[Under different, more common circumstances, Maketh would have called Henry to a machine shop or proper armorer. Unfortunately Hadriel has neither, and she's not fond enough of her apartment to mourn any damage to it that might result from experimenting with a blow torch. As such, she's set up the equipment at the table by the front door, everything lined up neatly. She's even found a tarp and some protective gear. A blow torch, some soldering tools for the finer parts.
It's not much, but it's something.
She answers the door promptly, hair still wet from the shower. She's in uniform for practical reasons, not wanting to get burned.] Henry. Do come in.
[Henry greets in turn as he enters as bid. Upon seeing Maketh's set up, he heads straight over to examine it with interest. Fixing his backplate without a forge will prove quite the achievement. Mail at least is simple to repair, just time-consuming.
He places the damaged pieces of his armour down where there is space. Fortunately the precision and cutting power of the offending magical blade means that the damage is unnaturally clean with minimal warping. According to his estimation, that should make it straightforward enough to repair... if the tools do not fail them.
Of course, he trusts in Maketh's intelligence.
With his initial curiosity sated, Henry turns to properly face her.]
[Maketh waits while he inspects the tools, hoping that they will do the job. What little she knows of armor won't be useful here - too much time has passed, and the technology is vastly different. But she can, if needed, operate a blow torch. That ought to be something.] Better. My shoulder is as good as it ever was.
[More or less. It scarred and she's stiff sometimes, but it's better than she could have hoped for.
She hesitates.] Newt is gone.
[After what happened with Dorian, it hadn't been as shocking as it might have been. But it still happened.]
[Putting the task at hand on hold, Henry closes the distance between them and places a hand upon Maketh's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. If she has ever mentioned Newt to him then he cannot recall it, and he scarcely met Newt himself, but that is beside the point. She would not speak of it if it did not matter to her. And if it matters to her, then it matters to him.
He frowns in concern.]
Ah, Maketh. I am sorry for your loss. Need you aught?
[Henry's kindness never fails to surprise her. Perhaps they would have made him a poor Imperial, but he's a good friend. Better than she deserves.
Maketh puts her hand over his and squeezes briefly. It's strange to think that she hadn't spoken of Newt to him. She always assumed there would be time for proper introductions. Only now there is not. And if he's gone home, then--
No. She can't think of that. Newt's world was cruel.
She was supposed to protect him. Newt called her mother and she couldn't protect him.
Enough. Don't think of it.
Maketh shakes her head and steps back.] I...I need to work. I'll show you how the tools are used.
[Given his own tendency to turn to physical activity to ground himself, he can understand her desire -- even if he does not approve of her avoidance. Yet it would be hypocritical of him to call her out on it, a fact of which he is well aware.
So after a brief but pointed silence, Henry nods and turns back to the equipment.]
If you would. I have not seen the like of some of these.
[There's no point in laying her burdens on Henry, and the work must be done. There are things they must accomplish. Maketh lifts the blow torch, checking the settings, and then activates it.
Flame hisses from the nozzle.] You can control the intensity and shape of the flame like this.
[She demonstrates quickly.]
I have protective gear as well. It wouldn't do to get burned.
[Henry watches, raising his eyebrows a fraction. It's certainly a convenient tool. The mention of burns earns a faint grimace.]
Indeed.
[He goes and collects his backplate, then turns it thoughtfully in his grasp. There is a single line cutting partially through it, narrow, neat, and fortuitously not along a curve or an edge. He should be able to beat it closed without warping the fitted shape.]
Let us see to my backplate first. If you handle the flame then I shall do the rest.
[For the time being, he rests his backplate on the flat, hard surface standing in for an anvil, then fetches the hammer, testing its weight. Setting that down nearby, he spares a moment to warm up his right wrist, arm and shoulder.]
[Though she's unfamiliar with the sort of engineering required to fix Henry's armor, Maketh knows the theory behind it, and most of the tools required. Thus, she's prepared a bucket in the kitchen. She comes back with it.] Where do you want it? And put on the gloves.
[Henry indicates nearby, then huffs at Maketh's nagging -- though the corners of his mouth curl slightly upwards. He puts on the gloves and takes up his backplate, then traces a finger along the damage for her benefit.]
