[Closed] Jus' a Prelude

[Tristaanian Greymoore]

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle

They were all so close to Surwood Isle that everyone could almost taste the onnastick and the vraun. They'd passed a few boats leaving the Festival, headed back downriver toward the Harbor or elsewhere, waving and swapping stories. It wasn't until they passed another Deep Water kintboat, however, that the spokes couldn't help themselves—they had to pause and have a bit of a caoja together. Related somehow through a genealogy of marriage and friendship that was best left misunderstood instead of actually calculated correctly, the two family groups were so happy to see each other, to hold a new boch, and to exchange some gossip that they both hauled up to the shore, lit a bonfire, and declared it a party.

There was no invitation necessary to the two guests on board Farhid's kintboat, for as long as they were guests, they were fami. There was plenty of food and treats and drinks, and it wasn't long before there was music and swimming in the slightly chilly, slow moving Arova waters while fish were roasted and side dishes prepared. The sun was making its inevitable descent toward the horizon, and the bochi had run out of games to play on the riverbank and in the small copse of trees nearby, making their way to the water to splash and skip rocks and see who could hold their breath the longest of them all.

It didn't take much cajoling, not really, small hands tugging on his and begging Tristaan toward the water. While he didn't have any forts or candy in his pockets here, it seemed as though the dark-haired passive was somehow a magnet for the curiosity of children, unbeknownst to them that he hadn't been allowed to entirely enjoy his own. What little he even had before being tossed away hadn't been unhappy, but the remembrance was unpleasant, sour. Whether they knew he enjoyed the company of children or whether they cared, it was hard to tell, but the bochi were persistent and he was hardly able to resist them.

Laughing and making a show of attempting to get away, he allowed a few of the younger bochi to drag him into the water despite the chill with only a brief hesitance at shedding clothing and leaving all but his pants behind on the shore, a renewed shyness quelling his enthusiasm for a few moments of obvious hesitation. The young wick were ignorant anyway, raised in the wilds of the river and never taught that a tattoo could have meaning other than what the bearer chose to assign to the ink under their skin, unaware that Tristaan didn't give his mark meaning. It defined him instead. Or, it was meant to, anyway. They were also persistent, and soon he was forced to shake off his worries lest he be dragged into the river fully clothed.

"One at a time!" He mocked helplessness, waving hands at the bochi that clambered over his person, hoping for their turn to be hefted and tossed into deeper waters, which the passive was obliging as fast as he could manage. The chill of the water was only for a moment, enough to steal his breath before he was used to it, snatching up the closest laughing, giggling, squealing boch and throwing them deeper with a satisfying splash.

It was a fun game, but given the passive's capacity for physical endurance, it ran the risk of being an endless one. Or at least it would last until the food was ready and the dark-haired passive would be abandoned in favor of filling small bellies with the delicious smells that drifted with the current downstream.

"You may have to intervene if you want to see that kov at all before the night is over." Teased Teira from next to Sarinah, Farhid's wife and mother of at least two of the children currently in queue for their game.

"Dze, hama, they'll forget he even exists once there's a meal." The green-haired healer riposted, grinning warmly at the olive-skinned Yellow Eye. The Deep Water wicks who had rescued them still had never bothered asking questions, strangely trusting of the bloodied strangers they'd welcomed onto their kintboat and put back together again, "I'll just tell th' flesh-eating fish story again 'round th' fire an' that'll keep th' bochi out of the water once th' sun sets."

"By Vita—don't you dare!" Teira groaned, rolling her eyes.

"It's a good story, oes." Chuckled old Uro, the healer's great uncle and one of the two Elders who looked after the family unit of their kintboat, "But let's not scare our guests off th' lovely Arova before we get to Surwood. Only a few more days, rosh."

"Then I'll just ask you to call all the bochi in for yats, ye chen? It's time to eat. Mujo ma." Farhid's blonde-haired wife looked to Sarinah with her request with another smile before she stood and began to gather plates and utensils from woven baskets brought from both kintboats, making her way toward the blankets laid out on the silty shore.

Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb

[Sarinah Lissden]

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON

Sarinah sipped on her drink and listened with interest as the fami told funny stories of their pasts, joining in with the others when they laughed till her sides ached and her cheeks hurt. The two kintboats had passed each other on the river, and within a few moments it was a glorious excuse for a caoja, everyone doing their part to set up the fire or help with the food. The dancer had been wary at first, unsure how to fit when she’d tried so hard to hide from the crowds. The Dove hadn’t, but Sarinah had. It was Farhid’s wife Teira that had gently coaxed the witch at first, guiding her from the passives side with a kind smile to the man, and giving her a newly born boch to hold. Shyly, clumsily, the brunette had held the babe, following Teira as she prepared the meals they were to enjoy and slowly she came out of her shell.

