who: Ren Solitaire & Kratos Spartan when: While Ren was moving in. where: Ren's new apartment in the neighborhood. What: Ren is moving, and meeting new neighbors. warnings: None that I can think of. status: COMPLETE.
Moving day had come, which largely involved Ren packing up a suitcase, a milk carton, an Amazon box, and his messenger bag, and packing them onto the back of his motorcycle one at a time to move them from the Motel across town to 'suburbia'. Whatever that meant. They were reasonably decent houses, and this particular one had been broken into apartments with the top floor one apartment, the ground floor another, and then one in a basement. It was possibly more room than Ren really needed, and yet, he had to confess that even if it was empty of all furniture for a while, he was glad of something that was clean, and could be kept clean, and didn't probably involve drug deals and sexual exchanges next door.
Right now, he had pulled up in front of the brick townhouse and he stopped the bike, put the stand down, and turned to look at his new home. There had been a part of him that had half thought about just moving into his parents house and seeing how much he had to pay the caretaker to not tell them he was there. But in the end it had felt too risky. What if they were to show up out of the blue?
This was safer, and it was his own, and he wasn't living off of his parents anything here. He got off the bike, and reached to unhook the milk carton on the back. This was the last load. He'd take it in and then go back to the motel to do a final sweep and finally check out. He had his hands full as he approached the front door and realized with a dash of irritation that his keys were buried in his pocket. He considered possibly using magic to unlock and open the door, but as he didn't know his neighbours he wasn't certain that was the smartest plan.
The townhouse seemed to Kratos unnecessarily luxurious, but in this world he had been informed the neighborhood was a proper place for an earning family, and he was keen to blend in with everyone else as much as possible. Not that the massive man who opened the door in Ren's face could possibly blend in anywhere except some western version of a terracotta army: his skin was a pasty gray all over, and a large red mark, perhaps a birthmark, went over his eye and disappeared beyond the back of his neck. He had a large quantity of black hair and a plaid on, which gave the overall effect of a mad mountain man looming in the doorway.
He had been informed that the other tenant was coming; he had not asked nor cared whom it was, though the boy had on his weekend visit, and been disappointed when Kratos had no answers. The boy was not there, though a moment before he had swung the door open there had been another male voice, unaccented, from the depths of the first floor, one that did not belong to the mountain man, who had a voice like a rockslide. "You are going upstairs," he commented. He looked the other man over, but did not seem impressed.
After a moment of watching the milk carton and box teeter, he put one massive hand out and plucked out the edge of one, meaning to lift it out of Ren's arms entirely. He stepped back to allow entrance to the hall and staircase, obviously temporarily abandoning his path outward.
Ren hadn't expected to find anyone there and when he did, it startled him just enough to keep him from a moment from finding his manners. But they recovered quickly enough, and he nodded, offering the other man a small smile.
"Yeah, I'm Ren. I'm moving in upstairs," he told him, although it seemed possible that he knew that. He also hadn't anticipated having his load taken from him, but when it was, he spent a heart-beat confused - it wasn't as if he was some small, light-weight person who couldn't carry something - before shoving his hand in his pocket for the keys. "I can get it, here, but um," did he intended to carry it all up? Should Ren try to take it back now that he had the key to the apartment door in his hand? The Ren who was raised by his parents ought to have known the answer to those questions.
To Kratos, nearly everyone was short. The man was a giant and hit his head on doorframes regularly, whereupon he often had to wedge in sideways given the breadth of his shoulders. It appeared he had reason, however, and once capturing the box on a box in one hand he then bore it across the entryway, down the short hall from which only closed doors on either side was visible of the groundfloor "apartment," and then up the wood-railed staircase. The house was modern and midwestern, the trim cherry, the floors neutral wood, the walls cream. There were no visible decorations in the place, not even a welcome mat or a framed hook for keys.
Kratos climbed the stairs; they creaked. On the landing he then indicated the doors, obviously expecting Ren to be right behind him. "You will tell me if anything should be fixed," he said. He was not the landlord, but he had reason to be sure the other occupant of the building looked upon his presence favorably. Someone else might have called this behavior "neighborly." Kratos' face did not look friendly, though. It looked like an expression might crack it like an eggshell instead.
