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Blackstone Foundry and Forge, Wednesday

Monday had been a shitshow and yesterday Fjord had pretty much stayed late after class to run the sim again three more times, so that he could work out a bit of aggression at the point of a sword without having to worry about hurting real, actual people. And then he'd spent another hour just... crushing the shit out of some walnuts in his hand, courtesy of Fenris, who clearly had a mind to save him from doing anything he might regret whenever this vague-yet-insistent frustration wore the hell off.

At least today offered promise of some actual, productive physical activity. Whatever the hell else was going on today, if he could make good use out of the steady, rhythmic swing of a hammer, so help him he was gonna.

... So long as he wasn't set loose on polishing swords or rearranging toolboxes or something. Which he'd do if he was, but at the rate he was going he could see himself needing to take a break just to hit things every so often anyway.

"I need to find my way onto a damn ship," he muttered to himself as he set to work stoking the fire in the forge.

[OOC: Open!]

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Between movie class on Monday and Seivarden propositioning her yesterday, Amaya was already having one helluva week, and it was only Wednesday. But, it being Wednesday, at least she could argue that the end was in sight, it probably couldn't get much worse, all she had to do was manage to get through it.

And, boy, was it going to be interesting trying to get through it. She knew it was coming, almost hadn't been able to stop thinking about it since yesterday, really, but that did nothihng to prepare her for waking up on Wednesday and being hyperaware of her apprentice down there, getting to work, stoking the fire, probably planning on putting the benefits of the anvil and hammer to good use as she herself had done....

Honestly, it was probably just best if she avoided...the forge...altogether today. Wouldn't be too hard, just pull a Diaz, slip out one of the windows, and be on her merry way somewhere else.

But no. Not her style. Best way to meet a challenge was head-on, full-force, look it straight in the eye and get it over with. And besides, there was coffee to be had. It was just how things worked.

So Amaya steeled herself, put her trust in her gut once more, and eventually rolled out of bed, and, a few minutes later, there was coffee, and she was heading downstairs to share the wealth.

"'Morning, Fjord."

"Mornin', Amaya," Fjord greeted, pausing in working the bellows to glance her way and nod. "How goes it?"

Those words were all more or less the same as they ever were, but there was maybe the faintest hint of a terse rumble somewhere in there. There was definitely the faint grit of teeth and a jaw that was held a little more tense than usual once he wasn't actually speaking, and if he pumped the bellows another time or two before stepping back to claim the coffee... well.

It was definitely the week for it, wasn't it?

It most certainly was.

And Amaya had to admire just how good Fjord was at working those bellows, although, really, it seemed entirely uncessarily. It felt as though that forge was plenty hot enough already.

"It...goes," Amaya said, generously, curling both her hands defensively around her own mug once she was freed from the other, and figuring taking a sip was a good excuse to divert her gaze a bit. "Might head up to the school a bit early today. Get things prepped for class."

And because she really was admiring Fjord a bit too much for how well he worked those bellows. And it was only going to get worse from here.

In reply, Fjord gave a short nod.

"Wouldn't want to keep you," he noted. "Gearin' up for the final and all that?"

Fjord... had given up on his final around the time his seamen had started dancing.

"Yup," said Amaya, mostly into her mug, thinking she probably really should be kept, but her feet didn't seem to have any inclination to get moving, either. But that was fine. This was just what they did. Have their coffee, talk about their days. Completely normal, just like any given Wednesday.

Yup. Completely, completely normal..

"Got 'em working on putting together complicated machines to perform simple tasks," she offered. "You have anything good in mind for yours?"

"At this rate, hell, I dunno. Go big or go home, right?" Fjord looked... faintly distracted by so many potential implications of that statement for all of a half-second, and then he shook his head a little, giving a grimace that showed off no small amount of tusk. "Island's been makin' it hard," shit, phrasing, "to follow any one train of thought these past few weeks, but if next week is the final, I figure I might as well make 'em earn it. Release the kraken, so to speak."

Fjord, you didn't even know that reference.

You know what? This was a good cup of coffee. A damn fine cup of coffee, if she did say so herself. Amaya was going to listen to all of that, and drink her coffee, and try to think about how just how good this coffee was...

