maskormenacelogs | another intro, yeeeeah

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another intro, yeeeeah

WHO: Kristoff Bjorgman and OPEN
WHERE: Outside of Residence #005
WHEN: Thursday, February 13th
WHAT: Kristoff's unsure about going into this house. In fact, he is massively put-off by this entire thing. Hello housemates, neighbors, and any other passers-by.
WARNINGS: nah man.

When Kristoff had turned away from the massive doors of Arendelle's castle, he'd heard Sven snort and whine in protest behind him. He'd ignored it in favor of walking determinedly away from the whole situation, and now... Now he was here, and Sven wasn't. He'd been suddenly surrounded by utterly unfamiliar spaces and people, and he must've asked fifteen times about his reindeer. Maybe the idea was that, if he knew that one thing, had something familiar, this would somehow make a lot more sense.

But he still didn't know where Sven was, and this still didn't make any sense. He'd been deposited in front of a house, odd in construction, and wasn't exactly sure about going in. They said he could, that he was supposed to live there, but it was still an uncomfortable action to take. It wasn't his house, and nobody had invited him so much as they'd shoved him at it, and... This whole thing was just too much! Everything here was boxy and paved-over, the street so open and the land so flat, the people too pushy.

He'd been too overwhelmed to be able to hold on to anything very valuable about this, if there was anything. Outside of the house, with nowhere else to go, he rubbed a hand over his face and sat down heavily on the front lawn. The things that they'd given him were set down next to him, along with his mittens, and he began to wait.

He wasn't sure what he was waiting on, but something had to make sense eventually, right?

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"Great, take your time," Nelson said as Kristoff went on his way. "If you need anything, just..."

Well. Things seemed to be going well enough, all things considered, but Nelson still felt some mild relief at the prospect of brief solitude so that he could recollect his thoughts. Re-strategize. He had not really expected that when he engaged the man sitting out on his lawn the exchange would end up with said man actually living under the same roof and in their shower.

It was a lot to take in all at once time. Nelson was capable of thinking quickly under pressure, but that didn't make it any less stressful. Kristoff seemed like a nice boy -- if simple -- but another housemate did mean less privacy, it did mean more mess (apparently), and it did mean more constant hospitality. Nelson may have been polite, but it was difficult performing all the time. He took a sip of his coffee, wondering if he was trying too hard.

He tried to put it out of his mind, so though it did occur to him Kristoff might not know innately how to use the shower, it was a thought Nelson for several reasons berated himself for, so instead he got out a frying pan.

Kristoff did take his time, as much as he wasn't one for dawdling. After a minute or two of starting through the floor, he bent to pick up his clothes again, folding everything into an somewhat orderly pile that he set down in the corner by the door. Only after that, after making neat sense of something, did he turn to take the strange room in. It was very clean and (as he'd suspected) full of things that he couldn't quite name. How hard could it be, though?

The next few minutes were spent on his attempts to make the taps work, coupled with an accidental toilet flush somewhere along the way. He figured out the sink first, applied the same knowledge to the shower faucet, and was both impressed and miffed by the whole thing. It was weird, and he reconsidered getting under the water before he reasoned that he might as well. He was here, after all. So he wriggled out of the rest of his layers and folded those, too.

Most of his time actually spent in the shower was idle, spent adjusting the water temperature and wondering where it was all coming from and how it was heated. He gave up when he realized he wasn't going to magically figure it out for sure. He found soap, and he washed, and that was the important part. When he emerged from the bathroom again, he was still considerably damp and in the lightest of his still-dirty clothes, but it was an improvement nonetheless. He felt better, at least, if only a little bit.

He approached the kitchen as if he wasn't sure he was supposed to come back in, his pile of clothes in his arms. Not knowing how to restart conversation, here, he settled for asking questions. He was still curious, anyway. "So, uh... How does all that work?"

