Tristaan was unsure as to whether or not he really wanted the wick festival on Surwood Isle to end. It'd been a rather lovely homecoming and an interesting change of course for his life on more than one level. While he'd perhaps not taken the time to entirely process that past week or so's events, he was particularly aware of some of the implications of his decisions. For once the passive could admit that such a perspective was not quite as terrifying as he might have once found it. It was ... nice.

One of the many benefits of the festival included the constant availability of a party sort of atmosphere. One did not have to travel any further for some scenic seclusion as one had to travel for some good music, dancing, and drinks.

It was at one of these enjoyable gatherings that Tristaan found himself curiously reviewing the past few months of his life over a drink.

Sarinah had come with Tristaan to the drinks, dance and music with every intention of dancing. So far, the only dancing she'd been able to do was practice with Xanadu and Eriyenna, or off on her own in the mornings. It was unnatural. So after a drink..or three...she had kissed the passive soundly and moved off towards the dancers, hips swaying in time to the music. Closing her eyes, hips making soft figure eights, she dragged her hands up through her long black and red tresses, letting them drip from her fingers as she swished her head from side to side, arms resting over her head, hands at the back, elbows bent. The rhythms were like a drug to her, and opening her eyes slowly, she trailed her hands to her hips. Dressed in her usual black outfit, the bruise just under her sternum showed evidance of her sparring match with Tristaan the day prior, not to mention the aching muscles that protested a little as she swayed. She didn't try to hide the bruise, it wasn't anything to be ashamed or sorry about. The passive was still in her line of sight and with a little wink, she continued with her own brand of belly dance, perhaps more suited for the tumble hut. But she was enjoying herself, so why not? Looking around, she tried to find someone she knew to dance with. Tristaan really didn't seem to like to dance with her, in public. But that was okay. Everything was okay.

((2 days and no one liked the "very open?" Fine then. I'm dancin'. So there. ))

The passive smiled wistfully and watched the lovely witch leave to join the dancing crowds. It was fine. Surreal. Ephemeral. Expected. Acceptable. Everything was easier here; even some of the things that should've been more difficult seemed to have been softer and less painful.

The hard edges of reality had been rubbed off by the warm blur of festivities and smiles, family and comfort. They were still there, however, looming dimly in the back of his thoughts—sharp. It was nice, but impermanent. A transition. Some things, however, really were different, better, new.

But by how much? Where was this going?

Shut up.

Leaning against the table, Tristaan set his empty glass down, turning to let his gaze fall contentedly over the more than pleasing form of Sarinah as she found her place in the music. His gray eyes travelled with a comfortable familiarity, anticipating her fluid, practiced movements almost thoughtlessly, lingering with a softening smile over all that—for the moment—he could claim as his own. He understood he wasn't the only one who appreciated the view, and, most of the time, that was okay. Really.

Had he not considered what he was getting into? Had he not thought through to the conclusions?

Close your head.

Was this place different while he was the same? Or was he different and nothing was changing?

Dze. Dance already.

He slid from his seat, calloused, bruised fingers trailing listlessly across the tabletop as he pulled away toward the dancing. The swordsman waited until the brunette's back was turned before drifting into the small crowd that had come to separate them, moving carefully between the other dancers, allowing himself to slowly catch onto the rhythm as if shifting stances. Just like combat, the potential for surprise in any situation was something Tristaan enjoyed immensely. Allured by the unexpected, he slipped easily past the last body closest to Sarinah still unnoticed, stepping well into her personal space; bodies grazing, meeting in time; left arm snaking over the exposed skin of her middle; fingers knowingly avoiding her bruise as they came to rest in front of her; face hovering near hers with a slow, warm smile.

The passive said nothing right away, wordlessly choosing to remind the lovely witch that shy or not, he knew what he was doing; a hint of festival-induced boldness sneaking into the subtle way he began to direct their movements to the music together instead of separately.

"It's kinda' borin'," Tristaan spoke quietly, close as he was to her ear, roguish nonchalance washing over any hint of nervousness in his tone of voice, "Watchin' when I know I could be participatin'."

((come on you lot! i know your reading! join us!!! it might be the last drinkin' thread for surwood!!!))

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9gioxDoR ... re=related

The arm around her waist was unexpected, and for a moment, the brunette dancer almost slapped it away, until she realized it was a familiar, scarred arm. A surprised grin reached her lips and she leaned her head back against the strong shoulder of the passive, closing her eyes at the delightful tickle of his words in her ear.



