((Continued from here: viewtopic.php?f=6&t=1356&st=0&sk=t&sd=a&start=25))

With that, he turned and started to lead the way through the crowd, sliding his hand from Sarinah's own to her waist, "I ent sleepin' outside. Or not-sleepin'. Whichever." He laughed, enjoying the kind of physical closeness weaving through the throng of other wicks required for the two of them, "Let's go home. My home. You'll just have t'endure a bit of loud talk an' such ... Guaril ent gonna let m'off easy—showin' up at this hour after a few maw of bein' gone ... all broken, drunk, an yachin' an Eye."

The last sentence just sort of rolled out of the passive's mouth lightly, as if it'd meant to be there. He didn't have anything to follow it up, and it was almost unclear as to whether or not it was just the alcohol adding a bit of bravado to his words or if that combined with pain and sleeplessness had just allowed him to speak with shocking freedom.

He was still grinning as the crowd began to thin, but wasn't ready to mention that he had no idea where he was going.

Sarinah paused in mid step, feeling almost winded. He'd said it, not her. So they were courting? Giddy, she kissed him on the arm, then neck, then cheek, turning his head gently to kiss his lips. Lifting her hand, she pointed roughly in the direction of the Red Crow camp.

"Yer da, is over there...in that area." She gestured vaguely, then giggled. Suddenly, she turned her head and kissed him again, more passionately, moving her hand to rest her fingers on the edge of his belt buckle. The alcohol in her system was making her a little more bold than he really seemed to enjoy in public. In reality, she was acting like the Sarinah he would have met in Cooks - the difference being it wasn't an act for him. Pulling away from the kiss, she gave him a smoldering look through her lashes and grinned.

"I missed you, so much. I thought about you every single day. Oes." Her words came out a little breathy and slurred.

Tristaan laughed softly at her reaction, contentedly standing still for her attentions. He knew what he said.


The passive followed her pointing out of the corner of his eye, but he had since turned to face the witch, good hand resting lightly on her hip, "Over there, eh—"


He willingly allowed himself to be interrupted, aware of the movement of her hand. Tristaan felt the tug of weariness lose its sharp edges, blurred by the comfort of Sarinah's warm words, the excitement of her purposeful touch, and the haze of his slight drunkenness. While he still felt a little exposed to some potential audience, the passive welcomed some respite from his normal shyness.

He grinned at the lovely witch, leaning against her to return her kiss, good hand sliding from her hip to her backside without much of a second thought. He held her there, bad arm angled slightly away, a contented noise escaping his lips before he leaned back, wavering slightly, "Mmm, I missed you too ... an' ...."

The passive kissed her again, officially distracted, "An' I think we should keep walkin' ..."

Tristaan laughed, sliding away and reaching for her hand at his belt with a knowing smile, stumbling towards the general direction of her rather general pointing. He struggled at changing the subject, but it was increasingly difficult, "How'd it go ... meetin' Guaril? Did you ... did you tell him I called him da?"

Sarinah pushed herself against him firmly, closing her eyes and enjoying the dizzying sensation of his lips. His hand on her rump was a welcome surprise to his usual shyness. She took the oppurtunity to slip her fingers just inside the top of his pants, pulling gently on them with a giggle, as if to indicate she wanted them off. Now.



The dancer pouted, a smiley, sultry sort of an expression, allowing herself to be sort of led, just as wobbly on her feet. She giggled a lot, and kept stealing glances at Tristaan, bumping into him gently, accidentally on purpose as they walked.



She let go of his hand to skip ahead of him, music from the party still faint in their ears. Stepping up to a slender pole with a Red Crow flag fluttering at the top, she took a step and spun around it with a casual ease, holding it with both hands as she turned. Stopping, she faced him, pole between them, hands resting lightly on it, as though she was hiding from him. The raven and crimson haired witch giggled.

"Oes, he knows." She said with a little raise of her eyebrow, sidestepping any mention of Guaril's foresight on how the rest of the Red Crow would feel about Tristaan and her as an item. With a playful wink, she let go of the flag pole with one hand, reaching up to twirl a thick red lock in her fingers, biting her lip. Intoxicated, she was enjoying being the tease she saved for ging. It was altogether fun when it was with Tristaan - and she didn't want him to change the subject so soon. Perhaps they should, Guaril wouldn't want two randy wicks on his doorstep, but the sheer delight of the chase was too much fun. She would tone it down when they got closer.

