HUSTLE BONES :: aesior

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"][member=23233]aesior[/member]

"Where are you going?" a ghostly voice had asked Zjarr that rainy morning, who had arose with a surprising amount of energy and was securing a small brown bag upon his body. "What's the bag for?"

"I'll just be out for a while," the husky grumbled in response.

"Out for long?" Flamey said.

"Long enough. I don't fuckin' know. Jesus, you're naggin' like a husband-hatin' wife. What's with the questions today?" Zjarr snapped back, evidently exasperated by the ghost of his Forge. "You love not havin' me around. What gives?"

"I just wasn't sure what the bag is for, Zjarr."

He twitched an ear. "I ran out of some shit for the Forge. Needa run out 'n' go get some. Keep it all safe while I'm out." And within a minute he was gone, darting past the cave's entrance and making his way down the rocky path into the fields and onward. The heavy downpour of the early morning was now turning into a light shower as the clouds began to drift off, a sign that the rain would stop and the sun would come out fairly soon, most likely by the time he had reached his destination.

He wasn't lying to Flamey — he had a genuine mission to embark on related to the Ignibus Forge. What Zjarr had discovered in the process of creating his Forge was that it took a lot of materials, a lot more than what he was used to. Typically he would just find metal scraps and piece them together with his fire-bending abilities on the spot, though that was a much longer and more arduous, painstaking process than anything that the Forge was capable of doing. Working in the Forge was much easier, but he needed to feed the beast somehow and manage his supply of metals and assorted materials so that he wouldn't run out mid-craft or miss a vital piece that would otherwise complete a weapon he had been working on.

Boy, had he staked out just the place.

Midday was upon him, and it was nice and warm by the time he had reached the fence of barbed wire that was clearly rusted and decaying from age. In the distance he saw the immense towers of cars, machines, appliances, and so much more cast refreshing shadows upon the smaller piles of garbage and scrap around them. With the sun at its peak in the bright sky and the heat from it coming down upon the earth, there was a certain powerful smell that the junkyard now exuded: Rust and damp shit, Zjarr thought. Like, literal shit. It was a scent that overpowered every other possible smell in the area, nearly causing him to gag when it first hit him, but it wasn't enough to turn him away just yet. The heavy assault on his olfactory senses was one that he would just have to endure if he wanted to continue with this quest of his.

The canine found a gap among the fence and slipped through it with not a scratch upon him, thankfully, and he trotted over to the closest pile of machinery that he could find (and one of the ones that looked the most promising to him so far). Scaling the tower of junk and rust, Zjarr dug his head into the deep crevices amongst the forgotten machines, yanking out promising pieces of metal to melt down for his own purposes in the future, and dropping them into his satchel before going back for more. If no one's usin' em anymore, why not?

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go

space

The rain had to be a silent blessing upon the swampland, not that the sun was strong enough to scorch or dry out the boggy foliage. That would be a hot day in hell, and a day that the Grim had no desire to be out and about in, least of all alive to roast in his own fur. As of late, the junkyard had been calling to the traveling merchant, his own crafts and skills inspiring him to see what bits and bobs he could re-use and turn into something new and ... functional. More or less, that was.

The rain had cleared up, leaving the cars of the junkyard, a now common haunt for the small tabby, a cool place to be, literally. His night had been spent within one of the old cages of metal, glass and fabric, curled up to sleep on one of the old bucket chairs, amidst springs he'd been pulling from the other seats. The chill in the air had his fur bushed out in a late rebuttal against the cold fingers of winter finally giving up their grip on the land. Until noon, the Grim had amused himself all too greatly with traversing the cars, avoiding the metal surfaces as much as he could when the sun began to warm them.

The ache in his own paws was a smarting reminder of the spill he'd taken out in the bog recently, the muscles on his right shoulder still aching and smarting at him, the limb itself occasionally shaking it. He was honestly hoping he'd just pulled the muscles, he didn't need an injury on top of everything as of recent. An injury in spring time meant he couldn't prepare himself for a good year's stock of trade goods, or any materials for his crafts let alone the few foods he remembered how to make, from a time long forgotten.

Body curled up on the roof of one car shadowed by another, taking the time to groom the kinks and dirt out of his fur, nibbling at his paws when a sound reached his ears. Ears swiveling in the direction of the chain link fence, pausing mid-bite, his eyes following in the direction at the rattle of the fence, slowly lowering his paw back to the cool metal. Stilling, tail going from the occasional flick to laying still as he trained his senses on the noise. Curiosity killed the cat as the saying went.

