Relic huffed and puffed her way through the path to the Workshop. Why was it always so hot in the caves? When was the last time she'd been cold - better yet, at a comfortable temperature? The padding of her armour wasn't helping. She'd been worried about taking it off, but just the idea was such a relief she could barely remember that concern. It's not like the Blacksmith would steal it.

I mean, he could. She hasn't met him yet. We're going off of rumours.

Relic had a couple floating around in her boiling head, actually. One about dungeons, more risky but far more rewarding than the one she'd been to. Another about someone who could maybe, possibly, force her into the right direction if she asked. Like a lot of bad ideas, it lingered at the back of her head, ever patient.

This one was the safest choice, the natural step after acquiring and using her armour. Relic paused, a dark smudge in the Workshop's hallway. "Hello? Um-" She didn't have a name to call, and it felt strange using a title. "- Anyone there?"

Usually, a visitor to the Workshop was greeted by the clang of a hammer, but right now, it was oddly silent, and dark. Relic had a moment to push in, seeking its inhabitant: to look upon the racks and rows of weapons and armor, tools created and tools of creation.

The older things--rusted, battered or dented, some repaired or some used as scrap--were notably more violent. Sharper things, vicious ones. Beautifully crafted, but undoubtedly weapons of war. The newer ones held another... tone, so to speak. Armor with sweeping, curved lines. Working hammers with carefully tooled handles.

The workshop itself was hot, but cozy, well-kept: the coal was in its own baskets, the stone floor swept, the anvil and low, lurid glow of the forges kept free of too much clutter. The shelves were arranged with supplies, though here and there lay clear personal touches: a potted red-leafed plant, a tea set beside a small table, a battered but mended rug.

The rustle of fabric behind her announced the Blacksmith's arrival, and it came with a slightly rushed scuffle of feet. "Hello? Did I see... someone--ahh. My... apologies," he called, coming in from behind her. He seemed out of breath, his already-halting speech a little hurried. "I was in... the garden. I am... the Blacksmith; can I help you, or... are you only travelling?" His voice was kindly; it seemed to be an open invitation either way, though he paused a little behind Relic to leave her some space.

Already, though, his professional gaze was sweeping down over her armor, his surprise and interest clear despite his masked face.

@Relic

No response yet. Relic lingered at the entrance for a moment before pushing forward, browsing the collection and admiring how clean and organised the space was. It scratched a deep instinct in her brain pleasantly, and she wondered again about digging out a more permanent den to rest in. A little late now - her paws had become less suited to digging.

She'd seen something similar to the tea set before, though she wasn't exactly sure where or when. Something to do with Scorpio, she imagined. Maybe now she could imagine using those odd little cups for their intended purpose, with all the extra muscles in her paws. She flexed them, talons clacking quietly.

With her hackles covered, only her tail raised and bristled in mild alarm - nothing serious, just the natural anxiety from a large animal appearing suddenly. It didn't take Relic long to settle again.

"Help, uhh - so I've been wearing this armour for a couple of cycles now, it's seen shit. I'm expecting to have to use it again, so I'd like it looking the best it can. And also, maybe some tips on how to take better care of it - I kind of almost trashed it."

The armour itself was dented in places, scratched in others. The most grievous damage was concentrated on the helmet, with was bent and warped from several, devastating blows. The rest of the damage was concentrated closer to the centre, where Azrael's fists had crushed her against the ground.

The Blacksmith had paused, studying the armor a little... too long. His expression remained fixed with interest, for the most part, but now a faint trickle of something else joined it. It was hard to read, especially with that mask. Curiosity? Recognition?

A hand reached out, despite himself, delicately brushing claws for the burnished metal--but, ahh. They withdrew, paused midair, and he looked to Relic. "May I-? And... ahh. I am being... impolite. May I ask your name... offer you some tea? And ask... how the damage occurred, how you... have been caring for it... and... where it came from?" His words were soft, halting, as he hesitated. He clearly wished to examine the armor more closely, but doing so while it was on someone... well, it was probably good he'd asked.