As the music continued, the drums and other instruments faded off leaving only a solo guitar, playing a haunting slow flamenco. Smiling, she swayed, opening her eyes as she reached her hands up to the man's arm. Pulling it gently away from her, she turned, holding his left hand with her right. Stepping a little soft flamenco in time to the constant quick beat, she held her skirt with the other hand, lifting his arm slightly to twirl herself under it. Giving him a pleased smirk, she raised an eyebrow as she stepped-two-three-four-five-six, hips rocking with each up-down step.

"This ent what I expect from you kov. It's a benny surprise. You can dance! Well even!" She giggled a little, flicking her skirt once with a jingle, both legs dangerously bared. Watching his face closely, a small idea came to mind and she was slightly to tipsy to divert it before it toppled out of her mouth.

"Do you remember any dances from when you were a child?" She said softly, spinning into him so she spoke closely to his ear where only he could hear, then spinning out again. The witch raised an eyebrow, almost challenging the wick. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. Wasn't this precisely how they'd met? A wave of happiness washed over her and she grinned.

((I think she's doing a mambo/salsa step combined with the flamenco! LOL))

((Steps of ... huh? I have no visual idea what that means!! Google is my friend. This. Is. Long. Sorry. Loaded question prompted an interpretive dancing life story FTW. Lastly, thread is totally not going in a "very open" direction, so I have changed lots. Epameo, kids. We'll have to start a new thread that's more social.))


"Oes, y'should know that well'nough already, macha." He answered with a subtle, chiding tone, allowing himself a stray, appreciative glance over her exposed skin. Who was he really to keep others from enjoying his view? She hadn't been his long anyway, and she certainly didn't have to be his at all.


The passive paused for a noticeable, distracted moment as the witch spun away, biting back the first response that came to his mind as he struggled to recover his steps.

When was that? Which ... childhood?

He did not return her grin, though he might have understood it's origin. They'd met in a similar fashion all those weeks ago, and he could say things had never quite been the same since. Tristaan finally smiled, distantly, Sarinah's inviting boldness and buried innocence coming together as the opposing, irresistible forces that kept him captivated, longing for more. The swordsman waited for his opportunity in the music to tug her back towards him, free hand resting lightly on the brunette's hip, bodies close enough that matching her steps required their legs to touch as they moved,

"N—oes."

He hesitated in his answer, only able to be heard above the music and the crowds because his face was next to hers, "For my sister's tenth birthday, there was a mant caoja. So many pina gollies all dressed up in th'best they could afford, all touchin' but still so far away," Tristaan stepped back, taking the witch's other hand in his and lifting it to one side in an impromptu mockery of something formal, face set into something serious and perhaps slightly pained, still keeping time. Then, just like that, he was close again, sliding her hand he held to rest on his shoulder, "I was 'bout eight. I only watched."

If he recalled correctly, a few months later, with news of her passing her test, his parents insisted on confirming their own suspicions about their younger son's lack of magical ability, regardless of the cost.

The passive considered for a few moments before continuing, "There was hardly such a thing as fun in th'factory, but sometimes," One hand still on her hip, he was moving the other across her back as he spoke, as if preparing her to bend or dip, "Sometimes, when everyone was workin' in a row on th'weavin' machines, they'd all hum like music. If y'could find a moment t'breathe an' look 'round, you'd see a whole line o'bodies, movin' th'shuttle for th'thread from front—"

With a subtle shift, he pressed toward the dancer, rolling them both forward, balanced by his hand behind her, other hand slipping from her hip to her thigh with more focus than shyness, lifting her leg to accentuate their brief downward movement before pulling them back upright again slowly. He might finally have been grinning,

"—t'back again an' again. All rhythm but no sleep."

Tristaan's smile faded slowly as he turned to spin Sarinah away, tugging her back to finish speaking, breathing against her neck, "If I e'er was a child, it was brief an' brightest only with th'Crows. Even then, I rarely danced, except if there was a blade in my hands an' Guaril swingin' for my head. Movin'gainst an opponent ent always so different from dancin',"

He closed his eyes, "Th'mystery's always which one's more dangerous."

The dancer's sultry grin faded slightly at the stiff, formal pose he pulled her into, brown eyes searching his sudden aloof features. He looked so...galdori. Then he was his usual wicky self.



The sudden dip should have been a thrill, an exciting and electrifying mix of romance and boldness. But the black and red haired woman felt shock and sadness as Tristaan spoke. As he slowly brought her back up, her eyebrows were furrowed and face sad, hands on his shoulders.



Allowing herself to be spun, she stumbled as he pulled her close, speaking into her neck, breath tickling her olive skin.



