• OPEN •

[carmesi]

WHO: anyone and everyone in solvunn
WHAT: mingle for the summoned, particularly the new people
WHEN: a day or two after the new summoned arrive
WHERE: in aloy's homestead—crossing some wilderness but close to the primary settlement
WARNING: TBA

A. THE JOURNEY THERE

The invitation to Aloy’s homestead is made shortly after the newly Summoned find their bearings within the Primary Settlement. Aloy begrudgingly agrees to it, but seeing as how their group has grown within Solvunn—it probably is for the best to be a little more open to the presence of others. Much like with the treehouse by the lakes, it’s good to know of another place further away from the settlements where the Summoned might feel comfortable enough to traverse into.

That is not to say that the homestead is very friendly to strangers, though. Aloy has set up tripwires, disguised pitfalls, snare traps, and other devices in the surrounding area, creating thus a challenging attempt for anyone who wants to travel there by themselves. Additionally, a way to avoid most of that (read: not all; consider it a bonus for getting close to the homestead) is to go through the arboreal parkour course that has been set up. A network of catwalks, platforms, and balancing ropes to traverse the woods. Reaching Aloy’s truly is a test of guts and skill. 


(Alternatively, travel with Wanda or Himeka—the path clears up for them. For the ballsy, follow Nero and Rocket; surely they aren’t scheming anything…)

And, past all of that, the woods will open up to a tall, spiky fence, about eight feet tall, and the gate will lead towards the homestead proper.

B. HOME SWEET HOMESTEAD

The seasons are turning, and while Solvunn doesn’t suffer from incredibly cold winters, there is definitely a chill in the air. Storm clouds in the distance by the coast rupture with booming thunder, bringing down the temperature quite significantly. It makes the bonfire burning outside a welcome source of warmth. Despite the threat of rain, there’s a strong chance the skies will clear up, as the wind picks up.

Within, Aloy’s homestead boasts the woman’s survival and technical skills. Making the most of her resources, there are meats hanging to dry, chopped wood on the side of the house, and animal skins splayed out that will most likely need to be stored at some point. The inside of the homestead is a simple affair, but for someone who isn’t in the business of receiving guests, it’s decent enough.

For today, the space—inside and outside—has a few extra wooden chairs and tables, picnic style, and they’re decorated with an assortment of food: recently harvested apples from the orchard, berries, roasted mushrooms and acorns, and more complex dishes thanks to Himeka’s arduous work in the kitchen the day before. At one point, a giant stew will cook over the bonfire, with meats and veggies, with bowls to the side for anyone to take their fill. Additionally, there will be grilled fish, flat breads, baked cabbage with lentils and, for those with a sweet tooth, apple pie. Wanda will also be sharing sarmale, a pot of goulash, spinach and cheese pastry—gibanica, and a table of assortments to build their own burgers. Additionally, there will also be apple cake and mandelbrot cookies. All in all? No one’s going hungry at the homestead.

But, worry not, all that food needs to go down with something. Barrels of mead and ale will be available for all to drink. For those who don’t want anything alcoholic, there is apple (and other fruit) juice available.

Make merry and mingle, new faces and old faces alike.

And, of course, please take one of the pamphlets.

C. THE STORM THAT IS APPROACHING

Lightning strikes, and almost immediately the boom of thunder brings an eerie quiet to the homestead and the forest past its fences. There’s the awkward laugh the tries to break the silence, shaking the jitters away. Some are quicker than others in mobilizing, perhaps feeling the pinprick of raindrops that others don’t, and start moving what they can salvage from the food and miscellaneous items into the cabin. Some may choose to spare themselves of the rain, pushing the way inside or hiding under the roof’s awning at either side of the cabin; others may be entirely unbothered by the rain, as heavy drops fall fast from the darkened skies.

More thunder rumbles in the distance, roiling ever closer from the mountains in Thorne’s southern border.

A few Summoned might notice it first, that it isn’t really the rumbling of thunder that shakes the muddled earth. The grunts of approaching beasts are mixed with the sound of hooves drumming up in rhythm of an uninvited approach. Birds fly away in flocks as the mammoth boars make their way through the forest, inadvertently towards the homestead.

