#not anti clint for those merry few

A brand new short story today! Based off of one of Elliott’s quotes: “Some people are shy. Keep showing interest in them and they’ll get comfortable around you. Everyone likes to have friends, even that grumpy blacksmith.”

AO3 link in the title.

Title:I Guess That’s Why They Call It The Blues

Word Count:1,795

Rain dripped down his coat and onto a mat. Elliott hung it on a wall hook, careful to make sure the raincoat wouldn’t drip onto the wooden floors of the Stardrop Saloon once rested against the wall. He walked towards the counter, his path interrupted by a call from Gus, the bartender.

“One pale ale, Elliott?”

“Yes, thank you.” He quickly answered back as he made it to Gus’s jukebox. He didn’t usually play music immediately upon arriving at the saloon, and he usually didn’t come over when it rained. But he did usually come on Fridays, and tonight he just had to get out of his beach cabin. His usual companion Leah would not be there to chat, as she has found herself deeply invested in work on a sculpture today. He knew better than anyone else not to interrupt an artist’s sudden spark of inspiration, especially after a block as long as she had.

Not that her artistry could pull him out of his own rut, unfortunately. Elliott scrolled through the Bartender’s Favorites custom category and settled on Marvin Gaye’s I Heard It Through The Grapevine , then looked through a different genre for the song he really wanted, an Elton John tune. It was customary; Gus requested that anyone who wanted to hear from the jukebox must pick a song from Gus’s favorites before then hearing the tune they wanted. If his customers only listened to what they wanted, Gus said, he would get too bored of the music, and he would rather hear nothing at all than Tubthumping by Chumbawamba twenty-one times in a row. (Gus learned that lesson the hard way from Sam on the boy’s 21st birthday.)

He glanced over to the table where Willy usually sat, then remembered that Willy would be on the docks fishing. He had better luck on rainy days, he claimed.

Willy’s usual companion wasn’t at the table either. Elliott looked around the saloon at all his potential talking companions for the evening. Marnie was busy chatting with Mayor Lewis, the scientist and carpenter couple were dancing in a spot free of tables and chairs. A few people sat on the barstools around the bar. He could hear Sam and two of his friends playing billiards in the game room.

And hidden in a diner booth in the corner of the room, facing away from the bar, was the blacksmith. Clint. Elliott had talked with him on a few occasions. But why did he choose to sit there tonight?

Curious, Elliott felt compelled to talk with him.

“Here’s the ale, Elliott.”

Emily walked up and handed him the stein.

“Thank you, Emily.” He fished into his pocket and gave her money. “Say, how did your clothing therapy go yesterday? So sorry I missed it.”

“Don’t worry, it went great! Six people turned up, and a few bought the clothes they chose. Robin’s wearing her dress right now. Abby wants to buy the suit of armor–”

“A suit of armor?”

“Yeah!” Emily laughed. “But she wanted to make sure she had a safe place for it in her room, so she’s going to swing by to pick it up tomorrow morning while her parents are in Grampleton. And Clint…”

Her shoulders slumped some, and her smile wasn’t nearly as bright as it was a second ago. “He chose a cute outfit, the beret was a great touch. But while I was talking with the farmer, trying to persuade them to give it a try, he…” Emily grunted. “I don’t know what happened, but I think Clint’s mad at me. He never looks at me anymore.”

Clint’s change in seating must be recent, and somehow tied to the event. But he, mad at Emily? What happened?

Emily sighed deeply. “I thought we were friends.”

“I did too.”

Emily suddenly whirled around when a customer spun around on a barstool tapped her shoulder.

“Hey, fill ‘er up!” Pam placed the empty stein in Emily’s empty hand.

“Alright, I’ll be right there.” Emily turned back to Elliott and gave a brief shrug and unhappy smile as her farewell and carried on with her work.

That settled it. Elliott gradually made his way across the saloon floor and towards Clint’s booth. He peered over the headrest, and noted Clint’s untouched bowl of macaroni and cheese, yet completely drained beer stein.

Clint nudged the stein closer to the edge of the table. “Another one, Gus.”

“I’m not Gus.”

Clint instantly flushed red. “Oh! Sorry.”

Elliott shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned with the misunderstanding. “May I sit down?”

Clint grunted. Elliott decided that it meant yes and sat down. And said nothing.

Instead he examined Clint’s face, which was still red around his eyes while the rest of his face returned to its usual shade.

“Wow. You look miserable.”