When the metal here turns yellow to orange in colour, it should prove workable.
[He hold his backplate on either side, away from his body. Whether he brings his backplate to the flame or she targets the damage with the blow torch, it's a necessary precaution, especially without a leather apron.
[Maketh nods, shucking on her own pair of gloves. It would be better with a welding mask - she assumes - or at least an apron, but they have neither. This will have to do. Maketh lifts the blow torch, activating the flame.] I'm ready.
[With Maketh ready, Henry brings his backplate to the flame and keeps it there until the metal heats up. When the area he is working on turns the right colour he draws it back. After placing his backplate on the anvil replacement, he takes up the hammer, and keeping his backplate in place with his other hand, begins to beat the wound in the metal shut. Every blow is a demonstration of controlled power and excellent technique. The noise of the hammer's impact and the proximity of his stabilising hand to where the hammer strikes do not faze him in the slightest.
Once the damage is repaired, Henry sets the hammer aside and drops his backplate into the bucket of water. He then throws off the protective gloves.]
We should pull up chairs for the next repair.
[He suggests, looking to Maketh again. There will be more than enough time for them to talk as they fix the holes in his mail.]
[Maketh watches, careful always to hold the flame steady. The noise and rhythm feels almost comforting in an odd sort of way. There is a pattern, a protocol to follow, and all that is required is that she do her part.
This, at least, is simple.
Maketh nods, setting the torch aside. The whole apartment is going to smell now. She hopes that Amos won't mind.
She pulls up two chairs, then nods to the other equipment she's procured. It's possible that it won't be of any use - Maketh really doesn't know what goes into fixing chainmail - but she thought it best to be prepared.] I brought these as well.
[She indicates the soldering kit.] Engineers use them for delicate work. I don't know if they would be useful here, though. It heats small areas - more accurate than the torch.
[Henry collects his mail and takes a seat. He has already removed all of the broken rings from both pieces -- it is entirely necessary to replace them once they are damaged -- leaving neat holes in the weave. He passes her his mail sleeve to inspect, wondering if she has ever dealt with mail before. Mail has both drape and weight; the nature of the weave means that is expands and contracts horizontally, but has no vertical movement.]
A ring not soldered closed shall warp when struck. No armour at all is better than ineffectual armour. Therein there is no false assurance of defence.
[Henry drags his haubergeon in front of him, but rather than pay attention to the hole at the back shoulder, lays it so the bottom edge is within optimal reach. He spares a moment to fetch two pairs of pliers and sets them both beside him. Next, he places a pair of cutters at his other side.
He drags a finger along the hem thoughtfully.]
...Hm. I should only have to lose one row for these repairs.
[From his pocket he pulls free a piece of folded paper, which he then opens up and leaves out. Drawn upon it is a vital reference: the missing rings mapped out for both his sleeve and haubergeon, each row annotated with an alternating L or R. It's important that the number of rings and the direction that they lean is exact.]
[Maketh leans in closer, watching Henry with open curiosity. It's clear from the way he moves that he's done this before, a man at complete ease with himself and his gear. A man of his standing no doubt could order others to do the work for him, but Henry sees to his own repairs. It's more effective in the field. One must rely on few things on a battlefield.] Where do you need me?
[Henry takes hold of the cutters and begins cutting the bottom row of rings, one straight slice though one side of each. When one is done he moves onto the next.
It is clear that this repair won't be quick work.]
Are you not [he briefly hesitates, his brow creasing as he searches for the right word] troubled by the potential consequences of reviving sorrow?
[It's something to do, and a comfort besides. One of the few things she genuinely does miss about Lothal.
Maketh exhales slowly, rubbing her forehead.] I fear there will be consequences regardless of which one is chosen. Sorrow is apparently the oldest, and one of the most powerful of them all. We don't need an enemy that strong.
But---apparently Love is allied with Fear. And as useful as a GPS system would be, I don't like the sound of Confusion.
[Coffee is not a beverage that Henry would seek out for himself, but as Maketh loves it, he's fine with drinking it.]
Delight was informative, for their kind.
[He mulls for a short moment on Maketh's words. She's certainly not wrong about all options having undesirable consequences.]