Of course, the cups of light sweet blistleberry tea certainly helped the woman to relax, though Teira was loathe to tell her it was in fact a mildly alcoholic wine.

Each time Sarinah glanced up from the infant or the work Teira was doing, her brown eyes would seek out Tristaan, shooting him a private smile before being coaxed back to conversation. Eventually though, the prep was done and the woman took the baby back, dragging the wick to the bonfire to sit and enjoy good company. As the sun lowered in the sky, Sarinah found paying herself less attention to the stories, instead sitting on the bank beside the fire watching the grey eyed passive as he laughed and wrestled with the bochi in the river, giggling as the youngsters almost dragged the man in fully clothed. The sound of his laugh unburdened by the weight of the days gone by, gave her cause to smile, perhaps a little more dreamily than she’d expected.

“Hrm?” The raven haired wick hummed, barely hearing Teira’s comments at first, blinking and tearing herself from the vision before her with a blush. Her mahogany gaze flicked between the two, unable to stop a laugh at Farid’s wicked threat. The couple were in love, even after so many bochi and time together, they loved as though newly wed. It made Sarinah’s heart almost ache with adoration. The Deep Water tribe had welcomed herself and Tristaan as fami, without question or fear, and the young brunette couldn’t be happier.

“A few more days? Ent sure I’m ready yet. You’ve all been so benny to us, I’m not sure I have anything that I can give ye in thanks.” Glancing back at the river, she chuckled again as the lithe tanned man threw another squealing boch into the chilled waters, before emptying her cup and handing it to the blonde with a nod.

“Oes, that I can do.” She said with a grin, standing and brushing the sand off the thin strapped black wrap dress that Teira had lent her, the dancer held her hands out for a moment with a laugh.

“Ye sure that was tea beata?” She asked, only to be met by laughter from the three wicks. Tassels brushing her knees as she walked barefoot to the waters edge and dark tresses brushing her bare shoulders, Sarinah stood with hands on hips to watch the commotion for a tick longer.

“Wo chet! Who’s ready for yats?” She called out, smirking at the passive with a curved brow as all at once the children cried out a chorus of ‘me!’ and all but abandoned the soaked man. The witch laughed, fending off wet hugs with a gentle shake of her head and directing bochi up towards where the food was laid out so deliciously tempting for little bellies. Sighing, she turned back to look at Tristaan with a giggle.

“Those bochi adore ye balach.” She said matter of factly, allowing herself the guilty pleasure of watching the half dressed man wade closer to shore, a little too tipsy to bother trying to be sly about it. From beyond them, back in the throng of fami, the music and laughter started again as people ate and chattered.

[Tristaanian Greymoore]

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle

Was Sarinah the only one who stole occasional glances? No. Despite the very loud, very clinging distractions of a small hoard of wick children, Tristaan managed brief, bemused looks back toward the shore, usually with a boch hefted over head, squealing in anticipatory delight before he tossed them with a splash. Sarinah sat by the fire amongst the Deep Water tekaa who'd been so undeservedly kind to them both after dragging his bloodied, objecting, dying self onto their kintboat. Did the sight of the lovely witch—no matter how brief—with an adorable babe in her arms laughing and smiling with other wicks stir something strange in the quietest of places in his mind?

By the goddess, yes it did.

All the things he couldn't, shouldn't, wouldn't ever have, not really. He could pretend, but—

"Me next!" Shouted Farhid's eldest son, a lanky thing almost too big for the dark-haired passive to toss too far.

"Ne, me!" Someone else's daughter piped up, clinging to his leg with a grin.

"I was next!" Pouted a third, perhaps someone's brother, plopping in the shallows to sit in defeat.

"Everyone can have a turn, bochi. Jus' slow down, eh? There's one o' me an' a mant manna 'f you."

"Don't lie—you're used to bein' out-numbered, balach." Teased Farhid's son knowingly, the boy not ignorant to the state the other man had appeared on his kintboat in.

"Oes? Boemo. M'haps a pina manna. Think y' can change that?" The passive's taunting cost him a tackling by not one, but three children, everyone eager to try and drag the man down. He gave them all a bit of token resistance, just to hear them laugh and growl at him, before he simply buckled and disappeared under the water. Everyone squealed in victory, only to be splashed when he surfaced, pushing up from the silty bottom with a grin.

The spring temperatures of the Arova were tolerable for a short time, refreshing even had one just wanted a little dip, and while Tristaan was being kept plenty active by the throng of demanding bochi, he'd been in deep enough for far longer than he'd expected and yet couldn't admit he was cold to the eager faces smiling at him. Snatching up the older boy roughly and inviting a happy, half-hearted attempt to wrestle free from the passive's strong grip, he made a show of overpowering the boy before hefting him up and throwing his flailing self as far as he could into the deep waters, much to everyone's delight.

