"Eva, d"ner!"

"Un moment, maman!" It wasn't the first time her mother had called for her, but she was simply too busy. Genius and inspiration waited for no one, and it certainly didn't wait for supper. Wisps of snowy hair fell out of her messy ponytail and into her face, though she brushed the errant wisps away with her arm rather than her greasy fingers. She didn't dare catch her hair in one of the cogs, though nothing was turning at the moment.

La machine, as she had grandly dubbed the thing, was big, nearly as tall as she and at least three times as thick. Its metal shell was rather dull, but its lack of luster certainly wasn't of consequence. The only thing of note was a plain-looking lever on one side of the device, but within was a mess of gears, clear and colorful glass tubes, mirrors, wires, and rubber insulation. Gold coils along with replicas in brass and silver lay discarded on her workbench. She had carefully attached the platinum variant for testing. The coils were hollow and allowed reactant to be channeled from the reservoir to the reaction chamber where the two combined in a volatile burst of destructive energy. That energy was then collected by more platinum wiring and used to fuel her invention. The temperatures that had been produced melted all forecomers. She had begun with silver due to its conductivity and lack of reactivity, hesitantly moved to gold when silver had failed, then even more hesitantly to copper. Finally, platinum, while glaringly more expensive, could withstand temperatures nearly 60% higher than her previous choices while maintaining relative non-reactivity, and so she had dipped into her dowry (while neglecting to tell that to her parents) in order to buy the precious metal.

Eva paused to turn and wipe her hands on a rag before snatching up a fountain pen and jotting down some nearly illegible notes in her pocketbook. The thing was filled with sketches and schematics, formulae and equations, angles and mechanisms for all manner of folle ideas.

Le 6 f"vrier 1843 - 20h13

J'ai attach' les enroulements de platine.

Je l'examinerai maintenant pour voir s'ils corrodent en pr'sence des r"actifs et s'ils peuvent r'sister " la temp"rature.

After tucking the grease-smeared pocketbook in her belt, she lowered her goggles over her eyes.

"Eva! D"ner! Maintenant! Il devient froid!" Her mother's voice was insistent.

Bien, she thought to herself with a bit of irritation at the interruption, though she replied a bit more cordially, "Maman, seulement un moment, s'il te pla?t!"

Then she held her breath as she flipped the switch.

((Date of journal entry edited to reflect accurately the time difference between Nievre, France and present-day RhyDin.))

"We're looking to go in another direction."

"Wha', a lil' girl wants ta play 'mechanic"' Ya gotta be kiddin' me."

"Come back when you've got a resume and some references."

"Seriously, look at you. You'd scare away the customers. Sorry."

"Can you even lift a hammer, doll-face" Stop wasting my time."

From the street, the place looked harmless enough. The squat building was paneled with dark wood, and it had a low, peaked roof. The windows were stained glass, green and gold in a diamond pattern that let in light but provided a degree of privacy. The bushes lining the walls were in full leaf, and ivy climbed toward the roof in some places. It was Sunday....and hot....but still Eva hesitated outside. "Tips," the sign above the establishment read. The lettering was carved into the lighter wood and painted green lined in gold (apparently in the motif of the restaurant). It was also decorated with a few sprigs of ivy. Really, it seemed so innocuous, such that the blue elf read over the want ad again.

TIPS NOW HIRING!! Kitchen staff, service bartender, host, and Tips girl positions available! Seeking friendly, outgoing young woman of elven decent for the position of 'Tips girl'. Excellent wages + tips, of course! Inquire within our newly opened RhyDin location at 15 West Bridge St.

Just what was a 'Tips girl,' anyway"

Eva had spent Saturday trying to figure out what had gone wrong with her machine, but she had made no progress. She was floundering, and she felt rather stupid. It had worked once before. Why was now so different' By Saturday night, she was painfully aware of her need for employment. It wasn't just that she would need money if she was to feed and clothe herself. It wasn't just that she had but a week at the Red Dragon Inn, thanks to the generosity of Grem. She couldn't purchase new parts for her machine without money, and she couldn't depend on the kindness of strangers.

