multiversallogs | you must be sure that the doubts and questions are your own

Who: Seoraj and YOU.
What: The smithy is open for business, which means taking orders and working up basics for sale.
Where: Seoraj's Forge in Stoneshell.
When: Weekdays, business hours. Specify if it matters.
Notes: This is generally here for anyone to whom blacksmiths are relevant!
Warnings: Archaic sexism.

Business may not be booming, but nevertheless it is well underway within a short time of Seoraj's acquisition. Most of his work to start with comes in through the farming communities, and the occupation is familiar in a way that lays out most starkly how familiar so much of this place is not. Steel works under his hands as it ever has, and the world outside the smithy marches on in its own, new way. Immersing himself in that is his way, though he's never had an opportunity like this before; he insinuates himself into life here as if it were an old cloak and not so crisply new as it is.

People begin to talk to him. That will be good, he thinks, though he doesn't yet know what for.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The vigilante eyes the offered hand thoughtfully, chin dipping down to give some indication of where his attention lies since the ink gives little away, but he seems to discard the practice, instead raising his head again (and then even further) to regard the blacksmith and ignoring the hand entirely. While some might see it as a slight of some kind, in this case it isn't; unless violence is involved, the use in touching for the sake of greeting or much of anything else is largely lost on him.

"Spoke on" - a moment to pull a suitable word from his memory banks - "device. Need tools. And discretion."

No patience for small-talk either, apparently.

Seoraj pauses, very briefly, but he lowers his hand without making a production of it and continues. While he is by nature a social animal, he's also a professional; small-talk is an optional extra, not something folks pay him for, and they might not pay him for anything if he annoys them. He can roll with the punches.

(Probably literally, being as he's both a big guy and a lifelong soldier.)

"All right," he says, cloth in hand, folding his arms. Not unfriendly, ready to listen; he has a healthy wariness, but he likes to go outside his experience, and Rorschach is...well. Pretty far out there. He'll follow this a ways and see if it's worthwhile. "What sort of tools are you after?"

He stands easily, to most appearances relaxed despite Seoraj's imposing bulk and the heat of the forge. The eyes under the mask are less easy, watching the blacksmith critically, but outwardly he seems unconcerned. His answer is brief, calculated for minimal but efficient, each word necessary and none extraneous. And that voice? Given the amount of grit and gravel and steel in it there's no way it's anything but artifice. "Lockpicks, for now. Complete set."

Because really, for as often as he kicks Daniel's door in - well, more accurately kicked seeing as how he's no longer in New York and has yet to see his former partner - it's not a practice he can really afford to use all the time.

He sucks the back of his teeth, and while he makes no effort to intimidate - to be fair, he's probably rarely found himself in a situation where he had to go much out of his way to do it, but the point here would be that he doesn't wish to - his assessing gaze is frank. Lockpicks, discretion and the manner in which Rorschach present himself give him pause, and he's inclined to be a little careful about precisely who he does or does not do business with.

Of course he can make a set.

"Not cheap," he warns, "but I can do it. I can be discreet, as well, if doesn't make me dishonest." Which is the best way he can think to express, politely, the difference between willingness to look the other way when it's morally-if-not-legally probably okay and the willingness to be party to anything best described capital-double-yew wrong.

There's the faintest of nods; he can understand the other man's hesitance, even if he believes it to be misplaced.

"Understood. Not a thief, not in the habit of taking what isn't mine. Not a criminal." Not in his own mind, anyway, not unless you qualify 'cleaning up the city' as criminal, and as far as he's concerned that's all that matters, regardless of what public opinion has to say on the matter.

The cost, however, poses something of a snag seeing as how he rarely has any significant amount of cash on him even on a good day - one of the problems of being a singleminded vigilante who would rather stop crime than bother with actual employment. The currency he was provided is something, but he doubts it will be anything close to sufficient in this case. "Willing to take in trade? Have a few skills. Was given money, but likely insufficient."

"What sort of skills?" Which means yes, he's not opposed to the idea; with the price of metal in the city, Seoraj might swiftly put himself out of business if he weren't willing to be a little flexible. Given he's working because it's his preference and not his present need, that'd be counterproductive in all sorts of ways.

The barest of a twitch of his shoulder is as much of a shrug as he gives. Most of the things he's good at aren't exactly marketable, and the things that are tend to require good reason before he's willing to offer them as services to just anyone. "Investigation." A long pause as he runs through everything else, discarding most of them out of hand, and then another as he considers the last one, although he doubts it will be any more useful and he's reluctant to admit to it at all. "Can sew."

And yet, that seems to do it; investigation is not really something Seoraj has any need of (though he files it away for future reference - if nothing else, he's certain he's coming to know a person or two who might one day appreciate being pointed in this gentleman's direction), but well, he can always use new clothes.

"If you can make something like this," he gestures to his kilt, serviceable as it is but the only one he's got in Baedal and he is not putting on your barbarian lowlander pants, sorry folks, "then I'll make your lockpicks for trade. New kilt and two shirts."

It will mean cutting into patrol time, something he is loath to do when he is still so new to the city. Cutting into valuable time getting to know the city itself, wasting energy on something he had thought himself finished with a decade ago, and better for it. he has too high a purpose to waste in menial labor.

However, it provides another way to acquaint himself. A way to meet inhabitants with just as little notice. And he will have his tools afterwards. It isn't such a bad arrangement. Rorschach spares a few moments to glance at the blacksmith's attire, noting the cut, the way they're constructed based on what he can see, then grunts in agreement. He doesn't see the appeal in wearing a skirt, it seems a questionable practice at best, but he's confident he can manage the requested items provided he can get the right materials. "Deal. When will they be ready?"

"Should have 'em for you in a few days." Sooner rather than later, most like; he's allowing time for the fact this isn't the only thing he's got to work on and the fact he'll want to double-check his knowledge against what's common locally. No point giving the man picks that won't do him any good.

He nods curtly, accepting the timeframe; he shouldn't need anything more on his end provided everything goes smoothly, and if he does...well. He won't. It's as simple as that, his code doesn't leave room for failure.

"Appreciate it. Will be back then."

you must be sure that the doubts and questions are your own

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

mun apologizes for the delay, the tag got lost in the shuffle :/