come back from fishing, the distant thuds as they transported things to the docks.
“Oh, Master, you’ve really come.”
There they were, in a peculiar position. Palmer rubbed his palm against his stubbly jaw and narrowed his eyes in confusion. Asuen, his first golem, was bent over a figure sprawled in a strange pose. He had caught his arms underneath the other’s, as if he had been trying to pull him up, to little success. The reason for his lack of success became apparent when Asuen got whapped in the face with a white and grey wing and those arms thrashed against his grip.
“You did send birds to get me,” Palmer said and continued his approach. The figure sprawled was his second golem, Lewin, staring balefully at Asuen, though this glare switched to his meister when Palmer got close enough. “They kept pecking at my head, y’know… Anyway, what’s going on here?”
“He’s injured,” Asuen said gravely, at the same time Lewin burst out, “none o’yer business, ol’ man!”
Palmer paused. Lewin’s voice had a strange slur to it. It couldn’t be…
“Is he drunk?”
“Yer drunk!” Lewin raged.
“Not yet.” Palmer scratched his jaw again and looked to his responsible, even-natured golem. “I didn’t know you guys could even get drunk.”
“I did not know either.” Asuen shook his head, but then he indicated downward with a nod of his head. “Master, please look at his foot.”
“Let’s see, let’s see…” Ignoring Lewin’s slurred ramblings (they sounded insulting but it was no worse than he heard from many people before), Palmer lowered into a crouch in front of him. He looked at one foot, found nothing off, and then the other. Somehow, Asuen had wrestled Lewin out of his boots in the time it took Palmer to get here. “Oh, boy.” He grimaced. There, parting the normally smooth skin was an ugly fissure, a crack that wasn’t supposed to be there. It was worrying, but nothing that he couldn’t fix.
Lewin had gone quiet, and his head had turned to the side. His face had an unusual flush to it—maybe because of whatever he’d been drinking. If he had been. Could golems really get drunk…?
“You should tell Master how you hurt yourself,” Asuen said, frowning down at Lewin’s head. He just made a sound, a stubborn huff through his nose. Usually he wasn’t this badly behaved, but if he were in pain and if he had gotten drunk, Palmer could hardly blame him.
“Eh, it’s fine. We just gotta take him back and fix him up.” Palmer shuffled closer and saw Lewin look back at him with confusion. Then, his expression morphed into horror, embarrassment and then fury when Palmer unceremoniously scooped him up into his arms, one arm underneath his knees and the other at his back. Palmer grunted. “I’m so glad I didn’t use all heavy materials to make you…”
“Put me down, old man!” Lewin spluttered, kicking his feet.
“Don’t do that, you want your foot to fall off? Asuen, grab his boots, would’ja?”
“Yes, Master.”
Lewin thrashed in Palmer’s hold despite the warning and the meister stared off into the distance, feeling like he was trying to wrangle an especially young child into obedience. Well, Lewin was no more than three months old, but he was a golem, so he was different. Palmer oof’d as the wings on Lewin’s head smacked him in the face, then again, until he arrested that movement by firmly tucking his chin over Lewin’s head and pulling to pin it against his collarbone.
An inarticulate noise was his reward. ‘I wonder if he’s gonna bite me.’ Even if he did, Palmer wouldn’t drop him.
—that crack of his ankle wasn’t some small thing, after all. Well, it was for now, but it could get worse if one gave it the chance. He wondered how the hell he had hurt it like that, and had a sneaking suspicion that Lewin had crept onto a ship that he wasn’t supposed to be on. Perhaps those people had something to do with it.
In which case, Palmer would find and beat the shit out of them, but that was for later. After he took care of Lewin’s foot and also had several drinks in order to bolster him. Palmer wasn’t a particular confrontational person, after all. And… he felt far, far too sober to be dealing with this right now.
Asuen followed along faithfully at his side and Palmer looked over at him fondly. He never made trouble. Sure, he was often silent and he took everything far too literally but he didn’t smack his meister with his wings and dig in his sharp chin like Lewin was right now.
“Ow,” Palmer sighed.