"I'm sure whatever you come up with," she said, "they'll rise to the occasion."

It was good coffee, but not that good.

And she wasn't even sure if that was intention or not, at this point.

Fjord had no damn clue either, but given that they were talking about his students, uh.

He cleared his throat.

"At this point I'm just hopin' to make it something they can all get somethin' out of. Last thing I want is to disappoint."

Yeah, that whole aspect of it was really proving that there actually could be a bad pun.

Which would at least make for a very good excuse for the particular enthusiasm in which she offered an encouraging, "Nothing to worry about there. I can't imagine you being disappointing in...anything."

There was a pause, because Amaya's brain took a moment to supply her with notions of everything just then, and it made it a little difficult to get out that last bit. Especially since she really had no right way of knowing if such a thing were true. All she had to base any of that on was...

...oh, hello, again, coffee. You were emptying rather fast there, coffee, now, weren't you?

"I dunno, I still have a lot of livin' to do before I can say much about that," Fjord replied.

... He didn't even mean it dirtily. That was the hell of it.

Though, uh, that would not be inaccurate, either.

"Oh." Amaya felt herself a little taken back at that, as much by the simple honesty of it and its unexpectedness, both in that she'd not have expected him to say it or that that would be the case. She felt her face go a little hot, and wished she could blame the forge. "Well...Eric, even still! You've proven yourself exceptionally competent in other new pursuits so far, I can't see why it wouldn't be the same with anything else."

Zards, was she really standing there, doing her best to be encouraging about her apprentice's untapped sexual prowess? What even was the week?

Edited 2019-04-10 18:26 (UTC)

"Ah... thanks."

A beat. Wait for it.

Wait for it.

"... Ah, fuck."

So, guess who just caught up to the conversation.

Amaya wasn't quite so sure what exactly that aw, fuck was about, but she'd be willing to bet her last shiny gold coin that it was because things managed to get even a little more awkward.

"Errr...don't mention it," she said, rather hoping he wouldn't. Mostly. She tried to think of something else to say, wrinkling her nose a little because she didn't usually find herself at such a loss for words, but anything she found she wanted to say was...well...

Zounds, they were ridiculous, the things in her head, but if she actually did come out with it...wouldn't that be something?

Something she'd regret, more than likely, so she huffed out a breath and tried to shake those thoughts from her head. "Maybe...." she ventured, surprisingly reluctant, "I probably should be moseying on out of here..."

Again, though, her feet weren't moving. But she did at least hitch a thumb over her shoulder. That was progress, of a sort...

Another hesitation, and she managed to pluck something out of the miasma that might be helpful, because she did like to be helpful, but she had her doubts that most of that stuff would actually be helpful.

"Noticed you working on a new sword the other day," she said, nodding stoutly. "Might not be a bad idea to just keep on pounding away on that. I've found it....helps."

"That, ah." Fjord cleared his throat. Not at all awkwardly. There was no awkwardness here, nossirree. "That was the plan, yeah."

Just, you know. Beat that frustration out.

...

But right now he was going to bury his face in his hand instead.

Amaya had to wince a little at that facepalm. Fjord was clearly have a hard time with this and, while she definitely understood, believe her, this was hardly a walk in the park, she seemed to at least have a better handle on the whole thing. But she really didn't know what she could possibly do to help, except offering the obvious albeit temporary relief, but she wasn't so sure in this case that actually would help.

And she was pretty bad at this whole comforting thing, anyway. She couldn't just tell him she'd see him later and turn around and turn tail, either.

So she did the only thing she could think of that she suspected wouldn't just wind up making things worse, and reached out to give him an awkward couple consillatory pats on the shoulder.

There, there, Fjord. Have some peeeerfectly normal, compleeetely platonic, incredibly uncomfortable and awkward pats, that she didn't immediately regret because shoulders were nice.

"It'll pass soon enough," she assured him. "In the meantime, just maybe try to keep this place in one piece for me until I get back?"

So far as shoulders went, Fjord's were, in fact, pretty nice, it was true.

"Yeah," he replied, only sounding a tiny bit strangled as he spoke. "Yeah. I think I can manage that. No dragons in the supply closet so far today."