Before he could turn and reach for the next one, the youngest who'd been attached to his leg was already climbing toward his shoulders, chilly hands all over tanned skin, as if to simply use him as a diving board,

"Dze. I ent a tree, beata!" Tristaan laughed and turned around, falling backwards to dunk them both as he shrugged the giggling girl into the water with a splash. Disappearing under the surface, he reached for one last child in the silty shallows, like some sneaky creature of the depths. Tugging the boy toward himself under the water as the child yelped in amused surprise, he lifted him as he stood, Sarinah standing on the shore watching their foolishness with an expectant smile. Perhaps she was the bearer of good news, waiting her moment to announce that food was being served.

Tossing the boy one last time with a wink in her direction, he finally had free hands to toss soaked hair from his face. Ah, there it was, the lovely witch declaring it was time for yats and every child in the water abandoning him as if he didn't matter, leaving him grinning and wading to shore for an unashamed audience of one,

"That ent ever changed. I've always been interestin' t' nanobo bochi an' macha rosh like y'self. Jus' fair warnin' an' all, ye chen." The dark-haired passive casually admitted to his mysterious popularity with more than just the younger set, but he was grinning and taunting the lovely witch with his words.

He'd always looked out for those younger than him in the Soot District—kept them awake and safe around the textile machines, took beatings for them, snuck food to them. Children had been a big part of allowing him to open up to the Red Crow once they took his angry, hurting self in. He'd been a child once, but the brief memories he had of enjoying it with his sister were either fleeting or painful now. He made up for lost time where he could, and, well, for whatever reason, it seemed as though young people knew. He couldn't have them—legally, anyway—so he may as well enjoy the giggling, smiling fruits of other peoples' unions,

"Y' ent so bad with th' fair pina ones—I saw that. Sneakin' some cuddles in with a fresh one. Benny." His smile wistful, hiding the dull ache of acceptance that he'd long since come to about his options in life. Dripping and cold, he reached for Sarinah anyway, just to tease at borrowing her borrowed dress for a towel as an excuse to pull her close enough for an Arova-chilled kiss, lingering because, for a brief moment, no one was really looking. Well, even if they were, the dark-haired passive didn't care.

Slipping away with a chuckle to wring out wet hair and hastily tie it up out of the way, he reached for his things so haphazardly discarded on the shore, shaking sand from his shirt before tugging it on over still-dripping, scarred skin, not bothering with buttons. Everything else, he just bundled to carry on top of his boots, though he'd left his weapons there in the Market, and the reminder passed through his thoughts like a shiver from the cold water,

"Already drinkin' without me, macha? No fair." Tristaan smirked playfully, his shoulder against hers as they walked toward the fire and the food and the wicks laughing and talking, the music quiet while everyone enjoyed what had been prepared together, "Lemme eat. I'll catch up. Jus' promise t' distract me so I don't end up dragged back in th' river. S' cold."

Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb

[Sarinah Lissden]

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON

Sarinah laughed, an eyebrow lifting sharply and watching the grinning passive as he waded towards her, making a face of shock at his cheeky admission.

“Oh really balach? Fair warning—wo chet! Ent sure I want any other rosh finding ye as interesting anymore, ye chen?” She said with a wide smile, putting her hands up in a mild attempt to save herself from the dripping wet man as he pulled her into a lingering kiss, breathing deeply and letting herself get lost for just a manna in the strangely chilled touch of his mouth. Pressing her fingertips to her lips with a small laugh as he pulled away, the dark haired dancer blushed and glanced away over the water.

“Mmm…I hama the pina bochi, so small and soft. And they smell so lovely and…” The woman hummed, cutting off her tipsy rambling with another chuckle and shrugging as though it was nothing. She’d not had any siblings as a child, but she had held plenty of new babes in the Queen over the maw. Innocents all, so perfect and sweet with their tiny little hands and soft skin. Falling in line beside the passive, she bumped him gently with her hip and pressed softly against his shoulder.

“Ent my fault kov, Teira’s t’blame. She said it was tea, but ent no tea I’ve had.” Sarinah said with a lift of her brows and a shake of her head, glancing up as they approached the caoja. The children had already thrown themselves heartily into the steaming dishes provided, giggling and filling their plates with fish and curry and sweet things. The brunette waved at it all with a dismissive movement, before planting a quick kiss on his stubbled cheek and taking his hand.

“Oes, look! Here!” She said with excitement, reaching over the hoard of bochi to snatch up two familiar morsels with a huge grin.

“Onna-stick Tristaan! Hingle onna-stick!” The brunette exclaimed, handing him one and taking a bite of the other with a childish giggle.

“Ne getting sick on these ones, but vrunta they are just as benny as I remember.” A soft hand touched her shoulder, Teira smiling and handing her a cup of something pale and creamy.