Sunday morning, she had swiped a paper out of the trash and found several promising positions, but the blue elf soon discovered that she was all but unhirable as a mechanic. Even if her physical characteristics didn't keep them at bay, her supposed lack of expertise certainly did. She knew next to nothing about modern gadgets, and they didn't have the patience to instruct her. Tips" It was a last resort. Eva imagined she fit the bill. She was friendly, and some might call her outgoing....and she really, really needed to find a job.

It was only temporary.

Maybe a couple of weeks.

Then she would fix her machine and go home.

That's what she told herself as she stepped inside.

* * *

"Here's your uniform." The manager set a green and brown ensemble in her lap. "Your shift is 11 to 8. Half-hour for dinner. Two 15-minute breaks. Tuesday and Wednesday off. Can you start tomorrow?"

"Y-yes."

"All right, great. Welcome to the Tips family, Eva."

Back in her room, she hung up the uniform in revulsion. Oh, she had found out what a 'Tips girl' was, all right. In a way, it was a glorified term for a waitress, but this was so much worse. The uniform' It was a green wrap dress with a popped collar. The thing was trimmed with gold and short enough that it may as well have been a shirt. It came with brown boots and gloves to give the ensemble an "elven" look. All in all, it showed far too much skin and was down right embarrassing. She had also been instructed to pull her hair back so that her ears were clearly visible.

With a groan, she fell back on her bed.

It was only temporary.

Maybe a couple of weeks.

Then she would fix her machine and go home.

She still was dreading Monday.

The inn had scarcely seen hide or hair of Eva since she left almost a week ago. Her desire to get home had consumed her, which, truthfully, was a bit strange for the young, blue elf. Yes, she missed her home, but it was strange that all the wonders RhyDin had to offer hadn't stolen her flighty attention away from her machine. Every free moment, she was either in the shed that Alain had lent her, working on the contraption that would take her home, or she was scouring the market for the parts she needed. She had converted the shed into a veritable workshop. What money that hadn't been set aside for her rent (and the meager amount she allotted toward food) was obsessively funneled into the repair of the device. Parts deemed inconsequential were scattered all about, while others were waiting to be attached. How she could tell the difference among the chaos was perhaps a feat in and of itself.

It was Wednesday night, and Eva was working by lamplight. It was almost summer, and sunset was later, but her shift at Tips was late enough in the day that she could work until the wee hours of the morning. Her goggles were down, and a line of oil that cut diagonally across her face asserted their usefulness. Snow white hair was pulled back in the messy semblance of a bun, though it was already starting to full out of the haphazard up-do. And, of course, she was clad in the same clothes she had worn when she first arrived in RhyDin. She simply didn't have anything else, and she really didn't have the money or the drive to invest in a new wardrobe. The garments were becoming a motley of grease stains, though she did wash them in her sink every night. And certainly she preferred wandering the streets of RhyDin in her grease-stained work clothes than her waitressing uniform...

The air within the shed was acrid. Over the past several days, she had been experimenting with new reactants, often with explosive results. She didn't have the accoutrements of a lab, but instead used things such as cheap drinking glasses and even a metal bucket or two, on occasion. Conditions were far from sanitary, much less sterile, but she simply didn't have the means for a proper workshop and lab. At the moment, the front panel of her machine lay on the floor, and Eva was tinkering within. According to her recent calculations and sketches, all jotted messily into her notebook, she had made an error with some of the wiring. Later inspection of the innards of the contraption had also revealed that some of the gears were no longer lining up properly, and so she dove right in, wrench in one hand, forceps in the other, to correct the issues.

Some people washed away the cares of the day in drink, lost themselves in a novel, or indulged their baser, more carnal wants. Eva lost herself in thought, in invention, in genius.

She licked her upper lip, grimacing slightly at the bitter smack of oil, as she withdrew from La Machine. Perhaps its maiden voyage had been influenced by the Nexus, but this time she was certain it was ready. Her hands trembled with excitement as she attached the front panel, nearly dropping the screwdriver in the process. She was ready. She had done the calculations countless times, checked the schematics over and over. Her theory was flawless. She had corrected her mistakes.

Now, theory had to live up to experimentation.