[Closed] Showing the Ropes

[Meraki]

Meraki’s smile widened, and showed his yellowed teeth, when Gideon offered to get him some new nails. He followed, picked up his feet, and hurriedly got closer to the taller man. Maybe he’d just needed to say the name right, maybe that was all it was. He supposed he shouldn’t have played around like that with the incredibly serious man he’d only just met… but it had been fun enough; until it wasn’t, as most things went.

He glanced over the toolbox. His smile lingered. He tried to get a good look at what all was inside of it. Meraki liked to discover what was inside things. He kept thinking about the smaller boxes inside the crate too. He eagerly took the offered nails, collected them in his palm, and nodded. He ignored the chill down his spine and the instinctual disgust he felt toward the scowling man, and cheerfully said, “Thank yeh kindly, Mistah Gideon.”

Meraki lowered his fistful of iron nails while he listened to the man’s explanation of the instruction from before. So, the lists were meant to go with the crates. There were multiple then, not just the one that Gideon had been holding onto. Realization crossed over the wick’s features, as his eyes widened with understanding, and he nodded.

“Right! Only ones with lists. No list, no checkin’, yeh?” He reached past the other man, then, to snatch a hammer from the toolbox. He nodded again, then smiled cheerfully once more and held tight to the hammer as he said, “I’ll bring ‘is back, promise. Won’t make that mistake again, promise!”

He returned to the crate, and his smile gradually faded away. With the crowbar, he lifted it back up, then realigned the top to the frame. Meraki paid closer attention, this time, and he used the new nails to drive the top back on. Part of him thought about various things he could run. If he shoved the crate into the water… would he be able to recover the boxes later? Would the water ruin them? Would the waves take it away? Would Gideon go swimming to collect it? He snorted quietly, to himself, at the thought of that. It was an amusing thought to him.

So much so that he finished pounding a nail into the frame, then asked, “Say, Gideon, do you know how to swim?”

Meraki flipped his hair some, to help keep it out of his eyes. He moved to the last side of the crate and fixed the nails there. He used every one of the nails that’d been offered so that the crate was mostly definitely snugly secured back on. Once finished, he set his hands on his hips – hammer in one hand and crowbar in the other – and he nodded.

“Yeah! Perfect!” he evaluated his own work for Gideon. He looked over at the man and asked, “...Now what’d I do?”

[Peregrine]

23 of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
The Docks, Old Rose Harbour

Peregrine had started to soften just a little towards the wicklet what interrupted their work and made them explain it to him. Couldn't help being stupid, after all. Peregrine tried to be understanding to the conditions what some were born under. Weren't everyone was special like they were and could just up and pick new and better circumstances, hey? Only them, far as they knew, could manage that trick. That stopped right quick when he reached across them to take a hammer out of their box. They hadn't known until today just how territorial Gideon Carver was. Or maybe this was a new kind of Peregrine? Did it matter? Was there a difference? No. Yes. Maybe? No matter what, they were irritated and it took all the control they had not to grab the little whelp by his neck and hurl him down to the dock. Weren't a good look though, that weren't. Didn't exactly endear folks to you, neither.

"You better," they snarled, coming to a stand. Meraki had skipped off and ran away already, which was good. Real good. Their hand shook, and they used the other to hold it steady. Once again they crossed over to observe. They weren't much of a teacher, it had to be admitted. Even tried to be one proper once, and had failed right quick. Best they could do was watch someone fail, then tell them how they done it wrong. Rinse, repeat. They stood out of the range of all them angry little ants of Meraki's glamour with their arms crossed over Gideon's chest, evaluating.

"Sure can. Can drown a man too while I do it," they supplied, helpfully. This was true. They could swim, and they could drown. Had done it more than once, in various circumstances. Surprising really how often one got the chance to make the attempt over so many lifetimes. They all deserved it, Peregrine thought. For being inconvenient or troublesome. There was something strange about the way Peregrine formed the words from Gideon's mouth. Not a threat, not really, just a statement. A statement made in a tone of authority, of experience that seemed at odds with Gideon's sharp youthful face.

Gideon crossed over when Meraki declared himself done and looked at the crate. Too many nails, of course. Would know it had been opened. But as long as the contents were all there, they supposed as that was fine. Or it weren't, and they'd deal with it then. They could afford to be philosophical about such things, from time to time.

"Now," they growled and extended a dark hand, "y'give me back my hammer and you do your own damn work. I ent here to babysit."

