![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ax_panther posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ax_mainAn engineering demonstration in Yorkland's marketplace facilitates an unlikely introduction.
A shout of Learn from my mistakes! followed after Percival as he left the ramshackle hovel that served as a shop. He closed the door firmly behind him, or as firmly as one could close a door that sat unevenly on its unhinges, and breathed a sigh of relief. The sound of more yelling, muffled now, came from the other side of the door.
“Bloody madman,” Percival muttered to himself and, tucking the literal hog’s head of black powder into his bag of holding, he walked away from Victor’s shop. On a whim, instead of heading back to the castle, he instead followed the street toward the center of the city where the weekend market was bustling with activity.
Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Chaka of the Kingdom of Wakanda, considered a visit to the central marketplace of Yorkland essential to Wakandan interests here. A marketplace could tell you many things about the people that lived in the area, and it would give him firsthand experience with what goods were needed or in abundant supply already. The stalls of the grocers told him about the climate of the region, with whom Yorkland traded with currently, what they bought and what they didn't and for what prices. The way in which trade was conducted also told him things - people here did not often haggle, for example, and when they did it was not quite the conversational and strategic artform that places further East preferred. Many of them treated him and Shoko with wariness and some with outright hostility. He noted how scales were weighed or portions counted, and which merchants were blatantly extorting unreasonable prices. He would remember these lessons for later.
His attention was caught by one particular hawker whose goods he could not see immediately, for a tight crowd of people had clustered around a clearing in the marketplace to see. But over the murmurs and chatter, he could hear the hawker claiming to have invented the marvel of the age, a feat of mechanical and magical engineering that would change how mankind worked and lived forever. Not a crude golem, and not a dangerous enslaved elemental, the man cried, oh no, but something far superior. The man issued a command, and then the thing stood, standing high over even the tallest heads in the crowd. It was a man-shaped metal construct that seemed to be etched with runes, light from their eyes glowing unnaturally bright.
"Let's see what this is all about," T'Challa told the martial woman that shadowed him, and she bowed her head in agreement as they approached the spectacle.
A commotion drew Percival’s attention to the far edge of the marketplace. As he approached, a gleaming, metal golem as large as any Goliath rose to its feet and towered over the crowd gathered in a semi-circle around it. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. Though etched with the runes typical of artificial constructs, there were also the tell-tale signs of clockwork gears, and pistons. It looked like a marrying of magic and science.
Fascinated (and a little put out as he’d had a similar idea himself sans magic), Percival drew closer. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me,” he said as he sidled through the crowd to edge his way to the front.
T'Challa watched as the presenter of the construct began to instruct it through a demonstration of its capabilities. First it was told to move in simple ways, walking, sitting, waving to the crowd. Its motions were effective, but also somewhat jerky and forced. The turning of its heavy, solid parts clunked and thudded and clicked audibly in places.
A man manuevered right around T'Challa and Shoko for a better view of the demonstration, and he found this person was curious in his own way. Most of the locals gave Prince T'Challa and the Dora a wide berth, but this finely-dressed fellow barely seemed to see them at all as he muttered his polite intrusion, so intent on the construct before them. His white hair could give a glancing impression of old age, but he actually appeared young and fit aside from the curious eye-lenses on his face.
"Is this new technology for Yorkland?" The prince looked pointedly at the white-haired youth with his fluent if heavily accented question in the Common tongue. He was willing to bet that the way those blue eyes followed the motions of the visible moving parts was more than the general awe of others in the crowd. He looked at the construct as if disassembling and reassembling the thing in his mind, and T'Challa had seen his sister look at things with exactly the same expression.
Percival turned to reply, and managed to not gape when he realized the speaker was none other than the prince of Wakanda. They’d never met in person, but he recognized him just as he would any other noble whose name had been drilled into his memory since birth. It was unlikely he’d be recognized in turn. He hadn’t been seen in public as the lord of Whitestone since the death of his family, and he’d changed quite a lot since that time.
“I believe it’s new for everywhere. I’ve never heard of its like.” Percival was already dismantling the construct, figuring out how it worked and trying to fix its flaws. Its movements could be smoother…
T'Challa had been well-informed regarding the ruler of Yorkland and his closest advisors, but he had not been introduced to many of the noble families. The white-haired youth came from means and money, he could guess. But beyond that, he couldn't say. Though his cool, well-groomed appearance was also tempered by the odd black smudge on his coat and his preoccupation with the construct.
