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

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

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Annabel loves hearing River laugh. Loves seeing her in her element, making something with her hands. Loves being out in the dreary autumn weather, occasionally moving closer to steal warmth by holding hands.

She's dressed in her arrival clothes, for hands-on work, and her hair is pulled back with a scrap of ribbon that she's embroidered, dark green and gold on black.

"Perhaps we should plant oak trees, too?"

"I'm not sure I can," River chuckles. "What the Lady of Ravens' children offer me belongs to Her. But hell, I can take a suggestion." River leans over and nuzzles Annabel's shoulder with her head. "Oaks are a tree you grow old with..."

"..."

"...Well. For me anyway."

Elves! How do they work?

How do dead girls work?

"Let's make it a full year before we focus on the idea of growing old."

River sticks her tongue out. "I can plant a tree for me and be as the cat is. But point taken."

She takes up her hammer again to carefully get these nails in completely straight. "You know, I've never actually gardened? Hope like hell the public library has some information on it, it'd be nice if we could figure out how to keep flowers year-round. Which, while I'm on this, public libraries? Wild to me as a concept. Books being that cheap is wild to me."

"And with Gerry working on printing and bookbinding, they'll stay affordable, too. I actually have a journal he made me, in exchange for some embroidery work." Annabel holds the boards that River is hammering steady, because she's a helpful trophy girlfriend.

What if River wants to be the trophy Annabel? She can pose! In sleeveless shirts!

"Gods, yeah. Unsung community hero, that guy. If I ever make the morally questionable choice of writing down my magical knowledge he's gonna get such an order." Tap-tap-tap-tap. "...You given any thought to the hangin' question of where you want this?"

"Some. No final decisions. I like the idea of window boxes on my shop, draw people in. Perhaps embroider curtains to match the flowers growing?"

There's a sense that she knows the question is layered. But she can't see all the layers, yet.

Alright River. We've been over this. There are many reasons not to propose moving in together, not least being that having Erik over in that situation will be awkward as hell bordering on an open insult until some things get resolved. Alright? Okay.

"That sounds beautiful," River murmurs. "It's been so nice working with you on this. The blacksmith in me's like, hey, invite her to help on the cloth components of armor." There's a guilty grin there. It's somewhat a joke.

Somewhat.

Behold, someone who has never worn armor: "Cloth components? Like...cloaks and things?"

Look, that is an invitation to infodump, honestly it is.

"Well, that's not unrelated," River muses. "But there's layers to the job - padding, under-armor, cloth components that help bind the suit together and form like, the structure of it. There's a remarkable amount of cloth in even the heaviest armor 'cause you've gotta like...move in it...and not get heat stroke."

John doesn’t have much in the way of money, but he also feels…naked without his knife. And his tags.

…but mostly his knife.

Until he gets work, however, it can’t hurt to make a few inquiries, right? Especially if he wants something like his knife back home, so when he sees the sign…

Noticing him may take some time. He draws no attention to himself, says nothing, and when he enters the establishment is rather focused on looking around with keen, quiet interest.

If not spotted soon enough, he might even turn up somewhere near River’s elbow—give or take about three feet, he’s curious not suicidal—just to watch her work.

Point in River's favor: she's very attentive.

Point against: smithing is loud work.

She's quenching spearheads for Zelda's order when she realizes someone else is in here breathing. River's ears swivel in John's direction, followed by a nice, easy turn of her head -

"Wren's fucking tits sir, what do you eat to be that ripped?"

Friendly greeting failed(?)

John flinches, but only slightly. For a second he’s confused, looking down at his simple rough spun shirt for a tear…then realizes about one and a half seconds later that she’s commenting in a much kinder fashion on his physique than the deputies in Washington.

Looking up again, he shrugs, expression soft but deadpan, dark eyes twinkling with humor.

“Wild boar.” He replies. “Nice and lean.”

"Damn, bring me some next time you take one down if that's the results comin' in." Spearheads back out of the oil; they'll need to be heated again, and River busies herself getting them set up for exactly that. "River la Croix, resident smith of Infernal Arms and Armor, nice t'meet'cha. What brings you in?"

"And those cloth components need pretty embroidery?" A pause. "Actually, padding, quilting it makes sense."

"Mmhm. And I think it'd be easier for you to learn this kind of tailoring than it would be for me to start learning it." River wiggles the box with a satisfied look; that's steady, it'll hold up. "But it's just a vague thought right now. I've had a whooping zero armor orders."

That gets a very small smile out of John--there and gone in an instant--but his expression is a little more open, one corner of his naturally crooked mouth still ticked up pleasantly as he offers her his hand when she's done working with her spearheads.

"John Rambo--pleasure, Miss la Croix. I, uh--I'm hoping to have something made as soon as I have a little money to work with. I can't...I mean, I really just want to find out if it's possible to make first, and get an estimate so I can work on payment? I understand if that's a lot to ask upfront--I-I can come back when I have more funds if it's a problem..."

"Let's hear it before you start worrying," River prompts with an easy smile. "You wouldn't be the first person needing assistance with technology I'm not familiar with. Sam had his collapsible ladders, the clinic had real interesting hospital beds. Worst case, I've just got no idea how to do it. I don't bite."

Beat.

"Not before the third date anyway."

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."

Surprise, River, there's just. A lingering reporter dude by the front of the shop, as you do. He's never been to a forge before!

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

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Forge

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CW: minor references to PTSD

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As bestos I can!