Difference between revisions of "Log:Czci Joins the Harvestmen Too"

2 November 2017

Czcibor sells his skillz to Lt. Dielle Henner of the Harvestmen.

The Wayhouse

It's the Wayhouse! After asking around after Dielle, since she's the one Omari named in specific, he was informed that she does come to the Wayhouse-- after all, so many do. He's been here for a few hours, sitting at a table in the front area and meticulously working on repairing his chainmail hauberk with a pair of needlenose pliers/wirecutters cutters and some steel wire, occasionally drinking from a cold cup of coffee. He's starting to think he may actually want to leave a note for her with his contact information-- all this fishing about for people seems remarkably haphazard to a man who's generally urban and connected to the internet through his phone at nearly all times.

Dielle comes into the Wayhouse. She doesn't show up often, but she does, occasionally. Tonight's one of those nights. She's wearing a really ugly sweater, of some kind of terrible green and purple stripes. It's probably from a thrift shot. Over that, she's wearing a shabby black wool overcoat, along with the brown cowboy hat and boots. She steps in the door and closes it behind her, then looks around. "Oh, hey, new blood! Dielle Henner, are you part of the freehold? Man, it's nice to be able to ask that without beating around the bush!" Her accent is very Southern.

It's not quite a startle, but the tin man does start, as preoccupied as he was a second ago. But then he grins at Dielle's greeting, and her realness, and he pushes back his chair and sets down his maille and tools, and he stands. With a hand on the table, he makes a gesture like he's either really bad at saluting or he's tipping a nonexistent hat. "Ms. Henner! Yes, actually, I am. Captain Czcibor Kowal der Landeswehr, and you're actually exactly the person I was hoping to see. A man called Omari said you were the woman to look up if I wanted to offer my services to the Harvestmen."

"I'm one of them", replies Dielle, tipping her own hat back. She walks over to the table where Czcibor is sitting and sits down. "The others would be Lieutenant Rorschach or Captain Byron. It's nice to meet you. What do you prefer to be called? If it's Captain, I should warn you, I'll get real confused because that's what I call Captain Byron most of the time. What are you captain of, anyway?" She smiles pleasantly and admires the maille.

"Ah! If you actually use ranks, then, it would be really rude--" and Czcibor's English is colloquial and fluent, but the Vienna-influenced Polish accent is distinct "--of me to insist on mine being acknowledged, as it wasn't earned within your organization." He's laughing, though, good-natured despite the fact that his personality, his self-confidence and awareness, certainly fill the room. "Army captain. Originally Arcadian, but well-earned and used with respect from my men; re-proven in my first freehold and retained despite the Winter and Summer Crowns attempting to promote me to General--" Isn't he Spring? "--and always, always, Captain der Landeswehr, my motley. We began martial, and still offer our skills as such to the defense of the freeholds we pass through, but at the moment we are only two."

Dielle grins. "Well, maybe we could work around it. What's your original language? What's the word for Captain in it? I want to be courteous of your earned rank, but it's easier in another language. And I take it you want to join the Harvestmen, if you want to talk to me?"

"I do!" laughs the tin soldier. "And-- Kapitan or Rotmistrz, in Polish; Kommandant or Rittmeister in German, since I spent my first ten years back on Earth in Austria. I am most used to Kapitan, but if it is still too close, the other ones are all right." He puts the tools and the wire away, but spreads out the hauberk for Dielle to take a closer gander at, should she wish to. It's well-worn, and looks to have been repaired many, many times.

Dielle does take a closer look, and says, "I can do some jewelry type stuff. I use it to make dream traps, but it's nothing like this. Besides, it's mostly from the craft store." She looks back up and says, "Rotmistrz might be easier, assuming we just don't call you Private Kowal. Although you won't be a private to start off. We go with recruit until we know that you can work with us, we can work with you, and teamwork is a thing. What are you good at, anyhow?"

"Rotmistrz is acceptable, but honestly, Kowal alone would be preferable to Private Kowal, should I work my way up from recruit," the Captain says wryly. He glances down at the hauberk again, and for a moment, his metal face looks a little lost, a little empty. But then a smile pulls at one corner of his mouth, and it stays lopsided as he carefully folds the heavy garment in preparation to put it in his messenger bag. "I can only repair it. Making one new is beyond my capabilities."