As if to prove this first impression to be true, no sooner had they made eye contact than the lordling returned his attention to the demonstration. The prince followed his line of sight. "It is strange to me that the craftsman who made this automaton in the shape of a man would fit it together in such an unnatural way, out of such rough materials. Its components are so heavy, so bulky and fixed that it could never move as gracefully as a man can move.”
Given he was who he was and his interests lied where they did, Percival shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to hear that come out of a noble’s mouth. “No, it couldn’t,” he agreed. “With some alterations, it could be possible to improve mobility without compromising strength or durability. The bulk is impressive looking, but unnecessary otherwise.”
The tinkerer who had overheard them, and had noticed some of the crowd had overhead as well, glared in their direction. “Oy, take the chatter elsewhere. If you could build something like this, you would have already.”
T'Challa acknowledged the tinkerer with a nod. "Yes. A Wakandan design would look very different," he agreed somewhat ambiguously. Rather than antagonize the man, he turned away from the spectacle, his female escort moving with him.
As this conversation was already proving to much more interesting than whatever the tinkerer had to say, Percival followed after Prince T’Challa. “How so?” he asked as they exited from the gathered crowd and stepped out onto the somewhat less-crowded market streets.
He had not expected the pale figure to follow, but T'Challa's lips pursed in a quiet smile for his new companion. Shoko let him be, reading the smile as permission, and stood at T'Challa's other side as they moved down the street.
"Wakandan craftsmen take greater inspiration from the natural world. If we wanted to build a construct intended to move as a human, we would begin from a place of understanding how the human body moves. What that man back there has done is the opposite. In his haste to have a finished product, he has tried to force his pieces and parts to become what they are not. To our thinking, it's backwards." His sister would have said it differently, and with more attitude. But their point would probably have been much the same.
“In short, a Wakandan design would utilize common sense,” Percival replied.
He was answered by a wide smile, bright with white teeth, surprised into being genuine instead of polite. "To our thinking, yes," T'Challa agreed. Though many Westerners would have dismissed the approach, it seemed there was at least one in Yorkland that would not.
"I am Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Chaka of the Kingdom of Wakanda," the mouthful came naturally as the young man introduced himself to the other. He suspected the noble knew already, but that made little difference where manners and customs were concerned. "May I ask who you are?”
Percival inclined his head in as best a bow as he could approximate while walking. “Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third of Whitestone,” he replied. “It’s an honor, your Highness.”
A Wakandan prince did not bow to Western rulers - and he did not expect that he would be bowed to in this place. But he understood good manners. "As I am honored by your recognition," T'Challa said in kind. "We appreciate a keen mind in my country.”
A corner of Percival’s mouth turned up at the compliment. “We appreciate one in Whitestone as well. Unfortunately, I can’t speak for Yorkland.”
This Percival was funny, in a well-bred snark kind of way. Even his insults had a breezy aloofness that spoke of privilege. "Are you known for your engineering in Whitestone? Have you created anything like what we just saw?”
“No, but I’d had a concept for something similar. Just sketches, mind you. Nothing detailed,” Percival replied. “And you?”
"My sister Princess Shuri is an innovational prodigy," T'Challa didn't hesitate to say, knowing she wasn't within earshot. "She keeps telling me to stay out of her laboratory so I won't ruin all of her hard work. ...I think you two would have much to discuss.”
It was hard to tell which caught Percival’s interest more—A fellow inventor, or a laboratory. “I think so too. She sounds like my kind of person. What is she working on if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It is less that I mind, and more that you are asking the wrong person. But I do know she has been working on some very interesting armor.” They had reached a crossroads where the city streets joined, so it was not so difficult for T’Challa and his Dora to step to one side of the hustle and bustle with Percival. Once there, T’Challa pushed his fine cloak up over one shoulder to better display the suit of matte black armor he wore beneath. Unlike the showy, clanking Yorkland standard, this was very thin material, expertly fitted to provide him a full range of movement with minimum noise.
