Tea Time (OTA)

[proper_twinkie]

With everyone using the stove, the kitchen/dining room area was the only bloody room in the whole compound with any kind of warmth. The tea she brought from home but given she didn’t have the right kind of pot, kettle, or infuser she was left with a bastardized version that tasted slightly metallic

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[forgebyfire]

Forge wasn't much bothered by the ever-present chill of the building, nor was he particularly hungry, but he had been walking by the kitchen when the subtle smell of herbs caught both his attention and enough of his curiosity to make him detour from his path back to the garage. There wasn't anything in particular waiting for him there except the continued dismantling of the Jeep, and that was more just to fill the long hours

[proper_twinkie]

Betsy raised her head as he came in. He was a mess. "If you could call it that. I managed as best as I could with what we have here but the tea pot is rubbish and the water tastes metallic. It's not so bad if you add milk though. Help yourself."

She paused and looked at him again. "Wash your hands."

[forgebyfire]

Forge nodded and had taken two steps when she added 'wash your hands.' He paused, looked at her... and then nodded again. "It smells like good tea, regardless," Forge said, continuting on to the sink. There he paused.

He hadn't taken off his glove in front of anyone, not even Bradley. There was a moment of deliberation before Forge shook his head minutely to himself and stripped off the black leather to reveal the intricate metal hand beneath it, the flesh of his wrist scarred where the machine met his body. He turned on the sink and began to wash, soaping up to his forearms.

[proper_twinkie]

She was looking without trying to be obvious but his hand caught her attention. She'd seen worse but it was pretty bad. Betsy didn't even need to peek to know how self conscious he was about it. He probably rarely took that glove off.

"It is good tea. British tea the way it was intended. None of that prepackaged dust the Americans serve. What's your name?"

[forgebyfire]

Forge actually gave a quiet laugh at that, turning off the water and grabbing a nearby towel to dry with. "I wonder if the prepackaged dust can be blamed as a byproduct of your people or mine." Forge walked over to her to offer a hand. He made himself. The hand was so intricate that it was almost life-like for all it was metal. "Forge."

[proper_twinkie]

Betsy smiled. "There's no possible way we're taking responsibility for that. We tried to give you lot the good stuff and you threw it off the boat."

His hand felt weird but she trained her face to not show any sign of discomfort. Though truthfully, she was more intrigued by the workings. "Betsy." She flashed another smile then looked at his hand. She might not get to see it up close again without the glove. "It's incredible. How does it work?"

[forgebyfire]

"I'm Cheyenne," Forge said with a dry snort. "I was there before the boats."

When she commented on his hand... it clenched into a fist and then relaxed. His other hand raised to rub it in something very close to embarassment--not because it was a metal hand, but because of why he had it. "It's a little complicated," he said. "I had to develop a system that would connect to and run off of my body's energy, essentally. A sort of neural network. The impulses actually translate to mechanical energy through the--"

He stopped. Most women would not want to hear the details. In fact, Forge was sure that most men who were not Bradley wouldn't want to hear them either. "Well," he finished. "It's complicated."

[proper_twinkie]

"Ah, a native. I'm afraid I don't know much about your people beyond old westerns. Were you raised on a reservation?"

She listened aptly as she glanced back and forth between the hand and his face. "No, I've heard about this. Intuitive programing. It's better than the old system that had a delay though I've never heard of any study regarding powered subjects." Betsy stopped and chuckled. Right. Girls don't do science or mechanics for that matter.

"Myoelectric limbs and Osseointegration aren't so complicated for the child of two scientists. Not to mention I raced motorcycles and became a licensed charter pilot by the time I was 17. But the whole, me man, you dumb girl thing is charming. Really."

[forgebyfire]

Forge stood and listened, lips slightly parted in a sort of happy shock. But for someone who prided himself intensely on control he actually flushed just slightly under his tanned skin for her last slap on the wrist. She was right, of course, though he hadn't intended it that way at all.

"I apologize," Forge said honestly. "I would have said the same thing to a man in your stead though that doesn't make it less condescending. I just..." he spread his hands a little helplessly. "I tend to get a lot of blank looks whenever I go into detail."

[proper_twinkie]

He was being genuine so she relaxed a little and went back to her tea. "It really is a beautiful bit of machinery."

Betsy grew quiet as she waited for him to join her at the table but the silence grew awkward. "Do you just plan to hover?"

[forgebyfire]

The words myoelectric limbs and osseointegration were still floating around Forge's head in her clipped, British voice. Maybe he had been assuming.

He blinked and refocused on her face. "No. And... thank you." That was a little awkward in itself. "My." Forge wet his lips and had a sudden dire urge to go find some machine to dismantle. "My right leg as well." Clearing his throat he changed the subject. "Thank you for sharing your tea."

Turning, Forge headed back to the counter to get a glass for himself. His glove was picked up from the side of the sink and put into his pocket after a moment's debate. "And yes, I grew up on a reservation." He poured a steaming mug and brought it back to the table to sit.

[proper_twinkie]

Betsy blinked and looked at him again. There was something in the way he said thank you, something personal. "You? You put it together?"

She shrugged about the tea. She wasn't going to drink it all herself but she refused to make tea by the cup. It needed room for the flavor to unfurl. Tea wasn't just something one nuked in a microwave. "Which reservation? There are more than one, correct?"

[forgebyfire]

"In southern Montana," Forge said as he sat, both hands curled around the mug. "There are a few major reservations, mostly in the midwest." He brushed hair behind his ear and rubbed his forehead. "And yes. I made them."

[proper_twinkie]

"I usually just think of the southwestern one. The one near or around Las Vegas. The make a lot of jewelry and sell it off strip. What's Montana like?"

He seemed uncomfortable. Ordinarily she wouldn't care, she wanted to know but chasing yet another person away from her didn't seem over appealing at the moment either. "I'm impressed." She said and left it at that.

[forgebyfire]

Forge gave her compliment a nod. He was uncomfortable for just having the metal hand in sight; having it discussed was worse. The limbs were wonderful (and yes, impressive) things but they were a constant reminder of his failure and trepass.

Part of him knew that he deserved to be uncomfortable. He hoped it would lead to acceptance.

"You're probably thinking of Duck Valley," Forge said, lifting his cup and blowing across the hot liquid. "They're mostly Shoshoni there. Montana..." He thought about the question for a moment. "Is beautiful. There is still a lot of open land there, plains and green-footed mountains." There was a twitch of a smile as he took a small drink. "It snows quite a bit."

[proper_twinkie]

"So with all the different tribes, what sets the Cheyenne apart?" She asked as she attempted to telekinetically bring the sugar but it only made it as far as the refrigerator before the container shattered.

"Dammit!" She grumbled and went to clean it up. "I can blast a hole through the side of a tank but I still can't just lift things without destroying it."