Echoes of Home

63 - Steve

We have a workshop.

It's got lights and windows and walls and some shelves and a big flat workbench in the middle. It's got a door with a lock. It'll have cabinets and drawers as soon as we make them. It'll have a heater when it gets cold, as I understand Oklahoma is wont to do.

What it doesn't have is something a real Eorzean workshop has, which is a Thing that tracks projects. Someone in the Free Company (guild) would use the Thing to start the project, and the Thing would then track everything needed to build it. People would be told by the Thing to supply such-and-such a material based on their class and skill. When it was all done, the project-starter would assemble it into whatever was being built, such as an airship or a submersible or a house part.

We don't have a Thing. I don't know how to make a Thing or where to get one. Not gonna worry too much about it since it's just the two of us anyway. And time I spent worrying about how to make a Thing is time I could spend making stuff without a Thing. Priorities.

So the workshop is a source of coincidental magic: we make stuff, we have a place to make stuff, so it's reasonable we're making stuff in the workshop. Plus we're not exploding stuff in the Hartman kitchen, and there's a greatly reduced chance of someone walking in on us while we're manipulating aether. But to reinforce the coincidence I should leave some tools lying around.

Tsu'na borrowed a barstool and wrote a recipe for it. Such a simple thing as sitting down while we work and I didn't think of it. I love her clarity of vision. I made tables, one for the Pit and one to be a drafting table of sorts. Even if we don't have a Thing we need to keep track of everything we need for a project.

We did our crafting. The sun went down. We stood at the door before heading to the diner, looking over the room. We slipped our arms around each other and just held each other. Not sure what she was thinking, but I was just amazed at the idea we were establishing something we could call home.

I didn't want to let her go. It was just contentment, nothing more. At least, that's how it started out.

"I will make curtains for the windows, Husband."

"Thank you, my love."

Deputy Frank wasn't at the diner last night, to the noticeable relief of everyone there. The man is a stealth tension; we'd gotten used to his presence, but really felt his absence. Pies were sold, music was loud and a good time was had by all. Gotta wonder if anyone hires him for parties, so they can make him leave to liven things up.

This morning we looked at martial arts studios in Tulsa. I suspected what we were looking for didn't advertise that much, certainly not with cheery websites talking about family plans. But we had to start somewhere, so we got on the eastbound bus to check out Flying Tigers Academy. Not to be confused with the Flying Tigers of World War II, the Flying Tiger Historical Society, Flying Tiger Enterprises, or Flying Tiger Copenhagen.

Well. Maybe Flying Tiger Copenhagen, which features cute products, and one room of the "academy" was more pastel than I'd expect in a dojo. Late morning on a weekday wasn't a likely time for crowds, so we found one guy, at least dressed in a gi, wiping down a mirrored wall. He saw us in the mirror and came over to greet us.

"Hey, folks, welcome to Flying Tigers! I'm Master Shen. Looking to get into shape?"

"Master Shen" looked like a young Tony Danza. I could have passed him on the street in Newark and thought he was part of the atmosphere. But he wasn't that out of place in a martial arts academy that offered family coupons on its website.

I offered my hand. "Hey, I'm Sal, and this is my wife Tanya. Actually, we're looking for kinda specialized training."

"Specialized how?"