Open | November

[wwrench]

WHO: wwrench + OPEN TO ANYONE
WHEN: November
WHERE: Solvunn + Horizon + Nocwich
WHAT: Fortifying for winter and doing some shady (?) shit, setting up his Horizon and offering some ASL lessons, and general exploration
WARNINGS: TBD - will be marked and added as they appear

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COMMUNICATION FAQ
If you'd like to plot a closed starter with Wrench, catch me at stickyholograms

Comments

SOLVUNN.

[wwrench]

preparations

While Wrench has mostly settled into a new way of life in the months since his arrival, the man has not as quickly adopted anything that might fairly be considered a home.

He's no stranger to winters spent among the elements, and past experience has left him with a healthy respect for the whims of nature he knows he can no better predict than control. As November creeps in, Wrench can be found preparing himself for the following months with all the urgency of someone who knows better than to rely on anyone else for his own wellbeing.

That means hunting and fishing for what meat he can fell with his miniature tomahawk, or whatever weaponry he's been able to whittle, borrow, or liberate. Wrench has also taken to foraging and trading the flora and fauna native and plentiful to Solvunn that might fill a person's belly or season their meals.

Nothing goes to waste. Hides are scraped, soaked, and tanned, pelts are skinned and stretched, and blood is collected in containers for an unspoken use all its own. If there's something he has that you want, Wrench is open to offers. Trade him for clothing, supplies, or teach him some magic.

gods

Should paths cross, one might find Wrench making infrequent but surreptitious trips to the Offering Grove, around a bowl that managed to survive the damage caused by the Darkhounds. While he may appear to both arrive and leave empty-handed, after his departure the once-empty bowl might be seen bearing bits of animal entrails, macerated bone, and blood.

Or maybe he's nowhere near the shrines at all. Perhaps he's in the middle of a gathering -- a feast or a dinner or a collaborative build -- when all of a sudden Wrench stops and seems to pay his whole focus to someone in the crowd. The object of his attentions may appear innocuous enough, but something about the way the tall man stares at them makes it seem like he can't make heads or tails of whatever it is they're doing at the moment.

preparations

[nomnoms]

Blood in containers?

Although Nanaue spends most of his time in the Primary Settlement, there are days when he wanders to the south while hunting, trailing long distances on the trail of wild boars. Some of the hunters have even suggested to him (gently) that he widen his range, in the hope that his appetites don't conflict with the settlement's own needs.

Maybe Wrench is only just returning from a task when he notices a familiar silhouette standing close to a container. Nanaue is chomping down on the hind leg of some beast, tearing the remaining flesh from bone and peering into the container. He stops eating for a moment to turn to the approaching figure, waving with the same hand holding the half-eaten leg.

[wwrench]

For better or worse (though mostly the latter), Wrench has had a fair few more run-ins with various creatures since his initial meeting with Nanaue when he first arrived. "Creature" may be an unfairly broad descriptor for a category that spans from talking raccoons and women with fish scales to Darkhounds and skeletal beasts. He's trying to draw more specific categorizations in his mind, and the last month spent with the Dracone has gone a long way toward helping, but there's no pretending this all isn't still a little strange for the man.

That much is evidenced in the way he recoils when his approach back to his makeshift home base puts him face-to-face with the enormous man-shark. There's a split second where Wrench worries about what Nanaue has found. Not because he thinks the other might raid his supply of offal and ichor, but because he's somehow worried that whatever he just finished processing might've been a... friend... of Nanaue's.

Except clearly not, if his casual snack is any evidence. Wrench raises a hand in return, and approaches a little more slowly.

Hi. You can read?

[nomnoms]

Even if a creature was once a 'friend', as soon as it stops breathing it is difficult for Nanaue to distinguish the body from 'food'. Only a month or two ago was he partially stopped from feeding on the corpses of villagers left behind by the flower-head monster. Nero had tried to explain to him that some friends would be upset to find the bodies eaten, and would rather bury them.

To him, this seems like a waste of nom noms, but he conceded to Nero's argument.

As the text flashes across the nearest surface - the ground, he carefully reads it to himself before looking up at Wrench again.

ME GOOD READ
THIS YOU DRINK?

He points with the leg at the blood container.

[wwrench]

Wrench breathes a sigh of relief. He tries not to always pay attention to the texts that appear in his periphery, but it's hard to ignore the easiest way they all have of communicating when the messages refuse to fade if not acknowledged. He'd thought he'd seen a message from Nanaue pop up from time to time, and while he doubts the shark might count it among his most favored means of making himself understood, it's a good thing to have.

