Completed A Frenemy can be the best teacher(Mitt)

[Taln]

A note placed underneath the closed smith sign outside the Foundry.

To Mitt 53 Fall 522 Since you solely value writing, reading, sums and formal education as the only things worth merit, I'll write this out for you. Firstly, I apologize for my temper last night. It happens and I see the temper in you as well. People can learn from each other and I've found that we can often learn more from our enemies than we can from our friends. While both of us don't always know what to do in our own lives, it's easier to see someone else' problems because we're viewing it from the outside objectively. I'm not illiterate and I have some.. inside help in writing and reading that aids me in fluency beyond your normal standard. I'm actively learning. I never said that I can't read or write. No, not every person needs a formal education to know things and in some circumstances, it can give a unique perspective. Thank you for teaching me some blacksmithing things. Words like please and thank you are effective words to convey gratitude and acknowledge other people's efforts with common -courtesy.- We've both made judgment errors. I've been kind of rude to an obviously younger person because you put schooling before actual knowledge. You've been rude to me because you only have a couple decades of Sunberth experiences as your limited resource to deal with life situations. My summation is: Just book learning without life application is limited and not a valid reason to believe everyone else is stupid. Not everyone that is young is automatically naïve in every perspective. If reading and words are the only thing of value to you, then those are my words to you, on parchment as you prefer. It's your choice if you want to live every day of your life in fear of magic in a magic place. However, if you can supersede your own overinflated ego and join the common masses from your unwarranted air of superiority, you might learn more than you realized. My predilection for fire could even help you understand blacksmithing better. Just saying... Taln WC 333

[Mittle]

His arms full from the supply run, he set down the box of ore to grab the parchment. Who put up an order for what when I was gone? Grey eyes scanned the missive quickly, noting the peculiar scorched parchment and left leaning smear. Mitt dropped it and punted it ahead of him into the Foundry. Hefting the box, he laid it out on the table beside him and looked around.

No sign of him here other than that 'paper.' Either way he'd finished ten bells worth of work but he wasn't all that hungry or tired. Not quite sure what to do, Mitt leaned back against the table and stretched out his long legs. But the moment he tried not to think about last night and what that freak did, the more he thought about it.

Creepy bastard. Literally. Nut job. There was nothing but magicky people around Syka and Mitt hadn't seen any of them throwing it around or turning into a flaming beacon freak show either. He was a loser even with his own .. kind? Type?

The tawny haired young man bent down and picked up the crumpled paper to toss in the forge for tomorrows kindling. He should probably work some more on Stoker's 'No' lessons. The Ixam was growing fast and started getting a little aggressive about his food. Especially near that freak's face yesterday when the bug flew out.

Mitt should probably encourage the Ixam to fish a little more too. There was plenty of food for him if he just knew where to look. That's what he'd do then, that was the good start of a plan.

The young smith walked outside and spotted Stoker sleeping under a tree and called out to him.
"STOKER! LET'S GET YOU A SNACK!"

A sudden flaring heat on his right made him realize that Taln was barely two paces from him! Stoker charged up at a fast pace, eager and ready to eat, and started climbing over the redhead to reach Mitt. The smith stepped back three paces, laughed and seriously pondered if the Ixam thought Taln would be a good snack...

The guy fell back under the Ixam's not inconsiderable weight and just laid on the sand staring at Stoker.

"No. Bad pet. Don't ever climb people. It's rude." Taln using Nari, scolded in a deep but quiet voice, raising up on his elbows and leveling a molten gaze at the young creature. He switched to Common so Mitt would know what he said.
"Back up." Taln spoke firmly, rising easily to his full height and walked toward the Ixam.
"Back it up further. People need a full tail length distance." He made a backing motion at Stoker and stalked forward until the creature was backed up five paces.
"Good boy. Your snack is in the water over there. Go find it."

Mitt stood there, looking irritated at Taln but kept a firm five pace distance between them. He couldn't gainsay whatever the nut job had just said, but he didn't like him talking to Stoker either.

