logsinthenight | if you build it-

[You can't build a boat without wood, and there's only so much of that that's going to wash up on shore. You also can't build a boat without tools.

We'll need to go into the trees just enough to find something suitable to cut and haul back, then to turn into planks that they can use. We'll also need to start looking for everything we can in terms of hammers, hand saws, nails, and the like. Which says nothing about the other necessities! Blisters, cuts, and scrapes will be likely, please try not to break an arm.]

[Just because he can sail and do basic maintenance does not mean Rosinante has the first idea about how to actually build a boat. Sure, he'll learn, he'll pick up some tips here and there, but basic labor is really what he's best at, and once he returns near the end of July from a long walk into the woods, there's nothing like just hacking at some of those damn trees to get a little bit of vengeance on the forest that always seems to want to just swallow them up.

Of course, everyone knows by now that Rosinante is clumsy. Sometimes he cleaves through a tree in a few swift chops like the most competent person in the world. Other times he narrowly misses hitting his own foot. But he does his best.]

Hey, do you need a hand?

[He'll ask, if you're carrying much too large a load. Alternatively:]

Can someone grab a bandage?

[He's got a few on his arms and fingers already, but yeah, he's bleeding again.]

[ Not that Riku wastes time hanging around watching others work when he can invest his own sweat equity into the project, but it's kind of incredible the way Rosinante can drop a tree so quickly. It prompts him to speculate on just how much strength it takes, wonder if a navy commander can bring it to bear in a fight.

It's really not the right time or place to suggest a sparring match.

Someone's fashioned a kind of rudimentary sledge for hauling logs back to the work area and Riku pauses in the process of emptying its contents for the painstaking effort of processing them into planks. His jacket is... somewhere else, his white t-shirt damp and smudged with dirt from handling logs. As he approaches: ]

Are you bleeding? Let's see.

Nothing serious.

[Okay no it looks reasonably bad, as he lifts his hand from the arm holding onto his lantern to reveal the gash across the underside where a jagged piece of wood slashed right through the sleeve and into the skin. But apparently he's just been keeping pressure on it and walking around, because Rosinante has a stupidly high pain tolerance and this is his life.]

Though if there's anything around to get it cleaned up, that would help too, just so I don't have to do it later.

[He does know basic first aid. Every Marine does, if they've paid any attention. It's just that this seemingly doesn't strike him as a serious problem even if it probably should.]

[ Good thing Riku's not squeamish. That doesn't look like it's "nothing serious", and he knows their own meager supplies in the boathouse aren't exactly up to the task of staunching bleeding like that. Minor scratches, removing splinters, that's about all they have...

At least, as far as materials go. His eyes cut away from him, thinking to the tight curl of his fingers into fists. The Invincible is too long of a walk for someone bleeding like that. He hasn't tried it, not since they arrived. Although the endless days and nights of deep dark have started to gnaw at him, his magic is still there, well within reach.

But it's probably alarming when a broadsword-adjacent weapon appears in his hand, he anticipates that, given how he lifts his other hand harmlessly in warning. ]

It's not an attack. I'm gonna try to mend it, okay?

[Yeah the sudden appearance of a sword is definitely startling, and Rosinante shifts backward out of habit, turning to present a smaller target as he brings his hands forward in preparation to disarm the boy before he can get a swing in-

Not that an attack makes sense. It's all automatic reaction on his end, and he pauses, still keeping his distance, on hearing Riku's words.]

And what, exactly, does that sword have to do with mending it?

[ Where he's from, it's not something you learn in school. There are terms Master Yen Sid used before, in ways more complicated and eloquent than Riku is under pressure, involving terms like foci. What sank in was that as a Keyblade Wielder, one could tap their reserves of energy with the help of that weapon, harnessing it into magic spells.

You know, the sort of rudimentary explanation that would make magical scholars cringe. Riku keeps his empty hand out, answering him instead with a single word: ]

Heal!

