[ Left near the place that Nanaue last found Wrench is a crate with a half dozen dead squirrels, rabbits and weasels. It's addressed to WRENCH in very crude handwriting.
He tied a bow in red shiny ribbon on one of the rabbit carcasses. ]
[wanda will find wrench's lodging and leave this when he isn't around. the package is non-descript, but it's definitely big enough to pique the curiosity of the recipient as to open it as soon as possible. inside, an amount of homemade goods have been stacked atop each other: candles, soaps, and moisturizing lotions.
a neat box lies at the bottom, though, and once unwrapped and stretched out, it will reveal a leather bag. it is quite roomy, and wrench might find that it was given with the thought that he might need on-the-go storage. it's been enchanted so that no matter what wrench fits in it, it'll never be too heavy; one's got to be spry and nimble while out in the wild, right?
a small note sits under the box.]
Happy Winter Solstice. 𝓦anda 𝓜aximoff
Edited (eh, changed my mind re: enchantment effects heh) 2023-12-29 19:31 (UTC)
Since returning from the celebrations and Nocwich, Sam has been trying not to think too hard about the distance that separates himself from his family. He's been struggling with the weather, too, having gotten used to freely roaming in what had otherwise been clement before everything that had happened recently.
More and more, he can't help but wonder if perhaps it's the Summoned's presence that's caused such turmoil and strife. He's admittedly missed a good portion of the time spent with Abraxas and the Singularity — a year-almost-two his brother had been around stretched back to the start of it — but stories passed around from beforehand never seemed to feel quite so massive, industrious, global.
He's got these thoughts in his head when he passes through an alleyway, face ducked against the charging wind and cold sleet cutting nearly sideways through the air. It had been rain earlier, and dust the day before. A vertiably unhinged temper tamtrum on the part of whatever was controlling this literal maelstrom.
He's looking for no one in particular when he spots a familiar hulk and slides in behind the man as he enters a dimly lit tavern. Reaching out, he gives a chilly double-tap to Wrench's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention without looking (even more) like an idiot.
It's hard to stomach the fact that he's been alive for this long and seen so little of the world. It's even harder still for Wrench to come to grips with the knowledge that the world as he knew it is one of a multitude of such realities, and that the places that only existed for him in the pages of stories might actually be real after all. Maybe it's a terrible waste that he's been pulled through a portal and into another reality that so closely resembles the one he first came from, but most days Wrench considers himself lucky. Most days, despite how very characteristic of his old life Solvunn feels, he's just grateful to be here.
And if a little weather is as bad as it gets? Well, that really isn't so bad after all. He can deal with the sky's odd temper tantrums if it means being the beneficiary of everything else that comes with life in Solvunn. The people he's come to know, the magic - however juvenile - he can do. A few lightning storms are a small price to pay for the privilege of not having to look over his shoulder every single day.
Except, of course, that Wrench still hasn't bothered to secure a permanent residence for himself. It's not for lack of options; only that the idea of having a home to call his own is still too foreign to him. Most days he prefers to sleep in the woods surrounding one of the further settlements, but lately it's been difficult to keep shelter over his head and the elements out. Finding a little respite in the tavern isn't the worst thing in the world. He'll have a couple of drinks, maybe even a hot meal, and then consider what he'll do for the night.
It's the tap on the shoulder that makes Wrench turn around. He's expecting to look down, but he finds himself looking dead into the other man's eyes instead, and Wrench purses his lips in surprise and confusion. Hey, he signs.
When Wrench turns, Sam smiles and returns the sign. Hey. He hasn't gotten any better with his ASL since their last meeting — the lack of resources and someone to practice with feels like a terrible excuse, and yet there it is — but he's determined to at least do better with what he does know.
Sorry. His addition comes with heartfelt eyebrows and he points at himself, throws nothing with his dominant hand back over his shoulder, and then signs his apology again. I'm sorry for what I did in the past, that's what he's trying to say, but with a vocabulary of half a yuppie baby, it might not be as clear as all that.
Have you eaten yet?
The words appear fairly quickly after Sam's attempts, not wanting to drive Wrench away before he can make an offer.
The frigid shallows of the Hydra Gulf seem a long way away right now, reducing Sam's carefully-coordinated apologies to a mere half-shrug of acknowledgement from Wrench. As far as he's concerned, the man doesn't have anything to make amends for. The signing more than makes up for it anyhow. Just those few words of effort from Sam go a long way to putting a kind of light in Wrench's eyes that he might not so easily admit to. There's a spark of interest there that doesn't come out to play very often, so by the time the other man switches over to sending his words via brain text, Wrench is still more than primed to accept whatever they are.
Food wasn't at the forefront of his mind tonight. Sure, he lets the tavern serve him from time to time, and by now he's pretty well convinced they aren't trying to poison him. Nor does he anticipate that they'll do so accidentally; in fact, the food is pretty damn good for a man who mostly eats charred fish and offal when left to his own devices. But Sam's mere mention of the lingering possibility of a hot meal makes Wrench's stomach gurgle hopefully, so he's made his reply even before he's shaped any words in his mind.
You sure? I don't know if Solvunn can take all this height concentrated in one area.
He gives Sam a wry smile and holds the door open for the man to enter out of the weird storms and find them a suitable seat.
