Sarinah put down the quill, studying her handiwork with a frown. It was so awful, blotchy and scratchy, letters all over the place. Reading it, she shook her head.

To Tristaan.

Tristaan's handwriting was so much more elegant and curvy. Sighing, the dancer picked up the envelope and screwed it into a ball, throwing it at the small crate by the piano. Picking up the small package in front of her, she stood from the piano seat and made her way downstairs, tucking the leather pouch into the pocket sewn discreetly into the jingling over skirt of her outfit. Pulling on her gloves so they sat straight, she ran a hand over the freshly varnished banister rail, admiring the dark wood underneath. The place was coming along so well, and the dancer had begun making plans to start auditions. Leaping lightly off the second last step, she spun around as she walked, looking for the familiar and oh-so-wonderful passive.

"Tristaan?" She called out lightly, making her way to the stage and running her fingers along the seats before it, glancing up at the rafters and lighting rigs. It would be so good when it was all lit up.

The passive was in the lower hall of extra rooms, sanding and refinishing the beds and dressers. It was cheaper than buying new ones. He was pretty sure he heard his name above the sound of sandpaper on old wood. Setting things down and wandering down the hall, he paused to wipe off his face on his open shirt and then his hands on his pants. He was still a little dusty, but it was a bit better than before.

Retying his hair as he walked from the hall to the main room, he shuffled past the bar to lean against the stairwell bannister. With a stretching sort of yawn, he grinned as he caught sight of the lovely witch near the stage,

"You callin' me, macha? Or am I jus'thinkin' you did because I wanted a break?"

Looking down from her study of the lighting rigs, the witch smiled at the handsome man, always finding the sight of him uplifting, even if he was dirty and sweaty. It was part of what she liked about him, the humble sort of unknowing attractiveness he oozed. Moving away from the stage, Sarinah approached him in a slow sort of stroll, clasping her hands behind her as she walked.

"Oes hama, I'm callin' ye, but its time for a break anyway. Its late kov. I think we have the place to ourselves for a bit." Standing in front of him, the brunette tilted her head.

"I have something I want to show you." Her voice was soft and pleasant, the young woman was rather pleased with her surprise, and it was hard to hide it.

The passive watched the dancer wander in his direction, following her approach with his eyes and a slow, pleased grin. He chuckled at her implication that they were alone, perhaps not as trusting of their landlord's level of subtlety on occasion. Still, he wasn't objecting to moments of privacy if he could get them.

"It ent somethin' else that needs fixin', I hope." Tristaan teased, pretending to be suspicious with a tilt of his chin.

"Ye chen my birthday's not 'til summer, right?"

Sarinah hummed a little in acknowledgment, stepping closer to the passive and smiling up at him.

"Oes, I chen, but since when does a rosh need an excuse to gift her kov something nice?" Pressing her lips together, she glanced down between them, almost shyly. Moving her hands to her skirt, the olive skinned dancer reached into a fold of her skirt, finding the hidden pocket and pulling out the small leather pouch.

"I was gonna put this in one of those fancy envelopes, the yellow ones all the galdori like to throw around, but I ent really up to writing yet. So, well...here hama." Reaching for his hand, she placed the pouch in it and let go, tucking her thick black and red tresses behind her ears. In his hand, Tristaan would feel a small, familiar weight. Inside was the time piece he had entrusted to her care, carefully and rather expertly repaired and polished to a fine sheen.

((Long post is long, but I know you like it. Rawwwr. ))

Tristaan laughed softly, cowed into something like embarrassed quiet by her words. He watched her hands move, a little coy and anticipating, the beginning of a grin warming across his features. Then his eyes widened in surprise as she deposited the package in his hand, the wrapping unable to muffle the movement of the tiny gears that turned hands that marked the passage of time. Instead of opening anything right away, his fingers curled around the object and his expression faded into something surprised.

The passive said nothing, blinking before he seemed to move slowly, other hand almost sluggish to open the pouch, finally diverting his gaze from the lovely witch to look down. He almost looked timid, the way he carefully removed the restored timepiece from the pouch.