[ There's a glimmer, green and organic, like creeping vines might overtake an awning but impossibly accelerated, a flower blooms and disappears overhead. There's none of the illuminating side effect that Riku expects.

Thumping his chest with his palm, he clarifies: ]

See? No harm. It's just how this thing works. You can let me try or we can take a hike back to Beacon.

[Strange power, that one. Pretty, actually. Not quite like anything he's seen and certainly not what he expected. But he gives a nod and relaxes, holding his arm forward. Aside from the sudden appearance of the blade, Riku has given him no reason not to trust him.]

All right. Go on, then.

[ He gets it. Rosinante's caution is a healthy one and Riku's been on edge for far less. In a combination of luck and risk-averse planning, Riku has yet to run into the limits of his own curative magic, that injuries of a more serious nature, internal damage, broken bones, those that are lethal, can't be mended no matter how much of this magic he uses.

Fortunately, this is just a cut, it'll itch fiercely as the skin knits itself back together, but the magic itself is a gentle cascade of tingling warmth. Riku lowers the Keyblade, a subtle wince easily missed in the dark. A sharp headache just lanced through his right temple, one brief warning throb that leaves him feeling... tired.

Maybe he's been pushing himself too much. When was the last time he ate? Slept? He'll check the hour on his tablet later. For now, he asks: ]

How is it now? We can still head into town.

[Fascinated, Rosinante watches the wound close beneath his sleeve. There's still blood where it spilled, sure, but as he rotates his arm and runs a finger along the site of the cut, he can see how cleanly it seems to have healed before his eyes, and how other than a slight tingling, the smallest discomfort, there doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it now.]

It's better. Thank you. No, I - I'd rather keep working. This looks fine.

[Just forgive him if he sounds slightly surprised by that.]

[ Unconvinced, Riku looks the far taller man over with a reluctant nod. There's other bandages, obviously this isn't his first injury, but that's the part that concerns him. Exhaustion and fatigue make accidents more common. He mistakes his disaster-prone moments of clumsiness for a symptom of fatigue. ]

If you're sure. It's okay to take a break.

Really, I'm all right.

[Other than the lack of cigarettes. It's slowed him down, made it harder to think, harder to work as hard as he'd like. He'd like to blame the injuries on the withdrawals, but he knows better.]

What's the sword about? The way it came out of nowhere, that was cool.

[ He follows the length of his arm down to the mentioned weapon, held point-down at his side. Cool? ]

More like a responsibility.

[ It vanishes, without shedding any of the light he expects, just another source of potential illumination that isn't allowed to exist in this perpetual night. He closes his fingers into a fist, looking up again. ]

I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us. Things are tense enough already.

The - yeah, of course.

[He gives a firm nod, agreeing not to question it despite a brief moment of confusion. He's used to people with a diverse set of abilities, and likewise he understands that some are put on display and others hidden, depending on the user and their own personality. Adding in the fact that Riku isn't here alone, that he has people from his world and maybe his skills are a secret from them makes Rosinante more than willing to comply.]

But if you don't mind, I'd love to ask more sometime.

[ That readiness to agree could stem from the greed to obtain difficult-to-gain information, to have something to lord over another. Or it could be from a place that understands the value of secrecy.

Riku doesn't catch the thick, acidic scent of dark greed in this case, which makes him more ready to acquiesce.

At a price. ]

Sure. Over dinner.

[ He's of an age that's always hungry, after all. ]

Dinner it is.

[He gives a nod and a smile, then takes one last glance at his arm before inclining his head toward the nearby tree where he's left his lantern hanging, and the axe below it next to a felled hardwood.]

Until then, back to work. Where do you want to meet up?

[The bar is his most common spot to hang out and eat and people-watch, but if Riku wants the conversation kept quiet, he'll let the kid decide on the location himself.]

You live at the Invincible, right?

