Felix sucked on the butt of his quill. It was a wonderful writing tool made from glass. Instead of the typical metal point, it’s business end was a beautifully shaped glass twirl reminiscent of a rosebud.Black ink pooled in each of the creases in the twirl, allowing the quill head to hold a respectable amount of ink.
At first he had made horrible messes of his documents, not used to how the ink flowed from the odd quill. But he had hung in and persevered. Now it saved him both time and effort. He no longer had to dip the pen as often, which means a few seconds were saved for every few lines. It also meant he worried less about forgetting the perfect phrasing of a line as he inked it.
But the most important thing about the glass quill was that it was so unusual. None of his peers had ever seen such a writing tool! It made him stand out. It made him interesting.
Felix had always treasured the feeling of being unique, extraordinary, memorable!
It was not as if he felt the need to be the centre of attention. He would never make a spectacle out of himself. No, it was key to be subtle! He didn’t need a notebook that magically took notes for him, that was too flashy. His impressiveness should look effortless, unintentional.
“This? Oh, why it’s a simple glass quill! You’ve not seen one before?” he said into the room, feigning surprise.
“I suppose I do get exposed to many different cultures through my mother. She is a trader after all! Wares from across Tamriel, that’s her motto!” he patted the hand of his imaginary conversational partner.
As he sat there musing over how he managed to appear fabulous yet humble a loud thwack made him jump in his seat. He looked towards his window from where the sound had come.
“What’s this?!” he pondered aloud. Who would risk his beautifully stained window?
Felix stood and hurried to the window hoping to prevent it being hit with another stone.
With one elegant move he opened the window and leaned out of it to peer down at the street below. A small, pink-faced man with short cropped red hair and an unruly beard waved up at him. It would seem the lad did not take care to shield his skin from the sun.
“Yes?” Felix inquired.
“You got time for a chat? I’ve a proposal for you.” the man shaded his eyes from the sun with one hand. Felix peered down at the little man. Those freckles, the dark eyes, the pig-like snout…
“Piggy! What happened to your curls?! How foolish of you to cut them!” Felix berated the little man. “Wait.. What’s this? A proposal?”
Other things Felix loved was mystery, intrigue, scandals and curious proposal from dubious acquaintances. Actually, Felix had a genuine interest in the lives of his friends and family. He took great pride in being the person people talked to when they needed to be heard. Now, little Elkwell was in need of his ears. What would his neighbours think if they saw such a rugged person come to his home? They would whisper for weeks!
“Oh. But we can’t speak like this, dear friend. Come up! You know how I dislike shouting!”
The pig-faced man nodded and pointed questioningly towards the entrance of the building.
With a gracious nod, Felix closed his window. He made haste towards his mirror to make certain his moustache and eyebrows were perfect. With expert precision he pushed a single hair of his brow back into place. He then hurried to his desk so he might take up the most intellectual pose in his repertoire.
When Piggy finally knocked on his door he was stood by the window holding a leather bound book in one hand, and a goblet of wine in the other.
“Aah. It’s been so long!” Felix said and closed the book with a practiced movement of the hand. “Do come and sit, just close the door behind you, if you would.” as Elkwell closed the door, Felix crossed the room and seated himself on his favourite chair. He hoped the other man would not notice the sad state his furniture was in. As he put his book down on the table, he petted the chair next to him.
“Now. What’s this about a proposal?” he asked. “Would you like some wine?”
Elkwell took a minute to set his bow, quiver and satchel down before taking his seat.
“I’m good. Never did have a head for it. Turns me into a twat who won’t shut up about the true meaning of art.” the little man cleared his throat and let his eyes run across the room before meeting Felix’s gaze. Eye contact was an amazing thing, Felix thought.
“How does Felix Oltiander Dupont, Steward of Vintner’s Rest sound to you?”