"I'm pretty sure this market wouldn't know what to do with the things I presently have; to that end, I'm investigating opportunities to refurbish some existing products; it's an opportunity to get connections and survive day-to-day.  I'm not exactly trained as a smith, but I know my way around a forge and I know how to maintain a knife properly.  Unlike some people, it seems.

"Knifeseller.  Your stock's mostly in shit condition but it's still got good iron underneath the rust.  I've got the skills I think I need to get that iron back into shape with a bit of effort, maybe even turn some new blades out - but what I don't yet have is knives.  I figure we might have ourselves a mutually beneficial opportunity.

"Now.  I get that you don't know me from Kyros - but I've got funds to buy one knife outright.  What I want to do, as a trial run, is buy a piece of cheapass shit, fix it up, and turn it around, getting my $20 back and splitting the gains in your sale price.

"Worst comes to worst, you've still sold something you know you may as well hand in over there, otherwise."

Reilly's mouth gapes. "A... Forge. A fucking forge? Like, rocks and fire? Like some sort of fucking caveman? 'Cause I sure don't see a scrap smelter out here."

The seller glares at her. "Plus one on that, head. I don't know what you're trying to pull. Prices are on the stuff. If you take one of these knives and send back one in better condition, I'll be checking it thoroughly and give you what it's worth."

"A lady must keep her secrets, but yes.  Fire.  Sometimes even rocks, depending upon the rock.  I'm not sure why you're surprised; smelting is the same principle."

"Anyway.  That one, if you please."  A $20 knife; this one is large and rusted and blunt, but it's cheap.

The seller will calmly take two ten dollar bills and hand over the knife.

Reilly... Turns and walks away quickly.

...Well, that certainly is happening.  Does Reilly look like she wants Ophelia to be coming with her (expectation: probably not), or will Ophelia be finding somewhere with the appropriate thematics and some decent isolation by herself?

Nope. Reilly has pretty clearly decided that Ophelia is too sketchy or playing some some sort of joke and is being rid of her.

The bordertown is one massive sprawling set of old holes and improvised construction. There are empty boltholes, old stashes, people living behind a metal flap. A bit further out there are bigger abandoned buildings, like old rail yards, or an empty strip mall inconvenient enough to the city to not have squatters.

She'll have to make do with an old rail yard, she thinks, being as it's at least not likely to catch fire should she need to start hammering things - though it's horribly insecure.  She just doesn't have time to search for proper privacy.  Not if she wants to get this done today.

Really, though, this isn't going to require much novel thought from her, just a farming ritual wildly misused; she's going to need some extra seed oil to get all this rust off.  (Not for necessarily this blade, but certainly for every future knife to pass through her hands.)

It's a simple job to immerse the blade in blade oil, then use a careful modulation of pulsing Force, imbued into the blade underneath, to get the rust off.  If this - cleaver, yes - had taken battle scars and been allowed to rust for this long, it would be pitted as deep as the spires are tall - but it hadn't, despite being quite firmly rusted all over, which was why she picked this particular item.  It didn't require an improvised forge to fix up properly.

After removing the blade from the rust bath, all that remains is a bit of whetting.

She's left with a pretty nice cleaver, then. The wooden handle is still pretty beat up.

The wind has been picking up for a bit. It looks like a huge dust storm is blowing in soon- The sky is darkening with the wall of dust rolling in from the Badlands.

Right, time to put some wards up, then.  She'll decamp to one of the outbuildings.  It's easier to ward small areas.

There's someone else running for cover, seeing the oncoming storm. Better dressed than the most unfortunate souls out here, dedicated desert gear and a big mask. They see her, and seem to mentally shrug and start waiting for her to be out of sight.

She also gives a shrug as she sets up to make some scales for the knife, since she's going to be stuck here anyway.  "Nice weather we're having, huh?

"This place yours?"

"Yeah, this looks like a big one," the guy says. "I can find somewhere else if you're..." He trails off and shrugs. Taps his goggles. "Geared for it, see."

"Eh, I'll hold up fine; had to ride out a days-long sandstorm in a ripped tent with a camel, during my misspent and adventurous youth.  I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion, but even without my tricks I'd survive, y'know?"

"...Sure, head."

A camel? Who even has one of those outsize of fuckin' zoos these days?

"Let's just batten down before the grit gets everywhere..." He glances at the oncoming dust and heads inside the sturdyish-looking outbuilding.

Hmm de hmm, de doo bee doo, she's totally not doing magic while she battens down the hatches, no siree...

The guy finds a corner to lurk in. He takes out little bit of weed, rolls it into a small blunt and lights it up, just a couple puffs.

He doesn't seem the sociable type. A little curious, but also very wary and just kind of an introvert. And not inclined to explain why he's here.

She'll busy herself with repairing the scales, as best she can given that she can hardly do blatant magic right now.

"You must have steady employment.  What sort of things do you do for a living?"

"Much as anyone does. This and that, here and there. In the slums, usually, up near Palisade. Buying and selling, you can get a lot done doing that if you're careful. You?"

"I appear to be repairing knives, since most of my management skillset is quite useless when I've nothing to manage."

"Lost your crew? You'll stand back up if you've got it." Shrug.

"More like my crew's lost me, though you wouldn't believe the story if I told you; still, I can only hope you're right about that."

"You'll be fine. I can hear the sun in your voice. Mm. There's more mystery to the world than some think. Crazy shit going down. Lies, rumors, mistakes, and reality. Who's to say, sometimes."

The sand-blasting of everything outside has gotten fairly loud now. Loud wind and a rattling as specks hit the structure.

"...This place is sturdier than I remember."

"Must be one of those mysteries you were talking about, huh?"  There's a bit of levity to her voice.  "What's the craziest thing you've seen?"

He smirks. "Crazy unexplainable rather than crazy fucked-up, I imagine. So imagine this- I'm checking out this alley, out of the way place, for completely legitimate and mundane reasons-" He pauses for a beat. "-And I hear fighting. A scuffle, at least two people running. Figure I should intervene, so I hurry over. Maybe not the wisest choice, but it came to nothing because as I turn the corner- Nothing. Place is quiet and empty. There's footsteps in the gunk, but nowhere they could have gone- Three sheer walls, no doors, no manholes in the ground. Vanished." He puffs the blunt. "The boring explanation would be a reasonably well-hidden exit, or me going crazy. But personally? I bet one or both of 'em was a mutant. Gecko pads for climbing walls. They could've gone over it when they heard me coming."