Biting his lip, he ran his fingers over the untarnished surface, still quite able to remember just how bright it seemed when it was first pressed into his hands on some street corner in Muffey. For a while, it'd been a comforting reminder of home, but that didn't last very long. Eventually, it was more like a scar. Someone had taken the time to work the dents and scratches from the silver surface with unexpected care, and Tristaan lingered carefully over the intricate engraving of his family's crest.

No, not his family anymore.

He seemed hesitant to open the watch, refusing to look up at Sarinah, knowing the moisture gathering in his eyes was more than a little obvious,

"You didn't have t'fix it." The passive mumbled, fingers paused at the latch, feeling time slip by against his calloused palm for the first time in years. Almost a decade. On purpose. His tone was far from ungrateful so much as it was distant, distracted, determined despite the waver of emotion.

Such a little thing to carry so much weight.

There was a dull click as he opened the cover, and he exhaled brokenly at the spectrograph of his past staring back up at him. It looked so very far away, so much like someone else's life—the unknowing boy in sepia tones. They weren't the same anymore, the galdor child and the passive man. One road had ended where the other began, or at least that's how it felt ... or what he'd been told. Or a bit of both, even muddied further now by his life with wicks.

Tristaan touched the restored glass surface, no longer smashed and broken, watching the second hand move steadily underneath, gears undaunted by the various meanings they seemed to hold. There was a tightness in his chest—fear, insecurity, pain—grabbing for his thoughts as he remembered crushing the thing by his own hands, remembered stopping time, remembered trying and failing to put to rest everything he didn't want or couldn't have.

When he looked up, there were tears in his grey eyes, tears he was doing a damn poor job of containing in as manly a way as possible. He snapped the watch shut with a sigh and smiled gently, still appearing to be very far away,

"Thank you, Sarinah." He said quietly, "I–I wasn't expectin' ... this."

The witch watched him carefully as he examined the repaired watch, eyebrows slowly furrowing at his reaction. Gently, she rested a hand on his forearm.

"Epameo hama, I didn't mean to upset you." Taking his hand, she led the man to one of the seats before them, sitting down in front of him.

"Tristaan?" She said in a questioning tone, unsure of what to say to the passive. It was obvious the watch had caused him pain, and she wanted to help him through it. The young man had been through a lot in his time, more than she could imagine. A galdor, thrown to the streets as a passive, beaten and scarred from the monsters in the factories and finally taken in by a race she knew the galdori hated. It was something she couldn't have survived. Even the rejection of her own parents had crushed her deeply, being rejected by your entire race...that would have killed her.

"Now'r'later, fixin' this thing would've felt th'same." The passive offered softly, almost a whisper, closing his fingers around the watch in one hand while resting the other on Sarinah's knee. Ignoring the moisture on his face, Tristaan kept his hint of a smile, "It ent anythin' t'be sorry for, macha."

He'd wanted it fixed, one day, anyway. He'd just always assumed he'd be capable of dealing with all the memories it carried with it, dusty and old but still somehow fresh and hard. He'd spent many nights awake as a youth, wondering why his mother would even have bothered to leave him with the thing ... was it some last, cruel way of being hurtful? was it her only way of communicating how she'd rather feel about a passive child? He'd never know, really. He didn't really need to, anymore.

Tristaan had wanted to fix the watch and start over, after all. It was, apparently, easier to say than to really do.

"It's a good thing, what you did." the passive opened his hand between them, though he kept his eyes on the lovely witch instead of on the timepiece, "Though I was only hopin' t'get it fixed t'give t'you, hama."

It was an old watch. A hand-me-down. An heirloom heavy with stories, a surprising number of them ones of courtship. A little chagrined by the thought of rebelliously carrying on the tradition in a non-traditional manner, Tristaan's smile broadened a little and he sniffled sheepishly,

"Somethin' else I remember from my childhood, I s'pose."

Looking down at his hands, Sarinah paused for a moment, unsure of how to word what she wanted to say. It was sensitive, but something that brewed at the back of her mind. Biting her lip, she spoke quietly.

"Tristaan, has there ever been a time, now that your an adult...have you ever tried to find them? I know they threw you out like so much bad fish, but, hama...have you ever wanted to find them just to show them that you didn't just lie down and die? To rub it in their tsuter faces?" She glanced up slightly, hoping she hadn't made things worse.

