Arched over a heap of what I first perceived to be a exposed innards of some camera-like mechanism, my friend held a minuscule weight above an equally small machined brass hand. After allowing only ever the briefest of time to settle myself before the inscrutable contraption, they carefully lowered a pea-sized weight onto the machine's opened palm.
Whirring and clicking, a second arm emerged. Plucking a gear out from its own ticking body, the clasp gently swung across and over itself to lay the cog down into a velveted box at its side.