Inversion (1/2)

It was a legendary battle.

Alliances were forged and broken.

This was the harsh reality of the game of draw tag.

And the laughter of many voiceboxes filled the air, as Threadbare did his best to give the juveniles a good workout, without discouraging them. It was fairly hard, given their developmental differences. At least until the Mousewife caught on and switched sides, then they all ganged up on him and chased him around the room, up and down the steps and through the balconies.

Somewhere along the way he lost his hat and it ended up on the smallest of the golems, a little spider girl. She used it to lure him into a few ambushes with the others when he tried to snatch it back. Tane actually laughed at that one, complimenting the children for their tactical improvisation.

Mind you, at the level of mental development they were at, they would have had trouble telling the difference between tactical inspiration and turnip surprise, but for the most part they could tell he was happy, and that made them happy. Proctor Tane was a hard man to please, and only in later years of their lives would most of his students realize that was very much a key part of his strategy. He might not be a trainer of Knights anymore, but his approach hadn't changed.

Eventually Threadbare realized that he was down to the merest stub of chalk, and when he went to go fetch more the cup was empty. Looking around he could see that the others were in similar straits, and decided it was time to call a truce. It took a few minutes to get the message across to the very-excited and mostly inexhaustible juveniles, but with some help from Mrs. Beemer, they eventually got them settled down into a loose ring around the table while the remaining adults talked.

Tane and Daffodil had left at some point prior, but Graves was still there, sharing a pot of tea with Mrs. Beemer.

Threadbare took an empty cup to be polite, and mimed drinking it as the conversation continued. The ritual of the tea party had been one of the first he'd learned, and to this very day he treated the act with the respect it was due.

Although it was a little off-putting to be having a tea party without hats. The snail had snatched it during the fracas, and Threadbare had found the act too adorable to take it back.

“Thank you for playing with them,” Mrs. Beemer said. “Eye for Detail,” she added in as she looked over her charges. “Oh yes, that definitely did them good. Mostly in the agility category. Ah, more stamina. They'll be even harder to settle down now...”

The complaint had little heart behind it. Her task was to help her young charges grow, and events like this were good opportunities to level stats. Which was the primary function of the Rumpus Room, giving the little golems a safe place to train until they hit diminishing returns on their stats. Until they got to the point where they would need dangerous situations to develop further.

The secondary purpose was to provide a healthy childhood for the juveniles and give them sturdy bonds with their caregivers and companions. Growing up without those could have problematic consequences. Golems needed empathy, or else they didn't understand pain. And pain was a very important concept when you were dealing with humans, dwarves, and other creatures that tended to scream and bleed and suffer when under extreme duress. (Concepts which were mostly alien to golems who didn't receive a good education.)

“I had a little time to think, in between tags,” Threadbare said. “Do you feel that we have enough money to keep the Rumpus Room going? Are we at risk of losing this place? I have some money saved up, that I'm not using for anything. It could go here.”

“Oh! Oh no, that's quite all right,” Mrs. Beemer said, waving her hands. “Right now we're just having a few problems because of the way trade is shifting. There's no need for—”

“We'll happily accept your donation,” Graves said, shooting her a significant look. “You're right in that the facility isn't going to close any time soon, but if you're not using the money we'll take it.”

Mrs. Beemer's face twisted a bit, in that way that humans had when they had to compromise on something. Which puzzled Threadbare, because this seemed like a win-win situation.

So he asked her plainly, “This upsets you? Why?”

She considered for a bit, looked to Graves, who nodded back.

“We've had a few of the guilds... offer to support us, if we... did them favors,” Mrs. Beemer sighed. “The implication is that we would steer golems away from working for their rivals. Or give them more consideration in the job fairs.”

“Which would take us straight into politics,” Graves said. “We can't afford that, not with something as vital as the work we're doing here.”

“And I know you would never do something like asking for favors,” Mrs. Beemer said, putting her teacup down and folding her hands. “But you being one of the council and all, it still feels like any donation we take from you might look like politics.”

“Oh...” Graves said, tugging on his goatee. “You haven't heard.”

“Heard what?”

“I'm not on the council any more,” Threadbare said. “That should simplify things. I can give you my money and it won't look improper.”

He had expected relief.