Logs:If I Had A Hammer And Anvil

If I Had A Hammer And Anvil
I'd make some people pay
Dramatis Personae Shane, Daiki, Erik	2023-05-11 If someone took him, I think they might wish Pa only had a blade. (followed by a presenting of arms)
Location <NYC> Freaktown - Riverdale
Around here, the low thrum of motorcycle engines (in all defiance of Biker Gang stereotypical attention-grabbing roar) and even quieter hum of gliding hoverbikes has become a readily identifiable signifier, as familiar as the chaotic string light highway, as the bustle and clamour of the town square, of the music and firelight of the evening circles. There are stray waves, hollered greetings, a general uptick of mood at the sight of the bike gliding low over the neighborhood, even without the iconic Jolly Roger emblem on its rider. In lieu of Mongrels gear Shane is, today, in finely-tailored silver-embroidered blue; vest with elegant vinework, neat slacks, tie in a perfect trinity knot, a dark duster with a faint sheen over top to protect his finer clothes from the elements above. He does not, at first, set the tiny bike down when he veers lower at the edge of town but hovers for a short moment shy of landing -- in the air, maybe, the small height of the ride does not make much difference to his passenger. On the ground -- it would be a bit ludicrous. Only after there's been time to dismount does he actually set the bike down, actually hop off himself, drape his coat over the handlebars, leave the bike where it is, evidently pretty unfussed about anyone touching it or his things. He stops only briefly to ask a question of a youth nearby and then is ambling, casual, towards one of the garages, probably once a beloved Man Cave and now undergoing a radical transformation into actually useful space to the Freaktown residents. Shane pauses at the entrance to glance -- just briefly -- around the smithy, but for the most part his attention is fixed on the man working at it. "You give lessons?" Daiki dismounts more gingerly today than he might under normal circumstances, not in deference to his sharp if plain black three-piece suit -- the only splash of color the abstract blue-and-silver geometry of his tie -- but to the large rectangular parcel he carries, carefully swaddled in layers of padding bound up and wrapped with startling neatness in a silver-gray cloth. He trails behind Shane and comes to a stop beside him, though he only studies the man they're visiting very briefly before lowering his eyes -- however keenly interested behind thin dark-framed glasses -- with a bow. At the anvil at the center of the garage, Erik swings his hammer down and down again, onto the red end of a piece of rebar as Shane and Daiki dismount. The rod goes back into the coals, the mitt on his hand up to wipe some sheen of sweat off his brow. From a distance, Erik looks hardly dressed, his jacket discarded somewhere against a shelf or workbench. He's in a black tank undershirt, sturdy work pants and boots, ear protectors sliding onto his neck. "For the right students," he calls back before looking up, jolly tone matching the broad smile he turns towards -- Shane, and then Daiki, and his parcel, and then back to Shane with furrow of brow. "...Mr. Holland, Mr. Komatsu." Slightly less jolly, this, still warm but beginning to cool. "To what do I owe this pleasure?" "Well," Shane replies lightly, "you did kinda destroy my cafe that one time? Normally --" He's taking the parcel from Daiki, a more than slightly awkward-looking endeavor; though it seems light enough that he hefts it with ease, the thing stands nearly as tall as he does. "-- I'd think that'd be at the least cause to buy me a beer but in this topsy-turvy world we're living in, I'm bringing you a present." Carefully -- carefully, like perhaps the quite well-padded package is very precious, he leans it up against a shelf. "My pa woulda delivered it himself but, well." His webbed hands spread in front of him, gills briefly rasping against the collar of his shirt. "You know how the fucking 1 train is, pretty sure that shit's been having work delays since last February." Daiki bows again, more properly, after Shane has unburdened him. When he straightens he pushes his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, little though it looks like they'd budged. "Shockingly few people have bought him beers for destroying Evolve. Granted..." To Shane, now, with the barest arch of an eyebrow and a reserved smile that one can't quite help wanting to see again, "I'm not sure you'd want to drink with most of them." He does look around the smithy, now. "What are you making here, Sir?" He's peering at the item Erik had set aside when they entered. “Well. They did tell me the MTA got somewhat worse