Percival had to remind himself it was in extremely poor taste to grab a person and demand to see their clothing in general, never mind when that someone was a prince. He studied the glimpse of the material as shrewdly as he could in what little time he had. It wasn’t as good as getting his hands on it, but it was better than nothing. “Interesting isn’t a lie, but, impressive would be a better word for it. What kind of protection does it offer?” It was hard to imagine something so thin shielding its wearer from the blow of a sword, or an ax, but, it had to be able to, else what was the point?
"We have a technique for weaving special fibers together very tightly for the body of the suit." T'Challa tried to think of something similar he had seen Westerners using. "Think of chain mail, but on a much smaller scale." There were the larger pieces that shone like a beetle carapace, for more protective shielding over the torso and limbs, but those were also much lighter than what a knight of Yorkland would wear. "And special tempering for the solid panels - with a bit of arcane enhancement," he admitted. "To redistribute force from impact to the suit.”
…Why was Prince T’Challa telling him all of this? Armor this incredible had to be a closely guarded secret in Wakanda, and that wasn’t the sort of thing you shared with just anyone. Distrust bubbled up inside of Percival. And yet, his fingers still itched to take the armor apart, just so he could put it back together and see how it was made for himself. “Fascinating.”
Yes, there was a slight risk in telling an engineer about some of the design principles behind Wakandan armor. But it was one thing to understand a base concept, and another to be capable of fabricating that concept effectively, particularly when Shuri’s brilliant enchanting was essential to the technology. And to T'Challa's knowledge, the Westerners had no natural resources here to compare with Wakandan isipho.
Besides, the point of being here was to gather allies, to develop relationships and find new opportunities. They must begin somewhere, with someone. It would be a good idea to make friends outside of Yorkland’s royal court.
“I would be very interested to see what the keen minds of Whitestone have been working on,” he added to that end. “An exchange of ideas, perhaps.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to tinker that I used to.” It was more of less true, though what Percival was distracted by was the weapon he’d invented and not the running of Whitestone as was implied. “I have some designs for bow and crossbow ammunition. And I’ve been prodding at an idea for utilizing electrical currents as a power source. I’d be willing to share them sometime.”
Projectiles were a bit old-fashioned, but no design concept from a prospective ally should be rejected too hastily or too rudely. Or so T'Challa would try to remind Shuri before making their introduction. "I look forward to that time, Percival of Whitestone. We will make arrangements."
A shout of Learn from my mistakes! followed after Percival as he left the ramshackle hovel that served as a shop. He closed the door firmly behind him, or as firmly as one could close a door that sat unevenly on its unhinges, and breathed a sigh of relief. The sound of more yelling, muffled now, came from the other side of the door.
“Bloody madman,” Percival muttered to himself and, tucking the literal hog’s head of black powder into his bag of holding, he walked away from Victor’s shop. On a whim, instead of heading back to the castle, he instead followed the street toward the center of the city where the weekend market was bustling with activity.
Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Chaka of the Kingdom of Wakanda, considered a visit to the central marketplace of Yorkland essential to Wakandan interests here. A marketplace could tell you many things about the people that lived in the area, and it would give him firsthand experience with what goods were needed or in abundant supply already. The stalls of the grocers told him about the climate of the region, with whom Yorkland traded with currently, what they bought and what they didn't and for what prices. The way in which trade was conducted also told him things - people here did not often haggle, for example, and when they did it was not quite the conversational and strategic artform that places further East preferred. Many of them treated him and Shoko with wariness and some with outright hostility. He noted how scales were weighed or portions counted, and which merchants were blatantly extorting unreasonable prices. He would remember these lessons for later.
His attention was caught by one particular hawker whose goods he could not see immediately, for a tight crowd of people had clustered around a clearing in the marketplace to see. But over the murmurs and chatter, he could hear the hawker claiming to have invented the marvel of the age, a feat of mechanical and magical engineering that would change how mankind worked and lived forever. Not a crude golem, and not a dangerous enslaved elemental, the man cried, oh no, but something far superior. The man issued a command, and then the thing stood, standing high over even the tallest heads in the crowd. It was a man-shaped metal construct that seemed to be etched with runes, light from their eyes glowing unnaturally bright.
"Let's see what this is all about," T'Challa told the martial woman that shadowed him, and she bowed her head in agreement as they approached the spectacle.
A commotion drew Percival’s attention to the far edge of the marketplace. As he approached, a gleaming, metal golem as large as any Goliath rose to its feet and towered over the crowd gathered in a semi-circle around it. It was like nothing he’d ever seen. Though etched with the runes typical of artificial constructs, there were also the tell-tale signs of clockwork gears, and pistons. It looked like a marrying of magic and science.