Clint scoffed. “Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Clint reached for his stein again, visibly frustrated that the glass was still empty.

“If I may inquire, what happened to you? You look like your beloved family dog died after getting hit by a truck.”

“Better that what actually happened.” Clint squinted so hard Elliott could no longer see his eyelashes. “I was a fool and a jerk.”

Elliott nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“I went to Emily’s clothing therapy yesterday. Of course I did; I’d follow her to the ends of the earth if she’d let me. I even tried on some of the clothes she made. I thought it might be nice to wear something more classy looking than scorched shirts and sweatpants when I have to go into the city. And she called my outfit cute.”

“Cute? That’s good, right?”

Clint shook his head. “I mean, yes? But from her tone… anxious me jumped to thinking that Emily might not see me as more than a friend. So when I went outside– she wanted us to let others see us as we see ourselves– and I panicked. I went back into the house, and saw her standing close to the farmer, and… oh, I’m ashamed of what I said.” Clint clenched an empty fist next to the still empty beer stein and pounded the table with a soft thud.

“I know that the farmer is legally blind. I know that. But I forgot… and when I saw them standing that close together, I thought nothing of Emily trying to lead the farmer to the racks of clothes. I mistook their closeness and her jumping in surprise when I came back as them becoming a… becoming a couple.” He groaned bitterly. “I didn’t even talk to her. All I could think to do was congratulate the farmer and get home with as few people seeing me as possible.”

Finally accepting that his glass was still empty, Clint stuck a fork into his macaroni and cheese and brought it up to his mouth, only to groan in frustration and set it back down. “The farmer came in this morning so I could upgrade one of their tools, and they cleared up the misunderstanding. They were so nice about it.” He rested his forehead in the palms of his hands, his elbows rested on the table. “And I could hardly bring myself to say anything. I was a jerk. I am a jerk. If I’m reacting this badly to a misunderstanding that could mean she’s in love with someone else, how am I supposed to cope when she finally is? She probably thinks I’m a jerk.”

Clint fell silent and didn’t say anything else. Elliott took a deep breath, allowing the silence to settle Clint’s thoughts before he spoke.

“She doesn’t.”

“She doesn’t?”

Elliott nodded. “But she does think you are mad at her because you’ve been avoiding her since.”

“Oh.”

“Now before you go beating yourself up about how you accidentally made her think you’re mad at her, have you apologized?”

Clint shook his head. “I can’t tell her why I was such a jerk. I’d look even more like a jerk, as if I were demanding she could only be with me.”

“Then don’t tell her that specifically. Do you still have the clothes you were wearing?”

Clint nodded. “I hadn’t paid for them, so I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away.”

“Okay. So this is what you do. Bring both the clothes and the money to pay for them when you go talk to her tomorrow at noon. Twelve o’clock sharp.”

“At her house?”

“Apologize for having taken them without buying, offer at least the money, but if you’ll want to, keep the clothes, otherwise return those to her as well. Also apologize for avoiding her. You can be vague about what you were mad at. Just say that she didn’t deserve to receive your anger, and you shouldn’t have gotten mad at her.”

“But I’m not mad at her!” Clint spoke only slightly louder than he had been, but it was enough to bring him to shame once more. “I’m mad at myself.”

Elliott sighed once more. “Then instead you apologize for making her feel like you were mad at her. Now, can you repeat to me what I said you should do?”

Slowly, Clint unburied his head from his hands and breathed slowly. “Um… see her tomorrow. Apologize for taking clothes, pay for them, give them back… Say sorry that I avoided her, say I wasn’t mad at her, I never meant to hurt her.” A pause. “Is that good?”

Elliott grinned. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“Okay.” Clint exhaled a deep breath. “I think I can do that.”

A new glass of beer was set on the table. Clint reached for the new drink, and limited himself to a single sip before attempting again to eat his cheesy macaroni, this time with success.

Elliott glanced at his watch. This was enough high-effort social interaction for one night. “I better get going. Thanks for letting me sit down and chat.”

Clint snorted. “I should be thanking you.”

“Hey, think of it as payment from me to you for having pestered you with so many questions about iron working over the last few weeks.”

“It wasn’t so bad.” Clint smiled weakly. “Made work less boring for me.”

Elliott smiled back as he sat up. “I’ll see you around, Clint.”

“See you.”

As Elliott walked over to the row of wall hooks, he turned long enough to see Emily finish her return to the bar, smile brightly and mouth to him “thanks”. Elliott put his coat on, winked, and ventured out into the drizzling rain once more. But now he had one more stop to make before heading home; he had a bet to place with Leah: 200g that Emily will head over to Clint’s shop instead.