A good reader indeed. Wrench gives the tall shark a thumbs-up, wondering if it's a gesture he's familiar with. The gesture at the container draws his attention to what he's been working on.

Me drink? No. Gods like blood, right?

Wrench regrets the question almost as soon as he's asked it. He doesn't know what Nanaue might know or be able to share about the Gods, but he's shown more of his hand than he might have liked to.

[nomnoms]

He must be familiar, because Nanaue offers back his own thumbs up in response rather quickly and with enthusiasm on his face.

This will be a slow conversation, though. When the new message appears, he puzzles over it. His reading and spelling has improved greatly in the months since he first began to learn, but he still has his limitations. Unfortunately, none of his child helpers are here to assist him today.

No ?
GIVE ME?
SHARE?
I SHARE

He steps forward to try to hand Wrench the rest of his snack.

preparation

[carmesi]

Wanda does not go up to Wrench for anything in particular. She isn't without her own supplies, and whatever she might be without she can create one way or the other. Still, it doesn't make her any less happy to be able to go up to him and practice what she's been learning from him during moments when nothing at all happens.

She signs a hello, feeling comfortable enough with the basics, and motions to the basket on her back. Putting her hands up for him to give her a moment, she starts again, shoulders straight and hands moving about as she signs the word honey.

With another pause, she manages to sign— Do you want some? Wanda can't think of the word for 'jar' at the moment, but that should suffice.

[wwrench]

The smile that crosses Wrench's face may be brief, but it's earnest. He settles his expression when the moment passes and gives her a cursory nod until he can clear his hands of the knife he's been using to scrape at a small bone. He cleans the blade on the grass and stuffs it back into his waistband before offering her a more intentional hey.

Most people in Solvunn have been more patient with him than he might have expected, but Wanda has gone beyond that. In the short time he's been here, she's sat with him and taken care to explain her thoughts and give him background on what's happened in the commune. Even when they have had to make heavy use of her telepathy for their own mutual understanding, she's been patient and respectful. Wrench might not know it if she ever saw more in his mind than what he thinks he's let her, but if she's caught a glimpse of anything that he hasn't wanted her to, she's never given him any indication of it.

The offer perks him up immediately. There are plenty of uses for honey -- more medical than culinary, even -- and he doesn't have the knowledge or the skills to brave collecting or processing it. But as quickly as he shows interest, Wrench tempers himself again.

Trade? His hands mimic an exchange of objects. What do you need?

[carmesi]

Wanda blinks several times as he signs back at her, her eyes remaining fixed on his gestures, brow furrowing—this really is like learning another language. Once she puts together the words in her head, she shakes it.

Another lesson.

The shake of her head was to signify that she didn't want to exchange it for an object, per se, but rather for the abstract concept of another class.

I need to practice more. That's what she intends to say, but her signing falls a little short, like she's not confident enough about it. The main gist is there, though. Reaching into the basket, she grabs hold of the jar of honey, and hands it over. Claire has more.

Names was one of the first things she had asked to learn, especially of those here in Solvunn.

[wwrench]

Wanda's offer hardly feels like an exchange. Either direction he considers it from, Wrench thinks he stands to gain from it. He's found -- maybe to his own surprise -- that the lessons he's offered a few of Solvunn's summoned have been received eagerly. Even more than that, it hasn't been difficult for Wrench to teach a few phrases in passing, or to sit with someone as they learn even more proactively. He's actually liked it. The time he's spent has given him people to talk with, and being able to share his language with them has made him feel more connected than he's felt since he can remember.

Honey and ASL lessons both serve him well. Seeing Claire's name on Wanda's hands makes him smile to himself. Surely the woman who's processed the honey knows all about its medicinal benefits, well beyond anything she might just be putting in her tea. Now he knows that he could go to Claire if he ever were to need it, but privately Wrench thinks that it's good to have a jar on hand in case she's the one in need of patching up.

Thank you, he signs when he takes the jar from Wanda. He knows he could supplement telepathically, but for now he sticks to reinforcing what he thinks she already knows. His signing is slow and deliberate. You're doing a good job. You understand a lot.

The clearing where he's been working is littered with the remnants of a few small animals Wrench has mostly finished butchering. By the remaining pelts, they look to be about the size of rabbits. He stands like he might be able to mask his work by getting a little further away from it. I will teach you more. I enjoy that.