“Chan, f’both of ye. Sip it. Make’s even the least rythmic tekka an expert dancer, or so Uro says.” She warned, looking at Tristaan with a wink before becoming distracted by a small spat breaking out between two of her offspring. Sarinah looked into the cup, taking a sip as she waited for the passive to collect himself some food, biting off more of the onna-stick in her other hand. When he had the chance, she would hand him the chan as they moved away to find somewhere to sit and eat.

“Are ye nervous about seeing your Crow fami again?’ The young witch asked quietly, pulling away another tasty cube of hingle and popping it in her mouth, watching as the last dress of the sun hovered across the river in what looked like a beautiful orange and yellow cascade of gemstones.

“It’s so macha here, ye chen? Makes it hard to believe that it ent exactly the right place to just put down roots and make a home.” She muttered, glancing at him again with another softer smile, her brown eyes full of wistful far away thoughts. She laughed, shaking her head and sighing.

“Epaemo. I haven’t had a drink like this in a mant manna maw. My mouth tends to happen before my mind.” From around the bonfire, a few of the musicians picked up their instruments, playing a small tune as the rest of their peers finished their meals. Laughter punctuated the air, supported by the chatter of happy family and delighted children. From somewhere, a newborn cried for a moment, silenced by the offering of a mother’s breast.

It was perfect.

[Tristaanian Greymoore]

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle

Tristaan couldn't help but chuckle at the lovely witch's possessive claim, "Oes. Ent want t' be interestin' t' any rosh but y'self anyways." He teased her, grinning mischievously at her token show of resistance against his chilled, dripping self. His expression didn't change as she confessed how the smallest of children made her feel, the warm thrill of such delicious admissions bringing strange feelings into the hull of his scarred chest.

"Weren't tea, ne—" The dark-haired passive began to say, grey eyes taking in the still-wet bochi he'd just been throwing in the river now stuffing their faces even before they could fill their plates, "Wo chet! Save some o' that for th' rest 'f us." He harassed them with a mockery of sternness, causing an eruption of amused giggles as Sarinah reached through them for something important and nostalgic.

Oh! Real onna-stick!

"Good Lady, lookit all th' impressive yats. Mmm. May need a nap jus' t' play at bein' spoiled." He was taking a bite of perfectly tender hingle before the lithe dancer could even finish with her own enthusiasm, needing to make room in his hands anyway for a plate and more food. The small plates were hardly enough for the amount of substance Tristaan was capable of consuming when he had the opportunity to do so, and so he was eager to make sure he enjoyed some of the really good stuff the Deep Water tekaa had pulled together from between their two kintboats before it was all devoured by the horde of small children instead. Everything looked and smelled delicious, and the passive piled his plate in such a way that totally stood in competition to all of the young wick combined.

He smiled as Teira offered them chan, shaking his head at her wink as if he had no idea what she was talking about, "Mujo ma, rosh."

Laughing, he followed Sarinah away from the creative spread of a meal and toward one of the many blankets and mats laid out on the silty, grassy shore of the Arova river for everyone to sit on. A few other wicks had settled nearby, smiling at the pair and offering greetings. The dark-haired passive set his plate down and sipped the steaming, foamy chan, savoring its hot mug and aware of its various mind-altering properties. It warmed him from the inside out, and he set the mug between himself and the lovely witch while he decided where to tackle his plate first,

”M' fami? Ah, well, oes." His tone was wistful, but his smile faded, "I shouldn't 've ever left. Th' tyat I let convince me t' drift weren't anythin' but trouble, an' m' younger, angrier self was complicit in a mant manna things I regret now. If m' da ent dead, which that ol' lugger won't be, he'll be as glad t' see me as I'm glad t' see him, I think. I hope. An' y'self? I'm gonna guess y' didn't drift on good terms, did you, from th' Eye?"

Tristaan ventured carefully, mostly speaking between mouthfuls of delicious things, pausing to savor this or nibble just a little more of that. The chan was too warming to be ignored, still chilled by the late afternoon Bethas air and the cold waters he'd fled. He attempted not to enjoy it too much, but the steaming mug was comfortable in his calloused hands,

"Roots?" Grey eyes strayed from the lovely witch's face to wander over the Deep Water wicks, to wander toward the rushing waters of the Arova, before they reluctantly met Sarinah's mahogany gaze, "There's too many beautiful places t' see t' get stuck lookin' at th' same one day after day. B'sides, home's where th' hama is, no' a building with walls. I ent made t' be a tsat—"

Maybe it was because the thought of making a home reminded him of who he could never be, of what he could never have. Maybe it was because he'd spent his childhood bound to the Soot District, a slave by another name. Maybe it was because he'd tasted the nomadic life and found it satisfying. Whatever the case, the thought of permanence bordered on the terrifying for the passive, a home just something else to be taken away no matter how firm the foundations.

"—I mean, I ent made for urbo life, anyway. Out here, away from all that, it ent so bad." Tristaan offered a shy, almost apologetic grin between more bites of onnastick, "I still say y' jus' ent had th' right travelin' companions. M'haps I'll fix that, ye chen?"

