sixthiterationlogs | The things that would have been lost on you

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The things that would have been lost on you

WHO: Bobo Del Rey
WHERE: Butcher shop, Inn, House
WHEN: Parts of December
OPEN TO: Any
WARNINGS: PG unless otherwise noted

Butcher Shop - Various days

In truth, Bobo hasn't held a regular job since the latter part of the 19th century, and even since before his death then. Yet there's something to be found in keeping up with something regular that doesn't let him think about how he believes he came to be in this place, and what all he's lost before this. So long as he keeps busy, he doesn't have time to think on it all.

So instead he hunts, and he butchers, and he tends to the skins with the soaking and scraping and all the time that's needed to turn them into well cured furs and hides, as well as stretching and drying sinew for thread.

A lot of his time is spent splitting logs, trying to use a wedge to split them into planks that he can use on the smokehouse. It's coming along though, nearly done, working on filling in gaps and then using mud and other products mixed into a clay to fix the gaps in the boards.

The Inn

Throughout the week Bobo heads into the inn for meals, to drop off meat for the communal meals, and to sometimes rummage through the storerooms for items to help with ideas he has. Not to mention studying the records in ways he's never really given to such things before, mostly to see about what areas larger animals have been seen, and what kind of things he might seek out with Venom. Something to keep him busy seems the best idea and not just some deer or such.

House to the North Village

As of late Bobo has been making the walk to and from his house more often, though only in part to ensure that his roommates haven't destroyed the place, nor disappeared. He comes in, changes so he can wash his clothes of the blood and everything else that ends up on him.

Should someone check on him in the living room though, they might find him stoking the fire... and speaking to something small and brilliantly colored nestled in the ashes. The salamander seems to enjoy the attention, as well as the fire they keep stoked for Vasquez's sake above all else. Not to mention enjoying the treats and tidbits that Bobo brings it. He's never been much of one for pets, but he finds the little guy enjoyable enough.

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The butcher's inevitably draws Foggy to it.

It's the family business and it's something that Foggy knows he can do, while he trains himself up into something else. Something that will help the community and keep him busy and at worst, he can take over if there's no other skills he really picks up.

He enters slowly, looking around and fairly confidently assured. Somewhere here knows what they're doing. Knows a hell of a lot better than him what they're doing on the prepping carcass front. "Hello?"

While Rinoa knew she could visit Bobo in the butcher, she wasn't super into the actual skinning and blood of animals. A little squeamish, so sue her! She had been mostly staying to herself lately, past the numbness at least but still with overhanging weight of sadness. She was walking to get out of the house and breathing fresh (cold) air, and spotted Bobo from a distance. She didn't realize he was heading home until she was walking in the same direction.

In any other situation, she would be maybe too shy to simply walk up to someone's door, but she felt like the older man and her really bonded. And she sort of needed a break from the people from her world, even though she cared for them deeply. It was too much of a reminder. She knocked on the door and found it unlocked so opened it just a little, poking her dark head in. She wouldn't actually walk into it without permission. She still had some of her manners left.

"Bobo? Are you there?" She did see him come in but it was from a fair distance. He might not stick around long and went out the back door. Rinoa was in her usual blue, and around her neck newly hung a pair of rings on a necklace. They felt like 100 pounds each these days, but she couldn't find it in her to lock them away somewhere. It was a torment having them nearby, but she still kept them.

Everything in the room has been recently cleaned, and Bobo works hard to keep it that way. On some of the walls are hides he's prepping and there's soaps Mark has made stacked on the counter. Hanging from a nail in the wall is a fur coat. From the back there is a voice.

"Hold on."

A moment later someone is coming in the back door from where he's been working on the smokehouse boards. Dressed in jeans and a black henley, his hair starting to grow out and pulled back with a strip of cloth to keep it out of his face. There's bits of wood along his clothes and in his beard that's grown out. For a moment he frowns at the man, trying to think if he's seen him before.

"Can I help you?"

Hides. Soaps. Giant fur coat...

Foggy blinks, pushes a hand through his hair and clears his throat. He's faced down armed gang members in a hospital, bikies with guns in their club rooms, this is nowhere near that bad.

"My name's Franklin, my family are butchers and I thought I might be able to help out here. It's not my livelihood at home, but I know more than most do about butchery and meat preparation."

"That puts you ahead of half this place," he says with a chuckle. "The whole lot of them could probably take down the full army of a communist nation, but some of them don't even have a clue that meat comes from somewhere other than a market," he teases as he offers his hand.

"Bobo, and promise I haven't been work with animals, just trying to get the smokehouse finished so we can maybe manage to get through winter without burying a few in ice banks. If there's even ice banks."

Foggy finds himself smiling, shaking the offered hand. "People I've met so far, that's so true. Could take on an army, but wouldn't think to clean up the blood and get a meal after it."