@Relic

Relic couldn't help it - the sight of hands reaching for her made her nervous, thought she had no way to express that anymore aside from a cautious side-eye. The Blacksmith was quite obviously a different beast than Azrael, but she wondered if he was, or ever had been, violent - if there could be something else brewing underneath.

They stared at each other through eye slits for a moment. Mask to mask communication.

She shook herself lightly. "Yeah. It's hard to take it off by myself." Relic decided to avoid mentioning that she slept in it most nights. That would feel... weird to admit out loud.

Anticipating that the Blacksmith would move closer to examine her armour, she stood rigidly, head held forward, trusting he wouldn't try anything stupid. "Ok so, the damage. I've been throwing myself at... A lot of things that I maybe shouldn't have? But the biggest cause of the dents was some asshole who got mad at me for like... Beating him at wrestling. And then he threw me around Orion a bunch. I might've ripped his throat out for it? I dunno. I blacked out."

"I haven't been taking care of it, I don't know how. I don't even know where it came from. It fell out of a hole in Gemini and I've been wearing it ever since. Why I'm here, I guess." Relic sighed.

The Blacksmith listened politely, wincing briefly at the mention of blacking out. It was the way, wasn't it, with the creatures of the caves? Losing themselves to the urges they were programmed with-... ahh, but this wasn't a Valkhound, he noted.

Before he had opportunity to really pursue that line of thought, the conversation moved on.

He examined the armor as Relic spoke, leaning this way and that to get a better look as he tried to imagine the scenario that she described, and how it had impacted the piece. "Ahh... the Rift," he murmured as she finished, nodding to himself. A strange thing, that. "I have had a few pieces... make their way here for... repairs, and such. From the Rift." Was it an official name? Probably not, but it sure was a rift.

"May I help you take it off?" he asked, gesturing to the buckles and such. He was polite, delicate, not pressing her. "Leather requires a certain care. Metal... brass?" he guessed; he'd need to touch it, test it, to be sure past the damage and the tarnish, "-another sort... I will teach you." He paused, studying it. "It is a beautiful piece. But it has seen war... or battle. I think... even before you had it." He noted this by the care, the repairs, on a few old scratches and marks. If she didn't know how to care for this, well, relic, then it had been done before her time.

Relic had not yet given her name, nor answered his question of tea, and the Blacksmith hesitated. He didn't want to pry, if she were secretive, and so he sidestepped with another question. "What would you like me to call you?" he asked.

@Relic

Relic hadn't had the chance to really talk about the armour, or her life, in cycles. It'd spilled out of her while she wasn't paying attention. She refocused now, tempted to shake off the discomfort, before remembering she'd already done that a minute ago. She didn't want the Blacksmith to think he was making her uncomfortable.

"Yes please." She felt like the fur on her spine was going to fall off if she wore the armour for one more cycle.

And she'd forgotten to give him her name. Agh. Minor social blunder. Time to explode. "Oh, I'm Relic." She searched her short-term memory for anything else she might've skipped over - "And tea sounds nice."

The Blacksmith beamed at Relic, though he had a mask on so it wasn't really visible past a happy squinting of his eyes. Dextrous fingers then worked the buckles, helping slide the armor away. "There we are... and it is a pleasure to meet you, Relic."

It was with great care that the Blacksmith carried this to a nearby table, laying it out; he then gave it an absent, affectionate pat before moving off to make the tea. He spoke as he filled and set the kettle to boil, and (glancing at Relic) chose two appropriately-sized cups and a cluster of tea leaves in a tiny linen sack. "Do you prefer... green tea? Black, fruit-?" With that settled he busied himself about the shop again, offering a large stone chair to his guest. "I will repair what needs it... that is... washing the leather, treating it... glue where it is needed. I will show you how... to wash it yourself," he added, his pauses for breath evident. "The metal... I will need to hammer the dents," and here, he poured hot water into cups, before moving off to examine the dents in question.