Stoker didn't care who mentioned food as long he found it. With sleek gleaming scarlet and golden scales, he entered the water as a smooth efficient predator that swam easily. Quickly diving, the Ixam soon rose to break the surface, throwing the fish high up in the air playfully and swallowed it down with a savage snap of his long razor sharp teeth.

Both men just stood there watching the Ixam with awe at the pure raw strength and beauty. And that was barely a juvenile? They could both appreciate and totally relate to another creature growing so big, so fast at an early age.

The sun began to set, catching on the Ixam's sleek wet scales and Stoker fairly glowed in the vivid colored light, a picture of strong young vibrant health. For the moment, all tension was lost between the men as they both avidly watched the Ixam play and eat and swim as nighttime fell in glorious sunset hues.

At the distant end of the beach, a Lounge of Ixam gathered by the rocks and Stoker immediately stopped playing. He turned his head to the side to hear and see them better and moved quickly out of the water. He veered around Taln to stand beside Mitt and looked up at him.

"I can't see that far Stoker. If they're too much bigger than you, I'd stay way from them for safety."

"They're about the same size, just a little bigger than him. They might be from the same family I think because they're the same colors, just different patterns." Taln inserted quietly.

"Okay go ahead Stoker, but," Mitt paused and pointed at the sky. "When Leth is high, you come back for a two bell nap. You had a sore back leg the other night from trying to do too much."

The young Ixam drew his weight quickly onto his forelegs and chest to show he was feeling rebellious, but Mitt looked at him sternly.
"I mean it. Leth, two bells and a nap."

Stoker roughly nudged Mitt's leg to show his affection and sped off at full speed toward the Lounge of friends to play.

For a long chime, he thought Taln had left as he scanned the beach but then he looked down and noticed him sitting in the sand, still five paces distant.

"Why are you even here? Shoo!" Mitt stood squarely with his arms over his chest.

"I just thought you'd want to know that you're not stoking the forge to its full potential." He answered calmly.



WC 937

[Taln]