Most of the food was ready by that time, the eggs set on plates while the bacon continued to sizzle for a few more minutes yet. It had been quick, easy work, as Nelson had been expecting it would be, so he had also gone around the kitchen and seen what else he could add to the spread. Sugar and milk had been set on the table to add to the coffee, salt, pepper, and tabasco for the eggs. Mostly Nelson just fussed around restlessly, at least until he heard Kristoff's voice behind him again.

"Oh--" He smiled, looking from Kristoff to some of the kitchen appliances. He pointed to the stove. "Do you mean this? I can show you, most of it's fairly simple. I don't know what everything in here does, but you cook on the stove. And you store food that needs to be kept cold in the refrigerator--" He pointed, but stopped there, taking the bacon off to add it to the plates.

"So... you don't have anything like this where you come from?" He wondered if Kristoff was from deep in some arctic wilderness.

"Well, I... I know what a stove is. People have stoves," he started, crouching for a moment to set his things down in the hall, out of the way and (hopefully) unobtrusive. Then he came fully into the kitchen to inspect the things he was being told about. He knew what a stove was, alright, this just... Wasn't like any stove he'd ever seen. "They just... You know. They usually have a fire thing going on."

And the refrigerator... He might have guessed it was what it was, if he'd been made to guess, at least where it came to the item's purpose. Method of functioning was a different matter, same as the stove. If there was any appliance in any house that he might have been readily familiar with back in Arendelle and beyond, it was the icebox, and this one is so impressive and weirdly large! He seemed less worried about being intrusive here, and he moved to open the door. The structure was different, the light was a confusing yet interesting touch, and it was suitably cold. So the ice must have been kept behind the other door, right?

He popped that one open, too, and... There was no great block of ice present. There was ice, but it wasn't enough to make something this large work, and the chamber was freezing, ice formed along the walls in some places... It'd been made in there. Closing both doors as if the whole thing had offended him, he turned to face Nelson once more. "It's cold in there."

Which, yes, the other man had already mentioned, but... The thing was icing itself. Come on.

Nelson hovered by the stove still in case Kristoff wanted an explanation of the dials -- again, he wondered what kind of place Kristoff came from, although the fact he had stoves was more encouraging. Somewhere just without electricity maybe, it wasn't as if Nelson's family hadn't had a wood stove when he was growing up. Small towns did just fine without more so than cities.

He almost laughed, stopping himself at the last minute with his hand. "It's-- yes, it's meant to do that. I don't actually know how it works, come to think of it, but... it's electric, it does it all on its own as long as there's power. Just like the lights."

It was still light enough outside not to really require a switch being flipped but Nelson did so anyway in demonstration, imagining Kristoff must be used to some kind of archaic or similarly primitive equivalent.

"It's very convenient," he added. "You save much more time this way for, uh, well, doing just about anything else. You know, it spares quite an ordeal of preparation."

Kristoff was trying to figure out why Nelson was so pleased about all of this. He frowned at the confirmation that the refrigerator did, in fact, function all on its own. The demonstration of the lights only made his scowl deepen a tick, and lighting situations weren't even remotely his concern. It was somebody's, though.

"An ordeal of preparation..." He repeated at a mutter, reaching up to scratch his chin while he fished for words in his mind. Those ordeals were people's livelihoods. He cast the freezer door another disgruntled look, reaching over to tap on it. "I sell ice for a living. What about that? What about people who make candles or lamp oil? What happens to all of that?"

"Well, naturally the demand is different," Nelson said, almost blithely. He was used to a life like this, or one very similar. To him it seemed logical to want less work to be involved in essential, day-to-day tasks. "People still sell candles and ice, but candles are for occasions and emergencies these days -- or because they smell nice. They have ice in markets if someone needs a whole lot of it, but we can just make our own."

He indicated the freezer, thinking the information would be helpful; Kristoff's expression confused him, as such. "You can always do something else," he added.

Do something else? Do something else? The initial dismissal was bad enough, but that..? Kristoff didn't push down the indignant snort that came up at the suggestion, arms coming up to gesture, palms up and hands open. He didn't have anything else.