Fenris went to go check on Fjord. He was at the fjorge, surrounded by hammers and fires and weaponry. He was pissed that there was any need to check on him. Not pissed at Fjord, he couldn't help this mood any more than Fenris could, but pissed that he couldn't trust that bitch to leave him the hell alone and not push his buttons.

And no, he did not mean Amaya.

He'd spent some time the last few days carving a piece of soapstone. It gave him something to do with his hands to ease his frustration - not dirty. It was work and the fiddly bits made it not exactly easy work but eventually he had a mold for a carved tooling die. Tucked in his belt, he had a scrap of thick, armor-grade leather.

Fenris walked into the fjorge and strolled on over to Fjord. "Fjord, I need you to fill something for me," he said, handing over the mold, "I need something hard enough to take a pounding, so not lead or pewter."

'Take a pounding,' Fenris? You evil elf, you.

Still, Fjord was reaching to take the mold, looking at it thoughtfully.

"I can probably manage that," he mused. "Were you thinking iron? Steel?"

The hotter he had to work the bellows to melt whatever he wanted, the better. He'd been looking forward to just beating the shit out of something with a hammer all day, after all.

He lead off with 'fill'.

"Probably steel?" Fenris said, "Iron might be too brittle. Needs to be able to take it when I hit it." He shrugged, "It's a leather stamp. Seemed a good week to work on the armor additions since this free-floating rage makes me want to beat something. Better to take it out on leather rather than someone's face."

"Better the leather," Fjord agreed, nodding vaguely.

Maybe a titch distracted.

"Steel, we can do. There's no shortage of scrap steel that won't be missed anyway," he noted, setting the little mold down and making his way over to start working the bellows again. Had to get that forge good and hot in order to flat-out melt steel, after all.

Fenris leaned against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. He watched Fjord work, head tilted a little. "Are you supposed to pump it that hard?"

Fjord paused mid-pump and turned a look in Fenris' direction.

"You're welcome to come pump it for me if you think I'm not doin' my job right," he replied.

"No, no, I'd rather watch a master pumper," Fenris said, waving a hand, "I was just curious. I've never seen you do it like that before."

"I might have a bit of tension I need to work out," Fjord muttered, gritting his teeth and getting right back into the rhythm of it. "S'been a fuckin' week, Fenris."

And a week for fuckin'!

... Which he'd done precisely none of. So.

"Oh, that's why you're jerking it up and down so hard," Fenris mused, "Makes sense. The harder you go, the hotter it gets."

Fenris!

"It has been," he agreed, "a complete fucking week and it's only hump day."

Even Fjord was starting to pick up on something going on in this conversation, now. His eyes went a little wide, his mouth fell open, and he damn near fumbled the bellows into the fire.

"... I... I think I stoked it enough," he managed, in a super smooth recovery, right there. "Lemme just. Uh."

He waved a hand.

"Hot in here, isn't it?"

It was a forge, Fjord.

Fenris tilted his head, "Fjord, of course it's fucking hot. You just pumped that thing to a standstill. I'm surprised there's any action left in those coals."

He eyed Fjord's biceps and scowled slightly. "I'm putting extra leather on for sizing. If you're going to get all.. bulgy.. like that when you're frustrated, you're going to need something you can size up so it doesn't chafe."

Fenris caught himself looking at Fjord's biceps a moment longer than necessary and he scowled even more, looking at Fjord's face instead.

It was.. it was a really nice face. He quite enjoyed that face.

..at least the enemies are ugly.

The scowl became a fixture. "If you go for a chisel when this is over, I'm going to rearrange the rest of your face and then I'm going to go rearrange her everything. I'm just putting that out there."

Well, that... that definitely took a bit of the heat out of Fjord, if not the forge itself. He let a breath go in a hiss, like it had been punched out of him, and he looked back toward the flames.

"I wasn't thinking about..."

He swallowed.

He had been.

"Bullshit," Fenris said, not unkindly, "You're frustrated and tense and more aggro than usual and as soon as this wears off you're going to feel fucking awful about it. It's how you get every time you get to the point of wanting to punch someone in the face and now you've had days of this feeling. This isn't you. Can't be. Sure as hell isn't me, and half of what's pissing me off is that it's not me. I hate having my emotions fucked with."

