Augustria Bosworthy doesn't have a custom title currently.
Location: Tier ..duh.
Born: 17 July 1988
Website: No Information
I like reading, writing, and drawing. All else is optional.
Cbox Name: CJ
Character Directory Link: http://clockworkrpg.com/index.php?showtopic=1855&st=0&#entry9662
Character Relations Link: No Information
Occupation: Mechanic & Shopkeep
Thread Tracker URL: http://clockworkrpg.com/index.php?act=ST&f=65&t=1892&st=0#entry9945
Joined: 5-February 12
Last Seen: Feb 15 2013, 04:46 PM
Local Time: Apr 1 2015, 02:56 AM
45 posts (0 per day)
( 0.16% of total forum posts )
Jan 5 2013, 06:30 PM
The small doorbell tinkled a dull, metallic note as Augustria pushed open the shop's front doors. Dutifully, she carried a knapsack in her arms as she made her way across the dusty floorboards. Dropping it with a thud on the display counter, the mechanic wrinkled her nose at the cloud of dust that leaped up in response. With a barely contained sneeze, she wiped her eyes and began surveying the store.
Bosworthy Repair & Salvage was what the tarnished brass letters above the front entrance stated. Somehow, though, it just didn't feel like the same place. Alexandria had decided to let the shop close up and with Olive gone, there was nobody fit to run the place. As the girl in the work slacks and light jacket began to clear some of the old debris from the shelves, she couldn't help but feel ashamed that she'd let it get like this. Somewhere in the back of her mind was that disappointed frown her father had always given her. Not angry, but certainly not happy either.
What could she have done? Her old friend, Sam, had asked for her help manning his ship's engines through it's last smuggling run. How could she have not obliged? Riding the winds and being away from the grime and bustle of Tot. Sure seemed like a great idea at the time, but as she checked the settings on the store windows and began to clean the brown build-up from the glass, Olive couldn't help but regret the decision. She could be thankful that Alex had at least made sure the place wasn't being looted.
A few hours passed and Augustria found herself with her jacket tossed aside, her sleeves rolled up, and herself arm deep in a barrel of greased motor parts. Most of the lever arms were fine, she'd decided, but as she extracted a warped gearbox from near the bottom, she frowned a deep frown. After a quick inspection, it was chucked into a pile of worthless scrap in the corner.
A few more hours and the light outside began to dim slightly. At about this time a sweaty Olive was flipping the switch on the workshop's generator. With a puff of dust and a metallic groan, the small motor began to slowly crank and the store's few electric lamps sputtered to life. Satisfied with her handiwork, she breathed a sigh of slight relief and picked up a broom. Moving back out to the storefront, she propped the wooden sign labeled Open into a window. With a small smile, she wiped her hands on an oil rag and tucked it back into the breast pocket of her buttoned shirt.
'One final chore..,' she thought happily to herself as she set to sweeping the floor.
Feb 5 2012, 02:48 PM
CJ | PM is probably best.
Augustria 'Olive' Bosworthy[ Guildless ]
Female | Human | 26 | Mechanic | Non-User
”I CAN DO THIS!”
Easily her foremost trait, Olive is a woman of fierce independence. Carrying pride in no small amount, she's still friendly enough. Just don't offer her your help. Granted with a strong work ethic and near-obsession for detail, she's never balked at the idea of getting her hands dirty. She's generally good-natured and quick to smile, but has all the rough edges of the working class. Which is exactly where she likes to be. At least, that's what she tells everyone. Somewhere deep within her imagination, though, lurks the secret desire for an easier life.
PROFESSIONAL AND CASUAL
Ms. Bosworthy is of average height and build for a woman her age. She stands at approximately 5'4'' and 126 lbs. (Give or take, of course) She has appropriate and unremarkable curves for her size and tends to stand with a slight slouch. Her facial features are sharp and narrow in a subtle way with a long nose and big eyes of a rich brown. The hair that falls from her head is a chin length tangle of mousy brown. On good days, it can be seen fashioned into a graceful mass of curls and ringlets. Most other days see her with an unkempt and ratty 'do.
Her average choice in clothing tends to borderline on conservative businesswoman, although she usually doesn't appear very formal. Simple jackets, skirts, slacks, boots, and hats. Her wardrobe contains a couple more professional business outfits, but for the most part the clothing is comfortable and casual.
A MACHINIST'S STORY
It was 26 years, 5 months, and 3 days ago that a one Augustria Bosworthy was born in the city of New Tottenham. Born to a pair of business-minded mechanics, Augustria(or Olive, as her father would come to call her) was only raised by one. Her mother died in child-birth, leaving a young Tomwhip Bosworthy a single father and business owner. Time would prove he had a natural talent for both, but only in a restrained sort of way.
