sixthiterationlogs | [ MINGLE ] FORGE AFTER HOURS

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: South Village Forge
WHEN: January 8th
OPEN TO: Smitherns (Thor, Brigitte, Annie Cresta, Siefer), Plus Ones, Passers by, and Friends! Anyone, really, come on down.
WARNINGS: Language, discussion of canon typical violence probably, drinking?

THE HEARTH

With the bulk of the work and chores done for the day, the heart's banked down to a tolerable level rather than steel meltingly hot, positively cozy. Tables are cleared of metal filings and shavings, the floor is swept, extra chairs and seating or overturned crates serve as places to kick back and enjoy the warmth. A large kettle of tea is kept brewing all night, another of coffee, and a jug of cool water for those thirsty with no real requirement RE flavor. There's a rack for coats and scarves when people don't need to be quite so bundled up, and space cleared enough for milling about, tossing ideas back and forth, or simply relaxing. Arguments happen at The Debate Wall, not by the fire.

THE FOOD

It's an eclectic spread- a pot of stew, some crusty bread, frittatas, a few large, simple cheese pizzas, bottles of wine, and whatever other food the Smitherns or their Plus Ones chose to bring. It's a bit of a potluck, food spread out on one table for perusal, plates waiting and a bin for dirty dishes. Tony will scrub up at the end of the night. By the fire there's a waffle iron and as many toppings as they could find for waffles- jams, zalpaca butter, dried fruit, preserved peaches. Serve yourself or sit and sample!

THE CHILL OUT CORNER

For the more introspective or anyone taking a break from The Debate Wall, there's a comfortable chair tucked in the far corner where the light isn't as bright, the sound not quite so loud- and in this chair sits a young Peacat, a smaller pot for tea, and a few books. Elton's a friendly sort and will chirrup to lean for pets or simply sit on a lap and purr, offering calming, quiet company.

THE DEBATE WALL

Scrubbed clean for the night, the wall opposite Tony's Scrawled projects, equations, rules and definitions- currently marked only with a few notes RE proper charcoal use 'It's for the wall, not your hands, not anyone's clothes', the large space cleared for marking out or drawing out- well. Games, hangman, tic-tac-toe, sketches, or debate points. The only other rule listed is 'If you're going to pick a hill to die on, cite your references'.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Well, now Nida wanted to sigh. Was he really going to get to deal with someone who thought of polearms as boring? Bad enough to get it back home where it was a solid weapon choice. Oh well, he can educate whoever this is.

He put on a press-smile, turned around, and offered it to the man.

"You're probably not from a world with monsters then. Which a Grendel is. Quick summary, I'm from a place we're calling Hyne, monsters fall from the moon, and I'm talking about stuff that makes some of the things I've seen in the public record here sort of tame. Halberds are a versatile sort of polearm, though not the only one I am proficient in. Give me just about any sort of blade on the end of a long stick, and I can handle myself."

Then he holds his hand out to Finnick. "Nida Nomura. Now you've met someone who would choose a halberd."

"We have plenty of monsters," Finnick says, though he says it without any hint of ill-will in his voice, more a quip than a correction. "We just don't have many halberds."

A halberd may be a versatile weapon, but in some ways, that's exactly its problem in Panem. It's so versatile it would be hard to pass off as anything but a weapon, unlike a spear or a trident which are genuine fishing tools as well as convenient weapons. He'd learned to use a trident fishing with his father, not in a fight. Most importantly, though, they don't provide them in the Games. They don't offer training to use them in the leadup to the Games, and they're rarely in the Cornucopia, so they're not part of the Career training Finnick and the other tributes from District Four went through.

There might be more halberds around if weapons weren't illegal in Panem for anyone but the Peacekeepers, who had guns.

"Finnick Odair," he replies, taking Nida's hand and shaking it. "I choose a trident, when I have the option."

Strong hand, strong body, and combat experience, and then Finnick says the magic word. Trident. At that point he's clearly holding Finnick's hand too long in the shake, but mostly because he's clearly a bit awed.