Pushing himself to his feet, the tom quietly limped down the length of the car he'd been lounging on and onto the piles of scrap, carefully placing his paws as he stalked the source of the sound as he heard a trail begin through everything. Well that was of interest. Creeping about the side of a pile of junk, his ears angled as he peered around the corner to come across the sight of a husky just about shoulder deep inside of crevices in the piles. What the hell was he looking for? All that was here for food were probably rats and a possibility that they might be mutated too. Studying the intruder a fair bit more, he considered his options.

One, he could stay right here where he was safe and keep watching. Two, he could approach the stranger and encounter the ever awkward I'm mute and I can't talk.conversation, or three, he could go back to grooming himself in relaxation - but then again that didn't feel right to do. Option Two it is, the Tom thought as he rounded the pile fully and ripped his paw against the nearest thing that would make any sort of noise. Now, to back up and see if this husky might be rabid ... or friendly. Highly unlikely considering he was trespassing in a junkyard but what did he know?

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✯ — MALE. TANGLEWOOD. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY. REF. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]The canine was utterly unfazed by all that was around him at this moment, his chocolate brown gaze darting about the piles of metal like the all-seeing eyes of an eagle. Nothing eluded him, not one single piece. He had his means of determining what he would take and what wouldn't; there were certain degrees of usability amongst his finds, and he had to quickly determine what was a good catch and what wasn't before moving on to the next. The demon would grab hold of a piece of scrap, check it for visible vulnerabilities and faults, and then put it to the test physically, smacking it against the rusted and worn frame of the car he was standing on and even going so far as to bite the metal, testing its strength with his own teeth and jaws. Anything that wasn't suitable for him was unceremoniously tossed into some other pile in the distance before he went back for more.

But something brought Zjarr out of this stupor: a disgusting, razor-sharp noise that made his ears flatten against his head and his lips pull back into a disturbed grimace. An icy chill shook through his entire body, from nose to tail, in response to the abrupt sound coming from behind him. Pulling his head up from between the cranny he had plunged into, the husky promptly turned, blinking quickly and roughly so to readjust to the sun's blinding light. Below him was a small tabby cat, a feline with his paw stretched out next to the junk next to him, claws extended so to create an unpleasant noise once he ripped his paw across it. That unpleasant noise, the one that tightened every muscle in Zjarr's body in revulsion.

He waited in silence for a little as if he expected for the cat to say something to him. Was he trespassing? He didn't pick up anyone's scent coming into this place (then again, with the pungent reek of rust and shit everywhere, it wasn't like he could smell anything). The tabby was silent still, even after a few moments. What was his deal? "Uh, sorry, man. Am I in your way?" he asked, running a pink tongue across his lips.

Maybe the cat was another scavenger like him. This junkyard was more or less a goldmine for scrap hunters, and Zjarr didn't mind sharing this space. Fine by me, he thought. "I'll just find another spot, don't'cha worry," he continued as he made his way down his current tower and onto the one next to it. If his assumptions were correct, he wasn't sure why the other guy wouldn't just find another place in this big-ass yard to scavenge. What was really going on?

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go

space

his own ears peeled back at the sound his claws emitted against the sheet of metal. that wasn't well thought through. instead, now sheathing his claws, shaking out the paw as it felt as if the bones in his body had lost all trace of strength. shaking out his entire body in response, gaze darting around for something to write on. well, he really wasn't thinking today, huh? blinking at the husky, taken a bit aback, not by his size or anything but the memory that just about knocked him on his arse. not that the husky before him was in the memory, just that the way he had turned to face him had brought up a long buried memory.

shaking his head as his ears stood up, looking at the husky for a moment too long, registering his words. right. not everyone was mute and had their throat fucked up because of a vicious ex-lover. blinking, bringing himself back from the brain-dead state that he was in, gaze finally landing on a piece of open ground, albeit muddy but open without major junk items. looking at the husky for a moment before turning towards the patch, shaking his head when asked if zjarr was in his way. not so much in his way as in a place he probably shouldn't be, but he could respect the scavenger. he also knew his scent was pretty masked by the pungent scent surrounding them both.