[ It's a guess. Most people seem to live there, except for those that don't. He and his friends aren't the only ones who found alternative places to rest their heads. Even if he hasn't intruded on anyone's private sleeping space, there's signs of people everywhere around Beacon. ]

I'll drop by sometime.

Three-ten. Top floor, last room on the right.

[He has roommates, but doesn't mention them. It's not out of an interest in deceiving the kid, but rather that he's not sure how relevant they are. Wade is out fairly often. Mary is harder to predict, but they can figure that out later if she's around when Riku tries to come by.]

Thanks again.

[With a nod and a smile. He'll just keep working until he's tired - or until he injures himself again.]

[ Is he a kid, at 18? When there are pirates younger and about as strong with multi-million, if not more beri bounties, treated more like grown men and women in their own rights for their deeds, their strengths instead of the years under their proverbial belts? ]

Three-ten.

[ He can find it, and he'll deal with others if he happens to meet them. ]

You can thank me with a warm meal.

[ But if Riku's honest, he intends on packing it away with him, on sharing it with Kairi and Sora, because his own cooking skills leave so very much to be desired, being bland, joyless exercises in utilitarian efficiency. It doesn't matter if he's struggling with injury, or hunger, or fatigue, so long as the most important people to him are happy. ]

[Oh? Sure, he'll cook, then. He's already learned that fire doesn't spread the way it should here. Otherwise, The Invincible would have gone up in flames on the first day he turned on the stove. Instead, he gets to enjoy making food without too many incidents beyond spilling half of it on the floor, cutting himself on accident, and then there was that time he flipped a spatula all the way across the room, flinging hot oil on everything.

Which is to say that yes, he'd love to, and his smile brightens at the request.]

Got any preferences? Allergies?

[ If Riku had a better idea of just how disaster-prone Rosi could be, he might have realized how dangerous to his health his ask is. But Riku, he's not a good cook, he can, but it's just bland stews and stuff that just keeps him moving. Unlike Sora, he never had a culinary master to show him how to elevate food to a totally different level. ]

I'm not picky.

[ He visibly hesitates, like he isn't sure what to make of being asked for his preferences, except it's his smile that convinces him. Seems like Rosi really wants to. ]

Fruit? That's been the hardest to come by, besides the canned peaches.

Yeah, I'm not sure I'll be able to find fresh fruit easily either. That was some of the first stuff to disappear off the shelves at the store. But I'll make something with what I can find.

[The end of the month pickings are slim - in quality if not in quantity. There is plenty of food still stocked but it's not always the most appetizing of options. And his own cooking skills are likewise mostly just practical basics. But food is food and an easy way to bond.]

Maybe just message me when you're on your way so you don't have to wait around if I'm out.

I'm not surprised.

[ Riku's learned to make do with little in the period of time he wandered alone, or in the company of a man grown hard and cruel, single-minded in his thirst for revenge. It was better in the company of the king, but he's used to meagerness. ]

You'll hear from me, but I better go make sure Sora's not about to drop a tree on his own head. I'll talk to you later.

Right, good luck.

[Back to chopping and hauling trees then. At least it's something productive to do.]

( Actually building a boat is a little different than building a raft, so Kairi decides to leave the building to those who know what they're doing. Instead, she's taken up the the task of gathering supplies needed, whether it is tools, nails, or scraps of wood that has washed up along the shoreline that is still in good shape. When wood ends up scarce there, she turns her sights on the spare furniture in the Invincible. There's plenty of dressers and things like that to go around, so she'll work on hauling things back toward the boathouse to begin dismantling them. It's tiring, carrying things back and forth from around the area to where they're building the boat, but she's glad for the fact that she's been training.

She makes a mental note to thank Dawn for pushing her. If he hadn't been helping, there's no way she would be able to last this long.

ooc note: Feel free to run into her at any point when she's out gathering wood! )

[There's a small model down by the shore so that characters can get an idea of what it is that they're building and how the pieces will all come together. Don't worry about getting all the finer details right, you're welcome to play fast and loose with what characters know and do along the way. This is for the sweaty, messy, exhuasting process as well as the finer points of decorating, shaping, and creative elements.