Tristaan smiled wistfully, watching Sarinah with emboldened interest, just as intoxicated by her enticing flirtations as the alcohol in his system. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he dimly reminded himself that the witch had more or less made a living arousing these sorts of feelings from other patrons, but he still somehow felt compelled to believe things were more than just a little different between them.

As far as he knew, anyway.

He enjoyed the way she seemed adept at dispelling his well-practiced caution; reminding him that not everyone really cared what he was; and defying the conventional assumption that as a passive, he was dangerous. Compared to the heavy memories of Vienda and the recent dangers of Old Rose, a handful of hours on an island full of festival-minded wicks brought a tangible sense of relief to the passive's normal reservations, dismantling his protective exterior within the atmosphere of revelry. Tristaan remembered that it was this same open and uncomplicated acceptance had once won his heart over to wick life in the first place, despite his childish resistance.

Approaching the dancer, he rest his good hand on top of hers, leaning against the pole to stand in front of her, pressing close enough that he might as well have been leaning against Sarinah, too. It was not entirely a steadying measure, of course.

He grinned, warm and mischievous, mumbling amusedly, "An' I'm sure he had no idea what t'do with someone lovely like you showin' up, claimin' t'know me. I prolly woulda' enjoyed th'look on his face."

The passive laughed softly, content to leave his words as they were to kiss the lovely witch some more instead, regretting his inability to use his right arm, slung uselessly as it was between them.

Tristaan sighed longingly, pausing in his affections to squint at the kints looming in the dark, determining which were familiar and spotting the one he had once called home. There was still a fire. Guaril might even still be awake.

"Okay," He breathed, pulse ringing in his ears, "We gotta get somewhere 'fore we can get anywhere ... so ... yeah."

He lingered a bit more, sliding his hand from hers and the pole with reluctance before pulling away, tugging at her waist to pull her along.

"Let's go, beautiful."

((Hawt. 600th post. ))

Sarinah giggled at his jumbled words, complying and allowing herself to be led over to the Crow camp. Part of her felt a little concern, a bit worried that someone might get angry that she was there. But it was too late now, they were upon the camp.

Tristaan wove his way through the kints, realizing that he may have begun to feel a little anxious over his decision to come here, to find Guaril, to look into staying at least the night, if not longer. He certainly hadn't drifted on bad terms, but he had still left on purpose. It had been his choice to leave. Two years wasn't so long, and yet it was most likely long enough to be felt in more than just spatial distance.

He hesitated as the two got closer, half-pretending to stumble, tugging the dancer with him into the extra darkness between two kints. The passive grinned a little, trapping her playfully between himself and the wall with his good arm, leaning to the side of her face so his lips brushed her ear,

"Woops."

With a roguish chuckle, he took advantage of the moment, enduring a bit of painful protest from his broken arm to push closer still, tracing a few bold kisses down from her ear to the soft skin of her neck, breathing changing with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. Tristaan might have been looking to delay the inevitable—sliding his hand from the wall toward the back of Sarinah's thigh, gently lifting her leg towards him—not because he was afraid of Guaril so much as he might have been afraid of how he knew Guaril would make him feel.

The comfort of something actually resembling home had at one time been so terrifying, especially burdened as the passive felt he was with the constant fear of being dangerous. Now, he knew better. His diablerie wasn't explosive, wasn't necessarily deadly, but it still was. And he still wasn't really a wick, no matter how much it didn't seem to make a difference to the Red Crows who took him in almost a decade ago or even to the lovely witch he found himself kissing and touching at the moment.

Tristaan exhaled, pausing in his rather passionate form of procrastination in the make-shift alley between kints. He closed his eyes and whispered heavily, words still a little slurred together but coherent, "Sorry ... I think. I think I'm a little afraid t'be here."

He leaned back a little, sheepish expression forming on his tired, flushed face, "I ent helpin' anyone but m'self by bein' distractin', either." The passive straightened and laughed nervously, looking away, slowly removing his hand, his heart beating fiercely, "It's been a while, an' ... an' I left on purpose. Not because of anyone here ... just because of me."

Sarinah went to catch Tristaan as he stumbled, terrified he would hurt his arm even more, but with a flowing movement she found herself between two kints, trapped by the passive. She blinked in the dark, feeling his lips brush her ear.



As he moved to kiss her neck, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the kint behind her, enjoying his sudden boldness. Her hand moved to rest lightly on his good shoulder, surprised at the hand on her leg, lifting it. She complied, bending the knee and wrapping her ankle slightly around him. With a little thrill, she wondered if he was going to try and make his move here in the dark, up against the kint. It was quite a bit riskier than she expected from Tristaan, but the idea sent a rush of excitement through her.