He hadn't even had anything to drink yet, and his bold words brought a warmth to his chest and a hint of color to his cheeks, looking down to his plate of food and biting his lip. It was a strong assumption to make, and he knew it, but by the goddess, if there wasn't something about their togetherness that didn't make him say and do things he wouldn't normally do. It wasn't bravado, but something else. And he'd be a liar if he didn't like it.

She apologized, and he laughed, perhaps hoping to brush over the feelings and desires he'd hinted at, waving his now-meatless stick at her with a grin teasingly while the music picked up behind them and a few of the wicks who'd finished their meals began to get up to dance, "I like both, macha, your mind this far from th' Harbor an' your mouth this close t' me. No need t' epaemo for either o' those things."

Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb

[Sarinah Lissden]

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON

The brunette marvelled at the amount the passive managed to pile on his plate, somehow finding the optimal balance to keep it all in place as they walked to the bank, grinning as they settled and he assessed the best place to attack from, pulling another piece of hingle from her stick and nibbling on it. As he spoke about his da, she leaned back on her elbow, raising her eyebrows and shaking her head with a soft laugh.

“Uh...nnneee...not at all.” Sucking on her teeth, she shrugged at looked at the grey eyed man.

“Da wasn’t all benny with me leaving. Ye chen? He’s old tekka, very much against Durg Lordes’ idea of unifying the tribes, oes? I actually think he’s a supporter of Durg Auros, but Alioe forbid ye even suggest that. He ent much for Red Crow kov.” Picking at the small motes of silt that had managed to make their way onto the mat, she laughed.

“Da and I have different opinions on the matter, and when I drifted, he refused to speak t’me.” Shrugging again, she stole the mug from between them and took a good sip, wincing at the bitter taste before releasing it back to his hand.

She saw it there, the reluctance in his eyes to settle down in one place, a spoke through and through like her fami. The dancer smiled wryly, looking away from the sparkling river to lay back on the blanket, finishing the onna-stick and throwing the stick on the blanket and propping her arms behind her head. She looked at the sky above them, one or two stars visible in the dusky afternoon.

“Mmm....maybe? I ent had a travelling companion, not on the way to th’Rose. M’haps...” Sarinah turned her head, brown eyes watching as the scarred passive blushed—macha on him really. The wick smiled at him, her heart beating wildly in her chest, content for just the moment to look over his handsome features. The passive had risked so much, done so much, for her. It was difficult to believe someone could care so much, except that, she felt the flutter in her stomach and the electricity that crackled through her veins just by looking at him.

“M’haps I should be saying mujo ma instead, balach.” She said with another somewhat tipsy giggle. As the music picked up, the brunette lifted her head, twisting to look back as other wicks picked themselves up to join the dance. Rolling, she sat up on her side and watched them with a warm smile, before reaching out for the chan.

“Ye dance, Tristaan?” The dark eyed woman asked as she took another sip, raising her eyebrow at him over the rim. Lowering the mug back onto the blanket, she reached to tuck thick black locks from her face.

“Ent sure if y’recall but uh...dancing is a caoja requirement. Ye chen? Wouldn’t want to offend these fine tekka by sitting it out.” She lied with a wide grin, tapping her fingers on her thigh in time with the music. The tea-that-was-not-tea and the chan had both gone to her head, and frankly as macha as the sunset over the Arova was, Tristaan was much more captivating.

“Of course, if ye ent a dancer as such, it ent really...I just...it should be.” The brunette finished awkwardly, laughing at herself again as she stole something delicious looking from his plate and taking a bite. Chewing for a moment, the young woman made a decision, jumping up and waggling her fingers as she reached out to him.

“Come on, come dance kov.”

[Tristaanian Greymoore]

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle

The dark-haired passive had too much food in his mouth to smirk at the lovely witch, but when she answered him about her drifting from her fami, he understood. Guaril had warned him that falling in with the tyat was a bad idea, that no matter how much it soothed his hurts and gave him a channel to express his anger at all of Vita, especially the galdori who abandoned him, it wouldn't actually solve anything. He'd been right, but when Tristaan had left the old wick he called da all those years ago, it had been with frustration and unkindness.

While he was uncomfortable about tribal politics, he understood that the rivalry between the Eye and the Crow was a long-standing feud, though many of the Durgs of other tribes had continued over the maw to encourage the two tribes to make amends, especially in the face of all of the turmoil that broiled beyond the Nomadic Lands, radiating outward from cities like Vienda and Brunnhold.

Tristaan waved his now empty stick, "I ent sure what I'll see when I show m' face again, neither, but any fami waitin' on me 'll be glad t' see me. Surely, no matter what your terms o' partin', your own folks 'd be happy t' see you, too." He said the words and yet immediately regretted them, a dull ache in his chest tightening around his lungs as he thought of his actual parents and how they'd most likely be horrified to see that he still lived and the way in which he chose to do so. Biting his lip, he paused to eat some more instead of speak of it, though for a heartbeat or two, all he tasted was bitterness and road dust.