reaching the muddy patch of dirt, hoping that he would see it before moving on. ears swiveling as he heard his words about finding a new pile to sort through. shit. well, here's hoping. quickly extending a claw and scratching at the muddy surface of the junkyard ground, 'i can't talk, sorry. what are you doing? junkyard has group in control.', he knew that his paws were going to be screaming at him later in protest for the extensive scrawling in the dirt, but his notebook was still missing and that was less than helpful to him. hoping now that zjarr would even glimpse at his messy scratching, not wanting any other tangler to come across him and potentially pick a fight because he was in the junkyard.

what the tom found most odd was the husky picking through and selecting only viable metals that suited his taste. he would do much the same when he had selected pieces to use in his own forge in a place now long over-grown and abandoned for the last two years, haunted by ghosts of a time so long ago now. what was the other going to use these selected metals for? he truly didn't have the right to ask but he was curious, and the sight of him picking them out made his own paws itch for those long ago times when his friends and family had gathered near every time the forge was active. a sense of longing filled him, paw reaching up to his ear to touch the twin rings piercing the soft flesh - a memory of an even more distant past, a time before he'd found himself a home in the beyond. those rings were scratched and scored, worked upon with love, items he had made himself for an eternally missing face and voice in his life, a companion he would never come across again.

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✯ — MALE. TANGLEWOOD. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY. REF. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]Zjarr had once again entered a trance-like state, his mind and focus consumed entirely by the hunt, this hungry scavenge for the materials he so desperately sought out and traveled an absurd distance to collect. Blind and deaf to all around him, he moved quickly, his paws scrambling to push away the items that he rejected in lieu of other, more prospective pieces that he felt could serve a greater use, bringing them up and personal to him for his brief yet interestingly thorough evaluations. Bite, scratch, smack, inspect, shove away into the satchel. It took an almost embarrassing amount of time for him to realize the blood flowing from his left paw, spilling onto the shimmering metal all around him.

The moment his eyes rested upon his paw, he was forcefully brought back to reality, as if thrown down to earth from the Heavens. The gash's sting reverberated throughout his entire body, throbbing in his paw and echoing in every other muscle within him. Fuck me, he thought. Must'a cut myself somehow. With an irritated click of his tongue, the husky tossed away his current object of interest and began to apply pressure with his other paw, pressing down as firmly as possible without outright crushing it. He could wash off the blood later, but right now it was a matter of stopping the bleeding in the first place, and unfortunately, he didn't have much on him to do so. It didn't appear to be a deep cut, not nearly enough to cause any form of long-term damage but just enough to tear him from his trance and take a break from his frantic scavenging. "Shit. It bites," he mused in an attempt to lighten the tension, offering a sideways glance at the tomcat that was still hovering behind him.

There was something new in the ground next to the cat, but Zjarr didn't realize it at first glance. He turned his head fully, narrowing his eyes at the mud puddle next to the feline. There were now scribbles in the soft patch of mud that he did not recall being there when he had first turned around and noticed the other's presence in the junkyard. Was he drawing? Or was it something else? "Y'doodlin' over there, bud?" the husky asked with a faint, brief chuckle. He looked down at his paw, whose bleeding was beginning to slow. Eh, good enough. Lifting his right paw, the husky made his way down from his current tower of junk and rust back onto the soft, muddy ground, curiously approaching the feline and his messy scribbles upon the floor of the junkyard.

"I can't talk, sorry. What are you doing? Junkyard has group in control." It wasn't a doodle — it was a message, one for Zjarr to read. "Oh, don't tell me you really live in this shithole, do ya? Shit, 'n' I don't see anyone else here, either." Was the junkyard even a remotely appropriate habitat for anyone? There was little shelter aside from the crevices between the piles of scrap and garbage, most of which far too small to fit anything larger than some kind of rodent in, it seemed. And even if there were people living here, what food could they possibly find other than the occasional insect or mouse? The husky's chocolate gaze scanned their surroundings just for good measure. Sure enough, no one else was there. So what the hell was this guy going on about?