"Do you fix things?" Ren asked, with a raised eyebrow. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to have a neighbor that could fix things. Ren rather suspected that he'd do no good with it, if he were asked to do so. He had skills that he was good at, but hanging picture frames typically involved those velcro sticky hangers, which was why he didn't have any photographs larger than a certain size. Or he wouldn't. Truthfully he had no photographs at all. Or really much of anything.
The apartment above was nearly equally empty, as Ren hadn't much furniture to put into place. A box leaned up against the wall, a purchased foam mattress that had arrived from an online ordering place earlier in the day. It would serve well enough until he had a bed-frame. Perhaps he ought to ask Louis for a more practical antique - perhaps he ought to see if he had an antique bed-frame in his shop.
"Thank you for," he gestured to the box. "I don't suppose I can offer you a cup of tea or anything?"
Upstairs, Kratos did not show the least bit of curiosity in his surroundings. He did not imagine that Ren would have anything in his boxes to interest him, and it was neither criticism nor compliment. He put the one he was holding atop of the existing box, which boasted labels he associated with shipped goods. It was incredible how rapidly these merchant ships moved things around. He nodded at the gratitude.
Nobody had told Kratos about velcro yet. The time was coming, undoubtedly, but until then, he worked with wood and carved what he needed. Modern tools like buzzsaws and even the proliferation of certain metals still required adjustment, and he used them with a caution and respect that his contemporaries did not display. "I am a handyman." He said it gravely, the way some men might say they were lawyers.
The offer of a drink in another man's home was an honor never to be refused, even if you didn't like the drink. Kratos nodded. "Thank you."
"Yeah?" Ren relieved Kratos of the box, setting it down amongst the half dozen other boxes and suitcases. Opening one of those revealed a small selection of food related things. A toaster oven, an electric kettle, a few dishes. He hadn't kept much at the hotel because he hadn't needed much, he didn't really cook well, and there hadn't been space for it, but the electric kettle kept him in tea, and there were two mugs that he pulled out along with it. He gathered the mugs, a box of black tea, and the kettle and headed further into the apartment towards the kitchen in the back. He nodded for Kratos to follow if he wished.
"Haven't much unpacked anything, but I don't have much, so it's easy to know where things are," he explained as he filled up the tea kettle.
In Kratos' mind, "food related things" were clay ovens, fire pits, roasting spits, carving knives, and smoking fires. The metal boxes and machines in the box seemed fragile and foreign whenever he first saw them, until he remembered what they did and how they were used. The perils of living in a foreign land. He saw nothing wrong with the boxes, as he himself owned only what he could carry until lately. He counseled the boy not to grow overfond of things, which could be lost or break.
Kratos followed. He did not usually pursue conversation or enjoy it, but he wanted to know who this man was, living above his head. Needed to know. "And what is it you do?" he asked, watching the kettle-filling without enthusiasm.
Well that was a million dollar question, wasn't it? Ren put the kettle on the base, and started the water boiling, before turning to Kratos. "Currently I work at the coffee shop and used bookstore on Main helping people get their preferred method of caffeination and finding a book they'll enjoy. At one point I thought of being an actor, but…"
That wasn't really something he was going to do here in Repose - at least not in any method other than a hobby. But if this guy was his neighbor, Ren supposed he ought to know something about him. "What about you?"
Theatre. Kratos could not think of a more useless endeavor, up to and including mercantile activities. His expression was, as ever, deadpan. "...But you do not entertain?" It was a dead honest question, one he did not know might be insulting. This was his general equivalent of making conversation. He was pretty awful at it, even disregarding the thick Greek accent that obscured much of his sentences.
"I am a handyman," he said. He paused, the deadpan expression practically a mask as he tried to decide how much to impart. This was a neighbor of whom he may one day need great favors. "Before, a soldier." He said this stiffly. A big secret. Like it was not incredibly obvious that Kratos could walk through brick walls and batter people's heads with random blunt instruments.
Ren cocked his head in the direction of Kratos. What the fuck? "I've been told I'm very entertaining on stage, actually, thanks. It was more of a personal choice thing."
Which wasn't really what it had been at all. But it was complicated, and if the guy was going to insult his potential ability to act, Ren wasn't certain he wanted to get into it. He pulled out two mugs, checking the one he was going to hand to Kratos to make certain it was definitely clean, and then put in tea bags, and poured water.
Soldier. That made sense somehow. He turned to look at him while the tea brewed. "What sort of … handyman stuff do you do?"