Tristaan laughed; however, it was without humor. Uncomfortable but not offended, he reached up to wipe his face with the back of his hand, still holding onto the watch tightly. He sighed, offering a faint smile,

"I don't think I should share some of th'things I thought 'bout over th'years when I considered my family." The passive's expression was wry, for it had taken several years of factory work and a handful of years with wicks to really "Even if I did find them—prolly still in Muffey, even—what could I say that wouldn't get me arrested? Or worse?"

He shrugged, tone revealing he'd had plenty of time to consider these things, "I ent sure I've got anything' left t'say t'em, really. I'd see if my sister made it into th'Seventen if I could, but that's about it. We had a promise, her'n'I, before everythin' … changed."

Tristaan paused, jaw tight. Sure, he'd see them again if he could. Sure, he probably had things to say to them, but he'd long since decided it would never bring anything but more heartache, "I ent got anythin' t'prove t'my folks anymore. Th'way things are here anyway … would it matter?"

The dancer shook her hand, and her head, a little frustrated by the way his life had gone.

"Ne kov, I know. I guess I just hoped one day they could see, your worth more than any of their finery, and that ye stood on your own feet and carried on." Sitting forward, she placed a hand on his cheek, kissing him warmly, before leaning back and sweeping her hand around the room.

"Look at it hama, its yours. All this, it belongs to you too." Grinning at him, she pointed at her own chest.

"I belong to you..or with you. Whatever, the point is, I'm yours. This is yours. And that," she gestured to the shiny watch.

"Look at it like a reprisentation of yourself. Once shiny, but then beaten down, broken. Thrown aside to the hatchers." Caught up in her pep talk, the witch lept up off her chair and onto the table, gesturing wildly.

"Worn, tarnished and lost, ye were. Strugged through hardship and learned to live again, ye were fixed up. A little at a time. And now, your all shiny again. Ye have so much, and no one can take it from you hama. Not a one!" Hunkering down, resting an elbow on bent knee, she smiled down at the man.

"And I can tell ye now balach, if anyone did try, they would find themselves with a knife in their chest." Her brown eyes sparkled with enthusiam, and she spoke softly.

"Don't be sad, ye chen? I dont want to see you sad."

Tristaan was laughing, unsure whether to be more encouraged or embarrassed. He was both, of course, but really the lovely witch was altogether endearing. He sat and listened, blushing, watching her with a grin growing slowly across his aristocratic features,

"A knife in their chest, eh?"

The passive mocked surprise and shifted in his chair to snatch Sarinah from the tabletop and into his arms, teasing, "You plannin' on cottin' gollies in my defense, are you?"

Settling back into the seat with the dancer, he kept his misty-eyed smile, "You make it hard t'stay sad, macha, but I have a feelin' y'know that. If I could jus' completely start over, I would, but I ent sure I know how entirely." He sniffled again, smirking at her, "I got bits an' pieces down, but th'whole thing ent easy."

Sarinah grinned, before finding herself captured and dragged down onto his lap. Giggling a little, she settled, legs either side of him, arms around his neck.



Making a sound in the back of her throat, she nodded a little.

"Always hama." Her voice was almost indignant, as though she dared anyone to say different. Sure, she hadn't needed to use her sai in a long long while, but that didn't mean she couldnt. As the passive spoke, the dancer tilted her head slightly, brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. Sitting this close to his face, she took the time to study his features. The somehow delicate yet rugged arch of his brow, the broken yet handsome nose, the fine bow in his lips. The galdori in his features was there, but it was hidden under so many years of oppression and personal change.

Hugging him closer to her, the witch pressed her red lips against his own, a lingering and reassuring kiss. Pulling back, she rested her forehead against his.

"I know it ent easy kov. I say to you it is, but I know that its hard." Closing her eyes, she sighed.

"But I'm here to help you hama, every inch of the way. If you need anything, I'm here."

"Oes, I know it, an' Alioe knows what help you've been already. I hope you do, too." Tristaan replied quietly, sheepishly, after a silent pause of enjoying their closeness. Instead of returning the dancer's kiss, however, he seemed to shift slightly in his chair, apparently preparing to move,

"While we're all in th'gift-givin' mood, there's somethin' I haven't bothered t'tell you yet." The passive grinned mischievously, "Now, I considered waitin' until tonight after some more work was finished, but I ent sure I'd complain too much 'bout a distraction."