They are due their mating season, and traveling to the wintry mountains of Thorne has been delayed by the appearance of the beasts in the rifts, the journey now a toll on the boars as the continuous lighting and thunder confuses, frightens, and angers them.

They ram into the fence at different points, and chaos would soon ensue, but thankfully all the Summoned have their powers back.

Right?

D. CLEARING UP

After a few boars were felled, the rest scrambled and escaped, continued their path northward. Killing some of them was inevitable, but nothing ought to be left to waste. The skies clear, the waning moon appears over a colorful sunset, and the rain stops. The fire is built again in earnest, and meat is, quite literally, back on the menu at the grilling station, as per Nero’s helpful suggestion. Some fences need a little mending, and a general amount of cleaning up within the homestead needs to be done, too.

As sunset gives way to nighttime, the sky—once marred in dark tones of gray—gives way to a beautiful night sky, with stars and constellations to be delighted by many. Wanda will be offering to dry the wet clothes of those still sticking around, and Himeka hands over warm cocoa or warm cider, something for everyone.

Now that things have quieted down, and with folk sitting around the fire or standing just by the edges of it, Rocket and Wanda inform everyone of the letter from the Nether that they received—something, perhaps, so they can get a general idea of what everyone thinks; about getting involved, about helping, about Solvunn’s interests in all this. It’s not meant to start an argument, debate, or a long conversation, but it’s something to have everyone think about — to know that they might be sent off somewhere else, soon, for a while, and brace for the trip.

Those who have been in Solvunn for a lot longer will be around, to ask questions or start a conversation about what has happened, what is currently happening, and theories for their futures, here.

Aloy didn’t mention anyone can stay to sleep, though, so best feel ready to head back at some point.

Comments

[wwrench]

All Sandor's protestations prove to Wrench is that the man must not be a very good aim. That assumption seems validated when he chucks the tomahawk nearly a foot away. It's still closer than he'd be comfortable letting just anyone sling a sharp object at him, but when he's assured that his toes are all safe, Wrench levies a grin back to the other man.

We don't carry swords in the 21st century. Never even held one. I could do with a gun, though. But don't blame me because you're a bad shot.

Wrench is about halfway through the message when that long, fixed blade cleaves the boar just above its shoulders. He watches the head separate from the rest of the body in a single smooth motion, and his face says everything that needs to be said: maybe swords are cool after all.

Not to be outdone, though, Wrench pulls out two identical daggers and chucks them into an approaching boar. One hits near the lungs, while the other pierces a little further down, towards its liver.

How many weapons does Wrench carry on him? One may never know.

[dogmeats]

His face screws up into something blatantly confused; half of what this man says is as foreign to him as parts of that fucking pamphlet earlier. Twenty-first century, gun. The fuck is a gun? A weapon of some sort, he's assuming — maybe like a bow, if it involves shooting.

Never even held a sword. The fuck's he even any good for, then? Man of his size ought to know how to actually do something with all that mass, and it's being wasted on a bloody hand-axe.

The daggers are at least an improvement. Still a woman's weapon.

At any rate, the thick of it is no time for conversation. The two of them work in near proximity, if for no other reason than the logical advantage it provides. Having someone at your back means you're not likely to get flanked from behind; they can take out any beasts that get too close to the other from their sides, out of eye shot. It's an efficient system, and as a former soldier, he reluctantly admits to appreciating that. Been a long time since he's fought anything but solo.

And, frankly, he'd feel a lot better if the man had a real weapon.

When finally the bloodshed calms and the last of the rampaging beasts are felled, Sandor lowers his weapon, panting.

After he catches his breath, at length, he gestures absently to Wrench with the flat of his blade.

WE'RE GETTING YOU A FUCKING SWORD, YOU TWAT.

[wwrench]

Wrench might disagree with that point too; the thick of it is a perfect conversation when that conversation comes as easily as thinking. But he's easily influenced out of the combative chatter when he finds what Sandor has also discovered. They make a pretty good team. It's been a long time since he's had someone to work alongside. Even back when he had a dedicated partner, Wrench always found himself acting more like the muscle while Numbers ran his mouth. But here he feels like he can trust Sandor implicitly, and that's a big relief for a man who can't hear when something is coming up behind him especially.