since I was away.” If Erik is at all chastised by this reminder, it does not show on his face — his eyes are tracking from Daiki to the package where Shane leaves it with clear curiosity. “My thanks to your father.” From a pile of unformed steel in one corner, two pieces come free, flattens, heats, bends, flattens again before assuming their final shape — two small bottle openers in the shape of Magneto’s iconic helmet, cooling as they float out and hover in front of Erik’s visitors. “A token of my apology and a promise of future beers — That ,” he says, turning his attention back to the rebar, “might yet be a weathervane, if the metal will hold.” It resembles no such thing, yet — mostly it looks like rebar, with a steady sharper, broader, and thinner blade at the end. "Hell yeah, thanks, that's rad." Shane plucks one of the bottle openers out of the air and holds it up, turning it it his hand before pocketing it. "Company I keep you have no idea how many of these things I lose, swear to God Ion's part fucking magpie. It'll come back 'round eventually, though, I'm sure he puts 'em to good use." He is wandering away from his deposited present, now, duty apparently discharged, to look closer at the weathervane. Then back at Erik with a slight and curious widening of already enormous black eyes. "Did you learn to craft with tools, first, or --?" Daiki accepts the gift with both hands and another bow. "Thank you." He turns the bottle open over in his hands, then over again. "It does seem considerably faster doing it with powers rather than --" He indicates the coals and the partially completed weathervane. "Is there an advantage, doing it the slow way? Or do you just enjoy blacksmithing?" The steel feels oddly weightless in the young men's hands for the first moment before dropping fully into their grips. "I was raised by a different sort of metalworker -- these tools I came to later in my life." Erik smiles, amused. "Must it be one or the other? I do not have to choose between the anvil and my gifts -- I find my best work comes from a marriage of the two. Would either of you like to try?" Erik tilts his head to the hammer he just laid down. "I cannot promise to be the best teacher, but the subject is simple enough." "Naw -- just curious. My pa does glasswork -- I mean, s'not the same, he's not like a -- glassbender, but he can work the molten glass a lot of ways humans can't. Doesn't stop him using traditional tools, too, it's just -- kinda cool to see how people blend those." Shane perks at the offer, whirling on his heels with a lift of his ridged brows. "For real?" The smile that brightens his face is wide, eager, sharp-toothed and sharp-contrast to the typically more reserved ones on the identical face of his (their) sister. "S'cool, my teachers always said I was a terrible student, anyway. Might've been better if more classes were hitting things with hammers, though. Where do I start?" Daiki props his chin on the knuckles of one hand and his elbow in the palm of his other hand. "My preferred steel is usually a touch pointier," he demurs with just a hint of a smile, "I suspect it is not easy to forge a decent sabre, where 'decent' means 'won't inadvertently run your opponent through when it breaks.'" He smile widens a touch at Shane's excitement, and he suddenly seems that much more compelling, that much harder to ignore. "I'd love to give it a try, after I've watched Shane make a fool of himself." Erik steps back from the anvil, a metal block floating just above the garage floor to land in his vacant position, about a foot high, long and wide enough for a small shark to stand comfortably on. He’s indicating for Shane to step up even as his attention cuts back to Daiki with a raised brow. “I do not think the swords I forge would meet your needs, then. Perhaps a sharp pen would better suit?” He refocuses on Shane, floating a hammer up for him to take, pulling an as-yet unshaped rod of steel from the coals and laying the glowing end across the anvil’s face. “Strike where it glows, watch how it bends and stretches. Bend your knees.” "He's watched me make a fool of myself at, like, a million fucking things, I am great at it. Should be glad you were nowhere around when I first picked up a violin, I'm surprised my whole family isn't deaf." Shane sheds his tie and vest, folding them neat and setting them aside before stepping to the block. "-- feel like Dai's pretty good at knowing when either of those weapons gotta be sharp." He hops up onto the block, taking the hammer out of the air and hefting it with more ease than his small stature would suggest. His knees bend, as instructed. He brings it down, watching intently, with a approximately a hundred enthusiasm and approximately none