The girl's childhood was a happy one, for the most part. She was raised amongst the working class with the fierce pride and technological aptitude of her father. Her face, though, took directly after her mother. So much so that as the years passed, Tom Bosworthy soon took to calling his daughter by his lost wife's middle name, Olive.
Most of her time spent not playing on the streets and skyways was in front of a work desk, poring over good Tom's notes and schematics. Educated in the ways of machine tooling and mathematics by her father, she attended the local schoolhouse for the rest of her academics, but found a strong dislike for structured education. Ever she's preferred a more practical learning through experience. Tomwhip himself always found this to be a great trait in the girl. As his business grew in success, his only child found herself his primary and most-promising apprentice.
Continuing to work through her teens and into her early twenties, Olive found herself growing listless and disinterested with the family shop, and soon desired a life somewhere out in the open world. Before long, her work began to suffer for it. Some short time after her 21nd birthday, she'd found herself finally fed up with the shop. Packing her bags and donning her best traveling attire, she bid adieu to her father and friends and set out.
Truth be told, the farewell with her father wasn't nearly that smooth. Far from it, in fact. The man who'd ever raised her with a loving, but firm hand had also done the same with his business. And despite all of his warmness, it had always been difficult to tell which he loved more; his daughter, or his shop. As the young Bosworthy woman stormed from the store that day with luggage in hand, she had heard her father's final shout, “A Bosworthy's place is in Tot! It'll always be in Tot!”
Boarding a small passenger zeppelin, she set off in search of whatever she was missing at home. For the next five years did she drift between the island-cities of Tier. It was in these days that she found her own sense of independence and a sort of free-spiritedness that brought amazing happiness. Work never seemed difficult to come by, albeit most jobs were small repair odd-jobs in exchange for food and lodging. All the same, Olive never minded much. Simply being on her own was more than enough. But, all good things must come to an end.
Towards the end of a nearly year-long stay in a small and unassuming community, she received correspondence of a most troubling nature. Apparently, Tomwhip Bosworthy had passed away suddenly due to illness and all of his business, labor, and debts were named hers. So, with a heavy heart, she booked passage back to New Tottenham, and all it contained.
BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE
Extremely adept in gunsmithing, amongst other forms of common-place tinkering.
Has a passing knowledge of airship mechanics.
POSITION DESIRED: Owner of Bosworthy Repair & Salvage
The small shack was situated on the outskirts of town. Built of simple wood and iron, it was a rather unimpressive home, but for Olive it worked well enough. It had only one door and one window, both equally as plain. The door opened up to a small road that ran the length of the small island's eastern coast, lined with abodes of similar impressiveness. The window, however, faced a much more inspired view. Facing east, the window looked out over a small hillock that quickly descended into nothing. Beyond that lie the vast openness of Tier's night sky. Somewhere within the cottage dimly burned an oil lantern.
Staring at the stars from behind the fitted glass, Olive's eyes reflected a blank expression. Slowly, her fingers folded, unfolded, and then refolded the corner on a small slip of paper. Fidgeting absent-mindedly, she didn't want to look down and read the note again, but her mind could think of nothing else.
Dressed in a pair of work trousers and shirt, her boots had long been dropped into a heap in the corner. Her hair fell limp and slightly greasy with machine oil and a few smudges of black graced her face. Alone and anxious, she sat in a simple wooden chair beside her bed and continued to look out the window. Almost fearfully, she glanced back down to the telegram in her hands.
“To Augustria Bosworthy...
...We regret to inform...
…return to New Tottenham at earliest opportunity...”
Her eyes watered slightly as she found herself unable to reread the majority of the message. Catching a few select passages, she quickly looked away again. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and steadied herself for the third time that evening. As she reopened them, she turned to look at the workbench that had been set up on the opposite side of the shack. Somewhere amidst the ramshackle mess of steel tubing and cogs, Olive knew, rested a ticket that would take her back to the city of her birth.
She'd already resigned herself to the fact that she was needed back home, and found that thoughts of what to do with her father's shop helped distract her mind the most. In the telegram somewhere, it had stated that the shop was currently being ran by her cousin, Alexandria.
Olive had known the girl during childhood and while Alex had always been sweet and friendly enough, she'd never had a mind for numbers. And quite frankly, she'd always thought the girl was something of a lackwit. But, her father had never believed in putting the store in any hands other than a Bosworthy's.
“Stubborn until the end,” the lone mechanic thought to herself. The recollections of her father put the briefest of smiles on her face before she began to tear up again. Swallowing her grief hard, she looked at the telegram one final time before balling it up and tossing it against a wall.