Ryan: Ryan walks into the Cabin and leads Ambrose to his room, "Welcome to my mini Bunker 9, in which I make all of my own weapons."
Ambrose: Stepping into Ryan's room, Ambrose rubs his rough hands together and smiles widely. "Alrighty t'en. Point me towards me wood and leat'er and I'll get tah work."
Ryan: Ryan chuckles, "Eager much?" He grins, and points towards his walk-in closet, where he puts all of his materials, "Everything's in there."
Ambrose: With a nod and a quick step, Ambrose is at the closet and opening it, exposing all of the glorious materials for him to work with. Various hides and chunks of wood are ready and waiting for him to take a knife to them, and he is more than happy to oblige. His fingers ran over the hides of goats, oxen, cows, and even an alligator skin at one point, but each time, he was brought back to that ox hide. Smooth, supple, yet with an unedning strength. He pulled out two long strips of it and placed them on his bent knee as he now examined the wood. Oak, pine, maple, basic things. He was sad for the lack of blackthorn, but that would have to come another day. He took out a beautful chunk of oak, and moved to sit by Ryan's window, whereupon he pulled out a dark pocket knife. He suspended the leather on a tanning rack on one end and held the other with his left hand while he scraped off the stray pieces of hide, making that smooth finish even more beatiful. "Ye know, I used tah work wit' stuff like t'is back home. Me pa was never around, so he left me a bunch of books written by his grandpa on how to tan hide, whitte wood, and alla t'at stuff. I even made the body of me own shillelagh. S'all use stuff fer growin' up in tah country, and out here, it's even better."
Ryan: Ryan looks at him amused, "Oh really? Well, I'd be glad to learn a few stuff, as well as help you."
Ambrose: Finishing up his first strap and giving the second the same treatment, Ambrose taps his feet to a ballad from his childhood. "I can't begin tah fat'om how tah shape metal 'n tah like, like you do, so forgive me fer not bein' more help t'ere." He begins whittling down the oak to a more manageable handle.
Ryan: Ryan smiles, shaking his head, "Don't worry, Ambrose." He smiles and sits next to him, showing him the way, "Better?"
Ambrose: Watching without a word, Ambrose observes how Ryan works the metal, but to no avail. "Eh... I'm sorry, but me talents lie in ot'er places. S'why it's good fer tah have folks like ye, who can work wit' t'eir hands wit' t'ings like t'is." He goes back to whittling on his oak, gradually working it down to a simple, yet quite gorgeous, handle with swirls that would help grip his hand if the leather would be burned off. He tossed it into the air and caught it as it came back down, making sure the pommel faced him. He brought the tip of his knife against it and slowly, lovingly, carved in a triskele. ""Boom. Now, I'll just need tah fire harden it in a kiln or a forge, if'n ye'd permit me."
Ryan: "You don't have to ask me." Ryan chuckles, "Just go ahead and do it. You're the customer, not me."