Sam's had a little experience running in a crowd of tall men. Both his father and his brother are similarly lengthy and lean, although Sam's the tallest by inches. He's heard all the jokes, and he's struggled plenty to reach the bottom shelf without giving himself troubles, although he's never heard this particular prediction.
Then they shouldn't have put us here together.
Inside, Sam is quick to slough off the weather outside, more like dog out of the bath in action than he has any right, he shakes out his hair and peels away some extra layers.
This is the worst time to go looking for a job. A lot of the small farms are on lockdown right now.
Maybe Wrench has noticed. Sam relies on that income at the moment and while he understands why he hasn't developed the necessary relationships to be asked to stay out the weather, he still needs to eat and he still needs to work. Figuring this man is in a similar situation, all he can do to repay the uninvited bitching is share what meager meal he has ahead.
Been trying to find the pattern in that, but so far there’s nothing. I couldn’t say why I got brought to a territory with a sentient raccoon or living gods. I’m just a person
Wrench shrugs his shoulders as he pulls out the seat across from Sam and slumps into it. It’s already been a rough few days of trying to keep his shelter from falling into ruin and leaving him completely to the elements, and the tavern proves a nice respite, even if it is a little more populated than he tends to like. Naturally, he hunches his shoulders as he sits and considers Sam with a raised eyebrow.
Making excuses for not picking up the tab already? It’s fine. Get what you want.
[In the weeks following this post, Wrench will receive an embroidered badge, designating them part of Aloy’s monster hunting crew. There doesn’t seem to be anything special about it—it can be sewn anywhere the wearer likes, and appears to have been stitched with a practiced hand.
If the wearer is incapacitated, a spell woven into the threads by Haelva will activate, allowing the user to send an emergency message to another member of the group—use it wisely.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mid-month crismas gift
He tied a bow in red shiny ribbon on one of the rabbit carcasses. ]
mail delivery •
a neat box lies at the bottom, though, and once unwrapped and stretched out, it will reveal a leather bag. it is quite roomy, and wrench might find that it was given with the thought that he might need on-the-go storage. it's been enchanted so that no matter what wrench fits in it, it'll never be too heavy; one's got to be spry and nimble while out in the wild, right?
a small note sits under the box.]
post-EPULUM
More and more, he can't help but wonder if perhaps it's the Summoned's presence that's caused such turmoil and strife. He's admittedly missed a good portion of the time spent with Abraxas and the Singularity — a year-almost-two his brother had been around stretched back to the start of it — but stories passed around from beforehand never seemed to feel quite so massive, industrious, global.
He's got these thoughts in his head when he passes through an alleyway, face ducked against the charging wind and cold sleet cutting nearly sideways through the air. It had been rain earlier, and dust the day before. A vertiably unhinged temper tamtrum on the part of whatever was controlling this literal maelstrom.
He's looking for no one in particular when he spots a familiar hulk and slides in behind the man as he enters a dimly lit tavern. Reaching out, he gives a chilly double-tap to Wrench's shoulder in an attempt to get his attention without looking (even more) like an idiot.
no subject
And if a little weather is as bad as it gets? Well, that really isn't so bad after all. He can deal with the sky's odd temper tantrums if it means being the beneficiary of everything else that comes with life in Solvunn. The people he's come to know, the magic - however juvenile - he can do. A few lightning storms are a small price to pay for the privilege of not having to look over his shoulder every single day.
Except, of course, that Wrench still hasn't bothered to secure a permanent residence for himself. It's not for lack of options; only that the idea of having a home to call his own is still too foreign to him. Most days he prefers to sleep in the woods surrounding one of the further settlements, but lately it's been difficult to keep shelter over his head and the elements out. Finding a little respite in the tavern isn't the worst thing in the world. He'll have a couple of drinks, maybe even a hot meal, and then consider what he'll do for the night.
It's the tap on the shoulder that makes Wrench turn around. He's expecting to look down, but he finds himself looking dead into the other man's eyes instead, and Wrench purses his lips in surprise and confusion. Hey, he signs.
no subject
Sorry. His addition comes with heartfelt eyebrows and he points at himself, throws nothing with his dominant hand back over his shoulder, and then signs his apology again. I'm sorry for what I did in the past, that's what he's trying to say, but with a vocabulary of half a yuppie baby, it might not be as clear as all that. The words appear fairly quickly after Sam's attempts, not wanting to drive Wrench away before he can make an offer.
no subject
Food wasn't at the forefront of his mind tonight. Sure, he lets the tavern serve him from time to time, and by now he's pretty well convinced they aren't trying to poison him. Nor does he anticipate that they'll do so accidentally; in fact, the food is pretty damn good for a man who mostly eats charred fish and offal when left to his own devices. But Sam's mere mention of the lingering possibility of a hot meal makes Wrench's stomach gurgle hopefully, so he's made his reply even before he's shaped any words in his mind.
He gives Sam a wry smile and holds the door open for the man to enter out of the weird storms and find them a suitable seat.
no subject
no subject
Wrench shrugs his shoulders as he pulls out the seat across from Sam and slumps into it. It’s already been a rough few days of trying to keep his shelter from falling into ruin and leaving him completely to the elements, and the tavern proves a nice respite, even if it is a little more populated than he tends to like. Naturally, he hunches his shoulders as he sits and considers Sam with a raised eyebrow.
no subject
If the wearer is incapacitated, a spell woven into the threads by Haelva will activate, allowing the user to send an emergency message to another member of the group—use it wisely.]