It was chilly, the sky was grey, and there was a storm not far off. The wind and the little rain there was nagged at anyone who hadn't thought to get inside in time. Oliver included.
He'd been sitting on the docks for more than an hour. His trousers were torn, but not ragged, hair was mussed by the wind, and he'd shaved three days ago at best. Beside him there was the case of a fiddle, the fiddle itself - absent, and it's place was taken by a comb (probably rarely used), a box of matches, a pipe, a little brown leather-bound book, a couple of coloured pencils, a sheathed knife, a few precious stones and other odd items.
Oliver sat there, shivering occasionally, and whistling a cheerful tune. Then a seagull squawked at him just as the rain started coming down in earnest, and the tune acquired a distinctive minor quality.
Just as he began to contemplate moving to a dryer meeting place, the man he was waiting for arrived, along with the clomping of heavy boots and a rugged, weather-beaten feel about him.
"Jack." Oliver greeted the man without turning his head.
"Aye. Got a bit o somethin' for ye," the man replied, seating himself beside Oliver with a mixture of nonchalance, intimidation and physical difficulty. A man who had achieved much, but with his greatest days behind him.
Oliver turned to face Jack, to face the rain "Oh did you? I thought I was the one with the goods."
Jack grinned. "Ye still are. I just saw something on the way I reckoned ye would like. Here."
He dug into his pocked and pulled out something wrapped in fabric, which he carefully unwound/removed, revealing/uncovering a little figure carved out of ivory of a size that would rest comfortable in the palm of a man's hand. It was a kneeling woman, cloaked, one hand resting in her lap and the other raised to her forehead, her index finger touching the place people with a number of colourful layers of clothing tend to refer to as the third eye. Her face was wearing a soft, distant expression, as well as stunning beauty, especially for a face that was not of flesh. Around her neck was a heavy looking talisman, intricate designs centered around a tiny, deep-blue sapphire, the only piece of the figurine that wasn't ivory. The base, as opposed to being flat, had made no deformity of the woman's legs, but would not topple if placed on a surface. Whoever had carved this had done so with utmost love, refining every detail, achieving perfection.
"The Goddess Kiara!" Oliver exclaimed, having expected little more than a practical joke. He gestured to Jack to hand him the figurine, then examined it, running his fingertips over the tiny folds of her cloak, her serene face, the amazingly detailed talisman. A good moment passed before he remembered he was in the middle of a conversation.
"This is exquisite.. Jack, I don't know what's got into you to give away a piece like this, but I thank you."