Okay, but seriously, Clint does not deserve all the hate he gets. He’s just a socially awkward dude. Does that mean he ought to handle some events better? Sure, but hey, awkward dude. The wrong words are gonna fly out, especially when under pressure. Who hasn’t flubbed up under awkward high pressure situations?

This story is based off of the prompt: “Who has the weirdest hobby?”

Title:Drops From Prince Rupert

Word Count:1,711

Summary: Emily wants to start on a new fashion project, but she hasn’t made her own jewelry before. Fortunately, a blacksmith moved into Pelican Town.

Emily knocked on the door of the blacksmith’s shop. There wasn’t an answer right away. She looked around the building to be sure that this was the right place (it had to be; no one else in town owned a furnace like that), then knocked once more.

Finally, she twisted the doorknob. The door was unlocked. A bluesy tune played from the back room. She peered further into the main room. A tall, wide-set (not fat, just broad) man with brown hair wearing what looked like a brown apron and oven mitts held what looked like a pot with a long pipe for a handle (very long, at least three feet) inside a furnace with his back turned to her. The man hummed to himself– rather off-key, but he looked content with himself– as he slowly pulled the pot out of the fire. Emily found herself swaying to the rhythm.

Too late did she realize she made a mistake by coming in so soon. When the man turned to reach for another pipe, he spotted her, and he grew so shocked that the pot was pulled out of the furnace, just enough to spill something molten onto the ground as well as into a tall glass of water. The man swore under his breath, glanced at Emily, then back to the disaster that now burned on the stone flooring around the furnace.

“Excuse me!” Emily squeaked. “I’m so sorry! Can I help you clean that–”

“NO!” He shouted. Then looking ashamed, his eyes grew wide again. “I mean, wait. It’s too hot right now.” Carefully, he propped the pipes against prongs that secured them both well into place, the pot of molten… metal? hovering next to the fire inside the furnace. “I’ll take care of it later.”

Emily nodded. “Okay.” But she still felt a little guilty about the disaster. “Should I come back for a request? You are the new blacksmith to town, yes?”

The man nodded slowly. He had a thick goatee and mustache that concealed his mouth, and his eyes were an even darker brown color. “You can still put in a request. I was just working on one of my own projects.”

“Okay.” Emily smiled cautiously. “What were you working on?”

“Err…” the blacksmith looked at his feet. “A glass sculpture.” He muttered.

Emily gasped. “Really?” She asked excitedly. “Have you made other glass sculptures?”

“A few.” He admitted. “Mostly vases.”

“Can I see?”

“Err… okay. One is the bowl on that table.”

He gestured over to the table near the front window. Emily spotted it immediately: a simple glass bowl with little specks of color throughout the translucent bowl. She walked over to the table and examined it without touching it. It reminded her of sparkling gemstones against white sand.

“Wow,” she breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” the man whispered. The only thing that gave away his blushing was the coloration of his ears.

“Were you a glass artist before you came here?”

The man shook his head. “No, I trained to be a blacksmith under my father in Grampleton. Family business. He only ever wanted me to be a blacksmith; there seemed to be no other choice for me. I took on glass sculpting as a hobby. At first he thought it was silly. Then he saw potential business in it, and so he had me located to a smithy where business was slow but might pick up if I offered more services than just fixing tools: here.”

The blacksmith found himself shying away again. “Sorry. I don’t usually share much about myself.”

“I don’t mind.” Emily smiled reassuringly. “I’m glad you’re here, err… what was your name?”

“Clint.” He answered tersely.

“Clint.” She repeated. “Can you smith metal into jewelry? I want to design my own earrings, but I wanted to ask if you can offer that service before I get started. I have these amethysts that I would love to make into dangle earrings.”

“Uh… yeah. Sure. I can also cut gems if you like.”

“You’re a lapidary too? Wow! You’re a man of many talents.”

Again, he blushed. She thought better than to acknowledge it.

Emily glanced at a clock on the wall. “Oh, it’s that time already? I’m sorry, Clint. Can I come back tomorrow morning to talk things over? I have to go into work real soon.”

“Not a problem, err…”

“Oh! I’m Emily. I work at the Stardrop Saloon. You can swing by for dinner and drinks. First drink’s on me. Welcome to Pelican Town! I’ll see you tomorrow! Or tonight if you can make it.”

