(204): Text me later if you aren't dead and wanna have a drink later

[fe_male]

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: Blacksmithy
WHEN: Prob like Nov 16 to Nov 23? Flexible rn until i get more input.
OPEN TO: Annie Cresta, Sam Wilson, others.
WARNINGS: I doubt it but I'll edit if that somehow comes up.
STATUS: Closed twice, open otherwise. not that. there's that much of a difference

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Open:

Tony wasn't really sure why he kept coming back over here so often. It wasn't like there was anything to actually forge. He had a few handfuls of nails he could clean off and melt down - needed to melt down, really, since removing them from their previous embeddings had bent nearly all of them into being little more than gradual triangles if force were applied to the heads a second time. Nails though are still difficult to use without some sort of mould, although he was starting to suppose he could just try something to see if it worked. That would work better with the larger pieces, like the hinges, since they wouldn't have to be completely melted down to change their shape, since he didn't think he had all the tools for that anyway. Regardless, it wasn't like he had much else to do, beyond keep up with his hand to hand, attempt poorly to forage, and continue dismantling destroyed houses.

Regardless, he's here anyway. Probably attempting to repatch something that was previously already repatched itself but working at least well enough to be, you know, working. The whole place is generally workable but needs updating in many respects. In his mind at least.

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Modified closed to Annie Cresta:

It's the same thing except he has like. This big pile of nails he's sort of. Just. Staring at. He's not sure what to do with such a finite amount of metal to work with, and he really wants to make something, but at the same time he doesn't know what to make. He knows he can make whatever and just redo it later, but that actually - here - runs through resources that aren't as infinite as he's accustomed to, and he's working to keep that in mind.

So he's attempting to run through all the scenarios mentally, so see what. Would work best. It's... having limited results. Most of which involve him staring intently at a pile of bent nails because there's no one to talk to here like he talked to JARVIS, and there are no holograms to project his thoughts to, so everything has to be internal.

[ This is literally 'my character is x-ing by the lake come bother him but feel free to notice like. an unnecessary fire dying in the forge or tools that don't match sitting out if she'd notice that sort of thing. Basically everything here reeks of at least one project that abruptly stopped. With like. Several tools nearby and a bunch of nails. ]

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Modified closed to Sam Wilson:

He's not even been attempting to fix or use the forge recently. Instead, he's been steadily - when he can or isn't already working on some other project - attempting to dismantle the houses that were already damaged by the earthquake to a point where they cause more problems to fix than otherwise. Architecture was never his particular foray, but he knows enough about it to work with these - what can be removed now and potentially put back later, what can be removed and is too damaged to be anything but replaced anyway, etc.

Tony's making what appears to be one of at least a handful of trips - this might be the last one considering once he dumps his armload into the part of the floor he seems to be using as a dumpspace it starts to roll and blob into more of the walkway; tony promptly kicks it back into place, apparently assuming the given hiking boots are totally a match for boards with nails in them and whatever else it is he's grabbed at first glace.

He's actually crouched down and about to start resorting items just now. He picked each one specifically at the site, but now that they're here, they need redoing.

Comments

The Blacksmith

[seekingvinland]

Thorfinn kept himself busy, more so now that the furnace in his house was busted and he had no clue how to fix it. He felt useless, so he got back to what he knew best. Collecting wood, hunting and things for the forge to get it going. He had tasked himself with collecting charcoal from burned out fires which hadn't amounted to much as he didn't want to draw attention to the project.

Dressed in layers today he could still feel the cold cutting to his bones. Finding kindling hadn't worked as he would have liked so he decided to go and take some of the charcoal he had found on to the smith. He had realized someone was inside before he even opened the door, assuming it was Cougar until he stepped in and pushed the hood of the tunic Kate had made him down. "Hello Co...." He started in his heavy Scandinavian accent, cutting himself off seeing the other man. He just blinked a moment at him. He recognized him from around the village, but he hadn't attempted to say a word before now.