Grey eyes drifted over Sarinah's movements, watching with unspoken gratitude as she stretched out on the blanket in the late afternoon, enjoying the way the sun caught her olive skin and all the distractions such a vision welled up in his mind, drowning his hurts and his difficult truths. When he spoke of traveling, he hid under his playful tone his fear of settling down, the warm blush that graced his stubbled, aquiline features impossible to hide,

"That ent t' say that spoke life's perfect, but we'll see if I can't get y' t' like it a bit more 'n y' once did." Tristaan finally grinned, hearing the Deep Water wicks who'd finished their meals begin to pick up a tune on their various instruments. His lovely witch couldn't resist, the warmth that lit her mahogany gaze as undeniable as it was obvious. He glanced down at his unfinished plate of food at her question, but his grin widened instead of faded,

"Oes, I do." The dark-haired passive laughed, but it was noticeably more shy than before. Setting his plate to one side as she teased him, "Is it? I ent been t' a proper caoja in a few maw, so I must've forgotten."

Reaching to finish the chan, he watched her stand and offer her hands to him. His smile was roguish, tangling his fingers with hers and pressing their bodies together for a lingering kiss, "I ent gonna sit anythin' out, ye chen. Jus' don't be surprised 'r nothin' by m' dancin', macha. I ent as olio 's y'self, but still."

Tristaan winked playfully, letting her drag him toward the small gathering of tekaa who were playing their music near the bonfire, picking up the tempo of their instruments invitingly. A few other wicks had begun to dance, and, minus a couple of bochi who ran underfoot, there was plenty of room for he and Sarinah to join in. The dark-haired passive was aware of a few smiles and eyes on them both, Farhid sitting with his wife and newest child perhaps watching the pair with more than just an idle curiosity, knowing expressions on their faces.

Allowing the lovely witch to take the lead and taunting her into thinking he had no idea what he was doing, he played coy and slow for several deliciously entertaining moments, preferring to watch her move and admire her warmly, grey eyes taking in all of Sarinah without a hint of shame. Carefully, with a subtlety the passive seemed to enjoy in his own underestimated way, he let the rhythm of the music guide him, grinning as he moved closer to dance with her, to make sure they touched in some way,

"Dancin' ent always so diff'rent from fightin', ye chen. A bit o' give an' take—" Tristaan's smile was soft, brushing their bodies together to emphasize his words, keeping his motions in time with the music with a growing boldness as he revealed that he could, in fact, dance just fine. Though it was still obvious that the lovely witch was far superior in skill, as she should be, he didn't even attempt to keep his hands to himself.

The dark-haired passive was grinning, following where the rhythm of the wick musicians took them, aware of the faint tingle of nostalgia that fluttered in his chest, memories of the life among the Red Crow he'd once been too stubborn to call home and also aware of the warmth of new feelings he was not at all brave enough to speak about out loud under the beautiful, mahogany gaze of his very obvious object of affection,

"—an' a pina manna o' surprise."

Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb

[Sarinah Lissden]

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON

Sarinah shrugged as she looked down at him, smile still dancing on the corners of her mouth even if her thoughts turned a little sad.

“My daoa maybe, oes. She cried when I left, but...well we all did I suppose. Ent her I’m worried about though. Dze, ent important for now.” As he stood to meet her, the witch giggled, leaning into his kiss with a slightly imbalanced move and a hum of delight before straightening again.

“Ye’ll make’n honest spoke outta me yet then, eh kov?” She said with a blush rising on her cheeks and her buried tek accent clawing its way to the surface, tugging on the man to drag him towards the dancing, bare feet sinking into the soft sandy soil of the clearing. The dancer grinned, swaying gently to the music as she looked back at the passive, before letting his hand go and throwing herself into the movements. There was no innuendo or seductive overtones to her steps, and yet she moved with a practiced fluidity, hips swaying or skirt flaring dangerously with a carefree spin. She danced like a wick, no formally ingrained steps or straight back, laughing and letting the music control her movements. Facing the grey eyed man, the brunette tried to encourage Tristaan, curbing her enthusiasm to pick up the rhythm with him.

“Oes, jus’ like fightin’, only, dancing doesn’t always leave y’with a broken nose.” The dancer said with another giggle, raising an eyebrow as the passive drew closer, brushing their bodies together in a way that clearly indicated he was a lot better than he let on. Sarinah smirked, her movements becoming far more calculated as the music shifted into a slower tempo, feet following his and hands curling into his own. She spun into the warmth of his person, back against his chest and wrapping his arms around her waist as she swayed, eyes closed for a moment as she leaned her head back and enjoyed the giddy tipsy joy that flowed through her veins.

