❝ with lightning in your hands, ❞

The dog's demeanor changed the second the woman opened her mouth and addressed him by name. Shogun seemed well educated, and even though he'd been a little naughty, he was well aware that he'd done something to get his owner upset, and was working overtime to look cuter than normal to fight her. He wasn't sure if he could fight Shogun's eyes in that moment– he would have folded the second he gave him any kind of look.

Raika regarded him in silence for a moment before turning her attention to Shogun. The shiba inu met her gaze immediately, ears perked and tail slowing as though he understood he was being evaluated. One bark followed, then another, short and matter-of-fact. Raika held the look a second longer, her expression remaining perfectly neutral. Satisfied, she shifted her attention back to Armin. Her dark eyes traveled briefly from head to toe, taking in his build as well as any lingering signs of exertion. A small nod followed before she delivered her observation plainly, ❝ You look the part. ❞ At his question, she gave another nod, a quiet sigh escaping her as she turned back to the culprit in question, ❝ Yes. That is his name. Shogun. His curiosity routinely exceeds his judgment. ❞ Shogun responded by sitting straighter, which did little to support his case. ❝ Shogun, apologize. You interrupted this man’s routine. ❞ The shiba inu let out a faint whine before lowering himself into an exaggerated bow that resembled a stretch more than anything else. Raika watched the performance without visible amusement, though she allowed it to stand as sufficient compliance. ❝ You had no reason to assume otherwise. Stopping him was the correct decision, ❞ she told Armin, returning her attention to him. After a brief pause, she added, ❝ And since he was the source of the interruption, dinner should be a reasonable form of restitution. ❞ Her face remained as composed as ever. Whether the offer was entirely serious or simply the most logical conclusion she had reached would be a tad more difficult to decipher. ❝ Ours, not his. Shogun already had dinner. ❞

"Are you sorting out the building?" Shy gives her a long and thorough once over. A pair of moderately dingy crocs with pink embellishments adorn Shy's feet, which don't tap the sidewalk but look like they might. Shy fidgets. She tugs the chunky open knit cardigan around her figure closer to her body though it doesn't do much to warm her body from the cool evening air and it's not to do with any semblance of self consciousness to be out on the sidewalk in her pajamas either. Shy carries herself with a confidence that radiates around her like candy floss at a carnival. Even her fidgets are assured.

Raika’s gaze tracked the woman the way she scanned a faulty panel: measured, immediate, already mapping likely points of failure before the conversation fully formed. Pajamas, cardigan, Crocs with unnecessary decoration... None of it mattered except as context for urgency, and urgency usually meant a tripped breaker, an overloaded line, or a dead feed somewhere downstream. Her phrasing landed strangely, something about sorting out the building and a flatlined telly, and Raika paused briefly, not in confusion so much as classification, as if the sentence simply needed filing under electrical complaint, unstructured. She didn’t ask for clarification. She rarely did when the solution was obvious enough. Instead, she gave a small, decisive nod and shifted her weight like someone already committing to action, and said flatly, voice precise and unbending, already turning slightly as if expecting to be led, ❝ Dead power in your unit, understood. Show me your breaker box. ❞ There was no softness in her assumption, only efficiency, mostly because in her mind, people didn’t step outside dressed like that unless something critical had failed, and critical failures had straightforward fixes if one didn’t waste time interpreting the poetry of how they were described. Raika does enjoy poetry, but this was no time to indulge in the arts. This was time to work.

Open starter Location: Evergreen Park

Raika’s attention locked onto the scene in an instant: the leash under the stranger’s shoe, and the unmistakably smug energy of Shogun sitting entirely too comfortably at the center of the problem. The Shiba Inu looked up at her as if nothing in the universe had gone wrong, tail swaying with deliberate innocence that did not match its actions at all. Raika approached with measured, efficient steps, the kind of control that suggested she disliked wasted motion more than she disliked surprises. ❝ Shogun, ❞ she addressed her furry companion with a calm voice edged with authority that left no room for debate. ❝ You didn’t have to chase him that far. ❞ Without hesitation, she reached down and reclaimed the leash, fingers firm, practiced, like securing a live line before it could arc again. Only then did her dark eyes shift to the man, sharp and assessing but not ungrateful. ❝ Still. You covered more distance than necessary to stop him. That’s noted. ❞

“Cool.” He really did not notice the name even if he had read it. The ‘workshop’ part was what mattered and was needed. It could be Jimmy’s, Suzie's or John’s for all he cared, as long as it got what he needed. The sketchbook was handed over, surprisingly neat and tidy save for, perhaps, a couple of accidental scribbles here and there that were colorful and obviously not the master work of an adult. Those pages were usually skipped over, whether empty or already started on, the sketching continued on the next available clean page. The sketches were also, in fact, very precisely done, with a steady hand and straight lines and notes on measurements, alternatives or quick comments on the ideas they were trying to put on paper. Almost could be said that they were professionally done, at least to an amateur’s eye. 

