Re: It's a Spoke's Life, Ent It?
Posted: Fri Aug 24, 2018 3:47 pm
2nd of Roalis, 2718
Tristaan's smile faltered as the two witches made comments about things that were outside of his abilities, their conversation turning to magic and the mona that had shunned him from birth. He chewed the inside of his cheek, hearing Aziza's questions and Sarinah's easy dismissal. Effortless as far as he was concerned, even if the results hadn't been as intended. No one had died. The control was within both of the women's reach, control he couldn't—he wouldn't ever—have, and they spoke of it so lightly that he could only stand there and attempt not to look helpless.
Tucking the his little tin box back into a pocket, he chose to keep his mouth shut.
Talk of tribes he could follow, even the desert tribes of Mugroba. He'd been there, though only to Thul Ka once. Most of his contact with the other Kingdom had been with the Muluku Isles for the Bad Brothers, "Th' festival's worth seein' at least once as tekaa. There's folks from all over who come—y'd be surprised but plenty o' Mugs make it t' Surwood."
Tristaan found his voice in conversation about fami, considering the Red Crow were all he knew as such. Sarinah's caution about Old Rose Harbor wasn't unwarranted, but the pair were exceptions, not the rule. He owed Hawke his service and Sarinah owed the King her body, and here they were far from where they had once been held captive in very different ways,
"Th' Harbor ent bad save for th' Brothers, oes. M'haps y' ent on th' wrong side 'f 'em so y' ent got th' same bias as folks like us." He smirked, the tone of his voice almost deadpan in his admission, but he rolled his narrow shoulders in a dismissive shrug. It'd been well over two months and no one had come looking for them yet, so perhaps they weren't in as much trouble as he'd assumed, "Crossin' th' King ent usually a good thing, ye chen."
He took his cup of tea with the flicker of a smile and finally sat down next to the lovely witch, aware that his admission only risked dredging up the divide he'd purposefully shoved between them over Vienda. They couldn't go back to the Harbor, either. The festival was over and they'd signed on with the Circus. No matter how much the dark-haired passive didn't want to see the capital, no matter how much he didn't want to be reminded of his childhood, the choice was still better than returning to the Harbor. He'd left dead bodies in his wake and stolen the woman next to him on the way out. He knew whatever was waiting for them both back in the Harbor was painful and messy, if not fatal.
"Laoso?" He chuckled, curious as to whether Nazia was simply giving her daughter a hard time or she meant it. Tristaan was reminded of Sarinah's parents, of her father's disapproval of him being associated with the Red Crow. Grey eyes lingered on the surface of his still-steaming tea, "Ent everythin' that washes ashore in th' Harbor's so bad. Jus' gotta know th' spitch from th' good stuff s'all. That's th' same everywhere anyway."
The dark-haired passive made sure his shoulder brushed the lovely witch next to him with that, offering her a brief smile.
The osta was definitely different compared to the Anaxi breed, and he watched the way she moved among those gathered around the fire, laughing at Aziza's commentary about kensers,
"Oes. Ent a bright beast, those. Nor always kind, but they get th' job done where a horse can't always." Implying that kenser were generally stronger beasts, made for burden instead of pleasure riding, built for power instead of speed. He leaned back on one palm and sipped his tea, letting his gaze wander the kint and the family, feeling that nostalgia for a spoke life tug at all the sore places inside of his scarred chest.
Simple. Mobile. Free.
He supposed he was far more tekaa than he allowed himself to be, given his sentiments on life, having no interest in ever being confined to a golly-run city ever again. With an uneasy sigh, he shared a bit of caution, quietly and with a weight to his words that revealed he knew things he shouldn't,
"If'n y' can't be dissuaded from th' Harbor, jus' be careful when y' settle there for th' season. There's been a lot more gang fightin' than normal, an' a bit o' unrest. I'm sure Hawke 'll crush it all, but take care o' yer own."
Tucking the his little tin box back into a pocket, he chose to keep his mouth shut.
Talk of tribes he could follow, even the desert tribes of Mugroba. He'd been there, though only to Thul Ka once. Most of his contact with the other Kingdom had been with the Muluku Isles for the Bad Brothers, "Th' festival's worth seein' at least once as tekaa. There's folks from all over who come—y'd be surprised but plenty o' Mugs make it t' Surwood."
Tristaan found his voice in conversation about fami, considering the Red Crow were all he knew as such. Sarinah's caution about Old Rose Harbor wasn't unwarranted, but the pair were exceptions, not the rule. He owed Hawke his service and Sarinah owed the King her body, and here they were far from where they had once been held captive in very different ways,
"Th' Harbor ent bad save for th' Brothers, oes. M'haps y' ent on th' wrong side 'f 'em so y' ent got th' same bias as folks like us." He smirked, the tone of his voice almost deadpan in his admission, but he rolled his narrow shoulders in a dismissive shrug. It'd been well over two months and no one had come looking for them yet, so perhaps they weren't in as much trouble as he'd assumed, "Crossin' th' King ent usually a good thing, ye chen."
He took his cup of tea with the flicker of a smile and finally sat down next to the lovely witch, aware that his admission only risked dredging up the divide he'd purposefully shoved between them over Vienda. They couldn't go back to the Harbor, either. The festival was over and they'd signed on with the Circus. No matter how much the dark-haired passive didn't want to see the capital, no matter how much he didn't want to be reminded of his childhood, the choice was still better than returning to the Harbor. He'd left dead bodies in his wake and stolen the woman next to him on the way out. He knew whatever was waiting for them both back in the Harbor was painful and messy, if not fatal.
"Laoso?" He chuckled, curious as to whether Nazia was simply giving her daughter a hard time or she meant it. Tristaan was reminded of Sarinah's parents, of her father's disapproval of him being associated with the Red Crow. Grey eyes lingered on the surface of his still-steaming tea, "Ent everythin' that washes ashore in th' Harbor's so bad. Jus' gotta know th' spitch from th' good stuff s'all. That's th' same everywhere anyway."
The dark-haired passive made sure his shoulder brushed the lovely witch next to him with that, offering her a brief smile.
The osta was definitely different compared to the Anaxi breed, and he watched the way she moved among those gathered around the fire, laughing at Aziza's commentary about kensers,
"Oes. Ent a bright beast, those. Nor always kind, but they get th' job done where a horse can't always." Implying that kenser were generally stronger beasts, made for burden instead of pleasure riding, built for power instead of speed. He leaned back on one palm and sipped his tea, letting his gaze wander the kint and the family, feeling that nostalgia for a spoke life tug at all the sore places inside of his scarred chest.
Simple. Mobile. Free.
He supposed he was far more tekaa than he allowed himself to be, given his sentiments on life, having no interest in ever being confined to a golly-run city ever again. With an uneasy sigh, he shared a bit of caution, quietly and with a weight to his words that revealed he knew things he shouldn't,
"If'n y' can't be dissuaded from th' Harbor, jus' be careful when y' settle there for th' season. There's been a lot more gang fightin' than normal, an' a bit o' unrest. I'm sure Hawke 'll crush it all, but take care o' yer own."
Find comfort in friends,
every wound they can mend.
— Passive Proverb
every wound they can mend.
— Passive Proverb