[carmesi]

There's a bit of a huff as she sees him waffling with the idea that what she asks is not something he'd want to exchange—not because he doesn't want her to learn, but because he doesn't think it's fair, or something. She's attentive, though, as Wrench signs again. Wanda can tell that he is making it easy for her to understand, taking care of his vocabulary, but there's a bit of a pleased look to her when he tells her that she's doing a good job.

She copies his gestures to sign I enjoy it, too.

Though Wanda only needs to lean to the side a bit to be able to see what he's trying to—poorly—hide. She steps around him, then, towards his little workspace area. He can only see her back now, but Wanda doesn't say anything. It just pleases her to see that he's adapting well.

That his being unable to hear doesn't put him at a disadvantage in how dangerous Solvunn can, at times, be. Turning again, she curls her hands into fists, like she's bracing herself for a longer string of words to sign.

I went to school until I was ten. I like learning. Be honest with me. Not easy on mistakes.

While she is uncertain how to sign certain things, she is doing her best to try and circumvent the lack of vocabulary—or simply words she may have forgotten. Is it any surprise, though, that she sends him a message through her telepathy?

Just a small break. You've been busy.

gods;

[dogmeats]

It isn't his first time wandering carefully around the paths that surround the Offering Grove, nor is Wrench the first person he's stumbled across making their offerings to shrines. It doesn't put him off the way it might put off most folks — where he's from, worship of the old and new gods is fairly common. Less common but still something he's familiar with are the offerings made to the Lord of Light, beasts thrown into the fire to satisfy the flames. Religion marrying brutality, sacrifice in the form of flesh, these aren't new concepts.

If anything, he's more surprised by who it is doing the offering. The Lady Witch made sense to him, she seems the closest to a Fire Priestess this place can conceive of. Wrench, on the other hand...

Not but a few moments after Wrench makes his bloody offering, he'll receive a message.

DIDN'T PEG YOU FOR THE GODLY SORT.

Sandor's a few paces away in the treeline, a casual hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the other settled comfortably at his waist. Watching, warily.

[wwrench]

As far as Wrench can tell, belief has always been a useless concept. Nothing has ever been more or less so simply because he believed in it. That doesn't mean, however, that religion has played no part in the man's life to date. True, he's experienced it only tertiarily -- first through the eyes of his partner Grady's grandmother and later through Hanzee. And maybe he could have learned to appreciate the culture and the community and the ritual of it all if he'd been given enough time, but mostly what Wrench has come to learn is that it, like everything else in life, is transactional.

Give and take. A price and a reward. Do for me and I'll do for you. It may reduce the whims of the Gods to something profoundly human, but at least it's comprehensible. And Wrench knows what he's meant to do. It's easier when the expectations are clear.

Since arriving at Solvunn he's met men who have claimed to be Gods in their own right, and Gods who have claimed to be women. Maybe they're all liars or maybe it's all true. The simple fact is that it's easy enough to do what he's been asked. It gives Wrench purpose and if it grants him a bit of protection, all the better.

He deposits what he's brought into the untarnished basin in the middle of the spiraling grove and wipes his hands clean of blood. He's still crouched when the message comes through. Wrench would be a lot more startled by it if he didn't recognize the handwriting. Something in his expression shifts from anger to wariness to amusement and he stands.

Didn't peg you for a voyeur either, but here we are. Or here I am. Where the hell are you?

[dogmeats]

For as large of a man as he is, Sandor's always been surprisingly graceful. He moves lightly, doesn't make much noise, doesn't disturb the environment around him unless he means to. It shouldn't be so easy for him to go unnoticed, but often it is. Probably a little easier here, with Wrench occupied and Sandor's footsteps largely rendered irrelevant.

Watching's what he does. Standing silent in the background and just observing had been one of the most significant aspects of his job as a Kingsguard, and it's an easy habit to fall back into. He is, in many ways, very much a voyeur.

Fun as it might be to fuck with the guy, his answer comes after only a couple of silent seconds.

TURN AROUND, YOU NANCE.

He shifts vaguely in his stance against the tree, just enough to draw a little more attention to himself with the movement. Nothing so cheerful as a wave, of course — it's a half of a nod at best, if you're feeling charitable.

[wwrench]

It's a misstep on Wrench's part, the kind that might've cost him his life if anyone here were gunning for it. He's spent the last decade of his life fending for himself and laying low. Only once or twice has he gotten sloppy enough that it's nearly cost him his freedom, which is better odds than the danger he faced daily when he was working for Fargo. Still, he knows it only takes one slip-up. One tiny mistake, enough for a clear shot, and it's over in an instant. Sandor might not have reason but he doesn't seem like the type to need it, as far as Wrench is concerned. This ought to teach him to be more careful.