Jade flipped through the sketchbook with roughened fingers still dusted pale from sanding lacquered wood, her eyes narrowing not out of criticism but concentration as she studied the pages one by one beneath the workshop lights. There was nothing polished or academic about the plans, but she could tell almost immediately that whoever drew them understood space the way builders did, through function, movement, and stubborn practicality, and that alone earned more respect from her than fancy certifications ever would. A faint smear of sawdust streaked across her cheek when she absentmindedly brushed loose hair from her face, sharp features tightening as she paused on the mirrored sliding-door measurements, mentally piecing together weight distribution and rail support already. ❝ Nah, these’re solid, ❞ she muttered at last, voice low and matter-of-fact as she tapped one of the dimensions with the back of her pencil. ❝ You actually planned the clearance right. Most people don’t. ❞ She shifted her weight against the workbench, gaze lifting toward him with that same unwavering steadiness she carried into every project, the kind that rarely bent once her mind settled on a way to do things. ❝ Can cut and frame it easy enough. Mirrors’ll need reinforced supports if you want ceiling-to-floor panels, though. Don’t care how clean somethin’ looks if it tears itself off the rails in six months. ❞ Another glance down at the notes followed before she gave a short nod toward the back of the workshop where stacks of hardwood leaned in careful rows. ❝ You got a material preference, or you want me to pick what’ll actually last? ❞

Hiro can tell when someone is looking at him in a meaningful way because he's spent his whole life measuring the weight of a glance and finding out where he stands in it. More often than not, people look at him and they see one thing only and it's what they want to see. They see him with his too big jeans, thrifted and over worn. They see him with a careless expression that tends to work like sandpaper. They see him with an attitude and hear discontent in his voice. They see only what they want to see and stop there. Rarely anyone looks deeper than the image presented on the surface. Hiro is used to being misjudged and he's long ago stopped taking it personally. At least, that's what he tells himself when he fells the weight of scrutiny on him once again.

For a moment, Jade said nothing, only crouching beside one of the lower stacks as she pulled away the canvas sheet covering it, the scrape of wood against concrete filling the workshop while late afternoon light caught along the edges of cedar, pine, and darker reclaimed oak salvaged from older jobs around Ennora. She listened while keeping her hands busy, though the mention of turning discarded things into something worth remembering drew the faintest pause from her movements, her eyes narrowing not in judgment this time but consideration, mostly because she understood rebuilding better than most people ever would. ❝ Most people come in asking for the cheapest pieces I’ll let go of, ❞ she remarked quietly, standing again with a short plank balanced against her shoulder. ❝ Does the material matter to you? ❞ There was still firmness in her tone, that hard grain of stubbornness that never really softened, but less resistance beneath it now, as if Hiro had managed to wedge the door open a fraction without her realizing. Jade motioned him further inside with a tilt of her head, past the active worktables and hanging tools toward the back racks where the stranger cuts and imperfect leftovers were kept instead of discarded. ❝ Nothing here’s useless just because it came out uneven, ❞ she said, setting the plank down carefully rather than tossing it aside, almost protective of it. ❝ If you’re waiting for inspiration, then maybe don’t be like the rest who just look at things like scrap: Start looking at what they’ve survived. ❞

It would still be some time before Marsden’s grand comeback to dance at St. Cellar’s burlesque repertoire. Before that, at the spring festival, he had confessed that he had an itch to return to dance in one way or another, at first on his own in the comforts of their home and at the fitness hall Ryden ran but later in front of an actual audience and a stage. During that confession, Ryden had made a promise to convert both spaces for his man into something comfortable and professional where Marsden could practice his craft with all commodities and comforts it required. The gym was a public space so contractors were hired to adjust one of the rooms into a small dance studio available to be used later even when Mars was done with it, if he was ever going to be done. Perhaps they could use it later and have Mars teach small groups there if he ever decided to go that route, rather than rent out a studio somewhere else.

The beam settled into place with a solid, unarguable thud, and Jade followed it down in one fluid drop from the frame, boots scraping softly against concrete as she straightened. Up close, her features were all sharp intent and quiet intensity: dark, watchful eyes set beneath slightly furrowed brows, a straight nose dusted faintly with sawdust, and dark hair hastily tied back, loose strands clinging to her temples where sweat had started to form, the kind of face that didn’t soften easily, especially not mid-work. She’d spent the better part of the last half hour muscling a custom hardwood wardrobe into alignment, its unfinished panels propped nearby, carved edges catching the light like they were waiting to be judged. She barely lingered on his question, dragging a chisel cleanly along an edge with precise, almost stubborn control. ❝ Yeah, whenever I’m not fishing or birdwatching, ❞ she said, casual as ever, before her attention shifted fully to him, steady and unyielding as she stepped closer, already reaching for the sketchbook like it was hers to inspect. ❝ Name’s on the sign... So, what d’you need built? ❞

Matty wasn't sure if he was expected at the shop. He'd only said he would come by during the early afternoon, but he hadn't exactly settled on a time. He was slightly uncomfortable to know he may have been unexpected, but the welcoming switch in the woman's voice made him feel more at ease. He responded with a gentler smile of his own as he stepped closer, his eyes still lost on the few unfinished things lying around the shop. It was fascinating. "I hope I didn't interrupt you or anything– I can come back later, I was just... around the block," he explained with a little shrug, both hands inside his front pants pockets.