[womanofvalue]

Well, it's not Thorfinn that she finds when Peggy arrives at the blacksmith with food, expecting to see Thorfinn. From what she knows of Howard, it doesn't seem like the sort of thing for a Stark to do, humble in a place like this, but then she thinks of Howard's past and his work and has to wonder how much of the real man she ever knew. Setting the plate of food on a table, Peggy knocks on the door and waits to get Tony's attention before addressing him.

"What are we creating today?" she wonders, thinking that if anyone is going to invent something wonderful and odd and mad here, it'll be Tony.

[treadswater]

Annie Cresta does not tend to strike people as stubborn. And yet, she is. Quietly so, occasionally defeated by shyness or madness, but she's stubborn and she'll keep trying. The gamemakers have given her an apron, a glass-or-metal working apron, and there is a smithy, and she will keep turning up until she finds out what she's supposed to do.

So it is that today she walks, and pauses. Not in the doorway, where she'd be a target, but just inside, where she can do a crab's side-ways step and have her back protected. Dirty white jeans and a black peacoat, her hair having lost all curl without a wash so is just a frizzy mess mostly braided away. The apron is in her backpack, but she ignores it for now.

For now, she looks at the man, and his pile of nails, and the dying fire, and scattered other things, and then decides to be brave.

"What are you doing?"

[notabirdcostume]

Tony had been here for awhile now and, even worse, taking up a lot of time in the one shop that was next to Sam's house. He'd mostly been avoiding the man, of course giving him a nod in passing so it didn't seem too terrible. After all, with the population they had it was impossible to truly avoid someone unless he pulled a Finnick or Annie and just hid in the woods. But even they appeared from time to time -- now more often than before due to the weather.

So he'd decided. If Tony was going to be next door every day, well, Sam wasn't going to be that guy who just continued to avoid him. Besides, from Sam's perspective the events of his own world had been six months ago now. He'd gotten over Natasha's involvement, and he was done acting like it mattered here. Here they had to survive.

Sam knocked on the door to the blacksmith shop, even as he poked his head in. He could never be sure what Tony was doing in here so he wanted to make sure he wasn't going to startle the guy. "Hey. You all right in here?" He'd been seeing and hearing about too many animal corpses lately to be comfortable leaving people he knew unchecked.

[overdraws]

Allison doesn't set humane traps. She can't — their very survival depends on her traps and snares doing their job and killing whatever is trapped inside of it so they can eat, and use everything else however they can. Hunting isn't something she was brought up in, but she's taken to it, the talent and drive to protect the people she's now living with. So she's surprised when she sees movement in one of her snares, a dark color wiggling against the white snow. She kneels down, her eyes growing bigger when she sees what it is: a small raccoon, probably not even a year in age. It was probably out foraging, and got caught, and for whatever reason, the snare failed, catching the little animal by the leg and not the neck like it was intended to. The poor thing's nearly tired itself out — it doesn't even try to flee when Allison approaches it slowly, setting her borrow knife down next to the snare. She reaches for it carefully, and she frowns when it doesn't try to bite, just lays there, breathing heavily — and it doesn't take her long to see why all the fight is nearly out of it. It's leg is raw and open where the snare's caught it, rubbed beyond raw and into bleeding. It's so little and in so much pain, and Allison doesn't even think, she just grabs her knife and cuts the raccoon free as carefully as she can and whips off her coat, wrapping it up in it as carefully as she can. The chill cuts her to the bone, but it's not a long walk back to her house — if she can warm it up, maybe she can figure out a way to help heal it.

'We protect those who cannot protect themselves', and this little thing is in no condition to do so.

Her house is by the blacksmith's, and she stops when she sees movement inside. She's not sure if the forge is going, she can't see smoke coming from the top of the building, but it's closer to her than her house is. Whomever is in there might be able to help her get the raccoon patched up, and maybe even decide what to do with it afterwards. She doesn't wait for the thought to really process, and she doesn't even knock on the door, just pushes her way in and shuts it behind her, squinting in the low light.

"I need help."