ArchivedLogs:Open Hands

Open Hands
Dramatis Personae Flicker, K.C.
In Absentia	2016-01-03 "Kind of silly."
Location <XS> Workshop
A large barn-like building situated at the far end of the gardens from the mansion proper, this makerspace functions as a classroom for many of the more hands-on classes. An expanse of workshop space, it is subdivided into smaller segments for the different types of activities: Woodshop, Welding shop, Machine shop, Electronics, Bike shop, Screen Printing and Photography, Fabric Arts, and the Rapid Prototyping Lab with a trio of 3D printers. The space comes complete with a large host of tools available for use, although many of the more dangerous require prior clearance from administration to use -- students with appropriate clearance to use them can gain access to locked equipment with their student IDs. From sanders to MIG/TIG welders to soldering stations to industrial sewing machines to its own darkroom, though, this space is well equipped for teaching students how to /make/. It's less quiet around the school than it has been now that everyone is returning from break, the mansion bustling and noisy with people catching up with their friends after the holidays. Less noisy out here, though, where right now over in the woodshop there is only one small student working on -- something. Dressed in jeans, plain black sleeveless compression undershirt, plain grey flannel with its sleeves rolled up, K.C. cuts a plain and rather androgynous figure where she's frowning intently at her work. Right now measuring some dowels to cut them down smaller -- measure once, measure twice, measure three times before actually sawing off the wood to add it in a neat line to a small collection of planks and rods that she has been growing steadily larger. She picks up another rod to start afresh. Measure, measure, measure. Cut. The door opens quick. Closes quick. The figure that has entered is at first hard to spot, a ghosting blur of person zipping over towards the woodshop. Flicker stops short a few heartbeats later, though. Materializes into easier to track definition to be just Solid -- khakis, long-sleeved blue button-down, dark corduroy jacket, the mechanical hand emerging from one sleeve very brightly colored in deep blue with glimmering ice-white snowflakes patterned onto it. Pausing beside the table that K.C. is working at with a slightly wide-eyed look of apology. "{Oh, sorry, I didn't notice someone here.}" His Spanish is quick, accompanied by a circling of fist over heart. K.C. stops her sawing, fist curling tight around the dowel she is holding as her eyes open -- wide, too. Staring up at Flicker. She blinks, once, at Flicker, then looks back down at the rod in her hand. "Yeah, no, not that. Spanish. Not that. That was a lot of moving. Kind of silly. Kind of silly." Flicker leans in against the work table. Not quite /done/ moving, really. A little restless in the fidget-bounce of his posture. Drum of fingers against table. Stiff curl-uncurl of mechanical hand. "Lo si.." He shakes his head, catches himself with a flush of red spreading through scarred cheeks. "Is kind of silly," he agrees with a lopsided smile. "Hard to stay still sometimes." He glances to the pieces of wood, curious. "What are you making?" "Wood." K.C.'s eyes dart down to Flicker's fidgeting step, fidgeting fingers, fidgeting hand. She shakes her head quickly, finishing up the sawing she was working on and then pointing the rod towards Flicker's hand. "What." She's scooting back around to where she laid out her pieces of wood, tucking the freshly cut ones neatly into a line. "There's snow. What. Where's your real hand." "Yeah. I see that." Flicker lifts his hand -- the flesh one, scuffing knuckles against his jaw. Head tipping downward. Breath huffing out in one quick puff. His other hand stretches out. Turns up. "This /is/ my real hand." The fingers curl in. Open. "It's part of me. And I use it. How's it not real?" "Use it. Use it --" K.C. does not look /entirely/ convinced by this, poking her stick of wood out to tap against the mechanical fingers and eying them suspiciously for the noise they make. "Well..." But if she /has/ an argument against his, it doesn't get voiced. Instead: "You can do things with it?" She gestures -- around. The workshop. Her own bits of wood. Flicker grins, quicker, now, and easier. "Sure." He gestures to the pieces of wood K.C. has cut. "There's anything you could use a hand with here, maybe I could show you."