The dancer tried very hard to keep the disappointment out her posture, still very much in the moment. She squeezed his shoulder gently, in a bolstering gesture.



Oes, it had been a while..oh wait, he meant leaving the Crows. She lowered her leg, smiling at him.

"It's alright kov. He really wants to see you. Honestly. There ent anything to be afraid of." Reaching up, she adjusted his collar and sleeve.

"Now, no more distractions. If we don't get over there and talk to your da soon, I don't think I'm going to be able to stop myself..." Her eyes had wandered to the curve of his well toned pectoral muscles, fingers lightly running over the fabric of his shirt.

Tristaan grinned, appreciating the encouragement as much as he caught on to her sentiment. With a hint of reluctance, he stepped away and taking Sarinah's hand in his as he wandered back out from behind the kints, still a little dizzy and excited.

He breathed a little, trying his best in his current state to calm the whirl of thoughts and feelings that crowded his mind. The passive led the way through the rest of the camp, stopping within the glow of the fire in front of a familiar kint, heart racing. No one was outside, but he knew that didn't mean the old wick wasn't awake. He gave the dancer's hand a little squeeze and leaned against her with his good shoulder, smile broadening with a different kind of excitement,

"Junta, ol'man!" Tristaan called out, none too quietly, knowing Guaril would recognize his voice at the moniker, "Y'ent sleepin' are ya?"

The passive might have tensed, as if preparing for a surprise attack, but it was barely perceptible from the outside.

There was the sound of a snort, then footsteps coming closer, as though someone had just been woken from sleep.

"Tristaan? Issat you?" Came a mature sounding voice, perhaps slightly more tremulous than Tristaan remembered. "An' 'oo is this beside you?"

Guaril walked into view, movements made slower by fatigue but still spry for his age. An over-powering grin dominated his features. It seemed to shine out of the scratches on his boots.

"You came back, brunno..." He said, looking almost overcome, he spread out his arms inviting Tristaan into a hug.

"Oh now, don't play coy. Ye chen it ent gonna be anyone else at this hour. Of course it's me." Tristaan teased with a grin, slipping from holding onto Sarinah to all-but tackling the taller, older, broader-shouldered wick. It might have resembled the beginning of a fight, had the passive not been injured and drunk or had Guaril been some threatening stranger, "Watch th'arm. It's broke."

His one-armed hug was still happy and warm, and only part of Tristaan's few words were spoken through grit teeth of discomfort, "An' I heard you've already met Sarinah. I ent been here but since this mornin', but'pparently she's already come by t'make sure I ent got too many embarrasin' stories." He laughed, "Alioe only knows what you've gone an' told her though."

The passive released the older wick, still smiling, less wobbly, and perhaps more than a little changed, "It's good t'see you, da."

Sarinah stood back politely smiling, trying not to look as drunk as she felt. She couldn't help but giggle slightly at Tristaans sudden change in demeanor. He'd obviously missed the older man.



The dancer raised a hand at Guaril in a little wave of greeting, not wanting to speak out just yet for fear of saying something stupid.

Guaril hugged Tristaan warmly, trying to avoid jostling his arm. He was pleased almost to the point of tears when he heard Tristaan call him "Da".

"Brunno, 's good tae see yeh. I 'member this young rosh, Sarinah, oes?" He hugged her as well. "An' why'd it take ye so long tae come see your old man? Come on, let's get ye seated, you need tae talk to me jus a little before I let you off tae yer sleep."

He chuckled, seeing them drunkenly walk in each-other's pockets. He'd been like that with his dear wife, bless her heart, though that was behind him now. He couldn't believe that this was his Tristaan, come home with a nice girl. Even the broken arm couldn't tarnish that joy.

Tristaan laughed, perhaps a little chagrined at being reminded that it had been so long since they'd seen each other. Once he left, however, it was hard to come back ... not because he didn't miss it, but because he was often still afraid. He had to admit, things felt different now, in some ways, perhaps because of the fact that he knew just what to expect from himself. He supposed it wasn't just his own doing, however, and was grateful.

He was extremely content to half-stumble, half-fall into a seated position by the fire, tugging with only a bit of drunken playfulness on Sarinah to sit next to him.