[Meraki]

Meraki mostly ignored the snarl, as much as he could ignore the glares, and the glowers, and the scowls, and how clocking awful this man seemed to be… but it didn’t make sense, still. It wasn’t like Gideon looked like a sleaze, or anything like that. He looked far better off than most men, in good health and youthful appearance, with smooth skin and nice teeth and clear eyes (even when they were darkly glaring). Maybe that was it. Dockworkers weren’t necessarily known for their handsome countenances anymore than warehouse laborers were. Maybe that was why things seemed so off with Gideon. He didn’t fit in with the grizzled and tired workers that Meraki saw on the docks.

It was an idea, one of many potential theories. His natural keen instincts caught this contrasted discrepancy and made a mental note of it. Already, he’d gotten quite a list of observation on Gideon and perhaps he’d figure out what it was about this man that caused him to feel so weirdly.

“Sure can. Can drown a man too while I do it.”

The answer wasn’t said like a threat, but there was no denying the words since they’d come after what had definitely been a veiled threat about if the hammer wasn’t returned. It'd been so intimidating that it almost made Meraki think he might return the tool, but it also made him want to keep it more.

He smiled toward Gideon, ignored the tension in his muscles and a fluttered anxiety in his chest, and he swiftly responded, “Can ya? How’s that work exactly? Y’ get very far, swimming and drowning men at the same time? Can’t imagine it’d be any easier than chokin' while runnin', eh? ‘sides, didn’t they pull y’ down wit’ ‘em?”

Meraki nodded when the other man looked over his work on the crate, then extended a hand for the hammer.

Ah… now he really really wanted to keep the hammer. The wick gnawed on his lower lip, and then he asked, “Why y’ so grumpy, Gideon?”

“Y’ got lady troubles? Old lady kick y' out? Shark at yer knees? Need to get away for a bit, take care o' some stuff? I can watch things for y’ if y’ like.” He sniffed, cleared his throat, then firmly spat to the side of him. Meraki spun the hammer around in his hand, then casually tossed it high up into the air. It flipped around and he aimed to catch it.

It was a bit different weight than a bottle though.

Meraki barely managed to avoid getting his hand hit by the hammer's head. He withdrew his hand instead of following through with the catch when he saw it was going to go wrong. That works too. He adapted quickly to the change. The hammer hit the dock, bounced on the wood, and the wick loudly exclaimed, “Oh! Shit, whoops! I gots it!”

He bent over to try and catch hold of hammer. Simultaneously, he tossed the crowbar in front of him, as if to rid himself of the extra tool so his hands would be free. While he’d meant for it to arch higher, it headed toward Gideon’s shins instead. Meraki ignored the lapse, and focused on the quick motion of the hammer. His foot slid out, and he swiftly hooked the hammer with his ankle, and sent it forward in an 'accidental' kick. The tool spun wildly and went right over the dock edge.

Splash.

The hammer landed in the water. Meraki went to the edge, fell to his knees and gripped the dock edge with his hands. He glanced over at Gideon, with wide dark green eyes and a dramatically shocked expression, then he looked back at the hammer that gradually sunk beneath the surface. “Oh, mate, geez! Gods, Gideon, I’m so sorry! I’ll buy ya a new one, soon as I got the coin… Promise!”

---

Rolls

Flipping that Hammer like a Boss:
SidekickBOTToday at 9:28 PM
@Lazulum: 1d6 = (2) = 2

Tossing the crowbar to Gideon:
SidekickBOTToday at 9:31 PM
@Lazulum: 1d6 = (2) = 2

Kicking the Hammer into the water:
SidekickBOTToday at 9:31 PM
@Lazulum: 1d6 = (6) = 6

[Peregrine]

23 of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
The Docks, Old Rose Harbor

"Sometimes it don't matter," Peregrine said evenly. Could pull a man down and not drown your own sweet self, sure. They'd done it before, when circumstances called for it. Sometimes circumstances meant you didn't matter if you went down too, as long as they didn't outlive you. Joke was always on them anyhows--Peregrine always outlived them. Weren't a funny ha-ha kind of joke, but Peregrine thought it counted as a joke all the same.

Peregrine snorted. They weren't grumpy, not really. Just didn't like the feel of that field crawling all over them, or being interrupted in their work by a smarterse wicklet with a big mouth. Lady troubles? Was the wicklet blind as well as stupid? Gideon weren't the kind of face to have lady troubles. And Peregrine weren't the kind of Peregrine to be in a position to get kicked out of nowheres. Peregrines were solitary things, usually.

"I ent trust ye with my things as far as I can throw ye," they said again in that slippery river-rock voice. Accent sliding around again. Oh well. Weren't no matter. They curled their thin mouth in disgust when he spat; common enough habit, but Peregrine hated it. Always had, as far as they could remember. Their hand was out and their hammer not returned to it; Peregrine frowned. What was so hard about this? It was theirs and they wanted it back and he hadn't any right to have it, not their things. Their things were theirs their theirs.