...I question whether one can justify weighing what is best for the community against one's own welfare. In this arena, where lies the divide between practicality and cowardice?
[His spits out the last word with obvious disgust.
In battle there is no uncertainty as to where the line is drawn. But this war of emotions lies far outside of his comfort zone, and he may soon be punished for his incompetency. So is he making his decision according to what will allow him to do his best for the people of Hadriel, or to avoid that which he does not wish to face?
He... worries that the vast well of grief he has refused to touch for over half a year now will destroy him. That sentiment has been there from the beginning. What is new is the knowledge that Sorrow has the potential to shatter his defences.
But his honour will survive only one of those two options, and his honour is his life.]
[Maketh pauses, halfway to the kitchen.] There is no easy answer to that one, I'm afraid. There are parallels that could be drawn to what we face and siege warfare. It's inevitable that some will die in that kind of battle.
[Incidentally, siege warfare was what the Academy emphasized.
Maketh rubs her face.]
I think now we must look to our allies. Alone we're as good as broken.
[Edward would not hesitate to make the selfless choice. Iamarl might hesitate to for a short time. They are -- were -- better people than he, still torn. Love has never been a contender in his mind, for her hot springs give them all nothing but the kind of luxury that Delight already fulfils.
Henry sighs, and discards the cutters.]
There are no divides 'twixt us but for those which we impose upon ourselves. I concede that.
[He takes up both pairs of pliers, one in each hand, and begins to process of opening and removing each cut ring. The important part is not to twist and warp the ring, lest it warp and not fit back together tightly. Slowly he begins to amass a pile of opened rings.]
Yes. [Some of them needless. She thinks of Hux, wonders what's to become of that. The man is here to stay and she will need to either put him in line or make peace with him. Maketh hesitates, turning back to Henry.] You're worried about something. About...Sorrow?
[Henry pauses in his task to look over his shoulder at Maketh once he realises that she is lingering in place. There is a heaviness his gaze.]
'Tis naught but impotent speculation.
[Which is both an agreement, but also a blatant dismissal. Ultimately it comes back to Iamarl's death, a topic that he will not speak of, even to Maketh.
He makes an effort to curtail his brooding, and purposely strays from talk of his worries.]
One cannot deny the usefulness of a garden and orchard. Nor their appeal.
[Any other emotion and he would not think twice about his vote.]
Should Sorrow win, a pear tree would be some small compensation. Ever have I favoured pears in confit.
[He gives her a faint half-smile.]
'Twas almost a fortnight past that I dreamt of feasting with my family. We ate a full five courses for the particular occasion. The food tasted oddly real -- due, I doubt not, to Delight's influence. I have hungered for its like since.
[Maketh feels herself smiling and turns back to the kitchen. At least he had one good dream along with the rest of the mess.] I don't know it. But it--it must have been good, to dream of that. Not all of it was nightmares.
[That makes Henry smile properly as he turns back to his own task.]
My father and uncle. My mother and stepmother. My younger brothers, Thomas, Ralph and Alan. My sister, Margaret, the youngest of my siblings.
[He comes from a big family, though two of those are dead.]
The wars in France have kept me from passing my birthday at Warkworth these years gone -- ah, Warkworth being my family's principal castle of residence. Vainglory, as the church would tell it, but we have ever celebrated them.
[There must be some comfort in that, isn't there? Having people bound to your side regardless of whatever events might befall you. Maketh retreats into the kitchen, going for the coffee maker. Thankfully she already had a pot brewing, so there's no waiting.
She adds some chocolate to the mugs, along with the cream. Something good. Why shouldn't they have good things every once and a while?
Hands full of steaming mugs, Maketh reemerges. She sets one down next to Henry and reclaims her seat.] How old are you, anyway?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mismanagement) wrote2016-01-25 02:02 pm
[Action]
It's not much, but it's something.
She answers the door promptly, hair still wet from the shower. She's in uniform for practical reasons, not wanting to get burned.] Henry. Do come in.
no subject
[Henry greets in turn as he enters as bid. Upon seeing Maketh's set up, he heads straight over to examine it with interest. Fixing his backplate without a forge will prove quite the achievement. Mail at least is simple to repair, just time-consuming.