"Look, I just need to, ah, borrow some things that nobody's gonna miss," the demon continued. "They'll have a better home with me. Promise! And besides, you're not gonna tell anyone, are ya?" He lifted his bloody paw to his mouth at that, pressing a digit to his lips in a mock shushing motion with a lighthearted smile. Maybe that was a little overkill to say to someone who literally could not speak, but it wasn't as if he ever took anything seriously. Hey, at least I'm right! he thought.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — got spirits in my head and they won't go

space

the scent of blood, a much tinnier scent than that of metal to the wanderer, caught his attention all too quickly. head lifting from the mud he had all but been playing with, his nose twitching and whiskers shivering as he drew in the scent in the air before quickly deducting it came from the sunset hued husky trapped in his scavenge. before he had the chance to process it, concern entered his chest as did the memory of vincent when he had sliced his paw with his dagger so many years before this time. blinking twice before he cautiously made to move away from the mud, wishing so sorely that he still had his satchel on him, if he did, perhaps he would be able to tend the stranger's injury, mild as it was. he hated leaving wounds unaddressed, too many had been lost to rot they did not seek help for.

licking down the fur upon his chest that had begun to rise, the tom twitched his ears anxiously for a moment before staring upon zjarr. doodling? well, he supposed that some would see his act of scribbling an adequate attempt at doodling. shaking his head as if to answer his question, letting him come closer before laughter shook his shoulders, leaving the tom shaking his head and his whiskers trembling in non-vocalized laughter.

why would he live here in this junkyard? no way in hell, not even with the nice sunning spots all around its expanse when it wasn't pissing rain or baking him alive even in his short coat. humor still thrumming through his frame, he would pass his paw over the mud and efficiently cross out the words he'd made before scrawling away once more. 'not here. territory is bigger around. too much stink for me. is your paw ok?', he would tip his head once as he looked up at the husky with a muddy paw gesturing to his cut paw.

shaking out his body with a dark smile on his maw, 'speaking is something i wish that i could do. i care not what you take, you are no threat to me.', he continued with his claws in the mud before pausing.

'blacksmith?', he asked, peering at the husky once more with a critical eye. if he had his forge here, he would have done similar to what zjarr was doing now, scavenging for usable metals. well that, and he had a small stash set aside for himself for the time that he would eventually travel back into the lands of the lost and attempt to free the remains of his now overgrown forge. there was a faint longing in his gaze at that, shaking it off not too long after, 'what do you do with them if not?', curiosity killed the cat after all.

adding colors to his writing to make it easier to see //

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✯ — MALE. TANGLEWOOD. MEDIUM DIFFICULTY. REF. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psychosocial.

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]i'm so sorry i totally thought i responded to this thread!!

The feline's body shook and trembled as though silent laughter was escaping from him, and the demon hoped that was the case, or this would be getting real fucking weird. It seemed like it, though, and a wide, almost playful smile appeared upon his maw. Realistically, he felt that if the other tried to stop him, he would've just pushed him away or given him a hearty smack, but not having to deal with any physical confrontation at all was more or less the preferred way of handling things. Besides, his satchel was getting quite full, and it wasn't like he had much more business to do here before he couldn't carry any more materials back to the Forge. What he had now would certainly hold him over for a while.

The feline's inquiry about his paw amused him a little, enough to grant the other a chuckle from the husky. "Don't sweat it, man. I ain't bleedin' out," he said, lifting the paw for the other to see. The wound was open somewhat, but the bleeding was far less rampant than it was before he had applied an adequate amount of pressure on it. He'd definitely live, that's for sure. What the cat had said prior to his question, though, had troubled him a little. The person who had informed him about this junkyard had said nothing about a group being in control. That fuck. Was he try'na get me killed? he thought bitterly about him, but he pushed the thought away to deal with the task at him. "Who's in control, then?" He figured that now that he was here and likely talking to a member of whatever clan claimed the yard, he might as well understand whose territory he was encroaching on.

Zjarr seemed to regain his confident energy at the stranger's next question. "Right on the money, sir! My name is Zjarr Ignibus, founder of the Ignibus Arms Company. I'm in this shithole so I can get cool shit to make into, y'guessed it, cooler shit." He tapped a dirty, dust and grime-ridden white paw on the satchel attached to his body, producing a variety of clanks and clinks as he did so. The feline didn't give a shit whether or not he took anything from the junkyard, so he figured that such an introduction was appropriate — it did reasonably explain, after all, why the husky showed up to this yard in the first place. And of course, he couldn't pass up on an opportunity to promote his craft. A new customer awaited in every stranger he spoke to.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — it just sucks to try and explain

space

whiskers twitching as a gale of cold air rushed over him, gaze falling to zjarr's bag of scavenged goods, a small smile claiming his maw. his paw was shown to him, and the tom held back from leaning forward to check it out further. he was not the medic of this group and this husky was not the albino oriental tom that had deeply wounded his paw. shaking his head faintly, wanting to tell him to mind the cut and not let it get infected, but they were all but strangers to one another. who was in control? 'tanglewood. they are my friends.', perhaps that was the best way to put it.