The buzzing feel of Meraki's field while they waited made them twitch. More so when their hammer was casually thrown in the air, like it was his to throw. No, it weren't--Peregrine shifted, growing annoyed. The unconcerned way Meraki had gone through their things and took them set off something, pulled something from out of them holes. Peregrine was losing focus. Didn't like it when folks messed with them, didn't like it even more when they had clocking mona crawling all around them. No, no, no--their teeth bared and they stepped towards the wick when he threw the crowbar. They saw where it was headed too late--it hit them in one of Gideon's shins and they halted, hissing pain. So there was nothing as they could do when the hammer went slipping away over the edge of the dock and into the water.

Little wicklet had done it a-purpose; Peregrine could tell. Something awful oozed up out of the cracks of their mind, soaked into them aching bones and muscles. One of their fists spasmed closed and they couldn't uncurl it again. They didn't want to start nothing. Didn't want to make a scene. But they weren't so good, see, with control, not all the time. Things happened in the gaps. This weren't a gap, but things could still happen in it.

Peregrine crossed the dock to stand uncomfortably close to Meraki, letting all the ants of that wicklet glamour crawl all over them. Hey-ho, they wanted to say, you ever looked this close at a dead man before? Could let you look a lot closer. They could do something. The body didn't listen to them all the time, and they weren't used to things in it yet, but they could--they were bigger, older, had something in them crying out. That was theirs, hey? Weren't right, messing with things what belonged to someone else. Weren't right at all. Peregrine thought about taking that hook on their belt and dragging Meraki those last few feet right off the edge of the dock. What a cheering image!

"Do you swim, wicklet?"

Peregrine smiled, one hand still clenched into a fist.

[Meraki]

Meraki felt the presence of the tall man, as he moved closer. Keen, alert, and entirely smug in his little play. Of course, it would have been preferable if he’d figured a way to keep the hammer for himself… but making it so neither of them could have it, that suited him just fine. Because every clockin’ second that passed near Gideon, made him dislike the other man more and more. He didn’t know exactly why, either and that made it worse. His sight flitted to the tight fist at the man’s side, then the hook, then to the glare.

I could take ya, he thought. Of course, the natt wouldn't know that. He probably looked like some scrawny half-pint to Gideon, a mouthy twerp or something to that effect. Most tall men with slower minds made the mistake of underestimating those shorter than them, thinking height was the same as strength. Like a few inches more in the legs or torso was the same as the actual experience of trading blows and surviving nasty struggles. Also, seemed to always be the tall men with no scars, or grit to them, that made the mistake. It was a ludicrous bias, but Meraki wasn't the sort to set it right upfront - that bias offered him the opportunity of unexpected advantage, if it came down to something like that.

So, the wick stayed kneeling at the dockside, grip tight on the edge, to make himself look even smaller - even more like a non-threat. He stared up at the glowering face, green eyes still wide with shock... but a faint hint of amusement twitched at the corner of his lips. Meraki’s eyebrows quirked as one raised, almost in a challenge of the other man. He took it back. This man was pretty fun to mess with… though… wicklet? What kind of word even was that? Was it meant to be insulting?

“Swim, sir? Do I swim? Is that what you asked me, sir?” he called out, loudly. Meraki shuffled away from the dock edge, still on his knees, then backwardly got to his feet as he stepped around the crate to create some distance from the other man. He set a hand on the unlisted crate from before, leaning his entire weight into it. It slid an inch or so, dangerously toward the dock’s edge. Meraki looked surprised by this, then lifted away from it quickly. He nervously grinned at the human, “No, Mister Gideon, not a lick. I sink like a rock, I do. I’m rightly apologizin’. Y’ want me to go find y’ a new hammer?”

“Say, youse!” Meraki called over to the other dockworkers nearby. “Any youse got a hammer to spare for Mister Giddy-on? Oh, I’ll go ask the foreman!”

The tsat strode on past Gideon to head back to the main boardwalk. He gave a wide distance, however, keenly trying to stay just out of arm's reach.

[Peregrine]

23 of Dentis, 2719 - Morning
The Docks, Old Rose Harbor

The irritating pain-in-the-erse stayed at the edge of the dock. Stayed crouched all small and wide-eyed and smug, tempting Peregrine to use that hook to sink into his back, right between the shoulder blades. It weren't as sharp as it looked, but it was heavy and it dug into wood well enough. Peregrine weren't stupid; they knew it was unlikely anyone would take a real shine to them dragging Meraki across the dock and throwing him into the water. Even if they agreed with them and found him annoying, even if it seemed to Peregrine in that moment like a--a public service. For the good of all, hey?