"Well, if you're Bobo, I'm Foggy. I don't think I've looked a Franklin a day in my life. And if we can find salts, then we can set up some kind of meat preservation in the immediate, but a smoke house is going to be pretty necessary. Luckily, it's damn cold, hm?"

He laughs at that, a hearty sound, well amused by that. "So you've figured that out already, huh? Least it helps with them if things ever do turn in this place. They seem to all be preparing for war while I'm worrying about winter. Most of them won't handle it."

He isn't bothered by the prospect given he's lived through Purgatory winters, but it might be touch and go with some.

"I have a roommate who is one of them," he admits.

The grin holds then, giving him a long once more. "Definitely works better than Franklin, but I was going to let you have it," he admits, waving a hand at him. "Unless you know some here, you're free to be who you want." Sadly knowing people can slow that down, though he's been lucky. Wynonna hasn't torpedoed him. Maybe the truce would work.

"We have some salt, though beware. The red salt is a bit more than most can handle," he says, insinuating that it doesn't bother him with a shrug. "I've tried it for fish, but haven't scraped it off and tried it yet."

"I know a certain number of them from home." Which answers multiple things. Yes, he knows people, he can't really be someone else, even if he's inclined to be (he's not). And yes, he knows what they're like. "My ex-partner is here. And his girlfriend. And one of my dearest friends."

And Frank, who is... Frank.

"I'm game to try the red salt. I have a fairly good tolerance for hot food, so we'll see how I take it and what it tastes like. Sound fair?"

His coat is flung over the arm of the couch, a pieced together coffee table in the middle of the room, and the man himself is coming back in from the kitchen with a small mug in hand. A mug holding some of his roommate's whiskey that he'd watered down a bit. Vasquez's boyfriend or whatever he is will just have to deal with it.

Glancing up, he blinks and then smiles. "Well hello there," he says, giving her a nod of his head. "Welcome to our humble abode. Can I get you something? Not that we have much. Fresh water, whiskey, my experiments in preserving meat..."

He's never had a chance to be very social in over a century, but the mannerisms are there. In a way.

His smile fades a bit. "You don't live up this way, do you?"

"Ex.. partner?" A brow arches there, making a face. "With his girlfriend. Okay, your life is officially worse than mine here," he says, taking that so the wrong way, and feeling bad for Foggy for it.

"I got my nemesis, I guess you'd call her. So we avoid one another, except when she's dressed like broccoli."

Which he is still not letting her live down.

"Come on then," he says, giving a jerk of his head. "I have some in the back room," he adds, heading that way.

It's a small room, clean, and there's two metal bins on one counter with Romero one one and Tanning on the other. Currently both are clean though.

"Legal firm, we had a legal firm together. College room mates, interned together." Foggy's used to correcting that mistake. The way Matt stays close to him, holding on, the easy physicality between them...

"If it helps, he turns into a raving asshole every time he's with said girlfriend. I've never really met her, because Matt doesn't want us to meet, I think. Though she knows a lot more about me than I know about her." Like the fact that she will always come first, second and third, which is... fair enough.

Foggy follows. "You've got a nice set up so far."

"Oh. Well. Shame then," he says, glancing at him with a smirk as he moves to get out a wooden box he has on a lower shelf. "But good for you about the girlfriend thing at least."

His nose wrinkles as he thunks the chest down onto the counter top, shaking his head. "That's always fun. I was so much easier to get along with when I had my girl," he admits, which isn't saying much given the raging asshole he could be most of the time.

Glancing at Foggy, he nods. "Thanks. Margaery suggested it to me. I take meat over to the inn from time to time for them to use for the communal meals. Do you hunt?"

Foggy and Elektra have never spent much time together but Foggy doesn't have a fundamental problem with her existing. He has issues with how she treats Matt, what she encourages him to do. He has problems with how Matt acts when he's with her, that he blows off everything and anything to do what she wants, but that's on him, not her.

"Hunt? Me? No. No, not at all. That's a terrible idea. As I say, family business is butchery, so once I have a carcass, I can butcher it, dress it, break it down, all that stuff. But the actual killing? I wouldn't be able to manage cleanly."

"Fair enough," he says, flipping open the lid on the box, glancing over at Foggy. "Some here hunt, but they don't do the work to break them down. Others just don't want to. Do you ever do work on hides and pelts? We have so few things, so we have to try and utilize everything that we can," he points out.

"So we save everything. Burns. Sinew. Pelts. Feathers. Even brains," he says, gesturing to the two bins against the wall on one counter. "We use everything that we can."

"I haven't done it myself, but I know some of the theory. Like, the brain of a deer is the right amount for tanning its own hide," which is a little macabre, but a useful ratio to remember.