"I don't know blacksmithing but if there's one thing I definitely know, it's fire. Even you can't argue that." Taln continued on once Mitt had finally relaxed his posture and stopped glaring. He seemed edgy but Taln knew he had only himself to blame for that. "You have the coal banked high on all three sides. I know you said you water down the coal so it produces coke to reduce the oxide build up. But if you stop banking coal in the back, the fire will breathe better. It will get hotter faster, burn less fuel and won't slag the iron so quickly. Your forge fire needs more oxygen to breathe and burn faster, hotter and for longer. Then you can reach the three thousand to five thousand degree optimum temperature faster while using less fuel to do it. In turn, you don't have to replace as much, as fast or have to clean out the forge as much. It will still keep down the oxide level because the five thousand degree temperature will be maintained and steadier for longer periods." Mitt's eyes went wide and he smiled against his will. "It will vastly lessen the carbon monoxide output from the forge as well." the redhead added. "Are you serious?! How did you? You mean I could..Wow!" Mitt sputtered, momentarily lost in thought as he smiled widely. There. He'd scared the kid but he tried to make up for it. A little. At least he hoped so. Zayne and his massage had really helped him last night and he felt he had a place to stand now. That was what he'd been lacking when he got here. A good solid memory to hold on to where he could be utterly relaxed. Then when he got too stressed, he simply had to think of how even tempered he had been. It was a perfect moment to keep close. To steady him no matter how difficult the circumstances got. A centered balance of pure comfortable bliss. "Well in that case, I owe ya a meal and a drink or two. The Tidepool sound good?" Said Mitt. "And um... thank you." Taln nodded quietly and stood up. "You're welcome." He stood still and waited patiently for Mitt to lead the way and head out to the bar before joining him. The hot sand between his toes was soothing and they walked in step together as they entered the bar. "Food and beer?" Stu asked, already taking out a pitcher and two mugs to place on the tray. "Yep and yep." the tawny haired young man answered and turned to Taln, "Ya wanna sit here or at the bar?" Taln shrugged noncommittally, not really caring either way. "There's a slight ocean breeze if you sit at one of the tables facing east." Stu offered helpfully. "Then that's where we'll sit." Mitt answered, bringing over the tray and set it down on the table. They sat directly opposite of each other and Taln watched the ocean waves take out the tide to reveal the wet sand beneath. On one side, the tall sturdy tawny haired man in his twenties slouched back in his chair with his legs stretched out beneath the table, his arms resting on his lap. On the other side of the table, the tall lean scarred redhead in his thirties sat upright with the balls of his feet under the chair, ready to stand at a moment's notice, his forearms resting lightly on top of the table. They were an unlikely pair as just their postures alone spoke volumes of their personalities, pasts, strengths, weakness and most importantly, what they had in common. With a sure hand, the young smith poured out their beers and pushed one toward Taln. "Thanks." he murmured, tracing the line of moisture on the glass and made patterns on it. Mitt drank down about half of the contents in a few chugs and set down the mug to look at Taln thoughtfully. "I was gonna say-" "I just wanted to-" The young smith laughed and motioned for the redhead to speak up. "I was going to say thanks for teaching me so much the other day at the Foundry. It's amazing that you work so easily with fire and metal to make it stronger, no temper it, you said." He emptied the mug in four large swallows and set it down. "You make a good striker. And a helluva a stoker." Mitt joked, finishing his beer and pouring out more for himself. Taln raised an eyebrow, "Smart ass." he retorted pouring another drink. Stu arrived with a large platter of food, two plates with utensils and smiled. "I should charge you two extra for the food alone!" The redhead generously burdened his plate with some hefty portions of each choice of the available foods. Taln mantled his food with his right hand and ate with his left, hunching over it with his head bent to the meal with his usual single minded, fierce concentration. As he ate voraciously, his memories went back to Mitt's explanations of tempering iron to make it stronger. Now that was a perfect word right there. You have to 'temper' something hard to make it even stronger. But it was also shaped, manipulated, molded and improved only while it was soft and hot. Then when it cooled down after -tempering-, it was stronger, better and more adjusted to its intended purpose. There was a lot of meanings and lessons to be taken from that subject. Mitt took his usual generously sized portions but looked like a dainty and delicate eater next to the lean hungry guy acting like it was his last meal on the planet. He ate and drank with his usual alacrity and felt those freaky fiery eyes on him again. That guy really needed to stop obsessing over food. It was seriously nuts. Calm grey eyes met the redhead's and he felt compelled to ask, "Doesn't eating like that ever make you get sick? Are you like always totally that starving or what?" He blinked in surprise and tried to understand the questions. Taln shrugged and his tongue flicked over his lip ring to fidget with it for a long chime, unsure of exactly how much to say or omit. "Not unless I haven't eaten in a while, then I'd sick up. But I know better now what my body's limits are." the tall redhead thought back to spending ninety percent of a lifetime in desperate starvation and total deprivation. "I didn't...I wasn't ... I don't honestly know." True, he was almost always hungry but he couldn't ever remember a day that he hadn't been at some point back in Wind Reach. Wasn't hungry just a constant thing? His molten eyes lingered on the left over food and there was no question he wanted it. Very much. How much was want and how much was need? At the moment he didn't think he could tell any difference between one or the other. WC 1,172 total wc 1,505

[Mittle]

The young smith watched Taln pile the last of the food on his plate and go back to eating. This time Mitt was doing the watching and his dark blue eyes lingered uneasily over the unimaginable violence that had to have taken place in order to leave such pronounced marks on his skin. There was no way for him to miss the gross thick whip scars and ugly cicatrix across the guy's back. Those couldn't all be from accidents! It kind of reminded him of the men that fought in The Pit back home in Sunberth. But he didn't recall a lot of whip scars like that.

Taln had finished eating and sat very still, resting his weight lightly on his elbows. It was exactly at times like this where there wasn't really anything he could say or do that would make the situation or explanation any better or worse. No words would make the scars vanish but he wasn't sure he was ready to share any answers about that part of his past either. His skin shifted over his ribs at the muscle tension of sitting so still and he turned to stare back at Mitt. Enough was enough. Now it was just being rude.

Mitt jerked his eyes away like he'd been caught looking at something disgusting and put his hand around the handle of the mug, not raising his eyes. He really wanted to know though. Was he like a fighter in a pit somewhere far away when he was younger? I bet the guy would have some pretty cool battle stories to tell from it for sure.