Peregrine also weren't stupid enough to think that just because he was bigger and, they was fair certain, meaner than Meraki that it would be so easy as that. Don't live to be Peregrine's age without knowing a thing or two about things like this. The hand that clenched at their side was unintentional; a spasm of Gideon's muscles that grew tighter and tighter without no further direction from Peregrine. Too tight, in fact--it hurt and trembled against the strain. Peregrine had to let go of their grip on the hook on their belt to grab that hand and force the fingers apart. They didn't much care for starting things like this. Not when a body was so new and pretty as this one.

In the time it took Peregrine to force their fingers apart, Meraki had started hollering and backing away from the edge of the dock. Put the crate between the two of them then started shoving that to the edge of the docks as well. Peregrine almost wanted to let him do it. Didn't matter to Peregrine if that merchandise made it to its destination--it weren't their gig to run, and they didn't give a shit if it worked or not. The way Meraki was carrying on, nobody looking (oh, and plenty of folks were looking, with expressions ranging from amused to angry) would think it was Peregrine what did it.

But it wouldn't be good, no. Wouldn't be good at all, to listen to all them holes in their head. Just because the stinging, biting ants of Meraki's little baby wicklet glamour made them want to crush his throat until they stopped, dissipated back to wherever it was they were when they weren't bothering perfectly innocent folks like Peregrine. Just because it rankled at something inside of them, some territorial possessive darkness that they didn't know where as it came from and hurt to press on. Like a tooth what needed to come out, or a healing wound you just couldn't seem to leave well enough alone.

Instead, Peregrine grit their teeth. All them straight sharp teeth. Just think about them teeth, ripping and tearing and wet wet wet. Think about that instead, that's what they'd do. As Meraki passed to head back to the main boardwalk, Peregrine took off their belt and slammed it into the crate. Far, far too hard--weren't the way you were supposed to use the thing at all, no. But it broke through the top of the crate and sunk in deep with a satisfying crunch crack splinter that soothed something in Peregrine's heart.

"Ent need to bother. Just stay gone." They raised their voice, that strange flat rumble of a voice, so as they knew the wicklet heard them. "Ent need the help." Whether Meraki listened or not, they didn't care no more. Instead they dragged that uncheckable crate right back with all the others, paying no mind to the looks of any of the other men around them. Foreman would probably give him to someone else to deal with, and Peregrine could work in peace. Weren't like as to see the wicklet again, they reminded themselves. Weren't worth the trouble.

[Meraki]

The smugness drained from any perceptible feature of Meraki. As the dockworker slammed his belt so hard into the crate that the wood crunched underneath… the wick frowned, but he said nothing more. He supposed it was better the crate than his face, but it’d just been a stupid hammer. Maybe he had been onto something with the other man dealing with some sort of unknown trouble in his private life. With a face like that, it made sense he might have a couple ladies on the line. Maybe they’d found out about each other or something. Meraki imagined various little possibilities that rationalized why the menacing human with the dark glower and the ominous smile seemed so angry. It couldn’t possibly be merely because of Meraki.

Meraki had simply been eager to learn!

He’d learn from someone else, though.

Just stay gone.

He didn’t respond, but he’d heard it all the same. Meraki’s sight flitted down and then up in a scan of Gideon’s figure then he shrugged. He paused, just long enough to watch as the man started to pull the crate with the ruined top back over, then he started on his way.

The spoke from before had a rather disappointed expression on his weathered features, which the young tsat scoffed at when he saw it. He shot a glare at the stranger, then spat to the side. He didn’t need any judgment from a wandering wick about how he conducted himself. He walked along the dock with his shoulders back, head held up, and hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants.

It took him a little while to find the foreman who was down a few docks, talking to a captain. Meraki lingered nearby, and took out his cigarette to smoke, while he casually eavesdropped on the conversation. Not a lot of it made sense to him, but he figured once he learned more about the docks and how the laborers talked about things, he’d start to piece together useful context for the future. Like the warehouses, in almost every regard, except it had water and ships involved rather than muddy streets and carts. Warehouse gigs were always a risk, but they were also incredibly profitable if done right.

Whoever they reassigned him with, Meraki felt certain it’d be better than Gideon. The dark-haired man was likely some sort of hazing ritual. When he finally exchanged words with the foreman, there didn’t seem to be much surprise from the old man. As he worked through the rest of the day, getting a handle on how things went and what he was supposed to be doing (and chatting the ear off his new mentor), in the empty moments while he checked the crates (a dull affair in its own right), he thought about possible gigs and he thought about Gideon. He thought about him and Meraki wondered what exactly was off about the human.

Why had Gideon felt so… wrong?