Leaning forward, the witch wrapped her hands around his neck and hugged him tightly, as though she could squeeze away all the awful years of his childhood. She held him like that for a long time, unwilling to pull away. Shaking her head, she smiled at his quick humor. How could he be so perfect with such a horrible, traumatic past?

"At least when you're fighting you can anticipate your opponent's moves. Dancing can leave you all confused and vunerable." Pulling away, she smiled at him.

"What about me, hama? Am I dangerous?"

Tristaan slowed down his movements and let both hands slip down below her waist, lacing his fingers together behind her, willingly becoming a quiet island of two in a sea of moving wicks.


"Ah, Sarinah, y'know th'truth of that already, seein' as you've made it your work t'move in ways that make kovs forget where they are an' what they're doin'." The passive laughed, shy with his own admission, "It ent much easier for me t'keep my mind 'round you neither most of th'time."


"If I ent mistakin', I'd have t'say we've had that discussion b'fore, once'r'twice ... an' I think y'know th'answer." His grin was as mischievous as it was wistful, quite aware that it could be said the beginning of their relationship was dangerous indeed.

Tristaan was quiet for a while, perhaps longer than the lovely witch would expect, considering his words carefully. How much of his real thoughts did she want to hear?

Moving slowly, he rest his stubbled, weathered cheek against her hair close to her ear and spoke quietly. He understood his words were not simply telling of his own feelings but also a hushed revealing of his own observations of the dancer's effect on people in general, "Oes, macha. You're th'kind of danger that leaves kovs blinded an' breathless, willin' t'act th'fool, but that's only when they get stuck starin' at th'outside. As far as I'm concerned, y'ent so dangerous as y'are lovely on th'inside, but it ent always an easy fight b'tween th'two."

The dancer giggled, hiding her face in his chest, almost embarassed. Lifting her head, she looked up at him with a cheeky grin. It wouldn't be a lie to say she enjoyed that.



Moving to the music slowly again, she looked down at his shoulder with a giggle, sliding her hands down to his biceps, briefly thumbing the spot where his passive tattoo was hidden away.

"Ye ent even seen me dance properly yet kov." She said in a softly suggestive voice. The opportunity to dance was here, but she wasn't sure how he would react to it, in such an open place. With all these people. Perhaps when they got to Old Rose, she would have to have him sit in when she practiced. Before the patrons came.

Tristaan chuckled, perhaps a little shyly at the thought. It was true; what little he'd caught sight of before the Circus, the night Sarinah was forced to leave Vienda, had been very little indeed. His expression grew thoughtful, distant, but ... coy?

"Hmm," he made a noncommittal noise through his nose, arching a slim eyebrow at the lovely witch he held and moved to the music with, "I s'pose I could say you've pretty much seen me workin', if th'fightin' in Vienda counts. Which would mean ... somethin' ent entirely fair." He paused, definitely letting his grin turn mischievous, possibly even curious or adventurous, "We ent gotta stay ... here, ye chen."

The passive was obviously aware of his implication. He laughed and looked away into the crowd for a moment, with a hint of awkwardness, before meeting the dancer's gaze without another word, expectant.

Sarinah faltered in her sway, almost dropping her jaw at the passives suggestion. Blinking, she looked around at the dancers, then nodded.

"I was getting a bit crowded anyway." She said in a whisper, moving her hands to hold his own, she pulled on Tristaan, leading him away from the dancing. There was a spot...she'd been using it for a few days now. Not that far away, but secluded enough. As they approached the familar pole buried in the dirt patch, the dancer let him go, walking around to gather firewood. Crouching down a ways back from the pole, she quickly set up a small fire, setting it alight with a little whispered Matches spell. Stepping back, she smiled at the man, music still softly in their ears from the distant caoja.

"Sit down kov. Relax." She said, stepping over to the wooden pole and resting and hand on it, waiting.

The passive allowed himself to be led, unable to contain the curiosity that had blossomed underneath the anxious realization of the potential magnitude of his proposition. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he'd have plenty of time to observe this so-called 'proper' dancing in Old Rose; but something else nagged at the edges of his thoughts, something that considered Surwood a unique atmosphere better suited for the transitions he was inviting into his life. Hopefully, anyway.

With all they'd shared already, Tristaan couldn't help but smile with anticipation. He could, in his own way, imagine well enough ... and was admittedly pleased with the ideas that came to mind.


Tristaan quietly did as he was told, though he was pretty sure the relaxing part was not quite as simple as it sounded. He leaned back on his palms, legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles, expression a mixture of obvious interest and nervous expectation.

