01. Oh not this again.

[bullhorned]

Who: Gendry
Broadcast: Nope
Action: SS Golden, Planetside
When: Today and June/July

The Golden

He hadn't been on the Marsiva all that long, but he had been on the vast ship long enough to come to the conclusion he didn't care for it at all. The food was strange and it all reminded him a little too much of the Station, which he'd never really liked all that much in the first place. More than that, he'd noticed how different things were around here. It reminded him of blood granite, though he didn't really mind that part all that much. All that business with Shards had always been an enormous headache equal only to the amount of times he banged his forehead in the tunnels of Troichean Beinn. Still, he hadn't been prepared for being in space. He hadn't figured out how to deal with that, so he'd made the decision not to.

When he arrived on the Golden to fanfare and annoying bits of confetti, the first thing he did was scowl. The second thing he did was find a direction to glare at and then scowl a little bit more. It was not that Gendry was extremely upset, it was just that brooding was something of an art form for him and he was at his best when boiling in sullen silence. All thanks to a bit of a chip in his head, he now knew exactly what he ought to be doing. So after mumbling his greetings to anyone who just so happened to be about to welcome him, he found himself in the engineering room. There were a few tense moments where he tried to grasp exactly what it is he was looking at, why he seemed to know so much about it, and if that was the sort of thing it was worth getting worried about. In the end, he decided that as long as he had valid reasons for hitting, then he might as well get on with it. There was a valve that he could instinctively see needed a great deal of banging, so he did.

Don't Hug Me I'm Scared

By the time the first native had got around to giving him a reassuring hug, Gendry had concluded that he now knew of three worlds he held a deep contempt for, which coincidentally happened to be all of the ones he'd experienced so far. But it was better than the ship, so he simply took extra care to watch that no one got close enough for any unexpected proximity. After spending a few hours wandering about the market area of one of the primary settlements, Gendry had found exactly where he ought to be. He'd found a smithy and after talking up his own experience (he'd apprenticed with dwarves after all!), he'd found himself gainfully employed and under the incredibly misguided idea that he had simply found a new planet to live on, this was how the rest of his life was going to be, and that he'd better just decide to be happy with it because that's simply how it was.

Rather than engineering as he was supposed to be, Gendry spent quite a lot of time making whatever was required of him, though it generally tended to be of the more mundane tool-like variety. When he wasn't working, he was finding places to buy his meals, trekking back to his private treehouse in an attempt to avoid risky hugs, and not actually paying all that much attention to the forests because he'd only just been in a world chock full of magical forests and this one didn't really seem all that exceptional to him.

(ooc: Gendry will just be here and there, trying to start his life entirely over because this is just the sort of thing that tends to happen to him. Find him at a smith, or out shopping, or trying to shoo little native children from trying to hug his leg because why)

Comments

[bullhorned]

[Gendry picks up the larger knife and turns it over in his hand. It's decent work, but after spending a year among the finest of dwarven craftsmanship - to say nothing of his old master's Qohorik talents, he's of the opinion that copies is something of an insult to his talents. That's not the problem, though.]

Making more of these is no trouble. Problem is the metal. They ain't got much here but cheap iron. S'good enough if you want some prongs or a shovel, but it ain't nothing you'll want in a fight.

[resnipstance]

Seriously...?

[She's visibly disappointed.]

Man, I should've known better than to think the Atroma would make it that easy. They never make anything easy.

[bullhorned]

[The Atroma. The name pings as something vaguely important, but he can't put any reason to why. It has come up before, it's just he had been dealing with so much other information that it hadn't sunk in as important. It still didn't.]

You might make something with these, though. They ain't bad quality. [But the implication of they could be better is present.]

[resnipstance]

... Sorry. Both of these were gifts from... people who are important to me. [Indeed, the larger knife even has a small inscription in Arabic inlaid in it. A gift from Nyssa.] I'm not melting them.

[bullhorned]

[He understands that sentimentality well enough. There were things he had like that, but he'd lost all those in his arrival here. All he had left were the two iron bracers he still wore on either wrist.]

As you say. You find something I can work with, I can make it. Might be you'll find someone in the market with some quality steel.

[He hadn't gone searching for it just yet, but he wasn't really prepared to go and make himself a new weapon with mundane steel when he'd forged himself something of Valyrian steel.]

[resnipstance]

Fair enough. I guess I'll have to go looking. It's always a quest for something or other, in this place.

[She says it with good humour, though.]

What's your name, by the way? So I know how to find you again.

[bullhorned]

Gendry. [He frowns though, giving her previous statement some thought.] You've been here some time?

[resnipstance]

Ahsoka.

That's right. I think it'd be... about eight, maybe nine months now? It's hard to keep track when the calendar they use is slightly different, but I'm fairly certain that's right.

[bullhorned]

[He was still thinking in terms of this planet in a very singular sense and not of the fleet at all. So he was left scratching his head thoughtfully.]

And you ain't had no one else tell you about the metals here? [In eight months?]

[resnipstance]

[Ahsoka blinks in surprise.]

What? Oh! No, no-- I mean I've been in the Fleet eight months. Sorry.

The Fleet itself only arrived here this week.

[bullhorned]

So you came in on those metal ships. [He frowns and stares up at the sky.] Atroma. They'd be the ones what snatched me up, then. Put this bit in me. [He tapped the back of his neck.]

[resnipstance]

[Aha.]

That's right. So you are a part of the Fleet, then.

[bullhorned]

I left the fleet. [Why is this so hard for people to grasp.]

[resnipstance]

... Oh boy.

You've still got a lot to learn, my friend.

[bullhorned]

[Whoa.






Who said anything about friends.]

What's that supposed to mean?

[resnipstance]

It means, you wouldn't be the first person to try to leave.

[bullhorned]

I didn't say nothin' 'bout leaving. I know it won't do no good. It's why I'm staying put.

[Trying to leave would be trying to back to Drabwurld, which was on the brink of all out war, or back to Westeros which already was. A planet that was a little too huggy seemed just fine.]

[resnipstance]

[Ahsoka sighs.]

Listen. It's the same thing.

This is how it works: the Fleet travels through space from planet to planet. We make pit-stops at various places for a month or so. While we're stopped, you're free to do whatever and go where ever. Once the Fleet leaves, though, you're teleported back to your ship. If you try to stay behind on-planet, if you try to take one of the shuttles and go elsewhere, if you try to catch a transport heading somewhere else, you'll be teleported back to your ship.

[bullhorned]

I've already been teleported.

[So there it is. And he even knows what that word is. That's some solid fairy magic education at work here.]

[resnipstance]

But you don't believe me.

[bullhorned]

[He shrugs.]

I've been a lot of places. [This he thinks is patently true. It's not. But for someone who hadn't really ever anticipated leaving King's Landing, he's been everywhere.] Lots of folks say lots of things. Some true, some not. Words are wind. Most times, they don't mean anything.

[resnipstance]

... Fair enough.

Well, I'll catch you in a month's time, and you can tell me whether I was telling the truth or not.

[bullhorned]

Going to look forward to it, are you?

[Only a hint of amusement. He doesn't like the idea of what she's suggesting, but it's clear she's hinging rather heavily on its inevitability.]

[resnipstance]

Hmmm. I'll cop to that.

There's something uniquely satisfying about getting to deliver a good "I told you so."

[bullhorned]

[Hm. He isn't sure he cares much for her. This he communicates with a not at all subtle grimace.]

A decent person might have wished me the best.