Jade watched him move around the table with the kind of quiet focus that came from years of letting clients feel their way into trusting her work, though her stance stayed rooted, steady and unbending, as if the workshop itself had decided her position and she saw no reason to argue with it. She didn’t flinch when he touched the wood, only tracked his hand briefly like she was memorizing where curiosity met craftsmanship, then stepped closer and tapped the table’s edge once with a knuckle, the sound dull and confident. ❝ It’s meant to be heavy, ❞ she said simply, not as reassurance but as fact, already certain in the structure she’d chosen, her gaze lifting back to him with that unyielding calm she wore like a rule rather than a mood. ❝ Light finish will work, if you commit to it across the whole surface. No half measures. ❞ She reached under the cloth again, smoothing it back into place with practiced precision, as though the reveal had already been granted and now only discipline mattered, then tilted her head slightly toward the darker pieces in the shop. ❝ Chocolate furniture against this? Good contrast. But don’t change your mind later. Wood doesn’t like indecision, and neither do I when I’ve already started the grain direction. ❞

Hiro isn't unfamiliar with a working environment like this. There were countless seasons he'd worked part time as a construction worker building homes and new apartment buildings, re-modeling kitchens and bathrooms for houses and schools. He'd been part of a project to fix a collection of rooms at a community college and briefly, very briefly wondered what it was like to be there as a student instead of as a worker. But it was only a brief daydream.

Jade didn’t look up immediately at the greeting, finishing the last firm strike of her hammer before testing the beam with a sharp shove: solid, unmoving, exactly how she liked it. Only after did her gaze shift to Hiro, quick and assessing, noting the way he stepped clean around the lumber instead of through it, the kind of instinct you don’t fake. She hopped down from the frame in one smooth motion, boots landing with a dull thud as she set the hammer aside but kept it within reach, always within reach, her posture already squared with quiet certainty. ❝ Offcuts aren’t scrap here, ❞ she said, brushing dust from her palms as she moved past him toward a neatly stacked section by the wall, each piece sorted by size and grain like it actually mattered (because to her, it did), her tone even but edged with that familiar refusal to bend on principle. ❝ ...but I’ve got pieces I’m not using yet. You tell me what you need, not just take what’s easy. ❞ She nudged one plank lightly with her boot, eyes flicking back to him, measuring again, not his words this time but whether he’d meet her halfway or expect her to lower the bar.

Since he had a memory, Matias always wanted a big house. The city home his family owned in New York wasn't exactly small, but it was still in the middle of the city, where the land was limited by even bigger buildings and constructions that wouldn't allow them to have a big backyard, or floor-to-ceiling windows with lots of natural light coming through them without some skyscraper getting in the way of the sun. Later on, when Matty could afford to live by himself, he chose a penthouse apartment so he could get the sunlight he'd always desired all over his bedroom. The view was amazing, and he thought a large apartment would appease his desires, but he still wanted a garden, a staircase to go up to, a guest bedroom, a studio– Matty wanted a house; he wanted the home he always secretly dreamed about.

Jade glanced up the moment she recognized him, the sharper edge in her posture softening into something warmer as she hopped down from the frame with a light thud, brushing stray wood dust from her hands onto her work trousers before crossing the workshop floor with an easy, grounded stride. The afternoon light caught along the polished grain of half-finished pieces behind her, and she tilted her head slightly as if already picturing his house again: the space, the light, the way the table would sit in it. Then she rested a hand against the edge of a covered structure nearby, fingers tapping twice against the wood beneath the cloth. ❝ Matias, right on time, ❞ she greeted, voice carrying a quiet ease, more welcoming than before, as she hooked a thumb under the fabric and pulled it back just enough to reveal the broad slab beneath, rich-toned, still raw in places but already shaped with intention, its edges subtly curved like a tide worn smooth. ❝ Started it two days ago, ❞ she added, stepping aside to give him a better view, her gaze flicking between him and the piece with a craftsman’s quiet pride. ❝ Base is set, joints are reinforced... Won’t wobble even if you throw a feast on it. Still working the finish, though… Figured you’d want something that catches that sunlight you like so much? ❞