He places the damaged pieces of his armour down where there is space. Fortunately the precision and cutting power of the offending magical blade means that the damage is unnaturally clean with minimal warping. According to his estimation, that should make it straightforward enough to repair... if the tools do not fail them.
Of course, he trusts in Maketh's intelligence.
With his initial curiosity sated, Henry turns to properly face her.]
How fares thee?
no subject
[More or less. It scarred and she's stiff sometimes, but it's better than she could have hoped for.
She hesitates.] Newt is gone.
[After what happened with Dorian, it hadn't been as shocking as it might have been. But it still happened.]
no subject
He frowns in concern.]
Ah, Maketh. I am sorry for your loss. Need you aught?
no subject
Maketh puts her hand over his and squeezes briefly. It's strange to think that she hadn't spoken of Newt to him. She always assumed there would be time for proper introductions. Only now there is not. And if he's gone home, then--
No. She can't think of that. Newt's world was cruel.
She was supposed to protect him. Newt called her mother and she couldn't protect him.
Enough. Don't think of it.
Maketh shakes her head and steps back.] I...I need to work. I'll show you how the tools are used.
no subject
So after a brief but pointed silence, Henry nods and turns back to the equipment.]
If you would. I have not seen the like of some of these.
no subject
Flame hisses from the nozzle.] You can control the intensity and shape of the flame like this.
[She demonstrates quickly.]
I have protective gear as well. It wouldn't do to get burned.
no subject
Indeed.
[He goes and collects his backplate, then turns it thoughtfully in his grasp. There is a single line cutting partially through it, narrow, neat, and fortuitously not along a curve or an edge. He should be able to beat it closed without warping the fitted shape.]
Let us see to my backplate first. If you handle the flame then I shall do the rest.
[For the time being, he rests his backplate on the flat, hard surface standing in for an anvil, then fetches the hammer, testing its weight. Setting that down nearby, he spares a moment to warm up his right wrist, arm and shoulder.]
Have you a bucket of water?
no subject
[Though she's unfamiliar with the sort of engineering required to fix Henry's armor, Maketh knows the theory behind it, and most of the tools required. Thus, she's prepared a bucket in the kitchen. She comes back with it.] Where do you want it? And put on the gloves.
no subject
[Henry indicates nearby, then huffs at Maketh's nagging -- though the corners of his mouth curl slightly upwards. He puts on the gloves and takes up his backplate, then traces a finger along the damage for her benefit.]
When the metal here turns yellow to orange in colour, it should prove workable.
[He hold his backplate on either side, away from his body. Whether he brings his backplate to the flame or she targets the damage with the blow torch, it's a necessary precaution, especially without a leather apron.
He is ready to go.]
If you are prepared.
no subject
no subject
Once the damage is repaired, Henry sets the hammer aside and drops his backplate into the bucket of water. He then throws off the protective gloves.]
We should pull up chairs for the next repair.
[He suggests, looking to Maketh again. There will be more than enough time for them to talk as they fix the holes in his mail.]
no subject
This, at least, is simple.
Maketh nods, setting the torch aside. The whole apartment is going to smell now. She hopes that Amos won't mind.
She pulls up two chairs, then nods to the other equipment she's procured. It's possible that it won't be of any use - Maketh really doesn't know what goes into fixing chainmail - but she thought it best to be prepared.] I brought these as well.
[She indicates the soldering kit.] Engineers use them for delicate work. I don't know if they would be useful here, though. It heats small areas - more accurate than the torch.
no subject
[Henry collects his mail and takes a seat. He has already removed all of the broken rings from both pieces -- it is entirely necessary to replace them once they are damaged -- leaving neat holes in the weave. He passes her his mail sleeve to inspect, wondering if she has ever dealt with mail before. Mail has both drape and weight; the nature of the weave means that is expands and contracts horizontally, but has no vertical movement.]
A ring not soldered closed shall warp when struck. No armour at all is better than ineffectual armour. Therein there is no false assurance of defence.
[Henry drags his haubergeon in front of him, but rather than pay attention to the hole at the back shoulder, lays it so the bottom edge is within optimal reach. He spares a moment to fetch two pairs of pliers and sets them both beside him. Next, he places a pair of cutters at his other side.
He drags a finger along the hem thoughtfully.]
