ph_logs | My Momma Didn't Raise... [November Open]

Who: River la Croix and YOU + 1 Closed
What: Obligatory forge prompt, gay gardening, coping
When: Early November (before the event)
Where: Places. Locations even. Possibly: spaces
Warnings: Discussion of the carnival quite possibly, and anything you bring in with you

And With The Other, Buy Hyacinths [Closed to Annabel]

The land for the flower garden still hasn't quite been cleared, but it doesn't need to be cleared to build the flower boxes, including some smaller ones for under windows. River's going to add some to her own home as well.

Flowers would be good to have, after a long day before fire and steel.

Though the wood and many other supplies had to be bought, River made a point of forging as much of the tools as she could herself. Even the nails, and gods in Arcadia, how she fucking hates making nails. It felt...right. River's leaning back to get a better look at what she's doing when one of the local crows swoops down and deposits an acorn in her lap.

Sorry Annabel, River will be back after these messages: extended laughter.

100% Asbestos Free [Infernal Arms And Armor]

Hey Vox is there gonna be a forge prompt every month YOU BET YOUR ASS THERE WILL BE. This month brings two new additions to the sign, though, hanging by short chains beneath the original INFERNAL ARMS AND ARMOR sign.

NOW OFFERING ENCHANTING SERVICES - INQUIRE WITHIN

&

NOT ASSOCIATED WITH THE LOCAL DEMONS

I Could Use A Distraction [Oak & Iron, Social Visits]

River's sunk more than she has been to date into her grocery budget this month, and a lot of that upgrade is, I'll be real, liquor - more to have it if she wants it later than to tear through it now. Wanna invite her to a social function or like, out to dinner? She'll go. Looking to drop by? She'll host a guest. Or catch her at the Oak & Iron of an evening, shuffling an odd-looking deck of cards with a thoughtful expression and making a single glass of whiskey last more than an hour before even thinking about ordering another one.

Someone get her out of her own head, yeah?

Wildcard

Come at me I'm fucking jacked bro

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That gets a slightly bigger smile that lingers a moment longer. Reaching into his pocket hesitantly, he pulls out a sketch he made to outline the finer details of the knife he wants.

"It's a knife, pretty much--but the specifics are in the blade and the handle." he explains. "Tell me if any of this doesn't, uh--if it's not something you know how to do. It's a survival knife, uh--see, the teeth here should work like a saw, and the end of the handle's a screw top. The handle, i-i-it's hollow, see? Just big enough for a safety kit: matches, fishing line with hooks 'n sinkers, a razor blade, some pins...and I'd like the top to be deep enough for me to try and get a small compass in there. The, uh--the dimensions are in inches, but I can convert to metric. I haven't been here all that long, so...I dunno what's prevalent..."

Luckily River's canon uses Imperial units because her author, who is me, could not be assed.

"Fascinating," she murmurs. "Utility tool, kinda does it all...machining the handle will be the bitch but it's a bitch I'll have a lot of fun with. Seems like the sorta thing you'd see on a caravaneer, maybe a merc or a spy..." She looks up from the sketch to John. "Soldier?"

Old Hairy here's a soldier.

He can't stop his heart from racing at being called out, can't stop the way his stomach drops--but he thinks of the doc to keep himself level. He focuses on River's voice.

Fascinating. She likes the knife, she doesn't ask like there's something wrong with it.

So he just takes a deep breath and nods with a wan smile.

"Yes. Kind of...specialized in my world. Guerilla warfare, survival stuff. Uh...hence the knife."

Because the ears tell him she probably doesn't know what a Green Beret is, and that really doesn't bother him in the least.

There's a sympathetic 'oof' kinda expression on River's face. "Sounds like a rough posting. I was a merc for awhile, main battle line. But hey, survival experience sounds like the gods' own gift for search parties when someone revives." A glance, down at the sketch. "...It'll be a bit bulkier. I've got no idea how y'all's smiths made it so small but I don't think I can match it."

She is not, after all, a machine.

John...doesn't fully understand what she's describing, but he gets enough of it to know what she means. He feels heard, he feels seen, and it doesn't make him feel naked or judged.

He gets she's a soldier in her own right.

Then she basically says she can do it, for the most part, and that brings a flat out grin to his face, crooked but shining with delight.

"That's--that's fine, really." he assures her. "And...I mean, I'm not a smith, but I have a little mechanical knowledge and I'm good at improvising. Would--I mean, is it okay if I hang around to watch or help while you make it after I get the scratch together? I honestly find all this pretty fascinating."

She laughs, light and bright and musical. "Back home the village forge is where people hang out and gossip, you're welcome any time. It'll be a bit though, big order for some kinda local militia levy. Hence the spearheads."

The sound of her laughter is just that: bright and warm, and John grins in response. It's a reflex he kind of thought was dead...knowing that it's not...

"I mean it: no rush. I can't even pay for it yet." he reminds her with his soft, crooked smile. "But, uh...I'll take you up on that. Treating this like the--y'know, the local watering hole. I'll try, anyway. Not real used to being around people, but...but I like it here. It's nice."

The heat of the forge, the smell of smoke and metal, the low light and sounds of fire--maybe it should bother him, God knows he saw fire do its damage in the war, but this isn't anything like that. This is...

It's work. It's building, not destroying, and that calms something in him that can't feel anything but fear.

"Mmm. I can't say I feel you there but there's been people in my life with similar...my adoptive sister did a lot of traveling before, well. I got adopted. Long story." River flashes a wan grin, her eyes trailing back down to the knife drawing. She's really gonna enjoy working this out...

Actually.

"You got fishhooks yet? I can throw those in, but the line is gonna be a you adventure."

The way she smiles at that…for a second, John feels an almost painful urge to just—hug her. That fractional little dimming of her friendly aura bothers him, but he doesn’t even know her yet…

So he lets the project distract her instead and nods with a small smile of his own.

“Hooks would be great. Maybe some weights, too? Or…maybe I could make those. What if I traded for that—if I helped you clean up around here for a couple days, would you let me keep some scrap to melt down and show me how to cast some in a mold?”

"Sure. Ain't hard, hell you could probably make a forge suitable for amounts that small in your back yard and then kick it over when you're done..." River idly pulls over another piece of paper and starts sketching, ears leaning forward in Concentration. "That kinda little work is what I wasn't trained to do, is the problem. Might be better off talking to John, he's like an actual smith, but if you don't mind dealing with my ugly garbage we can learn together."

Fun fact! John owns the forge attached to this one, is an NPC, and was named prior to Rambo's arrival.

My Momma Didn't Raise... [November Open]

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CW: minor references to PTSD

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