Kratos blinked at Ren's defense of his stage talent. The man had absolutely no idea what stage talent in this world looked like, so all he could do was blink, one may well imagine. Famous orators of Kratos' day still only retold stories of battle and warriors, so it may be that Ren had such hidden depths. He blinked again, then shrugged, accepting this assurance. If Ren said he was entertaining, then no doubt he was.
As for "stuff he did," Kratos recited a list that he had obviously learned by rote: "I have tiled roofs. Trimmed trees. Done demo. Construction. I have removed people from places they did not want to leave. Escorted people to places they wish to go. I can pour wine or beer. I have been a butcher. I do not know cooking, or mixing drinks." And a pause, finishing with: "I do not do electrical. Computers. Guns. Or cars. I do not have licenses."
Kratos looked at the tea and wished it was wine. He took his hot mug with his full hand, unflinching, and after seeing Ren look into it, he looked into it too, but saw nothing except the dark liquid within. It smelled like plants. He saw his vague gray mirage in the surface. Unexciting. "Thanks."
That was a strange series of events, perhaps the most strange of them was the fact that he didn't have licenses, or to do electrical, computers, or cars. Or maybe he didn't mean that how it sounded? Ren found himself a bit confused over that, but he decided to accept it as it was given. "That's quite a list," he told him, taking a sip of the tea that was his own. "There's sugar if you want some, but I don't have milk right now." One of the perils of moving.
"Have you lived here long?"
Kratos nodded gravely. The list was helpful to him, one he had learned to answer that specific question in just that particular way. Like most language learners, the ones he could memorize were a lot easier, though nothing was immune to that thick accent. He turned down the suggestion of sugar (its ready availability in this world made everything oversweet). Kratos took a swig of the steaming tea and swallowed the gulp in one, grimly, like somebody taking cough syrup. "No. Only two months," he replied. "But we wish to stay for a time if possible."
Two months wasn't long, but Ren couldn't really talk. He'd not been here a year yet, and so he understood about having been newly arrived. And we implied that there were more people than just the man in front of him. "I've been here around 8 months, well, in Repose anyway. It's a nice enough town peculiar perhaps, but not in a bad way." This seemed mostly true anyway.
"Do you have a family with you?"
Another nod. Kratos tried to decide how much of the tea was required to gulp for politeness. Most of it, likely. He took another swig, then checked to see how much Ren was drinking. "My son also stays here, two days of fourteen." He paused, trying to decide, and said, "Sometimes his… uncle, though he does not go out. If I am not here, Atreus may assist you." He seemed certain the boy would be capable of anything Ren required. He imagined boxes, or perhaps speaking poetry, the Greek-style performances Kratos envisioned. "He is most better at your language."
Ren wasn't going to be overly concerned about how much tea Kratos was drinking and he took a fairly large swig himself. "I'll look forward to meeting him," Ren offered. It seemed like it would be good to know his neighbors. And he assumed the boy wasn't too young if Kratos was offering the boy's assistance if Ren required it. He couldn't imagine that there'd be anything that he would need, but it was nice of him to offer. "How old is he? Atreus, you said?"
Kratos noticed, and decided amount of tea consumed was not important in this society. Small mercies. He set his cup down on his massive palm and let it balance. Kratos did a short calculation. "He becomes ten in spring." He made a rumbling noise in the back of his throat. Faint surprise? "Time passes quickly." He took the opportunity presented by the segue and stood.
Ten seemed like a nice age, although Ren didn't know a good deal about children, but it felt nice enough. Not too young so as to require tons of care, but not a teenager. Somewhere in between. He stepped forward to take the cup if Kratos is done with it.
"It does at that," Ren nodded. "I hope to meet him sometime."
Kratos was finding ten to be a trying age. The boy was asking questions, to the point of which Kratos wondered if he did anything else but ask questions. He did not remember his daughter having so many questions, but that memory was clouded with grief and guilt. He frowned at it.
Focusing on Ren again was a relief, and Kratos nodded. What was it about the town that brought up old, unnecessary memories? "We are not far." He seemed to think that was enough of a farewell, and nodded once.
Kratos took two steps toward the door, stopped, rotated and said, "Thank you for the drink. You are welcome in my home." Then he moved off again, past the boxes, clumping down the stairs toward his own abode.