Frame 1: Silvertongue

Astrid had been waiting nearly half an hour for her tea. She drummed her fingers on the battered wooden table, her irritation building with every second that passed. Silvertongue’s had long been her favorite place in the city, but every now and then incidents like these made her re-evaluate that opinion. The proprietor could whisper her tea into existence in less time than it took for Astrid to order it, and yet somehow it still wasn’t here. She flagged down a waitress.

“Excuse me. I don’t mean to be a bother, but where the hell is my tea? Do I need to go back there and beat it out of him? Jasmine. Hot. On my table.” Astrid said, a little less than composed. As the words spilled out, she noticed the table start to smoke under her fingertips. Shit. She sighed, brushing away the embers and looking up at the now-speechless waitress. “Just... get the tea, will you?”

The waitress nodded and hurried off, head down. Astrid stared down at the marks she left on the table. Most places would not-so-politely ask you to leave for a stunt like that. But Don... tolerated her. Making a haven for speakers is bound to give you an abnormal amount of trouble, and with that in mind Astrid’s frequent antics were barely a drop in the bucket. There was ample evidence of accident and incident on nearly every surface -- the walls were littered with pockmarks, singed craters and strange organic growths, and the tables were nearly as bad. Just about the only thing free of visible harm was the front door, and even then that’s only because it was frequently repaired. Astrid spotted a few marks of her own doing around the place and felt a twinge of embarrassment.

Silvertongue’s wasn’t strictly a speaker-only establishment, but in practice it had ended up that way. A look around on any given day would find nearly every customer mumbling to themselves and idly fiddling with their specialty. There were people growing tiny saplings out of the floor, making smoke puppets, lifting the water up out of their glass -- even a few casually tossing lightning between their hands. Anyone and everyone who could speak a tongue flocked here. Mutes came in every so often, sure, but they never stayed long. The shenanigans got to them. It was on average, one of the more dangerous places in the city to get tea, but that was sort of why Astrid liked it. You never knew what you were going to see.

Astrid was captivated by a talented arborist demonstrating how to guide branches at another table, when she caught Don out of the corner of her eye shuffling towards her. He was a fat man; there was no other word for it. He had little muscle, and weighed enough to creak the failing floorboards, but he carried it well. Don was confident, calm, and exceptionally talented -- he was one of only a few speakers in the city that could handle more than two tongues, and he made it known. His certification bands were always visible, a stack of tattooed rings up his left forearm. He never covered them. For anyone else it would come off cocky. Don stood over the table, tossing a mug casually between his hands. He smiled.

“How’ve you been, Astrid? It’s been a while! You’re not giving my staff trouble, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t so slow,” she said, wisps of flame sputtering across the back of her hand.

Don’s eyes flicked to the fire, and his expression quickly hardened. “You should really get that under control, dear. It’s careless to be so free with that tongue.” As he spoke, a chilling aura descended over her entire arm, and the flames went out. He placed his palm over the mouth of the empty mug, whispered, and set it on the table. Jasmine tea. Out of nothing. Don looked right at her. His eyes were piercingly intelligent. “You’ve already come close to hurting people in here. Learn some restraint, or I’ll mute you. Enjoy the tea.”

She locked up, unable to come up with a response. Don turned away, his jovial sheen returning as he walked off to another table. The frozen feeling lifted off her, and she looked down at her tea. Astrid sighed, picking up the tea and leaning her elbows on the table. Don’s patience with her was wearing out. And that was fair; her patience with herself was wearing out too. She had been working on learning to speak for nearly a year, and her improvement felt almost invisible -- she knew more vocabulary, had more power, sure. But she couldn’t control it worth a damn. The flames leapt where they wanted, and she couldn’t stop them.

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She felt that wasn’t entirely her fault. Fire was wild by its very nature, after all. But she had seen other firetongues control it with such incredible finesse, lighting stoves and heating homes, melting snow or helping blacksmiths. And yet Astrid still couldn’t light a torch without hurting herself. Her arms were a mess of burns, and even something as simple as holding her tea could make old wounds flare. It felt pathetic.

And as if on cue, summoned by her self-pity, Francis stumbled through the door. Astrid did her best to avoid his attention, slumping in her chair and letting her hair mask her face. It was no good. He was forty, now, and just as much of a child as ever. She begrudgingly acknowledged him as he sat down at her table.

“Hello Francis. Why are you here?”

He smiled, drumming his hands on the table with nervous excitement. “I have news, of course. And where else can I go with news?”

“Right. And what’s your news, Francis?” She couldn’t stand his enthusiasm.

“I got certified! Look at this,” he said, rolling up his coat sleeve to reveal a fresh certification band above his wrist, bearing the mark of the Mender’s Union. “It turned out great, don’t you think?”

Astrid paused, staring at the band. “Wow. That’s... big news. Can I take a look?” she asked, her prickly demeanor disarmed.

“Sure. Be careful though, I only got it today.” He scooted closer to the table, laying his arm flat across it and smirking. “You know, the proctor said I was one of three this year.”

She had never seen a Mender’s band before. The ink glowed. It was like he had fireflies in his muscles, a sort of pulsating yellow-green warmth that came off the lines and emblems on his skin. She noticed a couple other patrons looking their way and tapped his hand. “Might wanna put that away. Unless you want to get mobbed by jealous speakers.”

Francis gave a pained smile, rolling his sleeve back over the band. “That’s just going to be my life now. The Mender’s make them glow for a reason. I’m a public servant.”

“Hey, speaking of which,” he said, his eyes wandering to her burns. “I can fix those for you, if you want.”

“No, absolutely not.” She shook her head. “I earned these. They’re staying until I can control this piece of shit language.”

“That’s certainly very... you.” He chuckled, and Astrid noticed the wisps of warm green light floating off his fingers. He thought she was going to say yes. Francis wiped his hands on his pants and leaned forward, elbows on the table. The light faded from his hands. “Have you tried getting lessons from Don? He’s a passable firetongue too, you know.”

She knew. “He’s got enough on his hands as it is. I don’t think he’d have much patience for me.”

Francis sighed, running his hand over his scalp. “Astrid, nobody has much patience for you anymore. You have no idea what you’re doing right now, and you’re refusing to learn. If you don’t end up killing yourself with that fire, you’re going to kill someone else, and it will be nobody’s fault but yours. Ask Don to teach you, please. You don’t have the luxury of fucking around like this.”

She bristled. “I don’t need his help. I can do this on my own, burns and all.”

“Seriously, you need someone to-”

Astrid clenched her fist, her ears hot with embarassment. “Just leave it, Francis. You don’t always have to act so concerned all the fucking time. I’m fine,” she said, a defensive bite in her voice.

Francis blinked. “Alright. I won’t push. You know how I feel,” he said, his voice still calm and gentle.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, I’m gonna go show my cert to Don.” He got up from the table, patting her on the shoulder as he walked by. “Good talk.”

And she was alone again. In a room full of people, still alone. She turned her attention back to her tea. It was cold now. She didn’t bother trying to heat it up.