The passive grinned, sheepishly. He exhaled slowly, settling a little, "Well, then. What have I been missin'?"

(( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cAFOUfNK0vk ))

Keeping in time to the sound of the distant music, the woman stepped around the pole casually, bringing her leg around in a pirouette, one hand above her on the pole. Stepping out and around, she turned, inside hand holding the smooth wood, and dipped back, hair touching the ground. Using the pole to pull her self upright again, she stepped once, grabbed the pole above her head. With a little hop, she lifted her legs into a wide V, using the momentum to spin around, pole between her thigh and torso. Bringing her legs back down, she turned into a step-spin, grasping the pole between her knees, turning around and shifting her hands and knees so she climbed as she spun. At the top, she held the pole with one hand, leaning to the side and slowly body rolling, drawing her thumb of her freehand across her tongue and slowly trailing it down her chest and abs, giving the passive a suggestive wink as she ran her hand down the front of her skirt and under the curve of her derriere and upper thigh. Sliding down her leg to hold the pole with two hands again, she threw her side around to start the momentum again and scissored her legs in a wide split, sliding down to put her feet on the ground. Stepping around, she hooked the back of her ankle around the pole and spun backwards. Shifting her legs, she made a sort of C shape as she turned round. Using the inside of her knees to grip the pole, she moved her hands turning towards the pole so she gripped it between her knees, then pulling her legs high, she created a figure four with her legs, locking them against the pole. Leaning back, she grasped the bottom of the pole and arched her back, one leg arrow straight behind her. Sliding down the polished wood, she rested her hands on the ground and performed a graceful flip off, throwing back her hair as she stood up, smiling at Tristaan. Slowly, with a swagger of her hips, she walked around the fire, towards him, getting down on her hands and knees as she reached his feet. Sliding her hands forward and up his shins, hair trailing along his legs, she threw herself back, resting on her knees, performing a sensual little dance, hands roaming her own body. Slowly, she lay back till she was resting on her own calves, before sitting back up pushing her hands through her thick hair and smiling.

"Thats it." She said..unsure of how to act. At this point she would have walked off stage, wiped herself down and either gone to fish coin for lap dances, private dances or another routine. Feeling slightly self conscious, she laughed.

"Ye know, most men only see that after about two shills."

Tristaan had no idea what the proper facial expression was supposed to be for this kind of proper dancing. He wasn't sure if he was allowed to smile. Broadly. Stupidly. Or if he was supposed to keep a straight face. Serious. Studying. Really, he wasn't sure if it mattered what he was supposed to do but enjoy himself, and so his face slowly found some middle ground to hover in. Somewhere in the back of his mind as he watched Sarinah move in ways that were as sensually graceful as they were blatantly enticing, something heavy sank into the pit of his stomach.

There are no armies in all of Vita that can protect a man from such—

"Heh."


Tristaan blinked, wisp of a smile fading from his features. He blushed, looking away from the lovely witch and swallowed hard. As exciting as the passive was forced to admit such a private showing had been, he understood that it was a view he would be forced to be comfortable sharing.

Not just a brief glance or two, either.

He was torn.

Tristaan thought he knew what he wanted and he definitely knew how he felt ... but was he capable of the kind of openness he saw would be required of him?

"Oes?" He finally managed a smirk, tilting his head at her and sitting up to reach out for her knees. His voice was soft but chiding, almost taunting, though it might have hidden the sharp edge of his rising insecurity, "Well, I'm pretty sure I got that covered an' mant more ... Unless you disagree?"

The dancer hadn't missed the change in his face, the blush, the turn of his head. She looked at his eyes for a long time, eyebrows furrowed. Shaking her head, she answered.

"Oh ne, kov. Ye got enough ging for all the dances in the world." Pausing, she rested her hands on his.

"Are ye...are you okay Tristaan? I got the feeling ye ent so thrilled about this whole thing."

Tristaan's face darkened into a frown, but he didn't pull his hands away. Where he had hoped to be making a comment about feelings, the brunette had turned it into something about ging. He shifted to sit closer, making it more unclear as to whether or not he was uncomfortable.

"I didn't mean it that way." He said quietly but without a witty follow-up.


The passive sighed, looking down at their hands. He was quiet for a moment, not meeting Sarnah's gaze. How could he really be opposed to the dancer; how was it fair, considering what he did for a living? It seemed only slightly hypocritical; she wasn't killing anyone. At the same time, however, the swordsman had come to realize his feelings for the lovely witch had made him increasingly wary of sharing what he was privileged to enjoy with just any kov fresh off a ship in the Harbor ... especially in the way he'd just seen.