He doesn't turn around immediately, mostly because he's loath to appear like the other man can give him any kind of command. Wrench spares a moment to straighten out the Darkwolf fur he's wrapped around his shoulders. Sandor can wait a few seconds for him to finish preening before he finally faces the man. When he does, the corner of his mouth edges up in a half-smirk.

Aw, were you looking out for me? He gestures vaguely in the direction of the man's sword.

Preparations

[lightkeeping]

Even without the semi-recent gathering at her compound, Aloy likes to pay attention to all the things that go on in the woods, both for her own safety and to stay ahead of any potential threats to the settlements. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Wrench seems to be preparing for a winter outside of civilization (such as it is), and Aloy keeps tabs on it, simply because it’s prudent to do so.

And he does seem like he knows what he’s doing, which is also good. She got that sense upon their first meeting, but seeing him in action makes her a little more heartened that he’s not going to end up in a bad spot, if he’s out here when the weather turns.

Hey.

She projects the words where he can see them, and then offers a raised hand in greeting and a tight-lipped smile (more a function of her own awkwardness than displeasure at the company).

Looks like you’ve been busy. Did you want a hand?

[wwrench]

If Aloy senses any wariness from Wrench, it might be easily explained away with everything that transpired at the last gathering for the new summoned. Her homestead made for a surprising locale, but there was no mistaking the man’s delight at his surroundings for the time he spent there. A few spoils of that evening still remained — the felled hogs were the first to give Wrench the idea of collecting their offal, and the big man made off with a couple of their skins for his trouble, too. Much as he tried to set right some of the snares and traps the chaos had triggered, he can’t say for certain they left her place as good as they found it.

So when he sees her now, maybe he’s half-expecting a lecture. Wrench sets down the knife and wipes a few remnants of blood from his hands onto the grass before offering his own wave by way of greeting.

I won’t say no, if you have the time. Not sure what winters in Solvunn look like, but I thought I should get ready.

Gods - gathering - late with starbucks

[divinityfrompain]

Julia is at one of the group dinners and she's getting a drink when she spots Wrench staring at someone. Her head turns to try and figure out who he's looking at, because it seems like a strange glance and she wonders if there's trouble, but after not making heads or tails of it, she walks over to him. She sets her food and drink on the table and then turns to face him.

Are you okay? I saw you looking.

She has learned a little more sign language thanks to his enormous patience and her determination to give him some conversation that isn't only mental. It'll take a while for her to get up to a level where they can actually talk fluidly, but Julia is determined to get there. Wrench seems (to her) like a good person who never knew magic so he must be doubly at a loss here, compared to most.

Dark hair is in braids and she turns again to look toward where she thinks he was, now that she's closer to him and the angles are better, but nothing is standing out to her. She glances back at him quickly so she doesn't miss a sign though.

[wwrench]

It feels prudent to try to fit in; now that Wrench is sure there’s no escaping this place he’s got to find better ways of conducting himself. So far, no one here seems terribly put off my his presence in Solvunn. It’s a relief to think that perhaps he’s managed to outrun his previous reputation, even temporarily. In fact, Wrench is startled to find that he’s invited to most tables. The conversation might be a little bit lacking, but it doesn’t stop the general members of the commune themselves from looking over what he has to trade and inviting him to drink.

Tonight, he’s probably not making the best impression. Sure, Wrench often finds himself staring into space, overwhelmed by the conversations flowing around him and disinterested in interjecting too much to try to keep up. But this expression isn’t one of boredom or detachment; it’s too pointed for that. The man he’s captured under his gaze looks no more than 20 years old. For all intents and purposes, he doesn’t seem the least bit out of place. There’s a small group around him, all of whom seem to be friendly with each other. They’re sharing a laugh over some story that someone’s told, and the man seems neither to be trying to stand out nor hide away.

Wrench glances up when Julia sits down, then double-takes when she raises her hands to sign. Fine, comes his dismissive reply, so casual and immediate that it doesn’t look like he’ll revise it. But after several seconds he takes a long drink and narrows his eyes thoughtfully at the woman across from him.

Is your magic all back?

[divinityfrompain]

Julia has also found this place very welcoming and it creeped her out a little in the start, it was very Midsommar to her, but she's convinced now that they are genuinely nice. She's become an active babysitter and has been using her earth magic for the harvest, wherever she can. It's about to become winter and they're storing up for when the earth freezes. She has no idea if there's snow here, but she hopes so.

