As the tip of Merlyn Gul Twir's knife pressed against his chest, Tanner Finchley's eyes widened with a mix of fear and anger. His blustering demeanor faltered for a moment, replaced by a glimmer of uncertainty. But, in this instance, the wise might think of what the title of Tanner actually entails. In Tancourt it might be a sort of hereditary nobility, but at it's core, it is a job devoid of forgiveness. Think of the dark and pungent depths of the tannery, where the stench of decay and the hum of the worker's drudgery meld into a cacophony of despair. The master Tanner, strolls between his subjects, a figure engulfed in the gruesome alchemy of turning raw animal hides into supple leather. Even in a position of power, the Tanner is not removed from getting their hands dirty, as they navigate through the morass of blood-stained vats and piles of discarded carcasses. Their weary eyes, tinged with weariness and resignation, bear witness to the horrors that unfold within those grim walls. And so Tanner Finchley steels himself with a lifetime of transforming decaying flesh into a material of utility and the knowledge that if he steps back the gossip from the other onlookers will sink him into the thick soupy mud of Tancourt to be mummified in scandal and shame.
And so, Tanner Finchley steps forward, the knife biting into the soft pink leather he wore - but it was leather nonetheless, it did not yet break the skin "You proper Knave! Laying hands on my daughter and now you think you can intimidate me with your pitiful knife?" Either Arabella could not bear the tension anymore, or her shiny black leather outfit was too small for her expansive chest making it harder to breath, but during this outburst her face turns bright red and she breathily exhales "Papa No!", and faints into the body of Merlyn Gul Twir. Matron Finchley, very much, expressively and conspicuously rolls her eyes and loudly and contemptuously proclaims "What Drama! A Sailor and a Tanner's daughter, in Love!"