The sun began to burn off the morning fog that seems to herald the start of every day in Pennsylvania ( Read more... )

Spindle drags the last of his toolboxes into his room at Whiteoak ( Read more... )

Dear Freida ( Read more... )

"Spindle. Spindle." A thick pillow smashes down hard atop his sleeping form. "Wake up, asshole."

Spindle sits ups with a start. "Tripper? Wha- Oy, my head. What's wrong?" He looks to his left to Tipper sitting up in bed besides him, her lips twisted to give the impression of being somewhat irked ( Read more... )

"You have it ready?" Spindle doesn't look towards his assistants as he finished stringing the fine silver wire across the top of the contraption.

Clatterchank seems to think forward with each heavy step. "Subject is secured, Master Spinde." The Golem holds a small chimera of a mouse, a tiny purple thing with a pink candy hearts for eyes. One ( Read more... )

Spindle looks over the blueprints again, then reads through some calculation in a notebook. It should work. It has to work. He looks up to see Derricks fiddling with another toy boat, this one only slightly smaller. Scowling, Spindle walks away from his desk to where the older of the Journeymen works. The silver-handled cane clacks on the ( Read more... )

The cuckoo clock on the wall of the shop chirpes out the hour. Four AM. Spindle sighs, the picture of Freida on the desk before him. Closing his eyes, he fights the hollow feeling in his gut, trying to will himself into numbness. Congrats, Freida. You got to take my innocence twice. How’s that for a bargin? The depression slowly gives way to ( Read more... )

Spindle rubs at his brow, his eyes closed. He holds the phone away from his ear for a moment. Derricks looks up from his work on a toy boat and smiles. Tripper, standing by the cash register, shakes her head as she chews her gum. Working on a reluctant radiator in the corner, Clatterchank seems to pay no attention to the shouting can be clearly ( Read more... )

“So what happened ( Read more... )

He peers about the shop. It seems somewhat neglected to him. A fine layer of dust coats the shelves and hardwood floor, and there is a slightly musty odor to the air. Spindle walks towards the back slowly, his eyes taking in the toys that sit everywhere, stand everywhere, hang everywhere. Reaching the counter towards the rear, he sets his ( Read more... )