"I don't... I don't have have another trade on standby, you know. I cut ice. I sell it. That's it. That's what I spent my life learning how to do." It wasn't like he'd been to proper school or anything, and he was sure that even people who did didn't automatically get three professions, just in case. He heaved a great breath out and let his face fall forward into his hands. The past few days, man. "If it's not a sudden winter, it's this stupid box. What's going on with the world?"

The message got through that time, at least; when Kristoff threw his arms up, Nelson did the same, only less in exasperation and more in something startled and pacifying. His initial thought was what kind of profession is that? but had sense enough not to voice it.

"Uh-- w-well-- listen, it's nothing personal," Nelson said, almost defensively. "Maybe you'll learn something new, there's no lack of opportunity out there. I doubt cutting ice is all you know how to do."

He wasn't sure if that came across as encouraging or patronizing, but it seemed obvious to him. Cutting ice?

"Don't you have any skills?"

Kristoff dragged his hands down his face as he looked up once more, regarding Nelson with a flat expression. Where did this guy come from that it was so obvious that one could just up and change their careers, no big deal? And, sure, maybe it was possible for some people to do that. Maybe. But it still wasn't something anybody would shrug off like that, was it?

"Skills? They're all--" Most of the things that he's good at relate to his job, in one way or another. That, or they deal with his survival in the mountains, but those are things that he considers practical skills, things that everybody should know. He's skilled in the use and repair of his (lost) tools and of his (exploded) sled. He's good at keeping himself fed via fishing and trapping, and he knows what to look for when foraging. He can darn his own socks and sew enough to make his clothes last. He doesn't have another craft, though. He doesn't have anything he can sell, which is important because money is pretty useful.

"I don't know. I'm a good climber. I know the range better than anyone. I... I play the lute."

That last one was an exasperated half-joke. That was about the most useless thing he could do, and it probably wouldn't gain him even the most modest of livings.

It seemed quite simple to Nelson, but it was true that where he was from a person could afford to pick and choose where they wanted to be rather than select a career (or trade) by pure necessity. Not quite so during the Depression, no, but Nelson hadn't had to worry about work himself much at the time after he'd enlisted.

Still, he listened to Kristoff with perplexed concern, wondering what all kind of skills someone like him could have. Things more suited to the wilderness, obviously.

"What about something in survival skills? Uh-- you know, precisely that sort of independent living, swimming and climbing and tying knots. Things anyone can stand to know," he offered after another moment of thought. "At least as a start."

"Survival skills. Right." He couldn't disagree that they were things people ought to know; it was already why he hadn't considered them marketable. He was about to ask how they might be traits worth selling, exactly, but he paused to look out of the open window. It was still the odd image of the smooth street lined with boxy houses and clipped grass. How wide did it all stretch? When did the buildings taper off, and where did the mountains begin?

"You're all in these houses, and the land's so flat..." He started, the bluster gone out of him for the most part. What's left is a general tone of questioning with a dash of gruff pouting. "Does anybody need anything like that here? And... They said something about work. They did. It's on the paper. Just-- I really like what I do, you know? Why'd they have to get rid of it?"

The geography of Florida was not something Nelson was well-versed in himself, although he knew some things (there were swamps?) (hurricanes?) abstractly. The clean-cut town of Heropa wasn't anything like the deep woods, but that didn't have to mean much.

"Well, swimming, maybe, if you can do that," he murmured, momentarily distracted in thought. Then he shook his head. "There wouldn't be the same sort of need for... cutting ice out here, probably, it is very warm. Compared to what you're used to. But--"

He gestured as if to indicate the paper in question. "Well, what are you supposed to be doing?"

"Oh. I... Um. Hang on."

