IC Contact Post [Hadriel]

[mismanagement]

This is Maketh Tua. State your business.

Comments

[hotspurred]

[Henry gives Maketh a surprised look.]

Your... whole planet had no oceans or green places? 'Tis a wonder that you did not starve.

[Yet he understands her sentiment about the stars. Light pollution is not an issue in his time. As he takes up both pairs of pliers again to resume removing rings, he idly asks:]

Seemed the stars different to you when you were in the firmament?

[mismanagement]

[Maketh nods.] We nearly did, a few times. But the people were stubborn.

[It had made them strong, though in quiet ways. She tips her head to the side.] Firmament?

[hotspurred]

[Henry briefly frowns at the thought of a young Maketh facing the very real peril of starvation because of nothing more than living on barren land. Yet she evidently survived it, so he says no more of it. What right has he, of noble birth and privilege? Instead, he answers her question.]

The farthest skies wherein reside the stars.

[Space is not yet a fully-rounded concept in his time, nor is it named such for another few hundred years. The views of the universe in his time are quite something.

Henry removes the last of the cut rings, and repositions his haubergeon so that the hole in the back shoulder is flat before him, ready to be fixed.]

[mismanagement]

Oh. We call it space. [Maketh leans back in her chair. it's hard for her to imagine someone living only on a single planet, never once going up in the sky. How strange her world must seem to him.] It's beautiful. Things look so different up close. I wish I could show you what the stars look like.

[hotspurred]

'Tis a pity that you cannot.

[Henry, wielding the pliers, picks up an open ring and slips it into place on his haubergeon, making sure that it leans in the correct direction. He then closes the opening, and keeps hold of it with one set of pliers.]

This may work best if you seal the rings as I weave them in.

[mismanagement]

[If only she had her data pad. It's burnt beyond recognition now, tucked into one of her drawers in case its parts might prove useful later on. Maketh nods, leaning in closer.] All right. Show me first?

[hotspurred]

[Henry nods, then pauses, narrowing his eyes critically. He is, regretfully, no blacksmith.]

On second thought.

[He opens up the ring again and frees it.]

If you heat the ring here where the ends are open, then I shall weave it in and close it.

[That likely makes the most sense, given the present limitations. It's hardly as though they have the supplies, tools or skill to wedge rivet mail. So, welded.]

These must be done one at a time, I fear.

[This would be a horribly dull task without the company.]

[mismanagement]

All right. [It seems a simple enough procedure, though regrettably tedious. Nonetheless, it must be done. She will not see Henry without proper armor.

She tugs on a pair of gloves and activates the iron, waiting until it steams.] Ready now?

[hotspurred]

[Henry nods, holding the ring aloft with the pliers and eyeing the tool with mild interest.]

Ready.

[He confirms.]

[mismanagement]

[There's no point in stalling, so Maketh presses the iron against the ring. It's less dangerous than a blow torch, but requires a steady hand. It doesn't take long for the metal to begin to change colors.] There.