And with that, she shut the door behind her and rushed to the saloon.

~

“Emily.” Clint repeated.

He moved back to the furnace and dumped the compromised molten glass into the fire. He would have to save his attempt at a pair of drinking glasses for another day.

But she was impressed by his more ambitious glass work. No one else had seen the beauty in it like he did before.

She also managed to make him feel comfortable enough to share more about himself with so little time. No one had ever done that before.

She’s a bartender, though. She may have that effect on everyone. It was a good thing he managed to withhold the inspiration for his glass bowl: his odd collection of worthless rocks with unique patterns and flecks of quartz of all sorts of colors. No need to let anyone know of that childish hobby. He’s embarrassed himself enough by talking about his father and disinterest in the family business.

He had already planned on going to the saloon anyway; he wasn’t interested in any of the bitter foods his family cooked tonight.

But what if he embarrasses himself again? Or worse, in his attempt to be supportive and friendly he gets mistaken for being creepy? It’s happened before. There’s no inbetween with his size and demeanor; either he’s gruff yet cuddly like a teddy bear or he’s a potential molester, and unfortunately he rarely found himself at ease enough around other people, especially women, to be more like the former. He couldn’t risk the latter happening with Emily, no matter how much he was beginning to like her. Better that they stayed acquaintances.

He cleaned up the best that he could as he continued to think. He smiled at the Prince Rupert’s drop that accidentally formed in the tall glass of water. Maybe he could show it to Emily tomorrow? No; who else would find it interesting besides himself? It’s an uncrushable glass bulb that shatters at the smallest break on its tail. No blacksmith cared for them; they were just strange mistakes that served no function but to mystify scientists, and he wasn’t smart enough to bask in their company.

Regardless, he stowed it carefully in a box and placed it next to his collection of all sorts of ordinary rocks.

After a great wrestle back and forth in his head as he showered off, finally his hunger outweighed his aversion to being around people. He dressed himself in cleaner clothes and turned off his old boombox. (It could still play tapes. Who even uses tapes anymore? Clint felt older than the dirt he walked upon.)

He waited for sundown to avoid more of the public eye, and then made his way to the Stardrop Saloon just across the river.

He entered the saloon with little commotion; Clint realized that it was much emptier here than he expected. He didn’t know if he liked that; at least with so many people around you could hide yourself in a crowd more easily.

“Well, hello there!” A jovial man standing behind the counter waved at him. He then gestured to a barstool in front of him from the other side of the counter. “Take a seat.”

Reluctantly, Clint made his way to the indicated stool.

“Welcome to Pelican Town.” The man said. “I’m Gus, the owner of this establishment. Are you visiting, or…”

“Clint just moved in, Gus.” Emily’s pleasant voice chirped. She just appeared from the backroom with a large bowl of a macaroni and cheese dish. Clint realized there was a small hole where a gold stud used to be on Emily’s nose. “He’s going to help me with my new earring project.”

“Oh, are you a gemcutter?” Gus asked him.

Clint felt himself shrinking over the sudden load of attention, but he managed to speak. “No. Err… I’m a blacksmith. But I can cut gems, too.” He likes to collect them, he almost said, but then he would have to explain about his silly rock collection. Better to avoid that.

“And he’s a glassblower!” Emily announced merrily.

“Are you now?” Gus inquired with a smile. “Do you think I can commission you for a few new beer steins? At least six, maybe twelve? I can wait a couple weeks if I must. I’m just beginning to get too low on them now, with someone dropping and breaking one every once in a while.”

“I should be able to get started on them soon.”

“Great!” Gus smiled. “I’ll swing by your place tomorrow with the payment. Thank you!”

Gus blinked, then grabbed a menu from next to the cash register, then placed it in front of Clint. “Tonight’s meal is half off, on me.”

“Thanks,” Clint said, barely above a whisper. He glanced briefly through the menu and chose a beer and Big n’ Cheesy. He was quickly served a stein and a giant bowl of pasta. He put a spoonful in his mouth. Homemade mac and cheese never tasted so good. He’ll have to remember to ask for more cheese sauce if he orders it again.

Already, he was showing more promise for work here than his father thought. He smiled at the thought of his father being so wrong on how useless a hobby such as glass sculpting is.

“I’m glad you were able to make it tonight, Clint.” Emily smiled at him after she poured a glass for another customer, a man in a red plaid shirt who smelled like sea salt and fish. “I hope you’ve found everything to your liking?”

Clint simply nodded. He would have a good enough living here.