Of their own accord his eyes drifted back to Taln's back, fascinated by the strange patterns they made. A sharp looking but ragged scar curved down the right side of his ribs in the back and continued down his right leg. What the hell kind of weird weapon made that? Oh. His gaze lingered on the sharp Talon sword tied to the redhead's hip. Was it made by one of those? Was he like a secret mercenary?

He sat back in his chair at the uncomfortable thought and quickly turned to Stu to ask,
"Can we get some more to drink over here?"

While he'd been watching, Taln must have been compulsively cleaning again as each plate and utensil was neatly stacked accordingly right back on the tray.

Hold up, let's be rational here with this kind of thinking. If Taln were a mercenary, he wouldn't be so friendly, laid back and living the homeless hobo beach rat style. He wouldn't be so jumpy about things near his face either. Mitt nodded to himself. No way that unstable over emotional crazy redhead was a callous hired sword out to kill people for money.

The tawny haired young man turned at Stu's approach and gathered up the pitcher to pour some more beer. But he paused as he only just noticed that Taln had moved his chair so that his back was fully facing Mitt so he could look directly out at the ocean. When did he move? How long had he been staring? Yikes. He swallowed and looked down, trying to recall just how long he had been outright rudely staring at the scars in total silence. Regardless of the time, it was still just flat out rude.
The young blacksmith poured out some beer for himself but when he went to refill Taln's glass, it was still full and totally untouched.



WC 583 Total WC 1,520

[Taln]

Taln saw the look of absolute repulsion blatantly cross Mitt's features as he turned away from looking at his back. Was that better than pity? Or worse? The redhead exhaled noisily and decided to put away the plates and utensils to give himself something to do but that was finished far too soon. That damn kid was just obtrusively staring now with his mouth open! He waved a hand in front of his face, but he didn't even see it! The tall Inarta got up and turned around his chair to face the ocean. If Mitt was going to sit in total silence while rudely staring, then maybe he'd just get it out of his system. Taln sat facing the back of the chair and laid his arms across the top of it. He rested his chin on his arms and idly watched Syka's nightlife pass by. Repeatedly, his tongue flicked at his lip ring and the redhead let his thoughts drift as he tried to work it out to all make sense. 'I guess if I'm being honest, it must've been like that for Drusilla maybe?' Taln thought. He remembered being totally fascinated with her deadly sharp fangs, hissing speech and savage killing skills. Some one, some thing exciting, new and so different and dangerous. And she had told him stories of her past and what her people were like. But that wasn't really the same thing he could apply at all in regards to Mitt. He wasn't an exciting Svefra sailing the seas with amazing stories, a brave fighting gladiator nor did he have the endless tales of a savage and foreign way of life like Drusilla's had been. The kid from Sunberth had been trying to call Taln something bad or scornful. Disgusting? Something that was wrong with him and the other Inarta? Then he got mad at Taln for something he never disclosed and contemptuously walked away. Ah well, either way, the young blacksmith had made it abundantly clear that he strongly considered Taln and his people as thoroughly revolting. Was that what all the staring was? Horrified fascination and loathing for someone that disgusted you? Who did that? Actually, your own people did. Every damn day. The Endal, the Avora, the Chiet and the Yasi had all given him that look. He might've been a Dek in his last lifetime but he hadn't done anything in this one to merit that level of contempt. Abruptly, he heard Mitt order more to drink and then Stu's return a few chimes later. Was the guy gonna stare some more? Had he finally got it out of his system or should Taln just leave? Keeping his chin down and inching his head slowly to the side, he flicked a glance over his shoulder to see if the tawny haired guy was still staring at his back. Nope, he was looking at his drink. Taln shifted his position on the chair to sit cross legged and looked at the young blacksmith, unsure of how to break what had been an awkward solid half a bell of long silence. "Did ya want another?" Mitt asked, gesturing to the beer. The Inarta gave a Gallic shrug and drank down the beer to set the mug back on the table for him to refill. Unable to think out the mystery on his own, Taln asked directly, "Why were you staring at my back? If it's that disgusting to you, then why did you keep staring for half a bell?" "Half a bell?!" he repeated, looking abashed for a chime and continued to answer, looking down at his own arms, hands and fingers, showing his scars. "Well, my scars each have stories that are mostly all about the lessons I've learned in Blacksmithing. I guess I stared because scars show hints of stories and mysteries of how and why that are usually solved by asking about them. But not everyone wants to talk about them though." "But I thought you were mad and disgusted yesterday about me and other Inarta. Is that why you stared instead of asking?" The tawny haired young man ducked his head down and scratched an eyebrow at the bold words, not really wanting to elaborate on that particular topic. "I uh.,I'm sorry. I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did." He downed the rest of his mug and refilled it, noting that Taln again hadn't touched his his beer. "But yea, I'm curious about the stories of your scars because well.. you don't really seem to do anything that would explain them." "So they're just a curious mystery that you want solved?" Taln stated more than asked. So -that- was the mindset of why Mitt wasn't connecting with him or anyone. "Mathematics gives you solid answers to questions. Life does not, and therein lies the problem. People aren't math puzzles for you to instantly solve. I don't think any of us have easy solutions for you." Taln laughed mirthlessly. "The stories and answers to each of my scars would take an awful long time to explain." WC 851 total wc 2,356