...Hm. I should only have to lose one row for these repairs.
[From his pocket he pulls free a piece of folded paper, which he then opens up and leaves out. Drawn upon it is a vital reference: the missing rings mapped out for both his sleeve and haubergeon, each row annotated with an alternating L or R. It's important that the number of rings and the direction that they lean is exact.]
no subject
no subject
[Henry takes hold of the cutters and begins cutting the bottom row of rings, one straight slice though one side of each. When one is done he moves onto the next.
It is clear that this repair won't be quick work.]
Are you not [he briefly hesitates, his brow creasing as he searches for the right word] troubled by the potential consequences of reviving sorrow?
[His gaze stays fixed on his task as he speaks.]
no subject
[It's something to do, and a comfort besides. One of the few things she genuinely does miss about Lothal.
Maketh exhales slowly, rubbing her forehead.] I fear there will be consequences regardless of which one is chosen. Sorrow is apparently the oldest, and one of the most powerful of them all. We don't need an enemy that strong.
But---apparently Love is allied with Fear. And as useful as a GPS system would be, I don't like the sound of Confusion.
no subject
[Coffee is not a beverage that Henry would seek out for himself, but as Maketh loves it, he's fine with drinking it.]
Delight was informative, for their kind.
[He mulls for a short moment on Maketh's words. She's certainly not wrong about all options having undesirable consequences.]
...I question whether one can justify weighing what is best for the community against one's own welfare. In this arena, where lies the divide between practicality and cowardice?
[His spits out the last word with obvious disgust.
In battle there is no uncertainty as to where the line is drawn. But this war of emotions lies far outside of his comfort zone, and he may soon be punished for his incompetency. So is he making his decision according to what will allow him to do his best for the people of Hadriel, or to avoid that which he does not wish to face?
He... worries that the vast well of grief he has refused to touch for over half a year now will destroy him. That sentiment has been there from the beginning. What is new is the knowledge that Sorrow has the potential to shatter his defences.
But his honour will survive only one of those two options, and his honour is his life.]
no subject
[Incidentally, siege warfare was what the Academy emphasized.
Maketh rubs her face.]
I think now we must look to our allies. Alone we're as good as broken.
no subject
Henry sighs, and discards the cutters.]
There are no divides 'twixt us but for those which we impose upon ourselves. I concede that.
[He takes up both pairs of pliers, one in each hand, and begins to process of opening and removing each cut ring. The important part is not to twist and warp the ring, lest it warp and not fit back together tightly. Slowly he begins to amass a pile of opened rings.]
no subject
no subject
'Tis naught but impotent speculation.
[Which is both an agreement, but also a blatant dismissal. Ultimately it comes back to Iamarl's death, a topic that he will not speak of, even to Maketh.
He makes an effort to curtail his brooding, and purposely strays from talk of his worries.]
One cannot deny the usefulness of a garden and orchard. Nor their appeal.
[Any other emotion and he would not think twice about his vote.]
Should Sorrow win, a pear tree would be some small compensation. Ever have I favoured pears in confit.
[He gives her a faint half-smile.]
'Twas almost a fortnight past that I dreamt of feasting with my family. We ate a full five courses for the particular occasion. The food tasted oddly real -- due, I doubt not, to Delight's influence. I have hungered for its like since.
no subject
no subject
My father and uncle. My mother and stepmother. My younger brothers, Thomas, Ralph and Alan. My sister, Margaret, the youngest of my siblings.
[He comes from a big family, though two of those are dead.]
The wars in France have kept me from passing my birthday at Warkworth these years gone -- ah, Warkworth being my family's principal castle of residence. Vainglory, as the church would tell it, but we have ever celebrated them.
[He exhales a short laugh.]
'Twas indeed good.
no subject
[There must be some comfort in that, isn't there? Having people bound to your side regardless of whatever events might befall you. Maketh retreats into the kitchen, going for the coffee maker. Thankfully she already had a pot brewing, so there's no waiting.
She adds some chocolate to the mugs, along with the cream. Something good. Why shouldn't they have good things every once and a while?
Hands full of steaming mugs, Maketh reemerges. She sets one down next to Henry and reclaims her seat.] How old are you, anyway?
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)