But then his metal hands fold on the tabletop and he looks businesslike, if still genial. "I'm surprisingly flexible for a man made of metal. I can scout without being harmed or making noise; I am exceptionally good at setting up ambushes and making sure the team I am working with has the best possible tactical advantages given an environment; I'm an absolute expert at drawing fire and surviving it-- or being a meatshield, as it were; I'm good at killing monsters with blades, magic, firearms, and my bare hands, but would prefer not to kill Lost or mortals... and I am very, very, very good at healing."

"Kowal, then. And I wouldn't even know how to repair it. I get my chains ready-made and attach them to bottles. Long story." Dielle shuts up, then, and listens. "Ok, so scout, fighter, healer. Good to know you're good at healing, you'll be very much in demand. Are you good at strategy as well as tactics?" She sounds hopeful. Very hopeful. And she does NOT watch the pretty, pretty armor go away. She's polite, that way.

"--well, I can teach you that much," laughs Kowal. "Any more than that and you'd need a crafter. I can't work with anything delicate anymore; I haven't much sensation in my hands." His eyebrows go up. "Actually, yes-- I just didn't imagine you'd-- I mean, I'm a new recruit; strategy's generally left to those with visibly proven experience. The only proof I have is that Vienna's freehold still stands. But it's not just for field tactics that I was put in charge of her army for the majority of the wars between aught-four and twenty-ten." He makes kind of a face, then, shifting uncomfortably. "How would you have me prove it? Please don't just take my word for it. I could be lying."

Dielle says, "Don't worry! As Second, if you say that you can do it, I'd have you sit in and then ask your opinions, privately at first, then more openly as you prove yourself. I don't want to assume people don't know anything. Generally speaking, what people join the Harvestmen are already competent. I just like to give opportunities to prove it. It may take a while, but it happens! We're very big into teamwork, but a lot of that is figuring out who's good at what and having them do it. Which I'm sure you know if you were a general." She sits back and smiles at Kowal and adds, "I can understand that you won't want to be called 'private' again. As it happens, we only have recruits, privates, lieutenants, and then the Captain. Second in command is still an acting lieutenant. And we've only got two of those at the moment. However, joining is as easy as saying you want to, so you're in."

The tin man relaxes when Dielle explains she won't just be taking his word for it; he nods cheerfully at the rest of the explanation-- it makes sense. And then he laughs. "I don't at all mind holding whatever rank is appropriate when it's appropriate-- I'd just rather not get called it, if that's possible. I'll suffer through it if I have to, though." Then he nods firmly and reaches across the table to offer his hand. "Then I'm in, yes. Do you hold sparring sessions? And if you do-- would it be possible for me to use practice wasters rather than live steel? I truly don't wish to hurt any of ours."

Dielle grins at the tin man and says, "To be fair, we're not much on calling people by their ranks. There just aren't /enough/ of us to be that stick-in-the-ass about it. I wouldn't worry too hard, it's just that having too many captains around gets confusing. You know how it is." She takes a breath, and says, "I've never heard the term "wasters", but we don't spar with live steel. Not unless it's archery practice. We're gettin' back into the swing of things, so I'd like to hold some sparring practices. Things got kind of bad over the summer, things got so slow that members just kind of dropped off or moved and we're rebuilding our ranks."

"Wasters are wooden swords, made well and with an attempt to weight and balance them like their steel counterparts," Czcibor explains. "I can look into purchasing a selection of them for the freehold if it's something you'd be interested in. They're meant, obviously, for training and practice." Then he grins and leans forward, elbow on the table, and props his chin in his hand. "So. You'd like to get into the swing of things again, hold sparring practice... do you also take groups on patrol in the hedge for monsters to kill? Or--? Ah, which reminds me, I'm more than happy to go on any expedition even just as a healer, while I'm a lowly recruit. I joined the Greenies to make sure I was available for that reason, but I find it's most effective to take care of injuries on the spot."

"We do, when we have enough people. One of our Lieutenants spent most of his summer in the hedge and honestly, there just haven't been enough people. I do plan on it, though. We don't patrol /much/ of the Hedge, just our corner of it." Daisy's quite honest about that. "And we don't have enough healers, although one of the upcoming hedge patrols planned is one to get blood for the Greenies' garden. Cassian requested it. And we need the other components to have some craftsmen make hedgespun armor." Dielle's looking happier and happier at the questions Czibor's asking. "I definitely want you to talk to Byron and Ror, too, although as far as I'm concerned, you're definitely in."