Chuckling, arms moving to find a firm grip on the lovely witch, Tristaan stood without warning. Had it been practical, he probably would've thrown Sarinah over his shoulder for the fun of it, but he refrained, "Only it ent downstairs."

Wrapping her legs around his waist, the witch tilted her head with a curious look and a smile. She liked suprises as much as the next person. Glancing at the staircase, she hummed.

"Upstairs? Have ye learned how to play that piano kov?" She teased, randomly running through things in her head. Was he playing with her, another hidden inuendo? Or did he truly have a gift? Eitherway, she wasn't one to argue.

"Ne, macha, I ent learned t'play th'piano. I think that sorta thing comes from spare time an' a fancy education—I ent had either." The passive laughed, stubbled chin resting against Sarinah's shoulder as he navigated the two of them toward the stairs. It was probably less for the support and more for the fun that one of his hands found the dancer's backside,

"Y'know, it's prolly for th'best I missed out on golly school an' golly life." Tristaan mused, climbing the stairs, "Otherwise, how would I know passives an' wicks an' humans an' gollies all bled th'same color or had th'same feelin's or wanted th'same things?"

He smirked, mostly sure he meant that, eyes still moist as he continued up the stairs, "We all sweat when we work an' break when we're beaten, but if I'd just lived a golly's comfy life, I'd never been told that. Even if I had t'learn it th'hard way—an' I know I did—I ent sure I'd really trade it for what I might've had if I wasn't born without vroo."

Sarinah nodded, agreeing with the man's statement. He'd experienced so much, much more than those pompous gollies sitting in their protective little bubbles. It had been paid with his own flesh and blood, but it had made him who he was. Made him real.

Unwilling to interrupt, she hugged him closer as they went up the stairs, comforting him as best she could. It was hard sometimes, knowing that he experienced things she couldn't relate to. And then her field...she never really noticed it before, not until now. It wasn't that strong, as she'd never developed it. But did he notice it? Did it bother him? Frowning over his shoulder, she wondered if there was a way to get rid of it, or hide it somehow? Perhaps if she got hold of a Spokes' Almanac, she could try and find out.

Tristaan had mixed with enough races and enough of a variety of people for him to be conscious of the differences between fields, but if the passive had ever bothered to pay attention, it was only to feel what he'd come to consider the gaping hollowness that marked him as nonmagical instead. He certainly hadn't ever taken the time to consider what the differences meant, knowing he would only end up caught up in his own ... misfortune of sorts.

He finished climbing the stairs in silence, carrying the lovely witch contentedly across the upstairs room. Instead of carefully stepping over the tarps he'd spread across the floor to mark where he'd stripped back the wood to lay the piping, Tristaan walked across them, revealing he'd already replaced the floor. He might have chuckled as he did so, but said nothing else.

The slats needed re-sanding and waxing to match the rest of the wooden floor again, but that could come later. The passive wandered by the piano, following the tarps to the bathroom. He'd finished the entire project with Seretur a few days ago, but had kept it to himself because he wanted to finish a few things ... still, now seemed as good a time as any.

"I'd have t'say that I believe th'upstairs is officially finished ... though, maybe not th'floors." Tristaan grinned, setting Sarinah down once they arrived in the bathroom and facing her toward the tub with the hint of a mischievous grin. He'd used a couple of old doors to make a cover for the bath, to keep the heat in, complete with handles to make it easier to lift off.

While it wasn't obvious from the outside, the swordsman had had to change some of his plans for the piping, but they'd turned out a lot more efficient. Beaming almost sheepishly, he continued,

"I s'pose it ent a gift so much as a surprise. I was gonna wait longer t'tell you I was done, considerin' I'm sure there's more work t'do downstairs an' all."

The dancer looked around with suprise, before turning her gaze back to the bathtub with its rather interesting cover.

"I...this...Tristaan!" She shook her head with a laugh.

"I didn't think ye would be finished for ages! Ye left the tarps down, so I assumed the floor was still torn up." Walking to the tub, she placed a hand on the wooden cover, grinning at the warmth underneath.