They make quick work of the boars. Others are doing the same, and some of the animals are taken by the traps while still others manage to escape to complete their migration. Still, by the time everything is still and quiet again, it's a lot of meat and a lot of hide. Wrench stalks to the last one he's felled and takes back his tomahawk, pulling it from the clean shot in the animal's middle. Sandor's words appear on the beast's hide, and he's laughing even before he turns around.

I'm assuming you'll show me how to use it. Now, do you know how to skin and carve these up, or am I going to have to do that all by myself too?

[dogmeats]

They're not friends, and if Sandor has anything to say about it they never will be (but then again, he'd had the same thoughts about Arya Stark and, later, Dondarrion and Thoros, and look how that turned out). Even so, they don't need to be friends for Sandor to have at least some interest in keeping the curly haired cunt from dying to wayward boar. For one, he's the only man here Sandor's found he can tolerate drinking near. Maybe just because he doesn't fucking talk, but still.

He would like to emphasize, none of this means he likes the fucker. Just for the record.

OF COURSE I CAN SKIN A FUCKING BOAR.

It's accompanied by an eye roll of ever so faint annoyance, and he hoists one of the massive beasts up onto one shoulder, carrying it away from the treeline and closer toward the encampment, just in case any last minute stragglers decide to burst forth and avenge their fallen brethren.

He starts the butchering process with one of the knives he swipes from the dining tables. After a few minutes of working in companionable silence, he finally breaks it with an unexpected spike of curiosity.

WHAT THE HELLS IS A GUN?

[wwrench]

Hefting a boar isn't quite the same as a deer or an elk or even a person, and Wrench watches Sandor carry one off to the knife with some admiration. After he's gathered back his own blades he makes quick work of a second, albeit slightly smaller one. Fortunately, Aloy's homestead might be the best place for this to have happened, and he easily finds some rope and a tree sturdy enough to hang it by. After piercing it through the hooves and stringing it up, Wrench gets to work on his own.

By the end, there won't be any waste. The partygoers can enjoy the fresh meat and if anyone has want of the blood he's drained that for keeping too. For Wrench's part, he takes what he assumes no one else will go looking for: the offal is set aside to be packed up for the journey back. And while Aloy probably deserves the majority of the hides for the trouble that's come to her doorstep tonight, Wrench plans to take one of them for himself.

He works quietly, but not without the occasional glance to Sandor to either study or snort over his technique.

It's a weapon that causes an explosion that shoots a little piece of lead into something. If Sandor doesn't know what a gun is, he's not sure how far to go into explaining the rest of it. Fast and effective, and you can use it from far off.

[dogmeats]

Points to Wrench for having the knowledge of how to gut and skin a boar. There's a fair few folk Sandor knows who couldn't do it if they tried. Most city-dwellers never have to hunt for their food, and a good lot of country folk don't skin anything bigger than rabbits or squirrels, save maybe the occasional deer. These are bigger, heftier, harder. Wrench might not be able to swing a sword (yet), but at least he can do something useful.

Bit curious what he plans to do with those organs, but fuck if Sandor plans to ask. Instead, he considers the explanation for a long minute, before deciding:

SOUNDS LIKE A COWARD'S WEAPON

Just like bows are a coward's weapon, wielded by nances afraid to get too close to the action. Can't say he's a fan of the concept of holding something that explodes, either — for personal but likely obvious reasons.

[wwrench]

Some of Sandor's thoughts upon his arrival were not too dissimilar to Wrench's. While the man may never have explicitly thought that anyone meant to poison him, he has been avoiding most food to a near-comical degree. Even the spread prepared for tonight's party earned little more than a cursory glance from Wrench. So Sandor might be disappointed to know that Wrench simply plans to eat the organs. For the most part.