“Master, should I take him?” Asuen asked him. Palmer presumed that Asuen was looking at him through the feathers of the wings on his head. He didn’t often show off his eyes.
“Don’t worry about it. He’d be even worse with you,” Palmer replied dryly. He hadn’t the slightest why but oh well. Lewin, perhaps resigning himself to his fate, was thrashing less, though he’d still give Palmer smacks in the face with his little head-wingies. Palmer praised his past self for making certain that his house wasn’t too far from the docks at a time like this, because it meant he only had to pin Lewin to his body for a short amount of time. Asuen opened the door for him and he sighed as he brought Lewin to the large, squishy chair that was Palmer’s favourite but that he’d let Lewin have while he tended to his foot.
Lewin had gotten surprisingly quiet, so Palmer peered up at him.
“Did you sober up a bit?” the meister asked brightly. Lewin’s lips compressed. “Thought so. Asuen, go get me my tools.”
He went to do so, and Palmer wiped his hands, fetched glasses that he set on his nose, a scope equipped to one side so that he could adjust the magnification and look more closely. He brought Lewin’s foot into his lap and got to work, carefully working to scrape out any dirt or grime or spare bits that would not be able to be glued back together. He warmed the adhesive, working single-mindedly and with steady hands to use the adhesive, working his now-gloved thumbs to spread and assure it’d look like there hadn’t been a break to begin with.
When he paused to have a short drink of the water Asuen brought and look up, Lewin’s face was tight.
“How’s it feel?” he swatted his knee affectionately. “Hurt?”
Lewin sighed. He’d apparently sobered up more. While Palmer had been focusing, he had drained a glass of water that Asuen had brought for him. Maybe more than one. “It’s fine. It feels hot.” The golem shifted uncomfortably but he didn’t move his foot.
“That’s the adhesive,” Palmer said, looking back down as he wiped his brow. “Don’t worry, it’ll cool soon enough. Lemme know if you need a break.”
“Yeah.”
Lewin did not, however, and he remained quiet as Palmer continued his work. He reconstructed the ripped ‘skin’, rubbing and molding until the shape of his foot matched his other once again. Asuen brought a light for him (it had grown dimmer, somehow more than a few hours had passed) and when Palmer at last leaned backward with a groan, his back popped in several places and his neck ached.
“Master, perhaps you ought to see a doctor about your back,” Asuen offered mildly. He had stayed in the room the whole time, quiet but attentive as usual.
“Bah, don’t give me that. I’m only in my thirties, got it?” Palmer still stretched and grunted in the way an older man might. Then: “Heyyy, Lewin. Wake up, kid, it’s all finished.” He patted Lewin’s chest several times and the golem roused himself, blinking and rubbing his hand against his face.
“Old man, you took forever,” he commented, leaning forward to peer down. He whistled then, lifting up his mended foot. “Whoa, it doesn’t even look like it was cracked! Not bad.”
“I did make you,” Palmer said flatly. “If I couldn’t fix something this small, it’d be pathetic.”
Lewin just grinned and Palmer could just picture a saucy retort, so he raised up his hand to silence that before it happened.
“Now just stay there for a while. You can move it a bit, but no walking around until it’s completely solid.” Palmer pushed his palms against his knees and stood up, stretching some more. “Nngh, I need a drink. But before that, supper!”
Clapping his hands, it made Asuen lift his head.
“Master, supper is almost finished.”
“…” Palmer looked at him. “You’re too efficient.”
Asuen merely inclined his head, as though accepting a compliment.
It had been some time since the three of them had all ate together. Technically, the two golems didn’t need to eat, but Palmer insisted. It was like he was eating with his children… no, actually, if he was going to have kids he didn’t want to have any kids like Asuen or Lewin. One of them silent and taller than him (how did that happen, did he make a mistake in his construction?) and the other flighty and the type who acted completely on what he wanted to do.
‘I’d rather have a cute daughter,’ Palmer thought wistfully, which was a lie.