Fascinated (and a little put out as he’d had a similar idea himself sans magic), Percival drew closer. “Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me,” he said as he sidled through the crowd to edge his way to the front.
T'Challa watched as the presenter of the construct began to instruct it through a demonstration of its capabilities. First it was told to move in simple ways, walking, sitting, waving to the crowd. Its motions were effective, but also somewhat jerky and forced. The turning of its heavy, solid parts clunked and thudded and clicked audibly in places.
A man manuevered right around T'Challa and Shoko for a better view of the demonstration, and he found this person was curious in his own way. Most of the locals gave Prince T'Challa and the Dora a wide berth, but this finely-dressed fellow barely seemed to see them at all as he muttered his polite intrusion, so intent on the construct before them. His white hair could give a glancing impression of old age, but he actually appeared young and fit aside from the curious eye-lenses on his face.
"Is this new technology for Yorkland?" The prince looked pointedly at the white-haired youth with his fluent if heavily accented question in the Common tongue. He was willing to bet that the way those blue eyes followed the motions of the visible moving parts was more than the general awe of others in the crowd. He looked at the construct as if disassembling and reassembling the thing in his mind, and T'Challa had seen his sister look at things with exactly the same expression.
Percival turned to reply, and managed to not gape when he realized the speaker was none other than the prince of Wakanda. They’d never met in person, but he recognized him just as he would any other noble whose name had been drilled into his memory since birth. It was unlikely he’d be recognized in turn. He hadn’t been seen in public as the lord of Whitestone since the death of his family, and he’d changed quite a lot since that time.
“I believe it’s new for everywhere. I’ve never heard of its like.” Percival was already dismantling the construct, figuring out how it worked and trying to fix its flaws. Its movements could be smoother…
T'Challa had been well-informed regarding the ruler of Yorkland and his closest advisors, but he had not been introduced to many of the noble families. The white-haired youth came from means and money, he could guess. But beyond that, he couldn't say. Though his cool, well-groomed appearance was also tempered by the odd black smudge on his coat and his preoccupation with the construct.
As if to prove this first impression to be true, no sooner had they made eye contact than the lordling returned his attention to the demonstration. The prince followed his line of sight. "It is strange to me that the craftsman who made this automaton in the shape of a man would fit it together in such an unnatural way, out of such rough materials. Its components are so heavy, so bulky and fixed that it could never move as gracefully as a man can move.”
Given he was who he was and his interests lied where they did, Percival shouldn't have been as surprised as he was to hear that come out of a noble’s mouth. “No, it couldn’t,” he agreed. “With some alterations, it could be possible to improve mobility without compromising strength or durability. The bulk is impressive looking, but unnecessary otherwise.”
The tinkerer who had overheard them, and had noticed some of the crowd had overhead as well, glared in their direction. “Oy, take the chatter elsewhere. If you could build something like this, you would have already.”
T'Challa acknowledged the tinkerer with a nod. "Yes. A Wakandan design would look very different," he agreed somewhat ambiguously. Rather than antagonize the man, he turned away from the spectacle, his female escort moving with him.
As this conversation was already proving to much more interesting than whatever the tinkerer had to say, Percival followed after Prince T’Challa. “How so?” he asked as they exited from the gathered crowd and stepped out onto the somewhat less-crowded market streets.
He had not expected the pale figure to follow, but T'Challa's lips pursed in a quiet smile for his new companion. Shoko let him be, reading the smile as permission, and stood at T'Challa's other side as they moved down the street.
"Wakandan craftsmen take greater inspiration from the natural world. If we wanted to build a construct intended to move as a human, we would begin from a place of understanding how the human body moves. What that man back there has done is the opposite. In his haste to have a finished product, he has tried to force his pieces and parts to become what they are not. To our thinking, it's backwards." His sister would have said it differently, and with more attitude. But their point would probably have been much the same.
“In short, a Wakandan design would utilize common sense,” Percival replied.
He was answered by a wide smile, bright with white teeth, surprised into being genuine instead of polite. "To our thinking, yes," T'Challa agreed. Though many Westerners would have dismissed the approach, it seemed there was at least one in Yorkland that would not.