It would be difficult to not be jealous, and though he could appreciate her invitation to work as protection, he knew it would be a struggle to balance his feelings with his responsibilities.

Tristaan offered a gentle smile, though it was slightly cautious, "Ne, Sarinah, I'm fine. It ent so simple, really, but ... I'll get used t'things in time. It ent my place t'tell you what t'do with your talents, neither." He was telling himself as much as he was telling her, or perhaps he was just telling himself out loud, "It wouldn't quite be fair of me, ye chen? 'Sides, as long as you're still mine at th'end of th'day, how can I really complain?"

Sitting back on her heels, the dancer sighed, taking his hand and squeezing it. Her brown eyes were troubled.

"I ent going to do this if ye don't want me to kov. Yes, its a benny idea and the ging would probably be well worth it...but I ent set on it. Not anymore." Lowering her head to meet his eyes, she raised her eyebrows.

"If you ent comfortable, I ent dancing. There are other ways to make a living."

Tristaan was finally, obviously, disappointedly uncomfortable. He looked at her almost sternly, tone of voice ringing clearly with his internal conflict, "Don't make this about me, macha. It ent right. Far be it from me t'keep you from doin' somethin' you want, somethin' you have the freedom t'do."

The passive wasn't necessarily as opposed to the idea as his expression may have hinted at. It was definitely something he knew would be a difficult adjustment for more than just his rather reserved perspective on life, but his choice to follow Sarinah to Old Rose and support her business venture wasn't any more of an adjustment to his character than it would require for the swordsman to bring himself to tell someone else what to do (or not to do) with their lives. Which one was more difficult? It was hard to tell. Ultimately, Tristaan wasn't opposed to some semblance of stability in his life, and he'd somehow managed to convince himself that obtaining that wouldn't be half as enjoyable without the lovely witch in it, too.

He meant his words, even if they stung a little.

"Hamaye, Sarinah, an' I ent gonna tell you what you can'rcan't do so you can resent me for it later. I lived too much of my life bein' told such things, an' I don't really think I could bring m'eslf t'do that t'you jus'cause I ent sure anyone in th'Harbor'll be safe if you make them all feel th'way I do 'bout you." He sighed, looking away towards the small fire, jaw set firmly in his disquiet, "Unless, of course, that's somethin' what you want from me."

Sarinah frowned, looking down at their hands as he spoke. He shouldn't just accept the situation just because she wanted it. They needed to both be happy or it would just be uncomfortable and miserable.



Her bottom lip pouted a little, slightly defensive at his words. It wasn't just about her.

"I ent going to ever resent you, kov." She said softly, eyebrows furrowed. Sighing, she moved closer to him, hands on his.

"Part of being together is compromise and understanding. On both sides. I don't want to be told how to live my life hama, but I do want you to talk to me. Tell me if its not okay."

Tristaan sighed, feeling very much in between, in transition, in motion. It felt like falling, only without the risk of breaking any more bones. He looked back toward the lovely witch, expression softening, gray eyes warming to meet her brown ones. Tugging gently on the dancer's hands, inviting her closer still, the passive spoke quietly with a gentle firmness,

"It's okay, Sarinah. I ent entirely opposed, ye chen? Even if I hadn't met you, I'd prolly end up back in th'Harbor, an' now I have a feelin' it'll be an even better place with you there."

He offered a shy smile, "Some things ent gonna be easy, but I'm alright with most things. I trust you, an' I trust our feelin's 'nough t'be willin' t'see what happens, anyways." Tristaan laughed, breaking the self-imposed heaviness with a broader grin and a lingering kiss, tone of voice bordering on the roguish, perhaps revealing the brunette held definite sway over his reactions to her private showing. Well-practiced bravado and his humor returned to his features, "I think I could handle more'o'that kinda dancin' knowin' what t'expect an' knowin' who you're goin' home with when it's over."

Whatever lingering doubts the swordsman may have had, he kept them to himself. He wasn't necessarily good at compromise, but he did know when to fold his hand and wait for a better deal. He'd have to make some personal adjustments, and they would be difficult. Ultimately, however, Tristaan believed them worthwhile.

Sarinah sighed as he kissed her, as lovely as it was. The passives words weren't completely mollifying, but they were adequate...for now. Sidling up against the man, she snuggled close to his side, watching the fire.



Laughing quietly, the dancer kissed his rough cheek.

"Your too benny for me kov."