Sven June catchall

[aggressivelygood]

Who: Sven and [insert your name here!]
Where: Everywhere
When: The latter half of Fiddlesticks
What: Face-time with Sven at his usual haunts
Notes: If you've been wanting to get a foot in the door with this guy but none of the set-ups here speak to you, or if you want something specific, hit me up! landlocked#9235
Warnings: It's Sven. Expect unbridled wholesomeness and run-on observations about the nature of magic and the universe (except from in the last prompt where he's being a sad-sack).



A) Kitchen duties [OPEN]

This month, Red Team had been tasked with cooking for the rest of the train. Halfway into Fiddlesticks, practice makes...if not perfect, then Sven is at least getting chewed out less frequently for blazing everyone's food to the point it were either un-chewable or fell to ash in his fellow Voidtrecker's mouths.

It was still hard to gauge when food was supposed to be cooked when you couldn't see it rotating over an open fire (spearing fish or woodland critters encapsulated his culinary experience prior to the train, asides from peeling vegetables in the monastery kitchens) but he was getting better at following "complicated" recipes. Still a heavy-hand on the spices.

"Whoa, whoa! Back up!" He swerved away from the hands outstretched to relieve him of the metal pan he's carrying in his bare hands. "Hot out of the oven. Damnation, am I really going to need to start wearing those silly gloves just so someone else doesn't go burning themselves?"


B) Drinking in the dining carriage [OPEN for age appropriate muses]

Sven could be found on the upper floor of the carriage--outside of dining hours and after Red Team were done with their duties--enjoying in the spoils of his work on his first official mission with the Voidtreckers. True to his word, the first thing he'd put his points into? Booze. He had few to no important possessions at home, being something of a religious vagabond, but he had missed drink.

Sharing in a drink with friendly faces, more than the alcohol itself. Finding himself with appropriately adult company--or at least, company he wouldn't feel entirely irresponsible to share alcohol with--Sven lowered his book (from the train library, whatever looked closest to a dense non-fiction) and waggled a glass invitingly in their direction.

"Care to help me out with a problem? See, I've got this bottle of mead that I need gone."

C) Practice in the Training Gym [OPEN]

He could be found in the Training Gym most days. Stretches and warm-ups in the morning after his morning prayer ritual in the Greenhouse carriage, strength training and combat practice at noon or in the early evening.

He spent a lot of time training with the Petals of Nil, his transforming weapon, slashing it in sword form at training dummies before rolling out of the way of an imagined attack and springing to his feet with the weapon stretched into a broad shield to defend him before he hits with a fire spell with his free hand and lashes out with his shield-bearing arm as the weapon snapped into a whip to grab his target. Other times, however, he left the weapon sleeping in its tiny ornamental form, tucked securely in his hair, and practised wielding whatever regular weapons he could borrow off of the other Fight Club members.

D) Moping around (in the Training Gym, again) [CLOSED for friends]

Late one evening in Fiddlesticks, Sven was unusually absent from his cabin. Needing some space, he'd come to the Training Gym and found it empty. Prayers to an absentee god in the Greenhouse had provided him no comfort, and drink seemed a dangerous companion to seek solace in. He'd decided he was going to sweat his demons out instead, but after a lacklustre obstacle run during which he managed to royally ding-up his shins, he just didn't have it in him.

The yearning coldness where his patron once was, his hunger for a starry canopy and fresh breeze, coupled with recent discussions in his peripherals had him uncharacteristically melancholy. Wounds that he'd thought healed, even if their scars had yet to fade, seemed to hurt fresh on nights like tonight. It wasn't like he avoided thinking of Rillah--he wondered often where she was, whether she was safe. She and the rest of the friends he'd left behind that day a little over year back featured regularly in his prayers. But tonight he missed her much more than he had in a while.

He lifted his head up from the crash-mat he was laid out on when he heard somebody else walk in on the carriage. Sven forced a smile that didn't meet his eyes.

"Couldn't sleep?" His gruff tone was kindly as usual, but there was a haggardness to it, that half-hearted smile seeming to slide off his face as he lays back on the mat.

E. WILD CARD, BITCHES, YEEHAW

Comments

/SLAMS IN HERE FOR PROMPT D SO FAST

[unfavorableinstigation]

"No," Nita replied, heaving a sigh, and joined him on the mat. Not touching, but she was close, and let her head fall into her hands once she was sat.

"It's... been a rough time, post-mission."

She would be happy to leave it like that, but if Sven was feeling rough, too, maybe talking it out would help.

"What's on your mind? Maybe we're on the same vibe."

