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by Anonymous | Score: 4050

Juan Martinez's eyes were black-ringed as he stared into the night. He'd kicked his covers, knees showing as he slipped from his bed.
His work consumed him  - something about it just kept drawing him back, denying him the passage of sleep and trapping him, driving him to keep working. He made springs - coiled and small and big and large. His workshop had gotten messy these last few days, filled with favoured working, ever since he heard from Eoin.
Her late husband was a smiling, pasionate inventor - famed for improving the pasta strainer. The industrial one, for kitchens, rather than the home one. He'd gotten rich, and retired.
Her late husband had a notebook he worked on in retirement, full of the tinkerings from his shed, and at the end there was a note on a better alloy - returning to shape just a touch faster, just a touch longer than before.

It was this that consumed Juan. Juan had been smithing for the guild of clocksmiths for a decade. He was on their roll 'Juan Martinez' as a master spring maker. He knew what would sell. And he knew that when he cracked the recipie, he'd have something that changed mechanical clockmaking.

His phone beeped. A zoom call. He glanced at the sender. Shanelle, his next door neighbour. Slamming around at three AM perhaps wasn't the best idea when she was due to be teaching preschool the next day, but this was far from the first complaint. The second day he'd moved in he'd gotten her measuer when she shouted at Eoin.

He made his way to the workshop, phone buzzing repeatedly. He checked his emails, ignoring it. She'd rage into thin air, but time to calm down was better than a confrontation - he was still buzzing at the oppertunity in front of him as he headed to his basement workshop. He took his tongues and started forging the metal. The notes had the details of the alloy - the proportions, but

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