The truth of the matter was that he had been trying to make a golem, any golem since the days he first came to Yozellin. He had been younger then, fresh-faced and eager to learn and to excel. Each of his attempts ended in failure. Until Asuen, at least. When he first laid eyes on him, when he realised that he had done it he had been so moved that he thought he might cry.
(He did later, actually, over a glass of whiskey at the bar, sobbing about how everything had finally paid off but you wouldn’t be able to pry that from him even if you tortured him.)
Difficulties weren’t something that faded, though. People still didn’t accept golems.
“Lewin, where’d you get hurt?” Palmer asked him after dinner, sitting staring into a glass of booze without sipping from it. He had been alarmingly sober all day… he didn’t like it. But he still set aside his glass (receiving Asuen’s puzzled, cocked head).
“Ehh? Eh…” Lewin dragged out the word and shrugged his shoulders, his wings tucked against his back, the ones on his head folded up too. “It was no big deal. I just tripped on my way off of the ship.”
Palmer stared at him. “You have wings. At least come up with a better excuse.”
Lewin started to blush.
“If some sailors did something…” Palmer began and Lewin winced.
“It’s nothing, okay, old man? Don’t worry about it. Look, I’m all fixed.” He moved to stand, showing off that he could walk, placing his palm on his slightly cocked hip to show he was back to his usual.
Asuen turned his head, as though to look back and forth between them. “Lewin,” he said to him solemnly, “you should tell Master. You know that many humans don’t like us. After all, before—”
“Ahhhhhh.” Like a child, Lewin raised his voice loudly to drown out the words.
Palmer smirked bitterly and sipped from his glass.
“I will keep talking regardless of whether or not you do that, Lewin.”
“You’re always so persistent, jeez, I said it’s fine so it’s fine—”
“What happens when your crystal gets cracked?”
“You really think I’m that dumb, greenie?”
“I am experiencing some doubts.”
Palmer sipped more deeply, drinking a great gulp of booze that burned pleasantly on its way down. He considered going to bed and leaving them to their squabbling. ‘Just like me and my brother,’ he thought with something like fondness.
“Well, you’ll see! I’m going right back out tomorrow and when I get back you’ll see it was just a one-time thing,” Lewin puffed.
“Nn? You’re not going back out tomorrow.”
Both Lewin and Asuen stopped. Their heads turned in Palmer’s direction, astonished. Despite being their creator, it was a rare day that Palmer told them they couldn’t do anything. He was alarmingly lax and easy on them (which had likely lead to some of Lewin’s behaviour). But, he was looking at Lewin now, lightly swirling the ice around in his cup, his dark eyes unblinking.
“What’re you talking about, old man?” Lewin spluttered, recovering.
“Just what I said. You’re not going anywhere.” Palmer put down his glass with a solid thunk. He lifted one of his hands, pointing at Lewin with his forefinger. “Even if it’s fixed now,” his finger lowered to point at his ankle, “there’s no way’n hell you’re going right back out on the ocean until I’m sure it’s not gonna crack any more.”
So baffling was Palmer’s order that Lewin just sat down in the chair and frowned. “What’s gotten into you…?”
“You came back broken, stupid,” Palmer huffed (sulkily, Asuen thought) and sipped from his glass.
“It was just—”
“Lewin,” Asuen interjected, quietly, stretching his hand in Lewin’s direction to silence him. Both of them recognised the look on Palmer’s face, after a moment spent examining it. Palmer had had to save Lewin once before, and the look on his face then had been scary, dark, frightening. He had gripped Lewin with one of his arms about his shoulders and held his other hand with his fingers splayed apart in a peculiar way, like he was about to do something with them. At this moment, those fingers were flexing, tightening, opening.
Lewin dropped his head back against the chair, blinking up at the ceiling. It wasn’t a big deal… so he thought. It caused a weirdly ticklish sensation to see Palmer, so often lazy and noncommittal, concerned to this degree.
“Okay, okay. I won’t go, old man. There, you feel better, right?”
Palmer sniffed, wrinkling his nose and picking up his glass all over again. “Stop calling me old man. I’m only in my thirties.”
There it was, back to the usual.