The Gig, Thursday

[waytoomanynames.livejournal.com]

The doors to the smithy were thrown wide open to let out the heat from the forge. Rosie, wearing a heavy leather apron and thick leather gloves and hefting a large hammer, was hard at work.

It was simple work - pieces for tack, replacement bars for the gates - but shaping metal was soothing.

It had taken some time to figure out the forge - she was used to loading forges with coal, not turning a dial and pushing a button - but the heat was completely even, which made this far easier.

Heat and hammer, shape and reheat, heat and hammer again. Sweat ran down her face, soaking her hair, and she wiped her forehead on her sleeve, grinning as she lifted the finished stirrup with a pair of heavy tongs.

The sign was still out the front --

The Gig

Horses for hire.

Horse-leech (vet) in residence.

Blacksmithing by appointment.

Help Wanted

-- and anyone passing could likely hear the ring of iron being worked.

[ooc: open, sure with slow proviso -- if you want a job on Monday or Wednesday, drop me an email.]