[aggressivelygood]

Sven frowned and sat up on his elbows. Post-mission? What did that mean? Everything had seemed well with Nita the last time he'd seen her. She'd been reunited with old friends on the last platform. She'd been the picture of smiles and life when they'd battled against one another, then chatted and enjoyed the company of their friends. But now...it was a little alarming to see her looking so miserable. What could have changed in such a short space of time?

Stuffing his angst back down into a drawer somewhere inside of him, he reached out, touching her shoulder with his fingers. "Yeah, I highly doubt that. Forget about me, what's eating you?"

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita lowered her hands, opened her mouth to explain - then paused, both at the touch, and to consider what she had to say.

"... Might be hard to talk about other things, if we start with me. Assuming you hadn't heard about it yet, anyway."

She slumped her shoulders, sighing.

"Unless you're also thinking about something from the train?"

B.

[thebetterweapon]

Creed left his lighter somewhere. Dammit. He hates it. Especially when the Princess isn't around to spark up and light his cigar for him.

Sighing, he heads upstairs in the dining car, hoping the damned thing fell out of his pocket at dinner, earlier. He's got a bottle of rum with him, and wants to just relax for a bit.

Hearing the question, he turns, and sniffs. "Nah, tastes like rotten honey."

He holds up his bottle. "Got rum, though, if you don't mind company."

[aggressivelygood]

Sven grinned and gestured a hand toward the seat opposite.

"Be my guest. One man drinking on his own is anti-social, two is a gentlemanly gathering, and three is a party."

...Four or more usually made for an Adventuring party, where the drinking was decidedly loud and ungentlemanly, but the crude campfire songs about somebody's twice-removed uncle's trysts with a dragon were always good fun.

[thebetterweapon]

"Three's a crowd." Creed corrects settling across from the other guy. He pours himself a bit of rum, and sips it. It's not great, but it's better than fucking tea again.

"Name's Vic Creed." He offers a hand, his claws for once under control.

[ A. ] coming at ya hot. G-get it

[adregem]

During his first day on the Voidtrecker, Roland had the pleasure of helping his new feline friend Spark grab a hearty fish from the train's chest freezer. He'd have gladly given him another fish to munch on if he could, but Roland argued that as newcomers, they needed to comply with the train's current policies. Ignorance of the law doesn't excuse you from it, after all.

With that, the Chief Consul decides to make amends by returning to the Stores after he settles down to leave a note detailing what he took, when he took it, and to let him know if he messed up with any potential audits on supplies. After flourishing his name and signature on the bottom of the note, he neatly leaves his notice on top of the chest freezer and exits the Stores promptly.

Upon reaching the adjoining Kitchen cab, Roland watches one of the Voidtrecker's residents handle a hot pan with his bare hands. As impressive as that is, Roland is more convinced that this man is part of the team keeping track of food. He approaches, one hand on his hip, careful not to be in the proximity of the hot plates.

"That's a neat skill to have," he says, watching him work. "Sorry to bother your cooking. I just wanted to let you know I left something in the Stores, in case you were counting the fish left in the freezer. I took one a few days ago, but there was no one there to ask permission from."

Fresh baked CR, straight from the oven!

[aggressivelygood]

"Oh, uh!" Sven set his pan down safely on the counter, cutting off the chances of him either accidentally searing somebody or up-ending lasagne over the floor. It wasn't like he was a klutz, but having an affinity to heat meant you just had to be extra vigilant about remembering that touching hot metal would horribly ruin somebody else's day.

He waved a hand flippant and calloused hand at Roland and grinned. "That's responsible of you, friend. But really, we had a surplus of seafood off the last mission. People are always coming by and taking what they want anyway, don't sweat it."

Maybe whoever was actually in charge of monitoring the stock would see things differently, but it's all the same to Sven. It wasn't like they received specific shipments from the outside, the train seemed to source everything by magic. An odd fish here or there wasn't gonna starve anyone out. Sven rinsed off his hands at the sink, setting steam coiling off his palms, and set about washing the vegetables for the accompanying salad.

"Don't think I've seen your face around before. Let me guess, you came in on the last platform?"

I would like to purchase two loaves, stat!

[adregem]

Roland's sharp eyes follow every movement with a hint of wonder. It really was impressive to watch him painlessly handle a searing hot pan and wash it off like it was nothing. And though some of his techniques were rough around the edges, he was pretty sure this guy knew what he was doing.

"I am," he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, a closed fist resting naturally on his hip. "You can call me Roland. I'd shake your hand, but..." He makes a slightly amused expression at his quick movements, and the steam dissipating from his hot hands hitting the running water. "You've got quite a talent, you know. I know I'm not part of the team in charge of kitchen duty, but I've got time to kill and I'm used to keeping busy. Let me know if I can help you with whatever it is you've got in mind."

kitchen

[knifewithnoname]

She snatched her hands back before she grabbed the hot pan. Honestly she wasn't great in the kitchen, but she was good for chopping things up, carrying things and doing simple tasks with clear instructions.