Kristoff moved back to the entrance of the kitchen where he'd left his things, and he pulled the folder from among his folded clothes. He returned and held it out for Nelson to take, small frown in place with his eyes diverted elsewhere, as sheepish as he'd let his demeanor get in front of a stranger. He could get by pretty well, so far as reading went. He could read signs on shopfronts easily and write all of the names of the people who bought ice from him, those sorts of things, but the information presented in the folder was a daunting wall of text. He'd glanced over it. He knew that they knew too much about him before having talked to him. They knew his full name and his age, but beyond that...

"I'm some kind of driver? I don't know what it is. I don't really... Um. I mean, I didn't really sit down to work through all of that, you know?"

Accepting the folder, Nelson continued to look at Kristoff for another moment or two, still trying to mull out a solution, before he opened the folder to read it. Then, after going over the first half of the first page, he looks back over at Kristoff over the edge of the folder.

"Well, if you haven't read it all the way through yet--" He began, looking back at the paper for reference and assuming that Kristoff just hadn't bothered instead of assuming that reading the paper might have been challenging. "It's an ice resurfacer. So in some way you might at least still be near the ice, even if it's indoors. You drive it over an ice rink to smooth down the surface."

It seemed fitting, Nelson supposed, although he wasn't surprised Kristoff didn't understand at first. If he can from the arctic, obviously there would have no need for ice rinks; if he skated at all it would probably just be on an actual frozen body of water.

"Uh... is that any clearer?"

"Sure."

The answer wasn't as affirmative as he attempted to make it sound. It was a little clearer. He knew that he was going to be around ice, which is something that he knows about. Even if he didn't get how it was going to be indoors, he could get why making it look nice might be a thing. That was part of it, right? Anyway, if it was ice, he could learn it. No problem.

Anyway... Kristoff let out a long breath and dropped back into one of the chairs at the kitchen table, seemingly done with the momentary panic if still a little confused. He scrubbed a hand over his face and remembered that there was food. That was still good. He looked over everything and smiled, lingering doubt and just enough apology making their way onto his face. "Um... Thanks, anyway. I just-- I wasn't prepared for any of this. It's kinda from out of nowhere."

Progress. Nelson smiled, as encouragingly as he could, pleased that Kristoff seemed to have somewhat taken to the situation now. Had grown more satisfied with it, at least. Nelson couldn't fault him, really, for any difficulty -- he himself had a great deal of trouble when he'd first arrived.

"I don't blame you," he said, nodding once and offering one of the plates of food to Kristoff. "It's a lot to take in all at once. And none of it sat right with me in the beginning either. I don't like being away from home in the least."

That wasn't entirely true, there were things about being here -- or back in the City -- Nelson had grown to appreciate, things he couldn't have back home. But all the same, he was a man who appreciated the simple things, and the familiar things, and home was still home even if it wasn't perfect.

"It does get easier, though," he added. "And there are some good things. Even if you never stop wanting to go back."

"Thanks," Kristoff muttered again as the food was presented. He didn't know what to say apart from that, though. He just nodded in acknowledgement because it was the easiest thing to do. He couldn't say whether it would get easier, but he could easily imagine his desire to return never abating. He wondered, briefly, how far the thought extended. Even when he had the mountain back, and Sven and the family... Well, that still left Arenelle, didn't it? Would the want to go back always be tucked away in the back of his mind, no matter how long he left it alone there?

He started to eat quietly, content to sit through the motions of doing something easy and effortlessly familiar. He let his mind wander and let it stop again. He'd almost finished his plate when he spoke up again. "How long have you been here?"

The silence as they ate wasn't necessarily uncomfortable to Nelson, who -- social as he was -- tended to take some relief in moments that offered an easy respite to conversation, particularly with someone who wasn't an old, close friend. Eating was one such example, but it only lasted so long.

Nelson took a slow sip of his coffee before answering, in part because it was hard to think about, and in part because he actually had to do the math. "A few weeks, here. Altogether it's been over a year since I've been home," he finally said, knowing it wasn't necessarily a reassurance. "Some people come and go much more quickly than that."

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another intro, yeeeeah

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