It's important to take breaks inbetween so don't wear yourself out!]

( gene's workin' out the finer details of one of the boats himself, obviously practiced with the tools what come beneath his hand. you can catch him workin' by himself, or maybe he's givin' advice or direction to your character who's maybe less experienced in the venue? could be he's showin' someone how to proceed after a certain point, or.

the kicker.

sittin' down atop a finished boat, barefoot with his pants rolled to the ankles, drinkin' some sweet tea he's brought out in a pitcher. stop an' chat? have a glass? learn some tricks of the trade? either way, he'll nod to those that pass him by an' offer greetin' just the same. )

[ Someone's discarded jacket - it has short sleeves, a hood, a lining in gray and white plaid - rests alone on a stone that sometimes serves as a seat for one of those working on the project.

Turns out, the owner is present, his thumb hooked into the bottom hem of his white shirt, pulling it up to wick the sweat off his face on an approach he hopes is solitary enough. The lantern hanging from the belt loop of his pants casts into sharp relief the way years of active living - and battle - have left their mark.

The wicked scar in his side notwithstanding, and when he spies a person's silhouette ahead of him, he lets the fabric fall. It isn't that he's hiding from everyone, it's that he can't take the chance a witness is Sora, or Kairi, that there might be pain - or worse, pity - if he looked into their eyes.

That's not what he put himself between Sora and Xemnas's Ethereal Blades for.

As luck might have it, it's not either of them, he's taller. Carries a certain gravitas he associates with soldiers. And what's more? He has something to drink. ]

Hey. Got some to spare?

( gene's own lantern, the old sort you might see on railcars an' likewise lashed off to his belt casts a soft golden glow, all the hope an' heat of sunshine on a warm alabama day. it's enough light that it reflects just some off the white of that shirt just outta the corner of his eye an' he turns in time to see him pull it down over that scar.

he's a medical man. he's seen worse than that an' more. limbs blown off, bodies burnt beyond recognition let alone repair. but ain't a one of them's dulled his sense of sympathy. his brow furrows faintly, an' he glances away again to give the fella a moment's privacy as he straightens himself out.

at the question, he nods an' reaches into his musette bag where he's stashed an extra cup. even out here, he ain't ever far from it, an' it's got most'a his medical supplies besides. it ain't the only thing that marks him as a soldier — his corcorans are laced together nearby, an' he's still wearin' his jump pants on account'a them bein' comfortable an' all, but he ain't wearin' nothin' of his rank nor his armband, just a tanktop that looks faintly old fashioned. )

Plenty, don't be shy. ( he pours a glass ) Ain't to everybody's tastes, but it's a little somethin' from back home. Won't be offended if'n you don't like it much.

( northerners versus sweet tea: not even once. )

[ For the better. Riku was lucky in that Xemnas hadn't taken a limb, but the wound he left doesn't ebb like a wound of its age should. His Ethereal Blades twisted the concept of existence, made it as tenuous a thing as existence could be for another Nobody, the shell of a being left behind when they surrendered their Heart to the Darkness.

So Riku, for all that he strode the equidistant path between the deepest darkness and the most brilliant of light to the twilit dawn, bore the wounds of a sacrifice that would broke no recovery.

Forever would it lie between warped unreality and stable existence, an aberration, a twisted whorl of scar tissue.

But at least it was his side, and nothing vital. No limb lost. No functional part of himself, just the knowledge of what he'd done. The bone-deep ache when the weather was right, the restless nights. But Gene would know all about that and more, wouldn't he? Riku's one of the lucky ones, with injuries he can come back from, and still fight. Not everyone is so lucky. ]

Thanks.

