The Least Common Denominator

IV.I Product

*CLANG*

"Crimson, sweetie~ Can you make me a new rapier?" a muffled voice echoed from beyond the wooden door.

"Of course, Ma'am!"

*Drip*

Beads of sweat trickled down my cheek before I returned my attention to my work. The fires from this forge weren't as blistering as the ones down at the Furnace, but it was still dangerous if left unattended. My mind, however, was still the same old wandering dog that keeps getting distracted at the slightest hint of new stuff. Or was it not like that back then? Either way...

How long has it been?

*CLANG*

I honestly forgot after the umpteenth time that Arya requested that I make another weapon for her. I think I've been at this for just shy of a year, what with Olivia actually starting to grow a bit bigger for her old clothes. When did she get so big?

"Hey, Big Sis!"

"Good morning, 'Livia."

*CLANG*

I smiled at my little sister in all but blood. She'd learned much after we got out of the Furnace. Technically, she can already hold her own in terms of being a decent Denominator, but anytime our illustrious Madam broached the subject, Olivia just seemed to fail every job that she got.

Quite the nifty pretender, if I do say so myself.

*Drip*

"Hey, sis,"-'Livia sauntered into the smithing room, her blue dress billowing behind her-"watcha making?"

*CLANG*

"Well,"-I stared blankly at the molten thing in my tongs-"I guess it's a rapier now."

"Can I help?" The not-so-small-anymore brunette asked me with a twinkle in her eye. "I mean, only if you want to."

I fought the urge to agree for as long as I could-

"Okay, 'Livia. Same routine?"

She hefted her trusty hammer with both hands. "Of course!"

But how can I deny such a precious little flower?! Well, she's not so small anymore, but who's reading my thoughts anyway? I relented to my baser instincts as I ruffled the top of her head.

"Ready?" I asked my apprentice as I laid the glowing metal on the anvil.

"Ready."

*CLANG*  

The molten piece of metal bent to our will as Olivia struck it with her hammer. Sparks flew as we forced our will onto the metal, our arms our way of expressing ourselves through the art of smithing and inscribing the runes necessary for this piece of equipment to work.

*CLANG*

Huh. Haven't had a thought like that in a good while.

*Drip Drip*

I ignored the sound of dripping water from my face as I turned the now cylindrical piece of glowing-hot iron for another round of good old whacking.

"'Livia," I called for the girl's attention before her hammer descended down on the anvil. "Don't flatten the blade too much. it's a rapier we're making, after all."

"Of course," she nodded without any other form of childlike expression.

*CLANG*

When did she start acting like that, I wonder. I suppose after about a few months after we got drafted by Madam Arya? All of a sudden, she was very professional-like whenever we're working.

*Drip Drip Drip*

God, why am I so sweaty today? Ugh... I scrunched my brows as the thought stuck to me like peanut butter on the roof of my tongue.

"Something wrong?" Olivia paused as she turned her head to face me.

"Nothing. Nothing..." I waved with my other hand as I turned the forming rapier. "Just wondering when did you get so professional."

*CLANG*

"Silly you," my cute sister flashed me a smile while she hefted her hammer above her head once more. "I learned from the best."

*DRIP*

The best? Who's that?

"Really?"

"You taught me that we must always respect our craft," she elaborated with a knowing look on her face. "That our job demands that we maintain a steady focus to make sure that our product comes out all 'quality-like,' as you put it."

*DRIP DRIP DRIP*

I paused for a brief moment before pulling the thin rod back to begin working near the base of the hilt. The sound of trickling water also started getting louder for some reason. "I did?"

"Don't you remember?" Little Sis replied with a hint of worry coloring her face. "That was one of the first things that you taught me back at the Furnace."

*CLANG*

I glance back down on our work as I felt my mind try to recall the event. Back at the Furnace... So little over a year ago? Strange... I feel like I'm forgetting something...

*TRICKLE*

*CLANG*

I almost jumped at the sudden ring of clashing metals. In front of me, Olivia had already set her hammer aside. Having seemingly deemed that we've done enough forming and straightening, she pulled out her chisel and began the slow process of manually etching the Runes onto the thin piece of weaponry. Her technique was slow, and yet she glided through the length of the blade with an eerie familiarity. Almost like...

"'Livia,"-I slowly turned to face her, concentration affecting my face a tad too much-"Who taught you how to etch Runes like that?"

"Whaddya mean?" She asked, puzzled. "You did."

*TRICKLE.....*

I felt a few gears click in my head as a realization dawned on me like a sore thumb.

*Thud*

The dull thud of my own hammer hitting the floor seemed so far away compared to the current realization that was bombarding my mind.

"Sis?"

My memory's getting spotty... I'm forgetting things I shouldn't have forgotten so easily...

*GUSH!*

"Sis?!"

What am I missing!? Quick... My name's Crimson. That's easy. I'm forty- no. I'm eighteen. Why did my brain readily offer that information up? I grew up in a [city] Town! On the outskirts of a little town!

"Sis!" I felt myself being embraced in something warm. "B.e.the!"

Throughout my childhood, [I was a straight-A student] I worked throughout the house and on the surrounding fields. [I took pleasure in reading and playing video games] I was taught how to fight by Mother when I was [thirty-three] nine after I [entered high school with the expectations of getting top grades] asked her how to defend myself.

*WHOOSH! SPLASH!*

A searing pain started spreading throughout my head as I felt myself crouching down on the ground. A fluid-like sensation ebbed and flowed in my head. What are these conflicting memories!?

[I used to love anime] I took pleasure in cooking supper for my parents.

*WHOOSH*

[Magic isn't real] Numerators are inherently more powerful than Denominators.

[My name is...] My name is...

*TRICKLE*

The sound of trickling water echoed in my mind. My name...

*DRIP...*

C.im.on

Say it. Come on! I should know this!

*Drip....*

Crim...

That damnable leak in my head keeps on distracting me! Come on... Just on the tip of my tongue.

*drip...*

One more...

*drip*

One more...

Crim... "Crimson"...

I felt a dam erect itself inside my mind, sealing off the incessant cacophony of water. In an instant, a serene calm washed over me. The blissful sound of silence.

Yes... Crimson, that's my name.

That was the last thought I had on my mind before darkness swallowed my vision.

⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛⬛

Oh noes. This is what I get for writing off the seat of my pants. I'll think up of something, don't worry. I'm not one to leave stuff unfinished, no matter how long it would take me to actually get the job done. In the meantime, read my other stories that have actually had years of planning go into them.

Sorry for the lack of quality. Writing's hard.