"Brilliant!" says ... Rotmistrz Kowal! ... with another laugh; he starts safing his pistols on the table, as well, in preparation to put them away-- he honestly looks like he did, in fact, just come in from the Hedge, himself. "I am a very, very, very good healer. I will suggest that anyone going on an expedition with me offers me food or drink at the outset, as it's the catch for the contract that heals minor injuries and restores fatigue, and that for a lengthy or particularly dangerous journey, there's some way to replenish glamour-- though I suspect that I'll be learning which goblin fruits are best for that purpose and growing them myself, over at Isolde's. I may have a lot, but it's not an unlimited supply, and the catch for healing major injuries is a little more hard to come by."

Dielle snickers. "I've got the minor healing. Just remind people before the trip or right at the beginning. I find that living with a football player, it comes in real handy. Get good enough at it and the concussions go away. But I can't do major injuries. I'm a Dawn, not a Spring. Which I sometimes think is a shame, before I remind myself that I'm kind of a /broken/ unicorn." She taps the scar on her forehead. There's no angst over it, it's a matter-of-fact kind of thing that she takes a bit of a black humor in.

One corner of Czcibor's mouth crooks up; he's finished, swiftly, with the first pistol and drops it in his bag, flagged, then goes to work on the second. "I started out Summer, realized I wasn't angry enough, and joined Spring because we hadn't heard of the Dawn Court in Vienna. Spring was the closest we had to hope-- and, honestly, rebirth and renewal does come pretty close." He tilts his head up, featureless eyes pointed at Dielle's forehead, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Makes you look like a Moon Princess. Much prettier scar than the ones I keep ending up with--" He pauses and his eyes widen. "Uh, please don't get mad. I'm not making light or being a creep. It is an aesthetically pleasing silver lining to a terrible trauma. Is all I meant."

Dielle starts grinning, then laughing. "I didn't think that came out creepy, and thank you. Rorschach's Moon Court, too, so I can start teasin' him that I'm a Moon Princess, now. Funny thing is I started Summer, too. Problem was, I wasn't so much getting a handle on my anger as gettin' /angrier/. That don't work for me. Uncontrolled anger ain't what the Court's about, but wallowing in it wasn't helpin' me control it. So I cut loose and went to Dawn and I've been pretty happy about it, ever since. But if I hadn't gone Dawn, it likely woulda been Spring, for the healing part of it."

Metal hand clanks against metal chest in overdramatic relief. "Oh good. And yes good tease Moon courtiers. I don't know any well enough to do so without acquiring new perforations," Czcibor laughs, finishing with the second gun and dropping it in the bag too. Then he detaches his gladius, sheath and all, from his belt and places it almost reverently in the bag, and nods to Dielle. "They say a lot of people start out Winter and don't stay-- but I think that's true for a lot of courts, really. It's the people that change their minds once they have their feet under them that usually stick around longer, too." He gets carefully to his feet again, picking up the (it's GOT to be reinforced) heavy-ass messenger bag and slinging it over his shoulder, and that's when she can see that he favors his left leg. "Oh, by the way," he says, pausing. "I have to pick up dinner for my oathmate, or I'd stay longer right now, but, two things:"

He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a scribbled-on businesscard. There's a new phone number written on it, and an address at the Schoolhouse Apartments. "One: Easiest way to get to me is cellphone. Or shoot a flare, if you see a purple hot air balloon in the sky and you're looking for me. Two: I have a hand-wrought iron bastard sword, and it has killed Gentry. Don't be afraid to take me on the worst missions."

Dielle says, "I'll text you, so you can get my number, too. And good to know, because we got another new member who thinks he's the only one ever killed Gentry, too. If you find anyone else wantin' to talk to me, who's freehold, feel free to give them my number. I don't always haunt the Wayhouse. Heck, I don't usually have time!" She takes the card, and immediately puts the number in her contacts and then texts Czcibor with a text that reads <<Hey, it's Dielle Henner, and this is my number. Welcome to the Harvestmen!>>

Czcibor laughs outright. "In a town as Wyrd as this, he thinks he's the only one that's ever killed Gentry?" He shakes his head, grinning, and then his phone buzzes, so he takes it out and carefully sends Dielle an emoji. It is, in fact, a party hat. "I'll definitely do that. And let me know ahead of time if the hedge-spelunking will require hand-wrought iron; Larry's heavy as hell and I can't carry him if I'm air. The iron won't transform with me. Obviously." Finally, he gives Dielle a quick, jaunty salute. "I will see you soon!"

"I'll do that," and Dielle seems utterly delighted, as she hat-tips Czcibor again. That's when she gets up, stretches a bit, and starts heading for the door, herself. She's nearly bouncing as she walks, slipping her phone into her pocket.