[ It was taking a chance, asking if there was a spare cup, but he delivered, and the drink itself is sweet and quenching enough to make his throat ache when he drains it in two gulps. ]

Haa, it's sweet... without fruit, what the heck?

[ Been to so many worlds by now, him and the King, and he still associates anything sweet with the tropical, sun-drenched fruits of his home. Tea steeped in sunshine and swirled with sugar is still just new enough to spur that exhale of wonder. ]

( he laughs as the fella drains it off in less time than it took to pour, an' he reaches to take the cup back for a refill. )

Alabama trade secret, right there. ( a broad, playful wink. ) But mostly, it's just sugar.

( he hands back the cup, newly filled, an' gestures for riku to take a seat beside him on the upturned skeletal hull of the boat. ain't much they can do until they boil more pitch down, an' that'll take time. )

Got a few sandwiches, too, if you're of a mind.

( he ain't got a clue how long the fella's been workin', but he's of an age with the soldiers he's served alongside, an' men of that age are always hungry. )

[ It's hot already to be working on something that demands so much vigorous effort, the tea is more than welcome. He offers, and Riku brushes the gloved back of his hand across his mouth as he passes the cup back with the other, a little embarrassed by his own eagerness.

The only thing missing is the presence of sunlight. He only sees it in his dreams anymore. ]

Alabama?

[ Ordinarily, he would eye off offerings like these and potentially refuse because he trusts only reluctantly, but Gene is hardly a stranger. Shared toil doesn't make them friends, but there's a lot he can read in someone's character by the ways they contribute.

He sets his lantern down between them as he sits, his hair nearly grey with damp where it clings to his brow and cheekbones. An entire early life spent on the islands allow him to shrug off the heat and tolerate the stickiness. Maybe where this guy is from is similar, if he still has an appetite too. ]

You sure? [ He's not going to grab one before he changes his mind, either, but he's a little surprised by the hospitality. ] ...Thanks.

That another trade secret?

Place I'm from. Southern. Humid. Near the ocean, though there ain't much of it that's actual beachfront.

( #thanksflorida. but his tone's plenty wistful as he discusses his home. agathine is the whole'a his heart an' then some. he'd always thought he'd die there, like his ma. )

Though I ain't been back in a spell, with the war on an' all.

( he says it just to be conversant, rather than somethin' meant to draw attention or brag. he's a soldier, it's replete in just about everythin' he does an' he ain't hardly tried to hide it none. he nods to confirm that riku's welcome to a sandwich, an' then takes one of his own. they're plain but fillin' enough to keep a fella workin' through the heat of the day. )

[ Southern, he says, and Riku wonders what it's south of without asking. A habit of observing the King's rules with regards to traveling to different worlds. Try to blend in with the locals, don't rip the veil from their eyes that other worlds exist. Riku's not always great at observing rules when it doesn't suit him or his goals, but he tried, because it's different when the king is one of your best friends.

You do it because you care about them.

His own thoughts pause (and so does he, mid-bite) at a small realization. As Gene speaks of his home, his origins, it's only normal that his heart would go back to those places and people he misses. And without intending to, Riku caught on that same wavelength, felt the resonance in himself, and thought of those he misses.

Riku's been too closed off for too long. Kairi is right. It wouldn't hurt to let his heart do the driving sometimes. ]

Sounds like you're homesick. Have you been at war long?

( 'homesick' gets a soft huff'a laughter outta him. much as he loves his home city, it's the folks there he misses especial, more'n the place itself. his brothers an' his pa, aunt ysobel with her stern manner an' warm smile. )

Three years.

( almost to the day. if he'd made it until his birthday it would'a been. )

But for three years before that I was in another city some ways off learnin' a trade. Didn't have much time for home.

[ Home isn't just a place, it's where the heart feels whole. He sat shoulder to shoulder with Kairi and answered her honestly: Everything I need is here. There are people to miss and sometimes Riku longs to taste the salt-sweet air and smell the tropical tang of sun-ripened paopu, to feel the kiss of sunshine again, but those are just reminders of the past.

