milliways_bar | (no subject)

The dwarf glances up, one shaggy eyebrow rising curiously at the unfamiliar word. "That would be a fair thing to say, aye," he answers. "Pardon my asking, but I don't believe I recognise your accent. I take it you're not of Middle-earth?"

'Middle Earth? No. I know someone who is though. I'm from...' He pauses. '...just Earth.'

It sounds weird to him when he says it like that. 'I was wondering if i might ask you a question?'

[OOC:I think LJ is eating posts again. argh...]

Gimli mentally runs over the list of denizens of Middle-earth he knows to be in the Bar; it's a short one. Likely it was Gorlim, since Smeagol tends to run and hide and Gimli hasn't seen Boromir since their first meeting.

"Ask as you like," he says. "I'm listening."

[OOC: Grrrr, yes. Didn't see this that one at all. Ah well. :) Also - his request in this tag...its for plot. Is it OK to ping you about it later? If Gimli's the suspicious type I mean.]

Ramon smiles pleasantly. 'Well really, I just wanted to see whether I could borrow, or buy, some iron chains off you. I've a friend moving in and there'll be some heavy lifting, he asked me to see if I could get hold of some.'

"Hmmmh..." Gimli thinks. "Truth be told, I'm a mite short on chain at the moment. But something might, perhaps, be arranged."

[OOC: Pingage is fine. I'm trying to remember who Security warned Gimli away from at one point in the past, but dwarves are fairly suspicious little rotters by nature to begin with.]

[OOC: Connection sucks, apologies for ping and run.]

He smiles again, conscious that he needs to keep on the right side of this person if he can. Which is why he doesn't introduce himself right away because a lot if people have heard his name already. Instead he indicates the chair next to the dwarf and asks, 'Do you mind if I join you for a moment?'

The dwarf inclines his head. "Sit if you wish," he says, shifting a little to ease the pressure of the axe he always wears at his back.

He nods and sits, and then realises that he probably shouldn't have confessed to knowing someone from Middle-Earth, especially as it was Gorlim. But it was too late now so he just had to hope that he wouldn't be asked.

'That's an impressive axe. Did you forge it yourself?' Ramon knows absolutely nothing about being a metalsmith but he's thinking he should make an effort.

"This? Alas, no," the dwarf says. "It was a gift, from one of the finest smiths I think the Elves have ever produced. I've a lesser one that I made myself, but this isn't the sort of thing one leaves lying about."

'I can imagine.' It does look like a beautiful weapon. 'Is it for fighting with, or for work?'

He smirks in a sef-deprecating way. 'That might be a stupid question - but where I come from, people don't fight with axes.'

The dwarf waves a hand vaguely. "I shouldn't worry about it. There was a fellow who asked once if it was for use at all- at least you seem to know the look of a weapon that's known a proper hand. No, this one's for fighting, though it's been some years since I had the need to remove any heads." He says that as normally as if he were talking about getting his beard braided. "A work-axe would have a narrow pick at one end and a broader, heavier part at the other, for balance and the occasional fight at need."

Ramon is not surprised by the casual nature of the dwarf's tone when he talks about taking people's heads off - it wouldn't occur to him to be squeamish about death.

'I do. A weapon is different if it's been used. Otherwise it's just an ornament and...I don't know, it's just different.' He knows what he means, and its obvious to him that Gimli gets it.

He decides he has to take a chance that the dwarf won't have heard of him. It would be weird - by Earth standards anyway - to go for a while without introductions, and that might make him more suspicious. 'My name's Ramon by the way.'

The dwarf nods. "Well met, Ramon," he says. "Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service."

He pulls an internal sigh of relief and nods back. 'Good to meet you Gimli. Can I get you a drink?' He orders himself a tequila. He's trying his very best to be nice.

As would any emissary. "I've enough ale to do for myself at the moment, but I thank you for the thought," Gimli says. "Now, about these chains- just at the moment I've two swords in the fires, and the metal's jealous stuff indeed. Mithril, if you've heard of it- it ill betides a smith to go from that to iron and back again in a day, or even a week. But something might be done should the swords be finished at any time soon. Just how long, and how heavy, would the chains have to be?"

'I think I have heard of it.' He saw the movies. 'Three chains - one about six feet long, the other two about four foot. They wouldn't need to be especially heavy, as long as they're strong enough.'

"Mmm," Gimli says, nodding. "How much weight would they have to hold? Iron's brittle stuff. Takes a while to forge it to the right strength, and cast is too brittle to be worth mentioning."

He tries to think how much that particular body would weigh. He adds a bit to be on the safe side. 'About two hundred pounds maybe? Do you have that measurement on Middle Earth?'

Gimli nods. "That we do. Chains fit to haul such loads might be done, in time. Come to me in a week, perhaps, and we shall see if the swords are finished and the anvil ready again for mere iron."

He grins, and makes a special effort to not have it be an evil one. I can wait a week...

'I will, thank you Gimli. And what do I owe you for them?'

The dwarf waves a hand. "We shall speak of that when they're made," he says. "I'm well enough set at the moment that I"ve no need of payment in advance."

He nods and gets up. 'Well then, I'll see you at the forge in a week or so.'

Happy? Ohhhh yes!

Gimli nods. "I'll be waiting," he promises.

And likely still working on the swords by then. But the time of his thought is his own to spend, after all.