“It’s benny t’be part o’the take f’once, instead o’jus’ the give, y’chen?” The young witch sighed softly, before spinning away from him with a wild grin, holding onto his hand and extending her free arm in a flourish.

“Pinna manna o’surprise? Well, y’have me there balach. Ent anythin’ more surprising than bein’ here. With ye. Well, that an’ y’dancing which is a mant manna more olio than I was advised.” Giggling again Sarinah stepped closer, mahogany gaze peeking through thick lashes as she allowed the music to win her body over with a much more languid roll of her lithe curves, placing his hand on her hip firmly.

“Although, I may have a few surprises for y’still.” The dancer leaned closer to utter softly in his ear, swaying slightly as she did so. Sarinah moved to rest her free hand against his chest, leaning her forehead against the back of it with a properly unrestrained laugh.

“I am...I shouldn’t drink anymore.” She stated the obvious to his shirt with a grin, over pronouncing her words as though to wash away the accent that played on her tongue. Taking a deep breath, she straightened and looked into Tristaan’s eyes with a smile.

“Tell me, kov, what’s next? After Surwood I mean. Y’have plans or jus’ wingin—oh hesta!” Sarinah said brightly as they were approached by the other dancers as the tempo changed again, pulled willingly or not into a simple yet energetic dance that shifted the couple from partner to partner. The brunette laughed, looking over her shoulder at the passive even as she attempted to follow the steps of Farhid’s oldest boy who currently had her hand. The youth kicked up his heels in a rhythmic tap-slap movement, clearly wanting to impress their guests with his cleverness. Sarinah clapped her hands and cheered for the boy, before curling her fingers into her skirt and matching the young wick toe-for-toe, even if a little wobbly at the end. She laughed at his pout, turning towards the next dance partner, looking for Tristaan in the confusion of people. The wick holding her waist spin the brunette onto the next person, and her smile faltered.

“Hang on kov, ent ready—” The witch looked around, paying less attention to the dancing as she became quickly overwhelmed by the drink and the fast paced change of partners. The fire burned brightly in the now darkened evening, turning familiar bodies into unfamiliar silhouettes. As she turned into the arms of yet another person, Sarinah raised her arms to hold them back a little, now entirely uncomfortable with the hands on her waist or reaching for her.

“—wait. Jus’ a manna.” She said, voice an octave higher than usual, dark eyes sweeping the gathering of Deep Water wicks for the Red Crow.

[Tristaanian Greymoore]

20th Bethas, 2718
Late Afternoon | On the Arova River near Surwood Isle

Sarinah was quick to catch onto his ruse—not that he intended to keep it up for long, anyway—and instead of blushing or feeling strange about her question, he only grinned more. He didn't want to make anything out of anyone, but he was quite happy to spend whatever time she'd give him, traveling or not,

"Depends 'n how well y' dance, though. Breakin' things." The dark-haired passive all but purred, revealing himself to be far better than he'd let on and enjoying her surprise, taking her hands and more than willing to take a bit of a lead to move their bodies to the slower music, laughing when the lovely witch spun towards him and pressed them together. Holding her warmly, his fingers curled into the fabric at her waist and he hummed his approval of their dancing together against the skin of her neck when she leaned her head back toward him.

Feeling Sarinah's body tense as she prepared to move away, he moved his hands from her waist to give her freedom to spin away, grinning back at her as he held onto one of her hands, chuckling more at her flourish but he still managed to keep in step with her,

"This dancin'? Oes, well. I can't dob on all m' secrets 't once, ye chen, but bein' here with you an' bein' far from th' Harbor's right benny." Tristaan teased, letting her place his hands wherever she wished and unable to keep his thoughts from wandering at her coy words and chagrined admission. Her question caught him a little off guard, however, and he was about to admit he hadn't thought ahead one moment since they'd left Old Rose, bloodied and scared, when the musicians changed the tune and the pair found themselves quickly tugged into a more organized form of dancing with the group.

The dark-haired passive may have welcomed the distraction from his lack of an answer, flashing Sarinah a grin before smiling at his partner. His grey eyes caught a glimpse of Farhid's eldest also grinning because he was dancing with the lovely witch and holding her hand. Turning to keep up with his partner, Tristaan laughed and smiled as they were passed along to the music.

Tristaan was more than willing to enjoy the exchange, the Deep Water witches far better dancing than himself but more than accommodating, all smiles and more laughter, clapping and matching dance moves without feeling the need to be shy or restrained. The sense of freedom was nostalgic, dredging up from the silty bottom of his thoughts all of his fond memories of spoke life with the Crow. He remembered how much he'd missed it, even hunkered down with tyat, waiting to raid a riverboat somewhere outside of Vienda. He remembered how much healing freedom had brought him all those years ago.