"Oh, Alioe, it's benny t'see you, too, Guaril." The passive sighed, as if he was letting go of so much weight in one breath, "I'm sorry I ent been back. You know me ... It's hard. An' I got a little held up in Old Rose. I meant t'be here sooner."

Tristaan glanced at the dancer in a sort of apology, but it was clear by his expression he wasn't going to be ready to talk about exactly what happened anytime soon.

"You been alright, y'know, since I left? Y'ent missed me too much, I'm sure." He grinned at the older wick knowingly.

Sarinah accepted the hug warmly, feeling welcomed by the old wick. She liked it here, amongst caring folk.



The dancer laughed and complied, settling a little more gracefully beside the man. Tucking her legs up, she sat side on, resting on one arm.



Sarinah caught the glance in her direction, and purposely looked into the fire. He wouldn't talk, she wouldn't harass. But eventually, he had to tell her, surely?

"Oh, I've been doin' alrigh' brunno. Keepin' on keepin' on, ye ken?" He settled himself down slowly, something new to Tristaan's eyes. "An' what were you doin' tae fall off a cart? Used to be you couldn' fall off a rolling log."

He smiled, wrinkles making a tapestry of laughter lines. He pulled a kettle off the fire and made to pour the tea.

"I think yer rosh might want to 'ear a few stories about that, I could tell ye t'ousand stories about 'im as a boy." He said, laughing a little, ruffling Tristaan's feathers fondly and on purpose.

Tristaan's expression faltered slightly, though he did his best to keep it from showing. He'd mostly made the decision that tonight was a night he'd rather fall asleep naked than sober, and any further conversation about Old Rose was most likely going to mess up his plans in favor of the latter. The passive chuckled anyway, smirking at Guaril, "Well, I didn't fall off a log ... so I'd have't'say there'd be th'difference."

He really hoped he didn't have to say anything else about his arm or his misadventures, but he was way too exhausted and drunk to resist if pressed. He was too content to be home again, sitting at the fire with the old wick and the lovely dancer, broken bones or not.


The passive grinned, only slightly relieved at the promise of changing the subject, "Oes. Y'could tell'er 'bout th'time I fell out of a tree, or th'other time I fell out of a tree, or that one time I tried t'hide a kenser in your kint." Tristaan realized all of those stories involved Calli, and he laughed, glancing at Sarinah with a wink, "Though mayhap y'can think of a few that ent so embarrassin' instead."

Guaril laughed loudly, slapping his palm on his knee. A muffled shout of "Havakda!" came from the distance and he turned the laugh into a cough. He grinned lop-sidedly.

"This kov used give me all manner of surprises, Sarinah. He's not kiddin' 'bout the trees. I used 'ave him look about for some of the younger bochi. There was a little yell'r one, she'd follow him like a puppy..." Guaril wiped a mirthful tear from his eye. "She used tae drive yer clockin' mad. He mostly fell outter trees chasin' one sprog or 'nother."

Guaril waved a hand in front of his face, as though waving away the conversation until another time.

"Fergive me ramblin' you two prolly want to get off tae yer rest." He kept his eyebrows firmly unwiggled. He wasn't sure Tristaan would appreciate that brand of implication.

Sarinah looked between them as they spoke, giggling a little. She could'nt imagine Tristaan as a tree climbing youth, he was just too...Tristaan!



The dancer raised a finger and made a sound of recognition.

"Ahh I think I know the chip. Calli, oes? You didn't tell me you looked after Calli!" She turned to Tristaan and slapped him gently on the good arm, rolling her eyes in mock dissapointment.



If she hadn't been so drunk, the woman might have blushed and said something smart, witty and a little inviting. Instead, she giggled rather girlishly and poked Tristaan in the side.

"That seems like a benny idea to me, what do you say kov?"

Tristaan chuckled, "Well, Guaril here thought it'd be good for me an' my rather potent bit'o'youthful anger if I watched th'bochi often. Calli was perhaps th'most persistent in tryin' t'crack my shell, next t'him." He smiled, a hint of nostalgia in his gray eyes, "It was hard work, for both of 'em."

The passive looked into the fire instead of meeting the old wick's gaze, perhaps a bit more emotional than he would be had he been sober, "It took a few maw 'fore I stopped hatin' the world an' started livin' in it, eh?"

He sighed softly, exhaling some old regrets as he did so, and let a sheepish grin creep across his features, "About that restin' ..." He coughed, glancing at the giggling witch as she touched him, knowing what else he had in mind before finally sleeping, "We ent got anywhere t'stay an' ... I was wonderin' if y'had anywhere here. At home. I don't wanna cause trouble, mind you, if Sarinah ent welcome, but there's n'where else I'd rather be as long as we're here at Surwood, da."