exhaling with a small breath, 'few of us come out this way. i don't care but others might. if you've the time, perhaps introduce yourself to them?', truly he had no say in this but he didn't want his favorite sunning spot to be drenched in blood because somebody took zjarr's scavenging the wrong way. a blacksmith. offering a smile and another quick scrawl, 'i am a metalsmith myself. that is my specialty, i haven't done much in the way of weapons-craft. do you have a certain item in mind to make?', he couldn't help the curiosity, reminded of his past friends. they were gone now, but perhaps, he might ask of the other to create a dagger for him, a memorial for the missing and a tool of practicality that he needed.

all good!! //

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✯ — MALE. TANGLE. MED DIFF. CAT. GRIM. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psy.

[Zjarr]

[div style="width: 48%; line-height: 14px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 13px;"]"Tanglewood, huh?" The name rested familiarly in his mouth, far from forgotten in his mind. It was a group he was surprised still existed to this day, unlike the countless others he had seen in his time on the Island that were long disbanded, never to be spoken of again. "Yeah...think I know 'bout y'all." Truthfully Zjarr didn't believe he had ever gone anywhere near their territory, which is why he hadn't recognized their scent or much of their domain, though the fact that wet swampland was so close to the junkyard should have been a telltale sign of who was claiming it. In his defense, it had been ages since he had gotten involved in clan life. It was all too alien to him now, and he took it upon himself to embark on expeditions once more as though he had never lived on the Island before.

Introduce himself to them? Well, that certainly wouldn't be a horrible idea. Zjarr had to make a name for himself now that he was getting back into the blacksmithing and trading businesses, and he figured it would be best not to start off on the wrong foot with these groups, newer and older alike. "Well, might as well start with you," the husky chuckled upon realizing that he hadn't gotten the other's name. "What do I call ya, sir?" The feline seemed to be quite the pleasant fellow —then again, Zjarr liked virtually anyone who was willing to turn a blind eye at his more shady practices.

More questions. Good, good! He would be more than happy to answer, seeing as it all pertained to his line of work. In all honesty, he wouldn't have taken the other for a smith at all, but at this point he knew better than to judge based on appearances alone. "Oh, nothin' in particular, really. I jus' badly needed to stock up. But I'll do anythin' a payin' customer asks for; swords, daggers, spears, you name it 'n' I'm your man." He could hardly withstand the excited twitching in his paws now, prompting him to pace as he spoke. It was a good, creative field he was in, and it was one that brought a nearly childlike joy to him at times, though rarely in front of others.

[glow=#f24b00,2,300]cold cold cold[/glow] — ☼

[aesior]

AESIOR OPHELES

✯ — it just sucks to try and explain

space

his own adventures within these lands had been sparse and few, he'd only stayed with the golden eye and traveled as much as he could, curiosity having filled his earlier days. the time he'd spent within tanglewood hadn't been any less exciting, he still traveled as much as he could these days, even if most of those days he spent inside and absorbed in his own crafts. today was a different day, drawn out by the warmth of the sun to the junkyard.

dipping his head to acknowledge the name given to him, mentally cataloging him in his memory alongside his smell and appearance. scribbling in his notebook, 'aesior opheles at your service, zjarr.', a faint hint of a smile would grace the grim's face as he sat himself upright. after a moment's deliberation, he would pause and think before scribbling again, 'what do you take in payment? i'm in need of a new blade to use in my gardening work, and my own weapons-work is a horrid mess.' he chuckled sheepishly to himself, drawing out the dented and rather ugly chunk of steel from his satchel and laying it on the ground. the blade's edge was chipped and stained, well-used over the years. he used it mostly for his garden work and trimming cuttings from interesting plants that he came across.

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✯ — MALE. TANGLE. MED DIFF. CAT. GRIM. LANGUAGE GUIDE. — ✯

#psy.