Whatever else, Foggy isn't squeamish about the carcasses and organs and such. "I am useless for hunting, but I can help here. Been a while, but I'm sure it's like riding a bike."

Vasquez is still fucking frigid all the time, but at least now he has coats to wear and he has something to do. He's been outside working on the shoes for the kirin, fighting back his hatred of the cold so that he could get measurements of the creatures, making sure to kept them fed and happy.

When he comes inside, there's a strange creature inside the fireplace and Vasquez isn't so sure that he knows what's happening. "Why is there something in there and what are you doing to it?" he asks. "You're not abusing it, are you?"

Bobo looks up from where he's kneeling by the fire and frowns. "I don't know why it's there. It's living there, I guess," he admits, still glaring a bit at Vasquez.

"And I'm feeding him." He sits back on his heels, trying not to look hurt. "Okay, I get it. You know what I am and all, and you know what I do here, but why accuse me of that?"

He holds his hands up, away from the salamander, revealing bits of different kinds of food along the hearth. "I don't know what it eats," he admits. "So I'm trying." Still hurt but trying to act casual. He's a monster, he knows that, but he's been working hard to be kind to the animals he slaughters.

Vasquez isn't sure he cares when he figures out that being close to Bobo, the fire, and this creature is actually much warmer than anywhere else, deciding that's his new favourite chair to be in. He drags himself in closer, still wearing his full coat. "I just didn't think being a butcher extended to poking at little salamander bellies," he deadpans.

"Are you tickling it?" He doesn't really give a shit if he's flaying it, honestly, not if that warmth is the result. Maybe sometimes, a little abuse is worth it for the end, if it's a tiny animal and it gets warm.

He nods at that, chuckling. "It had been years since I'd done it here, but I'm finding you're right. It comes back to you naturally. Though we can't use them all for that."

He pauses, but since Liv posted it publicly, there's no reason to hide it. "Your world got anything like zombies in your world? Anyone mentioned there's apparently various worlds here?"

"You only one person?" Looking up at him, arching a brow before barely stroking his finger along the salamader's back, fighting not to jerk his hand back from the burning heat.

"They're fiery, and you have to be careful," he admits, poking some of the tidbits he'd brought it from the butcher's shop closer to him. "I checked the books at the inn. They stay as long as there's heat. Given how much we're stoking the fires here, he may never leave," he admits. "You guys have your pets. I have mine."

"... no on zombies, that I know of, yes on other worlds and times. My two best friends are here and they're like, two or three months ahead of me back home, apparently. But I met The Iron Bull? Who is very definitely not from my world."

Maybe they have zombies? He hasn't seen them, but that doesn't necessarily mean anything.

"... There's a zombie here, isn't there? We're putting aside brains for them."

He waits, listening as Foggy works it all out. Bobo figures if he's going to be working here, Foggy needs to know. Besides it was broadcast. Chuckling as Foggy connects the dots, asking that. Bobo nods.

"At least one," he admits. "So I figure it's something we should help with. All things considered if any of the stories are true. As for Bull... you're interested and he flirts, you should go there. He's a lot of fun."

It was just after the daily lunch that Wanda found herself at the inn's kitchen. She was here every day at the same time, cleaning and then setting to her task of preserving the meats and fish that others had caught during the day.

Jon Stark had taught her how to preserve and handle a recent kill and as Wanda recalled the lessons, she realized that had been almost two years ago. This had become part of her daily routine and it was as much a part of her as anything else. She frowned briefly at the deer that had been skinned and was sitting on the table in front of her. "Should I be used to this?" Wanda wasn't asking anyone in particular but it was a strange situation when she thought backwards. She'd never imagined herself doing something like this.

It wasn't a pleasant activity, smell or sight, and she didn't blame anyone who walked into and then directly out of the kitchen as she worked. Bobo, who Wanda had seen in passing, walked in and didn't leave. She looked up from her work and raised an eyebrow in a delicate arc. "Can I help you with something?"

She was wearing a pair of light khaki pants with her long hair tied up at the back of her head in a ponytail. Her shirt was black but a dark apron had been tied around her thin waist to keep her mostly clean.

Vasquez settles close enough to not get singed, but to enjoy the warmth, tugging his coat a little tighter and settling in with his head against the sofa, snorting. "You can have the kirin to help too. They have names, also." Brindle and Oughts, which had been Cael's choice, but Vasquez intends to honour him in this.

"How did you even trap it in here?" he asks, a bit marvelling because it seems like a very dangerous thing. "Did it not burn you?"

"Right. Zombie. Clearly a reasoning and logical individual, so we can deal with that." That simple. Just an odd dietary condition.

"He's... not really my type," Foggy admits. "But I'll keep it in mind, thanks."

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The things that would have been lost on you

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House

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north village

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Inn - Kitchen with Meat Prep

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