"A trident? I dedicated three months when I was sixteen to trying to find a reasonable method of combat making use of a trident. For all of my work it was just too different from other polearms, given the sorts of creatures on my world, to figure out a way to fully incorporate it into my combat style. Problem was was that, unlike spears, it wasn't easy to wrest the things out of the sort of creatures I was up against. And I could never figure out a way to use them against a human opponent."

Oh, right, hand. Damn, he's... He's excited. was that wrong? Was it wrong to get excited and ask a guy to teach you how to fight with something without a lot of lead up time on having met them? Yes? Well, he didn't care. This was something he wanted to do anyway. Even if they didn't have the proper gear.

"Maybe you could show me some moves sometime."

If it's wrong, it's something that Finnick understands. Finnick is a victor, but he was a Career first, so the enthusiasm of the response to the word trident just makes him smile, if only for a flash. By the time Finnick was sixteen, he was already famous, already supposedly set for life on the back of the things he could do when you put a trident in his hands. But he'd never liked teaching the Careers. They wanted to become like him, victors, and he couldn't encourage them in that, couldn't keep feeding them the lies about how good everything would be when they'd won.

Nida, though, talks about fighting monsters, and Finnick's long ago learned that he can't assume that people here are from places anywhere comparable to Panem.

"Incapacitate them first."

It's the brutal fighting style he'd used to win his way to glory in the Games. He can throw a trident or spear with strength, rapidity, accuracy, but where he'd really excelled was in closer quarters, when he could use the trident not only as a thrusting weapon, but a staff, too. And in the Games, he'd used nets, a mark of his childhood as a fisherman's son, so that when his opponents were trying to get out, he could close on the kill.

Not that he's proud of it.

He prefers what he does here, fishing and hunting to survive instead of murdering.

"It helps to have grown up using them," he says, offering a little more information as Nida actually lets go of his hand. "I know a lot of fighting styles, but the trident came more naturally to me because I was used to it. I used to help my father out on his fishing boat before I started fighting."

He considers again, piercingly green eyes scrutinizing the younger man. Nida's barely more than a kid himself, in that same age group as the younger victors like Johanna. So he relents.

"I could probably show you a few things."

"I've been using a variety of polearms since I was ten," Nida counters, because really, he's been using them to survive. Or for the eventual purpose of surviving. Of course his wasn't the whole feed yourself sort of survival.

"However the things I've grown up using them against are less things I jabbed at, more I slashed at things. Like I said, halberds."

But when the offer happens and offers some tips, Nida smiles more. Oh yes, he'd be glad to learn that.

"What would I have to pay you?"

"You got started early."

There's an invitation in his tone if Nida wants to expand on why he'd learned so early. But even after so long here, Finnick doesn't volunteer much about his own early start in weapons training. The Careers may have been an open secret, but they were a secret, never discussed with outsiders. His combat skills could be explained away now, as a victor and a mentor, but not before the Games. Not without openly admitting the illegal lie.

He considers the question for a moment.

"It's fine. I could use the practice." He tips his head a little to one side. "Maybe we could spar a little."

"It was expected," Nida shrugged. No, he's not getting into the paramilitary academy thing. Strangely, though, Finnick might be one of the few in the village to get it, to not care as much about his background. Not as deeply as other people did.

"I'm always down for sparring," Nida agrees. "I only have a staff at the moment, but it's something. Besides, a good workout is always its own reward."

Finnick doesn't comment further on the training Nida admits to having, though his keen green eyes show interest. In Panem, such training is illegal, except for trainee Peacekeepers.

"Sounds like a deal. I have a couple of tridents here so I can show you some moves with the real thing, and we can spar a bit in return."

He's stayed in practice here, largely, but it's been mostly alone, occasionally with Annie. But he knows that nothing really beats fighting against another person for practice, for challenging his own instincts and tactical thinking.

"We'll have to make sure it happens some time then," Nida genuinely smiles at the man, clearly excited for this prospect. Not quite bouncing over the joy of the idea of learning something he never had been able to put together himself, but it's close.

"Besides, it's always a good idea to keep ready. Not like this place is trustworthy."

[ MINGLE ] FORGE AFTER HOURS

Re: Story time

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tw: child murder

Re: tw: child murder

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