The woman winced slightly at that, feeling a little deflated.

if Sarinah ent welcome

The words seemed to hammer home the fact she wasn't a Crow. And she wasn't going back to the Eyes. Where did she belong? Old Rose Harbor was going to be her next step. She needed to talk to Tristaan about that soon.

"I'm tae old tae care what other people think, brunno. Of course she's welcome. Just so happens there's a kint up for the taking, since Ella went an' married a Sky kov." Guaril was almost sad that Tristaan might think he'd not welcome them both but they both knew that things had been tense lately. "She left most of the bed linens an' s'on. Ye can stay there for a while."

Guaril stood up slowly and lead them down towards a slightly dilapidated caravan. The roof was sound enough at least and any bed was good enough for the weary.

"I don't s'pose I'll see ye in th'mornin'?" He asked hopefully.

Tristaan caught a brief glimpse of the witch's expression, and though he hadn't meant it to be hurtful, he knew it wasn't an entirely pleasant statement. He trusted that Guaril wouldn't care, but he had no idea how any other Crow would feel. The reality was that the passive could care less what tribe, if any, Sarinah belonged to. His heart was far from biased when it came to those sorts of things.


Tristaan chuckled at the older wick's implications, resting his good hand on Guaril's shoulder, "Mujo ma. I ent really slept well since I went an' broke my arm, so I ent expectin' t'be up early." He grinned, a little sly and a little drunk, "But you'll see me 'round. I promise. I ent in a hurry t'leave, da, if that's what you're askin'."

He figured it wasn't, but it was at least a creative cover, "Good night!"

Sliding his hand away, he turned with renewed playfulness to Sarinah, prodding the lovely witch toward the kint. His grin widened a little, following her to hold the door. He added quietly, his tone of voice more than slightly suggestive, suddenly eager to be inside and alone with the dancer, "Oes. T'bed then ... Though I might have some stitches that need lookin' after 'fore we can ... sleep."

Sarinah wobbled a little as she walked, a feeling of relief and happiness warming her all over. A kint to themselves for a little bit? The idea was nice. She cuddled against Tristaan as they walked. As Guaril walked off, she allowed herself to be prodded towards the kint.



The woman let a suggestive smile grace her lips. She stepped up to the kint, walking past Tristaan to step inside. It was a quaint little set up, seating at the front with a table and some cupboard space, a central area with a pantry and a preparation bench, then the back area - divided by a pulled back curtain - with a soft wide bed, neatly made with white linens. She walked with a slow, deliberate saunter, hips swaying and fingers reaching back to take Tristaan's hand. Helping him up inside, she waited till the door had been shut, then led him down to the bed. Turning, she slowly began to unbutton his shirt, lifting her face to kiss him deeply, a slow passionate kiss that seemed to last forever. Pulling back with a little intake of breath, she gingerly took the clothing from his arms, pushing him softly down onto the bed, so he lay on his back, head on the pillows. Lifting her skirt, she hopped up on the bed, straddling his legs and leaning over to kiss his mouth, avoiding his arm. Moving slowly, she traced her red lips from his chin to his ear, his ear to his chest, his chest to his navel. Lifting her head, she looked up at him, hands moving to his belt buckle.

"Just lay back and relax balach, I promise I'll take care of you." Her voice was thick with passion and need. It had been so long since she'd seen him like this and now, she had him all to herself.

Tristaan contentedly allowed himself to be led, grinning as he followed behind the sauntering witch, much less concerned with the niceties of the kint so much as their current destination. He could appreciate the place later; there were other things on his mind now. The passive relaxed into Sarinah's attentions, still weary, but unwilling to let exhaustion mar the excitement that quickly raced through his body at the touch of her lips and hands. He winced a little as she removed his shirt, exhaling through clenched teeth before laying down.

He grinned as the dancer joined him on the bed, returning her kisses warmly while he carefully slipped his broken arm from its sling across his chest between them to gingerly place it at his side. Tristaan sighed approvingly as the dancer moved her lips down his body, smiling roguishly at her sultry promises,

"Oes, I'm sure you will." His voice echoed her longing, having missed her and thought of her often in his absence, "Though I'm afraid in my broken state, there'll be more hard work for y—ne," He chuckled teasingly, grin broadening with his implications, "I've got th'hard part covered. You'll just have t'worry 'bout th'work."