"I am Prince T'Challa, son of King T'Chaka of the Kingdom of Wakanda," the mouthful came naturally as the young man introduced himself to the other. He suspected the noble knew already, but that made little difference where manners and customs were concerned. "May I ask who you are?”
Percival inclined his head in as best a bow as he could approximate while walking. “Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo the Third of Whitestone,” he replied. “It’s an honor, your Highness.”
A Wakandan prince did not bow to Western rulers - and he did not expect that he would be bowed to in this place. But he understood good manners. "As I am honored by your recognition," T'Challa said in kind. "We appreciate a keen mind in my country.”
A corner of Percival’s mouth turned up at the compliment. “We appreciate one in Whitestone as well. Unfortunately, I can’t speak for Yorkland.”
This Percival was funny, in a well-bred snark kind of way. Even his insults had a breezy aloofness that spoke of privilege. "Are you known for your engineering in Whitestone? Have you created anything like what we just saw?”
“No, but I’d had a concept for something similar. Just sketches, mind you. Nothing detailed,” Percival replied. “And you?”
"My sister Princess Shuri is an innovational prodigy," T'Challa didn't hesitate to say, knowing she wasn't within earshot. "She keeps telling me to stay out of her laboratory so I won't ruin all of her hard work. ...I think you two would have much to discuss.”
It was hard to tell which caught Percival’s interest more—A fellow inventor, or a laboratory. “I think so too. She sounds like my kind of person. What is she working on if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It is less that I mind, and more that you are asking the wrong person. But I do know she has been working on some very interesting armor.” They had reached a crossroads where the city streets joined, so it was not so difficult for T’Challa and his Dora to step to one side of the hustle and bustle with Percival. Once there, T’Challa pushed his fine cloak up over one shoulder to better display the suit of matte black armor he wore beneath. Unlike the showy, clanking Yorkland standard, this was very thin material, expertly fitted to provide him a full range of movement with minimum noise.
Percival had to remind himself it was in extremely poor taste to grab a person and demand to see their clothing in general, never mind when that someone was a prince. He studied the glimpse of the material as shrewdly as he could in what little time he had. It wasn’t as good as getting his hands on it, but it was better than nothing. “Interesting isn’t a lie, but, impressive would be a better word for it. What kind of protection does it offer?” It was hard to imagine something so thin shielding its wearer from the blow of a sword, or an ax, but, it had to be able to, else what was the point?
"We have a technique for weaving special fibers together very tightly for the body of the suit." T'Challa tried to think of something similar he had seen Westerners using. "Think of chain mail, but on a much smaller scale." There were the larger pieces that shone like a beetle carapace, for more protective shielding over the torso and limbs, but those were also much lighter than what a knight of Yorkland would wear. "And special tempering for the solid panels - with a bit of arcane enhancement," he admitted. "To redistribute force from impact to the suit.”
…Why was Prince T’Challa telling him all of this? Armor this incredible had to be a closely guarded secret in Wakanda, and that wasn’t the sort of thing you shared with just anyone. Distrust bubbled up inside of Percival. And yet, his fingers still itched to take the armor apart, just so he could put it back together and see how it was made for himself. “Fascinating.”
Yes, there was a slight risk in telling an engineer about some of the design principles behind Wakandan armor. But it was one thing to understand a base concept, and another to be capable of fabricating that concept effectively, particularly when Shuri’s brilliant enchanting was essential to the technology. And to T'Challa's knowledge, the Westerners had no natural resources here to compare with Wakandan isipho.
Besides, the point of being here was to gather allies, to develop relationships and find new opportunities. They must begin somewhere, with someone. It would be a good idea to make friends outside of Yorkland’s royal court.
“I would be very interested to see what the keen minds of Whitestone have been working on,” he added to that end. “An exchange of ideas, perhaps.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to tinker that I used to.” It was more of less true, though what Percival was distracted by was the weapon he’d invented and not the running of Whitestone as was implied. “I have some designs for bow and crossbow ammunition. And I’ve been prodding at an idea for utilizing electrical currents as a power source. I’d be willing to share them sometime.”
Projectiles were a bit old-fashioned, but no design concept from a prospective ally should be rejected too hastily or too rudely. Or so T'Challa would try to remind Shuri before making their introduction. "I look forward to that time, Percival of Whitestone. We will make arrangements."