He kicked off the counter and walked over to look up at Fjord. "You don't get to bash yourself for this. It's not you."

"It's not me," Fjord echoed, voice falling to a low rumble as he looked back down at Fenris, slightly shame-faced. "Gods know I put enough effort in over the years to make damn sure this ain't me."

He wanted to crawl out of his skin, maybe wear somebody else's around for a day. Bite off his fucking fingernails and break off his fucking tusks and lock himself up somewhere and not come out again, and he hated every damn second of it.

"Still livin' it, though."

Fenris leaned up on his toes and bonked Fjord's forehead with his. Not a headbutt, just a light bonk. "Yeah, and that sucks. But you're living it as a grumpy frustrated fuck. You're not rampaging in the streets setting fire to everything, pillaging, stabbing people, or eating babies. Whether or not you want to, that's not what you're doing. You're not doing any worse than anyone else this week."

He smirked up at his roommate, "Though I have a bet with myself which of us punches someone first. Outside of sparring, I mean. Long odds are on you." He was self aware enough to know he'd need very little excuse to punch anyone on even a regular day. Fjord even now would try not to.

"You get a pass if it's her. Because she seems to be trying to push all of your piss-off buttons this week and literally nobody on this entire damn island would blame you if you did." A beat. "Except you. Nobody else would."

He tossed his head toward the door, "The ocean's still freezing. Go for a swim after work. Might help, since you're hot."

"At this rate, I'm gonna go under and not come up again," Fjord muttered.

... He wouldn't get the 'breathe underwater' ability for a while yet, mind. Maybe that was a bad idea.

"But... yeah. I'll hang in there," he added, a little more quietly. "Thank you, Fenris."

"What is it with you and drowning?" Fenris flailed, "Coughing up salty goo at all hours of the night, now threatening to willingly go down." He mimed Seivarden, nose thoroughly in the air while smarmily asking, "Is it a seaman thing?"

He swatted at one of those.. very.. meaty.. biceps. "You're welcome. No drowning," he answered.

That entire combination of words, Fenris.

That entire. Combination. Of words.

"... No drowning," Fjord replied.

He maybe sounded a little strangled anyway.

Fenris gave him a very 'whut' look and then he narrowed his eyes. "You're not going to vomit saltwater right now, are you?"

He prudently backed up a step just in case.

"No," Fjord ground out, rolling his eyes and giving the ceiling a 'why the fuck is this my life' look. "No, except for that one real fucked-up day, that isn't something that happens when I'm just wandering around."

Fenris.. was very studiously not remembering the wacky day and their..reaching. With the hair and the affirmations and the.. no. No way.

He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest again. "Good. Bad enough it happens in your sleep. Nobody likes waking up to sticky, salty sheets, Fjord."

"Yeah, the wet dreams aren't a hell of a lot more pleasant for me, believe me," Fjord muttered.

What with the being buffeted about and told to CONSUME and all.

"Yeah, probably not. Hell, Fjord, you managed to swallow an entire sword," Fenris shook his head a little in disbelief.

"I didn't swallow the fuckin' sword," Fjord muttered, a little dourly.

...

But he would.

Oh, someday he would.

"Well, no. Not actually. You wouldn't be able to fit the whole thing inside you," Fenris noted clinically, "Your sword's pretty fucking big."

"Massive," Fjord agreed, breaking into a little grin. "It's a falchion, I don't waste much time with tiny weapons if I can help it."

Fjordie.

Which reminded Fenris of something. He grinned right back. "I looked up handguns on the internet. They're only about this big," he held his hands apart .. not very much.

He was highly amused. "Can you imagine trying to handle something that small? My hand is bigger than that."

"Really? They're that fuckin' tiny? What's even the point in something like that?"

And this was the weapon Seivarden swore by? Ha.

"They're a distance weapon," Fenris said, "You aim, point and shoot and kinda..hope?.. it hits someone? At least with a sword, when you thrust it in, you damn well know it penetrated."

"And if it don't do the trick when it's in there, you move it around a little, it'll make an impression," Fjord agreed with a nod. "Gets the job done."

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Blackstone Foundry and Forge, Wednesday

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