He rapped thoughtfully with his knuckles. "I can teach you to... polish it, if you like. For tarnish... and such. -Wait for the tea to cool. It should steep for... another minute or so before... we pour." He didn't want a guest to burn their mouths in his shop, after all!

Then he set about gathering what he'd need. He cleared an anvil, setting a blunt-headed hammer on one side. Examining several jars on shelves, he plucked a leather soap, a beeswax, and some sort of cleaning fluid, and some worn but clean cloths. He set all of this to the other side of the anvil, and then returned to pour the tea.

@Relic

Relic had a similar issue, wanting desperately to smile back at this kind stranger but being completely unable to do so in literally any capacity. She just stared, taut-faced, blank. If she thought hard enough about it, maybe he'd get the message. Psychically.

"Uh. Haven't had tea before. Whatever you're having." She settled into the seat, tapping her new claws around the edge. She was enjoying feeling the air on mane again, the flattened fur beginning to spike up again in the heat. It reminded her of simpler days, of a smaller life.

"Teach me everything. I've got all day." She'd extended her neck to peer at the Blacksmith as he busied about the workshop, clearing surfaces and preparing the anvil.

She wrapped her talons around the cup after the tear was poured, feeling the heat soak through and into her palms. "... Do you know anything about where the armour might've come from? It has writing on it. I can't read anything, though."

The Blacksmith set out a cup of black tea, and added cream and sugar, though caves knew where he'd gotten the stuff. Maybe he refined it himself, somehow. As he did so he thought Relic's last question over. "I imagine... it is from the surface. Of this moon," he explained, and reached out to rap furred knuckles delicately on the cave wall beside him. "But I have little... to do with it. There are peoples... politics." He shrugged, and slid into his seat, curling his hands around the warm cup. "If you wish to know... I would seek out my brother. Algol. 'The Collector.' Or I might ask him... on your behalf," he offered, squinting. Undoubtedly The Collector would ask something ridiculous of poor Relic in return for just a bit of simple information. "Tell him... I sent you, if you do," he suggested. That might help mitigate things, at least.

He leaned over, peering back at the armor, and peered for a moment before shaking his head. "My brother might know. I am sorry," he added, and fired Relic an apologetic glance. "It does look... like it has a story behind it." And he said this admiringly, even wonderingly. Armor... well, that was his life's purpose, wasn't it? To smith, to create, and when those creations forged their own story... ahh, it was beautiful. Often tragic, or horrifying, but beautiful, in a way.

He sipped the tea for a time, ready to entertain any other questions, before setting about the repairs.

He started by cleaning the entire piece, leather and metal both. He showed Relic, as he did, what soap to gently use on the leather; he used a soft-bristled brush and scrubbed it in little circles before rinsing it with plain water. Then he dried it with a soft cloth. The metal was given a similar treatment, but with cloth instead of bristles; it was thoroughly buffed, afterward, so any tarnish was removed. As he worked, he explained the ingredients for the soap, the type of bristle to use, and offered for Relic to use the materials here whenever she had need.

"I would... take it all apart, but I don't think... it will be needed," he said at last, looking it over. "I wished to clean it, before... repairing. This is both... to see it all clearly, so no damage is missed... and so we do not hammer dirt into... the metal, or settle it into... the repaired leather cracks." He had humor in his tone, and after a moment he slid on heavy gloves, fastened his thick apron, and worked his bellows. "This feeds air into... my forge. It needs air to get hotter... the fire. That is to heat the metal... and that is so we can work it..."

He explained the inner workings of the forge as he heated it, still unsure of the exact alloy and thus working slowly, checking it now and then. He only heated the dented bit, careful to check on the leather now and then ("I do not want to... cook the leather," he joked). Then he raised his hammer at last, and began to carefully clang, clang, clang the dented, slightly glowing metal back into form.

@Relic

any errors in the smithing process are mine, I just play vintage story okay