They aren't what made the place home.

Gene says "three years" and Riku knows that can feel like an eternity apart from everyone he knows. He passes one palm over his other, scattering crumbs onto the space between his knees. ]

You didn't go back to see them before the war? Your family.

[ Most of Shadow's experience with woodworking is courtesy of his time in prison. He remembers assembling bird feeders in an assembly line, with each inmate performing one task before passing the feeder on to the next man. It was dull work, only marginally more interesting than stamping out license plates. But Shadow worked each station along the line, and repetition eventually honed rudimentary woodworking skills into something more passible.

That said, Shadow is not the fastest worker, nor is he the most skilled. Personally, he believes that his most significant contribution to this endeavor is probably the torch he brought from the bonfire and set up near the model. At least people can see what they're doing now, right?

The big man works quietly and patiently. Occasionally, he'll take a break to study the model. Other times, he'll notice someone having trouble and quickly offer: ]

Need a hand?

[ Or, when a boat is nearing completion, he may lightly ask, ]

Do you think it'll float?

[ Said with the ghost of a smile that makes it clear he's not genuinely concerned. ]

[ None of them have to be the fastest or the most skilled. The important part is that many hands make light work, and the progress is faster with more of them than a few trying to make do with insufficient tools and a shortage of resources.

That said, the torch is... welcome.

In fact, there's a certain young man with hair entirely silver despite his years who chooses this particular moment to sit within the circle of light cast by the solitary torch, face upturned towards the firelight.

Riku takes his break in silence, staring mainly at the flickering fire dancing on the end of that torch. Maybe few know the value of good light and time to bask in it like those who have lived experience being consumed by the dark. It's only the movement nearby that draws his attention, as Riku identifies the stranger who brought the torch to begin with.

A half-gloved hand lifts to flick fingers at the item in question. ]

Was this your idea?

[Sora has always liked to do things with his hands. He's not sure that anyone who knew him growing up would describe him as restless, he rests just fine. Actually maybe all that rest was a problem on it's own once.

But he's never been particularly cerebral. He didn't enjoy puzzling through things growing up and while his grades weren't terrible he'd never made a name for himself in school either. He'd never kept as much of his feelings to himself as Riku did, and he'd never shared as much of himself with his friends as Kairi could. A generally upbeat and somewhat lazy boy, Sora preferred to spend his time lounging around and letting the day pass- content to let the passing of the day wash over him little but little. And when something got stuck, when something was too heavy to roll off or too strong to fold down and hold against his chest- he always used his hands instead of his words. He made little figures to hang from his ceiling, or a new spear for fishing; he carved a star shaped fruit into stone.

There's a big man that's come down to the shore a few times already- working at the wood and taking his time honing it down. Bringing it into a shape. It looks like it might be his first time with something like this, but then Sora only guesses that because he pauses every now and again to look toward the model- and he remembers doing the same thing with his dad. Trying to make them the same. Imagine them as twins.

They're working on the same piece of siding, attaching one to the other, when Sora finally leans back and starts to stretch- feeling the muscle in his shoulders and even down his calves start to cramp with protest.] Ugh, man.

I feel like I could start doing this in my sleep.

[The shore is a 20minute walk from the bonfire, and that doesn't sound so bad. But who wants to walk all that way when they feel like jello after lugging and hauling and carving and hammering all day? Your back hurts, your arms hurt, your feet hurt- you're feeling muscles you never even knew you had.

No one would blame you for deciding to camp out on the shore for a few days. Sora has a collection of supplies in the boathouse including tarps, blankets, and food for anyone that decides to set up camp. Can't promise any kumbayas, but there are bound to be a few stories going around while dinner is cooking. Who doesn't want to drift off to the sound of the waves coming into shore?]

if you build it-

ooc questions, comments, plotting

gathering materials

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OTA

the building process

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the overly committed