And this instruction was clear enough, she backed off, putting her hands behind her back so she is definitely not touching the pan at all.

"Maybe you should just be wearing a sign." She wrinkled her nose, but she knew he was a magic user and one who used fire. So that he could touch hot things was not such a huge surprise.

[aggressivelygood]

"If that's what it'll take to keep you from cooking your fingers. Or maybe I should just wear the stupid gloves."

It felt foolish for him to wear them when he didn't need them. Somebody else could be using them in his stead, and it was much easier to grab onto dishes with his bare fingers without worry of them slipping through his clumsy fabric mitts. But from the number of times people have tried to take hot things from him, it seemed the gloves were an important visual cue that something was a danger to touch unprotected.

He set his pan safely next to its fellows and turned to Buttercup. If she can handle herself against a giant jellyfish, Sven wasn't too worried about his young teammate's ability to keep herself safe in the kitchen...though, whether or not Buttercup actually needed it, he periodically slipped her a warning to be careful around the pots of boiling water and to watch she carried knives. Same shit he used to get cautioned on helping in the monastery kitchens at home.

"Do you know how to peel veggies?"

[knifewithnoname]

She takes the instructions with good nature, as they come from friendly voices and aren't rough or accompanied by cuffs to her head. Still she's not a baby, she knows how not to accidentally stab herself as well as she knows how to purposefully stab others.

She nodded, "I can be peeling them good, which ones do you be wanting?" Feeding this many people was hard work, even with a whole team in the kitchen and peeling vegetables was monotonous work, but she didn't mind it too much.

D is for dumbass, so here's Xander!

[emerald_mirror]

"Sleep is for the weak!" Xander exclaimed. It wasn't that he didn't need it--he did--and it wasn't that he couldn't. Just sometimes, with a roommate that glowed inadvertently, it was kind of hard to get there. Not that he blamed Glorfindel a bit. It was just a thing that was. So he'd decided to wander around until he felt tired enough.

Though looking at Sven, his brows fly up. "Bro, you look like the south end of a northward heading horse," he admits, moving over to crouch by the other man. He didn't even need his empathy to tell that his friend was down.

"Wanna talk about it?

D is for Dudes (with romance) Drama

[aggressivelygood]

Xander's unexpected turn of phrase pulled a snort out of Sven, and the clouds around him pulled apart for a short few seconds before the misery crowded back into his eyes.

"Gee, thanks," he said as he turned his face away, feeling embarrassed for Xander to encounter him in such a dreary state, but not enough for him to pull himself together and scrape his sorry self up off the matt. He didn't know whether he wanted to talk about it or not...no, 'want' might not be the right word for it. He felt like he needed to share with somebody, but whether he could find the words was another thing entirely.

"I...guess? Maybe. It's probably not going to be pretty."

[emerald_mirror]

Xander shrugged at that. "I call 'em like I see 'em, and you look like you're banging the doldrums. So lance that boil, know what I mean? Doesn't need to be pretty."

Most things like that weren't, really. But as he'd said, they needed to be out in the open. He wasn't there to judge Sven either. It was damn hard to be happy all the time, no matter how cheery you wanted to be for other people.

He took a seat, knees up so he could cross his arms over them and lean forward, giving the warlock the weight of his attention. Especially considering Sven was usually pretty good at shaking things off, this had to be pretty serious.

"So what's up? You can talk to me, and my lips are sealed. Promise."

[CLOSED PROMPT] for Iron Bull

[aggressivelygood]

Most of Red Team had finished up their post-dinner tasks for the night, leaving behind Sven and one or two other stragglers. He'd run out of the acrid green liquid that they used for cleaning the dishes--the stuff that frothed up into bubbles under the running water--and had had one hell of a job trying to hunt down another bottle.

He had his hands submerged in the sink to heat his luke-warm basin back up when a new figure walked into the kitchen. Twisted of face and displaying an impressive set of horns, Sven recognised him instantly. He'd caught an aerial glimpse on platform day when testing out his new glider transformation and clocked this passenger as somebody potentially interesting. Most people were interesting when you got talking to them, but somehow the more interesting your face, the more interesting the tales you had to tell.

"If you're here to lodge a dinner complaint," Sven said cheerily from behind his sink, "it probably belongs to me. I'm told pasta shouldn't be that cooked to the point it goes back to being hard."

[theirondragon]

"Nah," the Bull did have some interesting stories to tell, and he'd be willing to share them with Sven if he asked, but all in all, he'd enjoyed the dinner even if it was a bit burnt. There was something companionable about eating food made by your peers, put a guy in the mindset of being a team, and that was pretty damned important. "You tried, and that's what counts. We're all responsible for this place, right? You're pulling your weight. That's good."