His explanation seems clear enough to allow the other man to pass a value judgment, and at it Wrench snorts through his nose. He doesn't seem angry at the implication, but any sense of amusement is well-tempered. It's not the first time someone's asserted as much to him before. Though most of the people who have cried about fair fights and "facing them like a man" turned into some of the most sniveling when their time came anyway.

Sometimes it's not about sport, just survival. You one of those guys who has to look into the eyes of all your victims? You find that poetic or something?

[dogmeats]

You know, there's something to be said for company that doesn't make much sound outside of laughing or snorting. Rather his ideal company, even if he's not so big a fan of reading as much as he has to when talking to the fucker.

The question seems to touch on something — not strike a nerve exactly, but something adjacent to the concept. He turns to face Wrench, leveling him with steady, unfliching eye contact.

AYE, I LIKE TO WATCH THE LIGHT LEAVE A MAN'S EYES, THEM KNOWING I'M THE ONE THAT DID IT. BUT THERE'S NOTHING FUCKING POETIC ABOUT IT.

Poetry, as far as he's concerned, is about flowers and love and metaphors and all that other horse shit. Poetry's meant to be beautiful, or sad. What Sandor feels instead is a grim, painful sort of satisfaction. It feels like catharsis, like an outlet for his anger, and simultaneously a vessel to remind himself that he's nothing but a fucking killer at the end of the day. A dog, that's only good for one thing.

But he won't be saying a bloody word of any of that.

THEY HAVE YOUR GUNS HERE?

[wwrench]

Wrench knows that look as it comes into Sandor's eyes

He's known a lot of men who posture about killing. Some who have never done it and never could, and some who simply like to pretend it doesn't impact them as much as it clearly has. They build up walls around themselves with their stories and repeat them over and over like wishing could make them true. It's exhausting. There's nothing Wrench hates more than men who love to talk about killing.

That's not what Sandor's doing, though. He sees it and he recognizes it and he goes a little quieter as a result. Several seconds pass where there's nothing but the sound of Wrench's blade being wiped over the wet grass and the sloshing of muck and hog's blood.

I don't know. Sounded halfway to a poem to me. "Aye" and "eye." You're already rhyming.

He half-expects to get elbowed in the head, but he bites back a grin anyhow.

No, there's no guns here. Just Gods.

[dogmeats]

Aye and eye — it earns a snort from him, unbidden. The closest he's come to a proper laugh since he arrived, probably. Gods damn it, he's right, and it's bloody absurd. He'll not dignify it with a written response, thanks very much, but if Wrench happens to be looking he'll catch the amusement — and only a slight temptation to elbow the fucker in the head.

Anyway, he's more concerned with the second part of this conversation — no guns. He figured as much, which leads him to his actual point:

THEN I SUPPOSE YOU'LL HAVE TO LEARN TO USE THAT SWORD AFTER ALL. IF YOU'RE GONNA STICK AROUND YOU MAY AS WELL BE USEFUL.

No fast and effective explosive lead from a safe, happy distance for you. The Gods aren't even worth commenting on. They've never done a bloody thing for Sandor before, why would they start now?

[wwrench]

Sandor may think that moment of levity has passed undetected, since Wrench can't hear the barely-concealed smirk. But he notes the way the other man's eyebrows soften. There's a moment of surprise mixed with amusement, and it's plenty more than enough to have Wrench biting back a self-satisfied grin all his own. Of course, it only lasts as long as the man's next statement to him. When those words appear, he's already rolling his eyes.

Text can't convey sarcasm, but Wrench lays down the knife he's been using and takes a moment to flick a few of the fat drops of blood that have accumulated down his hands. The damp grass beneath their feet is spattered in red.

Useful, huh? I'm glad you showed up to give my life some meaning. You have no idea how hard it is not to have any practical skills.

Evidently Wrench is also fluent in sarcasm.

fade it here, i think?

[dogmeats]

If one were to look closely, they might catch the hint of a smirk on Sandor's features. He doesn't bother looking up from his carving job, doesn't shoot a glance over at Wrench, but he's plenty amused by the retort.

No. I don't.

No practical skills? Couldn't be him. Can't relate.

They fall into a companionable quiet, and finish their butchering in peace. All things considered, he supposes, this stupid little party could've gone worse.