"Just a damned minute,” I heard a
gruff voice announce from within. The door was flung open revealing
a
gruff man in a battered blue robe that had seen better days. “What the hell do you want?" "Hi.” I smiled.
The Maker's angry, unshaven face instantly softened. “Rosy!” He reached out and patted me warmly on the shoulder. I tried not to fall down crying as pain arced through me. “How the hell are you?" I gritted my teeth, the pain nearing the point of unbearable. “Good." "What brings you to the neighborhood?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling. "Business,” I answered. If he didn't let go soon, I think I was going to pass out. The Maker looked from me to my two companions and finally stepped out of the way. “Where are my manners? Please, come in, come in."
Nodding with a forced smile, I was able to think again as he finally let go of me. Stepping over the threshold, I had the sudden urge to turn back around and leave. The inside was very similar to the outside of the house. The smell of animals hung in the air, and it seemed every surface that wasn't occupied by a dirty plate or stain was covered with pet hair. There was no actual furniture in the living room; it was filled with masses of wire, bits of steel, plastic, and glass he had salvaged, and several archaic-looking devices that were probably his current projects. The kitchen, separated by a waist-high bar, heaped high with dirty plates, pots and pans, had a single table on the far side that seemed to be his workspace. Tools of every shape and size occupied the surface of it while three powerful lamps oversaw them. Moving inside to let Toby and Karl enter, I tried to stand out of the way hoping nothing would reach out of the piles and grab me. Toby shot me a look of disgust, while Karl was pinching his nose closed. As the Maker closed the door, he smiled at me again, and quickly made for the kitchen. “Would any of you three like coffee?” He pushed a stack of plates away from the hidden coffee pot and snapped it on. Several of the plates and silverware crashed to the floor in protest. Ignoring them, he crunched over the broken pieces as he returned to us. “Coffee?" "No thanks,” I said with a horizontal wave. The Maker, so dubbed because of his uncanny ability to make just about anything, was a perfect match for his home. Scruffy and dirty, he was a slightly overweight Inhuman who looked to be in his forties. His white tank top was stained with sweat, food, and numerous other substances I couldn't identify, while his black boxers seemed relatively clean. His thick robe looked as if the seams were about to give way and fall apart. Holes, rips, and tears were scattered over it, certainly negating any warmth it could offer. His balding head was lined with fine, nearly white hair while his facial hair still clung to a bit of the red coloring it once had. Or maybe it was barbeque sauce. I wasn't sure. No one was really surewhat the Maker actually was. He wasn't human, that was certain, but no one had ever gotten a good read on him and he wasn't telling. Some in the Syndicate claimed he was a Gremlin from the old world due to his uncanny understanding of design and construction, while others were certain he was one of the rare Shaitan Jinn and even more powerful than Chithula. Of course, none of these claims were ever substantiated, and the Maker certainly wasn't offering to give a blood sample so we could find out. It was enough that he helped the Syndicate when he could. I scanned over the floor. “Where's Brutus?"
gruff man in a battered blue robe that had seen better days. “What the hell do you want?" "Hi.” I smiled.
The Maker's angry, unshaven face instantly softened. “Rosy!” He reached out and patted me warmly on the shoulder. I tried not to fall down crying as pain arced through me. “How the hell are you?" I gritted my teeth, the pain nearing the point of unbearable. “Good." "What brings you to the neighborhood?” he asked, his blue eyes sparkling. "Business,” I answered. If he didn't let go soon, I think I was going to pass out. The Maker looked from me to my two companions and finally stepped out of the way. “Where are my manners? Please, come in, come in."
Nodding with a forced smile, I was able to think again as he finally let go of me. Stepping over the threshold, I had the sudden urge to turn back around and leave. The inside was very similar to the outside of the house. The smell of animals hung in the air, and it seemed every surface that wasn't occupied by a dirty plate or stain was covered with pet hair. There was no actual furniture in the living room; it was filled with masses of wire, bits of steel, plastic, and glass he had salvaged, and several archaic-looking devices that were probably his current projects. The kitchen, separated by a waist-high bar, heaped high with dirty plates, pots and pans, had a single table on the far side that seemed to be his workspace. Tools of every shape and size occupied the surface of it while three powerful lamps oversaw them. Moving inside to let Toby and Karl enter, I tried to stand out of the way hoping nothing would reach out of the piles and grab me. Toby shot me a look of disgust, while Karl was pinching his nose closed. As the Maker closed the door, he smiled at me again, and quickly made for the kitchen. “Would any of you three like coffee?” He pushed a stack of plates away from the hidden coffee pot and snapped it on. Several of the plates and silverware crashed to the floor in protest. Ignoring them, he crunched over the broken pieces as he returned to us. “Coffee?" "No thanks,” I said with a horizontal wave. The Maker, so dubbed because of his uncanny ability to make just about anything, was a perfect match for his home. Scruffy and dirty, he was a slightly overweight Inhuman who looked to be in his forties. His white tank top was stained with sweat, food, and numerous other substances I couldn't identify, while his black boxers seemed relatively clean. His thick robe looked as if the seams were about to give way and fall apart. Holes, rips, and tears were scattered over it, certainly negating any warmth it could offer. His balding head was lined with fine, nearly white hair while his facial hair still clung to a bit of the red coloring it once had. Or maybe it was barbeque sauce. I wasn't sure. No one was really surewhat the Maker actually was. He wasn't human, that was certain, but no one had ever gotten a good read on him and he wasn't telling. Some in the Syndicate claimed he was a Gremlin from the old world due to his uncanny understanding of design and construction, while others were certain he was one of the rare Shaitan Jinn and even more powerful than Chithula. Of course, none of these claims were ever substantiated, and the Maker certainly wasn't offering to give a blood sample so we could find out. It was enough that he helped the Syndicate when he could. I scanned over the floor. “Where's Brutus?"