waste of string

“What an absolute waste of string you are,” Lorelei slapped Marrionetta’s hand away from the machine. The hand, which was disconnected from the rest of her, lost its grip on the small metal file it had been holding. The hand had been using the metal file to painstakingly chisel grime from the small gearing inside of the Hasse-Liebe Reverse Induction Contabulator. 

The hand whizzed through the air in a perfect circle. It was still leashed to the stake in the desk. After several rotations, it was wrapped painfully against the stake. It writhed silently in pain. 

“No no no this is all wrong!” Lorelei screamed and began tearing into the gearing. He removed parts from the machine. Out came long strings of entrails, webbings of nerve tissue, and other human plastics that were tied among the gears and rods. Lorelei had successfully replaced many of the machine’s delicate operations with human tissue and the electrical capacities had been greatly improved in this manner. The entire machine became faster, more precise, and far more sensitive. 

Lorelei had become extremely agitated since the trials of Goren and the other circus employ had begun. He seemed strung out. Not just on coffee and amphetamines but also on his own anticipation and stress. He would spend hours, usually long into the night, pacing and talking to himself. Cursing his machine. Cursing the Baron. Cursing Marrionetta’s slow and stupid hands. He had spent so many long years working on the models for this contraption. Formerly, it had consumed him, enveloping him with a feeling of destiny. It had been a passionate love affair between creator and creation. Now the entire project seemed useless and fussy. It was in the way of his next endeavor. More than anything, he wanted to study the portal. 

The problem was money. He had to finish the Hasse-Liebe Reverse Induction Contabulator. The Baron was becoming impatient. He could only survive for so long on a final coin bucket. Lorelei cursed himself for never developing a second stream of income. He had tried to a few times in his younger years but the incessant pursuit of Berthold Fregt had prevented him from putting down roots. Reflecting on this lack of foresight, Lorelei would become enraged. He blamed his parochial medical school. He blamed the idiotic circus. He blamed the invention of sleep. He blamed the stars. He blamed everything but himself. 

Marrionetta had learned to quietly observe him for long stretches of time. She wasn’t accustomed to playing second fiddle for such an incredible length of time but she found that the part of passive observer suited her to some degree. It reminded her of her wild youth in the forests of Finland. When she had been a slight and frightened wooden doll, tottering about in the freezing woods with nothing but her own mental alacrity to rescue her from danger. She let the doctor use her. She let her hands cooperate. She saw that Lorelei was reaching a breaking point and she knew that would be her time to strike.  

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