When it was the Bull's turn, they'd all be subjected to rice pudding, so be thankful he's not yet. "I've been wondering, though. You, uh, ever heard of cocoa? It's not a big deal back home, at least not in the south, and damn do I have a craving."

[aggressivelygood]

Sven couldn't help but chuckle, nodding to himself. Funny, that sounded suspiciously like the kind of pep talk he'd probably be the one giving out if the roles were reversed. That tickled him.

Deciding that he was going to like this guy, Sven pulled his hands out of his lightly steaming dish-water and towelled them dry. He located a stool to get up to the cupboards (why couldn't things be built for his diminutive reach?) and fished out a container.

"Not before coming here, I hadn't, but you're not the first person who's come to the kitchen asking." He hopped from his stool and tossed the jar lightly to Iron Bull...after a quick check that the lid was secure, of course. He'd already mopped this floor twice today. "Guess it must be good, right? Knock yourself out."

A

[marriedanidiot]

"It's alright!" Nerdanel assures him. "There's a trick I know for working with heat. This is far less than would hurt me."

[aggressivelygood]

"You don't say." Sven cocked his head at Nerdanel, questioning. He still didn't know what the deal with this curious woman was, outside of being a calm and friendly face. He was sure he could sense something from within her, though he couldn't divine the shape of the power she may possess.

"I'd rather not get too comfy handing off boiling hot pans to people, all the same. Though I am curious about this nifty little trick of yours."

[marriedanidiot]

She laughs. "It's my husband's actually - hardly safe to work in a forge if you can't blunt the heat a bit. Not that he notices until things are actually on fire."

Spirit of Fire and all that.

"But you can just..." She hums a soft line, the flicker of embers in a hearth, warm and comforting and safe, the shimmer of heat from a bowl. And then she reaches out and touches the side.

"See? You have to tell the heat that you're kin, so it dials it back a bit. I wouldn't want to try with anything hotter, although I've seen both my son Curufin and my husband pick up metal bars from the forge."

B. ofc

[theturksway]

Reno only wandered up to the dining carriage because he'd been promised booze by his roommate. Not one to say no to a good drink, the redhead decided to see what the guy had gotten. A part of him wished he'd coughed up the points for his own alcohol of choice but he'd done pretty good distributing his points over a plethora of good exchanges.

One of the things he had back were the goggles riding on the top of his head, and the silver jewelry in his ear and 'round his ponytail. He felt a little more comfortable with his accessories in place, like he was whole again. The familiar weight of the goggles especially were noticeable when missing and he felt naked without them. He was still waiting on his outfit though. He'd have a suit soon though thanks to the spider.

He threw something small at Sven when he approached. "Catch!" came the warning one second too late, the redhead grinning like he did it on purpose (he totally did it on purpose).

[aggressivelygood]

Sven grinned when he spied that familiar head of red hair. He was glad that Reno had agreed to show up, even if it was only for the booze. Despite technically living with Reno, Sven felt like he didn't know the other man yet. The conversation they had on their first day on the train had been...less than successful, and their tiny living space was too small to comfortably spend much time in outside of sleeping hours. And it hadn't been long after their arrival that they'd found themselves wrapped up in their separate mission duties.

Now, however, they had some downtime. Part of Sven's motivation in buying booze had been the hope that he could lure Reno into a spending time with him, and well! It seemed his ploy had succeeded. It would be good to get to know the guy better now that he seemed more settled with his situation. Sven was glad to see Reno looking happier, more together in himself.

"Whuh--?" Sven's eyes went wide and his hands raised out of instinct as the little projectile whizzed toward him. He caught it in both hands (sorry, Reno, battle-field instincts and all that jazz). "What do we have here?"

D, because Friends

[laurefindil]

Not being one who needed to rest much, Glorfindel found late nights to be the ideal time to get in a little extra training. To his surprise, Sven was there laying on one of the mats.

He shook his head at the question. "Elves don't require as much rest as humans," he said. "You...look less fired up than usual. Want to talk about it?" He pulled up a section of mat for himself, metaphorically, and sat down near Sven.

[aggressivelygood]

He should have figured that the training carriage would have guests even at this hour...it was likely preferable to some people to come and train when things were quieter. Sven himself had come by for that purpose, hadn't he? He hadn't shown up intending just to mope around, but here they were. He groaned and closed his eyes, linking his fingers together and resting his hands over the bridge of his nose, palms facing upward.

"Please...don't let me get in your way if you came here intending to train. I'm just...I don't know. Missing home, I guess."