"It's brilliant." Looking at him, she raised an eyebrow, red lips smirking mischeviously.

"Work? Downstairs? Ne kov, I ent got the faintest idea what your talking about."

"Well," Tristaan pretended not to notice any hint of mischief, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms thoughtfully, "I still have 'bout four rooms left t'finish sandin' th'furniture, an' I know I could always find somethin' else t'be paintin'."

Nodding briefly over his shoulder, the passive added, "Th'floor ent all done. It's just back in place. That still needs cleanin' an' waxin' so it matches th'rest again. But it really didn't take long t'put things together since I had help—help that more'r'less knew what they were doin'."

He grinned then, "But if you've got somethin' better in mind, I ent opposed t'a break."

Sarinah tilted her head slightly, an 'oh well' sort of look on her face. Reaching down, she pulled away the cover of the bath, placing the heavy door on the floor beside it. A wave of steam rose enticingly as the witch trailed her fingers through the water, closing her eyes with a smile.

"I don't know about ye kov, but I'm thinking about testing this out. Now, I was sort of hoping you wanted to test it with me." Straightening, she reached for the ties on her skirt, pulling them out and letting the soft fabrics whisper to the floor. Looking up at Tristaan with a wolfish grin, she raised an eyebrow.

"Ye chen?"

"Oes, I think I chen jus' fine."

The passive laughed, watching Sarinah with a broadening sly smile, stepping out of his boots. He tugged out the pocket watch again to glance at it before tucking it back into its place and moving his hands to his belt, adding coyly, "It'd be a waste t'find out how well thing's're workin' all by yourself."

Not that it wasn't obvious the water was hot, that Tristaan's invention worked just fine. That was hardly the point, of course.

Making sure to lock the door as he shut it behind him, the swordsman didn't hesitate to shed his clothing as he approached the lovely witch and the tub. Easy enough, really, considering his shirt was already unbuttoned and he had competition for who was more undressed first. Then again, he wasn't about to complain, either.

"Though, ye chen it just means there ent gonna be as much work done today." He was grinning now, hands moving to offer any assistance necessary.

Chuckling quietly as he came closer, the brunette dancer allowed his assistance with the rest of her garments, brushing her bare chest against his, red lips still caught in a cheeky smirk.

"Ye know hama, I think one afternoon without work ent gonna hurt us too badly. Besides, I feel like we never really spend a free moment together anymore. We're either workin' or organising. An' when we do have a spare breath to catch, we're sleepin' ready for the next day." Running her hands around his shoulders and down his back, she rested them on his hips for a moment.

"Once the...place opens...we'll be nightowls, ye chen? Workin' during the night and sleeping during the day. Even less time to just relax then we have now." Slipping her hands away from him, she leant over, resting a palm on the edge of the tub, dipping the other into the warm water and splashing him a little, still smiling.

"I plan to make every second with ye count balach."

"Mmm, well, I ent gonna have trouble keepin' track of time now, macha." He hummed, slipping past her to step into the tub, catching her hand in the water with one of his and wrapping the other around her waist, playfully threatening to tug her in from behind, though he didn't. Not yet. Quietly from over her shoulder, he continued,

"An' while I can't say I've ever been very good at sleepin', I s'pose a change of pace ent too unwelcome."

Tristaan liked the daytime and may have had some doubts about sleeping through it, but it wasn't something worth getting upset about in his mind. It would be something different, and he was a little concerned that making the change would be difficult ... but he also knew in the back of his mind there would be plenty of more difficult things to deal with. Things like the whole idea of sharing his view, lovely as it was, especially currently. It still was not an easy idea to grow comfortable with, though the passive had at least come to understand he no longer had a choice ... for the moment.

"At least I know where you'll be sleepin'." He teased, pausing to give Sarinah her choice of joining him in the surprisingly warm water of her own accord before his own.

Unwilling to be pulled into the water, Sarinah rested her hand on his arm and slowly stepped into the water, unused to the heat. Hot baths were not something she was accustemed to. Gritting her teeth a little, she slipped down into the water, between the passives legs, leaning her back against him as she settled into it with a sigh.

"Vrunta, that was a little hot. But ohhh hamaa..." Making a low sighing hum, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back onto his shoulder.

"This is benny. Real benny."