# Jenevia V.

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Jenevia leaned forward while gently biting the tip of her tongue to focus. And carved her insignia along the tail end of the arrow with a heated point. Before filling the carving with bright blue paint. This etching was trademark to every arrow made by Jenevia. But only the last arrow made before lunch each day was blue. It meant that she was nearing the end of her process, and with it, now had her favorite time of the day on her mind.\
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Jenevia slid the final feather into the chiseled notch of the last arrow. To hold the feather until the glue had dried and then tapped twice on the desk. \
\&#xNAN;*The store owner heard her tapping.*

*“Why do you always do that?”* \
\&#xNAN;*“Do what?”* she asked as she reached for her lunch. \
\&#xNAN;*“Tap on the desk like that?”* he said, *“Every arrow. You’d think the humming would be enough.”*

*“I told you. One side for every arrow. Two sides. Two taps.”* Said Jenevia, *“To and from.”* \
It was simple, she thought. One from where it came, another for where it goes.

Macrovo was all-encompassing. He had never understood her weird quirks and frequently made an effort to poke fun at them whenever he could. His asking *“why”* was a rhetorical question. Macrovo had asked that question many times before and would surely ask it again at some point in the future. Asking questions was just how he bothered others.

*“You have about as much smarts, as you have arrows”*, said the fat man. The owner, a bald stubby bearded man in his mid thirties, was known to be rude towards Jenevia in ways she couldn’t quite pick up on. In fact he found it quite amusing to craft new ways to insult her without her catching on. Finding particular joy in insults which sounded like compliments to the young woman.

Jenevia was awful at picking up on sarcasm, but wonderful at detecting patterns.\
She knew this pattern. Today wasn’t her most productive day fletching arrows. She knew that much. And for what it counts, she also knew that Macrovo was remarking on her productivity. He wanted more arrows to sell.

Jen wasn’t dumb like people thought she was. She was just different. She was bad at things others were good at. But good at things others were bad at. She could see things nobody could see, but couldn’t see things everyone else could see.

*“I will make more arrows,”* she said, with a plain voice. Her lunch basket in hand as she leaned to one side to look past Macrovo towards the front door. Her eyes never making eye contact, instead looking where she intended to go. The fat man realizing that she may have picked up on the sarcasm. Frowned and unblocked the doorway. *“I'd hope so,”* said Macrovo, as he waddled back to his beloved chair. Jenevia took the opportunity to head towards the front door.

The shop owner, was a large squat man who spent most of his days managing the front desk of his cramped little arrow shop from his worn in chair. He was a man entirely focused on money. But you wouldn’t know it if you were to observe his shop from behind the scenes.

Macrovo spent more time giggling with the other employee, a young plum red-haired woman named, Priscellia than he did working. Truth be told, Macrovo didn’t really need Priscellia like he did Jenevia. But he of course loved having her around. And the fact that she was married, didn’t seem to stop him from flirting with her.

Priscellia wasn’t very bright. She couldn’t make arrows like Jenevia, Priscella often showed up late and regularly messed up orders. But whenever she made a mistake, it was quickly overlooked with Macrovo’s trademark ugly smile.

Jenevia on the other hand, was nearly flawless in her craft. She had never once missed a work day nor showed up late. And in return for her excellency, she was treated poorly more often than not. With snide remarks she never deserved. 

It was the mark of a poor business man to mistreat the structure of his business with such a lack of gratitude or awareness. Jenevia’s arrows were special. They were the most expensive and praised arrows in the entire kingdom. Even Jenevia herself didn’t fully grasp the full scope of her craft.

It is said by the finest archers across the kingdom that her arrows *wanted* to hit their target. As if they were imbued with magic. The wealthiest and most prestigious archers across the kingdom, if they were lucky, had at least one of her arrows in their quiver in case the need arose for such precision. Such was the luxury of an arrow wanted by so many, but produced by only one. Jenevia. 

Macrovo knew that she was the structure of his business. But he took her for granted and always tried to get more whenever he could, just as he would now.\
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\&#xNAN;*“Oh one more thing”,* he said as she was leaving the store. *“I’m going to have to reduce your wages again. The shop just isn’t doing as well as it used it.”*

Jenevia paused, with her hand on the door.