Her attention shifts to the youth she thinks he's looking at but nothing stands out about him. Maybe he's just staring off into space, she does that frequently herself. Especially when she's out in the woods or at the shrines, absorbed in her thoughts rather than what is happening in front of her. They're not close enough to push on the matter so she'll let it be.

Instead of a sign, she gives two big thumbs up to say her own type of 'yes' with a grin. Her magic is back which might be good but it's not always. She sometimes feels filled to the brim with power with no outlet.

Have you learned? Magic, she means. Luckily he doesn't seem to mind that she is still very much a beginner with signing.

[wwrench]

If there's anything Wrench has learned of late, it's how much of this place he still doesn't understand. He's had a couple of missteps lately. Said the wrong thing as though it were fact, only to be told he's totally off base about it. It's a lucky thing the tall man doesn't have much in the way of an ego. He's well versed in misunderstanding, but it still leaves him with a certain realization that he's not exactly fitting in here. Whatever's happening to him -- whatever's trapped his attentions that he can't quite sort out -- he doesn't know who to tell about it, or even if he should.

So he offers Julia a noncommittal shake of his head. Not much, he admits. Someone he met told him that Thorne is stuffed to the gills with books, but he hasn't tried to find as many here. I've been getting ready for winter.

Arguably wiser, but not nearly as fulfilling. Not that Wrench has ever spent much time concerning himself with enrichment when the mere act of survival has taken up most of his time. But he's starting to see how the rules of his old life don't apply here. He nurses another drink from his glass and tips his head at Julia. Do you think you could teach me?

foraging!

[beautifullies]

It shouldn't come as a surprise that Claire's out in the woods and when she sees Wrench, she has a fond greeting for him in the form of a warm smile and greeting in his mind.

𝑊𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑝 𝑚𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠, 𝑝𝑒𝑜𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘. She's certainly only teasing, and gives a wave of her fingers once he's facing her. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡'𝑣𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑎𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜 𝑓𝑎𝑟, 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑣𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒?

[wwrench]

Wrench is not so distracted by his work that he doesn’t take note of Claire’s approach, but he lets the woman’s words be the first thing that raises his gaze from the bundles of foraged flora he’s preparing for what he expects to be a harsh winter. A smile edges at the corner of his lips for her joke, silent appreciation passing for a response that he doesn’t give in words. But he dusts off his hands and sets back from the tidy little piles to meet her eyes.

Glad to see you with all of your blood inside your body.

Actually, yes. A few things.

He gestures to a plant he’s collected that looks almost like a bundle of flowers with dark tubers and winged leaf blades. Protruding from the long stems are a smatterng of flower buds, some red and some a blue-ish purple.

[beautifullies]

She's always eager to inspect things and she makes her way to his collection, kneeling down. Since his stitching to save her life, Claire's been trying to find a way to thank him that's meaningful without being too much. So before she begins exploring his finds, she looks at him and brushes her hands off before signing (imperfectly and haltingly) a sentence.

"Thank you for keeping me alive, Wrench," she signs, then looks at him with a half cringe. 𝐻𝑜𝑝𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙𝑦, 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠𝑛'𝑡 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑𝑦 𝑎𝑤𝑓𝑢𝑙. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒'𝑠 𝑎 𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝐴𝑆𝐿 𝑡𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡. Still, it was important to her to try, and if she can find anyone who knows more, or a book that actually goes into more detail than what seemed to be very basic and scattered information, she'll try to learn.

𝐵𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑀𝑖𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑒𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑙 𝑚𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑠𝑜 𝐼'𝑚 𝑛𝑜 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑤𝑒𝑎𝑟. 𝐴𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑟𝑒𝑒 𝐶𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛. 𝐴𝑡 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒.

[wwrench]

To say that Wrench is surprised might be an understatement. Since his arrival, he’s met more people than he ever could have expected with knowledge of ASL. Yet any time someone raises their hands to respond to him, he finds himself almost knocked off guard by the action. It’s a hard thing to realize that he’s had more conversations since being summoned here than he has in the sum total of the rest of his life. He never could have inspired this kind of effort from the people around him back in Minnesota. Not his family, nor the syndicate.

It’s no problem. The absent reply is so casual it’s almost thoughtless, but there’s an ease that comes with signing back to Claire that might not be quite as evident in the brain texting. He looks more himself when he signs, though when they switch over his eyebrows raise with curiosity.

No, I’m impressed. You learned that yourself?

What does that mean? What did they do for you?