finesse, like perhaps the glowing steel is a carnival high striker. That bell would totally have been rung. "Not for fencing, at least," Daiki agrees readily. "I fortunately haven't had much practical need for live steel swords in most areas of my life, but I like to be prepared, and if I'm going to stab someone I'd prefer if it were deliberate." He leans casually up against a wall and watches Shane strip and take up the hammer. The urgency to pay Daiki attention recedes, though there's still something ineffably beguiling about his smile. "I don't know how well he's doing with the hammer, but I will say, if you haven't had to pleasure of hearing, his violin-playing is quite good these days." Erik holds the other end of the rod, studying Shane's form with a serious expression. "Again -- lighter, if you want to not wear out your arm. Tilt the hammer -- there." He rotates the rod without looking at the section Shane has just flattened (which is suspiciously shoring itself up where the steel has gone too thin) and presses the new thin edge against the anvil. "And then again, until it's cool. I understand I am missing some of Mr. Black's newer records from my collection, but I have heard some pieces -- I quite enjoyed 'Calico'. If you --" to Shane, with an amused twitch of lips, "-- take to smithing like the violin, perhaps you --" with a side glance to Daiki, "-- will have new steel before too long. Perhaps you could run through the enemies that dodge the consequences your words should have damned them to." "Oh shit everyone always likes "In Place" and "Lift Off" but that one's my favourite on there. If you like I could send -- what am I saying you don't have a fucking email." Shane's mouth has quirked in some amusement at this thought. He is shifting his grip slightly, shifting his stance slightly. "Well, I'll send B anyway. There's some amazing shit that never makes the cut, just doesn't meld right with the others, you know?" This time, he brings the hammer down with less force, the ridge of his forehead dipping in thought as he watches the steel. "-- gotta admit, Dai, it is kind of a sexy thought. Hey!" He's brightening, now, quick-sharp smile returning. "You think if everyone you've done terrorisms against is dead they drop your charges? I'mm'a ask Tian-shin, I've totally just cracked Pa's case." "How are we defining 'everyone'?" Daiki would like to know. "Because if it's 'the U.S. Government', then it's true by definition, since there'd be no one left alive to bring any charges. That may take me a while, though." As if to underline the inherent sexiness of killing the entire government on his own -- but probably in fact a reaction to the heat in here -- Daiki shrugs out of his jacket. His physique is lean, not terribly impressive despite his height, but there is a suggestion of hidden strength in his easy grace. "I'm sure I can work some of it in between deadlines, if I had a a blade forged to purpose. It would need a name, of course." "I would be delighted to hear your art -- if," Erik's brow creases very minutely, "I don't have to speak to an electronic insect to do so. See there," he holds a hand out to the steel, where the metal is cooling slowly, "the steel moves. Tilt the hammer towards you a fraction more, you can make a point, and from there, all manner of things." No Comment on killing the government, Erik's expression very much not changing through this fantasy. Just, mild, "You would need more than just a blade.” Shane, very seriously: "She makes electronic crustaceans, too." He pokes his tongue out of the side of his mouth. Tilts the hammer, carefully; hits the steel, probably much too hard. "My brother is missing." Not particularly quiet. Not particularly fierce. "If someone took him, I think they might wish Pa only had a blade." There's no change in Daiki's expression or posture, but he does breathe just a touch faster. It's not at all noticeable enough to account for the faint but steady pull his mere presence now exerts on the other men's attention. When he speaks, it's hard not to listen. "If they had any sense at all, they might. After all," he says, his voice level and matter-of-fact, "he has us." The steel bends, flakes of metal flying away — under the hammer, the cooled result looks flat and failed until Erik rights the rod, and the rudimentary chisel-like edge can be seen. “Spencer?” His gaze lifts back to Daiki, then to the package propped up against a wall. “How long has he been missing?” Maybe this is polite concern, maybe the darker edge in Erik’s tone is unrelated to this news. He plunges the rebar into the coals. From the far wall, a piece of fresh steel lifts from a pile and floats to Erik’s hand: this too goes into the heat. “Perhaps Jackson should have both.”