Glancing over the shoulder of one of the elders who'd just released his hand, grey eyes picked up on Sarinah's more frightened body language. This kind of dancing may have kindled memories of home among the Red Crow for the passive, but after so long in the Harbor, purposefully isolated and clearly not properly cared for in the Queen, the olive-skinned dancer was quickly overwhelmed.

He knew fear when he saw it, and he leaned to kiss the grinning old witch on the cheek, "Mujo ma, rosh. I need t' step out an' fetch—"

"Go on, kov." She winked, hardly unaware of the pair's obvious closeness.

Tristaan wove his way through the dancers, smiling here and placing a hand there, stepping carefully before he would be visible to Sarinah, meeting her gaze before he moved next to the dancing wick, keeping to the rhythm of the music,

"Epaemo, kov." He spoke without threat or malice so much as an edge of concern in the tone of his voice as it carried over the notes, winking at the young man whose hands were on the lovely witch's waist. By now, everyone between the two kintboats was more than aware of their togetherness, though neither had bothered to entirely elaborate on their relationship. The wick grinned, almost embarrassed or chagrined, and slid his hands away in time to get swept back up with the tide of dancers as they changed partners.

Reaching for Sarinah to pull her close to himself instead, he let his expression soften, aware that it had been quite some time since either of them had been allowed such innocent entertainment. Guiding them away from the other dancers and closer to the bonfire, he kept their bodies together, "It's safe here, ye chen, but don' listen t' me. That's hard t' unlearn."

Calloused fingers brushed her face and he smirked as if to say he hadn't unlearned a thing, either, though he didn't have strange men grabbing for him in the same way he knew rightfully made Sarinah uncomfortable. All of her tumble hut experiences would have to be smoothed over slowly, carefully, and while he couldn't anticipate every situation they'd find themselves in together, he was eager to find some sense of healing, one step at a time, "I'm sure if I snuck away with y' even back t' th' boat, n'one would notice for a lil' while. We can talk a pina in th' quiet."

Sometimes we are born with the keys
to doors we were not meant to open.
— Passive Proverb

[Sarinah Lissden]

20th Bethas, 2718
AROVA RIVER | LATE AFTERNOON

The witch felt a sting of hot tears burning the corner of her eyes, tipsy and panicked in the arms of a stranger. She turned with him, not in dance but to scan over the dancers, her breath coming in rapid bursts. Her mind, foggy with drink and chan blurred her thoughts, played tricks on her mind. For a moment, the dancer swore she saw the bright scarlett locks of her employer, disappearing in a flash of bodies.

“Vrunta!” Sarinah gasped, shifting to grab at the young man’s hands, when her eyes finally spotted Tristaan’s face in the crowd. She held his gaze, heart hammering as he came to her side like a light in the dark. He spoke to the man, authoritative but not threatening and as the grey eyed passive reached to draw her close, Sarinah curled her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly.

“Mujo ma, Tristaan.” She said softly under the noise of the music and the laughter, allowing the scarred man to lead her closer to the flames. As they stopped, the brunette sighed, leaning against the brush of his hand with a frown.

“I know. I just...the drinks and the confusion...I ent...it was a bit much, ye chen?” With a self deprecating laugh, the dark eyed witch took in his smirk, embarrassed by her sudden panic and intoxicated confusion.

“Ye sure Teira wouldn’t notice? That rosh has eyes in the back of her head!” Worrying her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, Sarinah nodded, moving to lace her hand in his.

“Oes. I could use just a pina manna. Somewhere quiet.” As they would began to walk, the tipsy wick leaned her head against Tristaan’s shoulder with another laugh.

“Would ye believe there was a time I was good at this Caoja business? Danced and stole drinks from the older tekka, made a benny laoso of myself. Now...“ She lifted her free hand to curl raven locks behind an ear.

“...now it’s like I’m broken, inside. Like Scarlett stole the happy bochi away and left a shell of a chip.” The dancer said, tilting her head against his shoulder so she could look at him with a grin.

“A silly, rambling shell of a chip who should stop talking when she had drunk to much.” Clearing her throat, Sarinah straightened, making her way across the sandy riverbank and dipping her toes in the water where they stepped close enough. The early night stars shimmered off the surface like a soft spattering of diamonds.

“Do ye ever think about fami kov? I mean, not ye Crow, but starting ye own?” Her eyes widened for a moment and she blushed furiously, glancing up at his face.

“I mean in general. Not in. Any other way. I mean. I think about it, ye chen? Or I did, when I left the Eye. I had plans, oes. Settle down with a decent balach, tie the bond, have a bochi or two. Grow old, in a place that was mine. Ours.” Forcing away the awkward nervousness that flickered in her field, the brunette looked out over the river with a shrug.

“Seems so long ago now. And so mung. So childish.” She laughed again, stepping away without letting go of his hand to kick at the water lapping at the bank.

“So trivial.”