[Mittle]

Mitt nodded, digesting that bit of truth and tried to modify his approach. His curiosity was insatiable and should a mystery present itself in a certain manner, he was quick to bite, every time. He wanted to know about those scars but the ginger was rightfully pissed at his staring. To be fair though, he had very rudely stared at the tall ginger for half a bell which would make even a Goddess lose her patience.

Hmm maybe a bribe? That would take some careful planning though. The beach rat didn't even care that he had no shoes or boots. How does anyone live with so few things and not worry about it at all?! Well Taln was a freak obviously. And considering what he'd figured about the Inarta genetic pool, well.. Wait, wasn't everything magicky to some extent? Because if magic was somehow involved, then some scientific facts would be either heavily altered or null and void. That was something he hadn't considered before.

He looked at Taln and asked carefully,
"So do they have um.. is there magicky stuff in wind surf?"
"Wind Reach."
"And?" It was like pulling teeth with this guy! You can't just walk around like a freak like that and not expect people to ask questions.
The ginger's expression went strangely impassive and the silence ticked on for several chimes. His posture went rigid and guarded before he answered vaguely.
"A bit."
"So would you say that magic has a bigger deal to do with wind reach than science?"

Molten fiery eyes blazed up in a rock hard stone faced look before Taln gave the briefest of nods.

So maybe their genetic situation was a magical derivation? If so, that would be a lot less awkward.

Both men turned at a noise about twenty paces from the entrance to watch a young Ixam twitching in his sleep and lashing his tail around.

"Is that your lizard thing?"
"Ixam, and his name is Stoker." Mitt answered proudly, the affection evident in his features and tone of voice.

"See that tail swish? When he swishes it down, it's to help him jump up really high. I've seen him do that to climb a tree or dive on prey. He can leap two and half meters vertical from a stand still without using his tail. That down stroke of the tail gives him a solid three meters higher distance and even more when he puts some effort into it. And when he's full grown, he can haul stuff and I'll even be able to ride him! At least that's what Bree and Tazrae told me." Mitt bragged as prideful as if he were the Ixam's father like the Ixam's achievements were his own. Which, in a way they were. Their growing bond made both of them stronger and more confident, their connection improving with each day.

Both blue eyes and fiery eyes admired the handsome half grown Ixam in silent appreciation. The large dog sized reptile had full long claws, razor sharp teeth, excellent sight, keen hearing, lightning fast reflexes, great climbing and swimming ability, a long sleek tail, was incredibly intelligent and the warm dry scaled hide was a beautiful variation of hues that glowed under different types of lighting.

It was impossible for the young blacksmith not to notice Taln's envious look and he decided that maybe Stoker was the way 'in' for reaching the redhead. In a casual voice he added,

"But then Stoker's bonded to -me only- so it's different for you to be around him."
"You mean like Wind Eagle bonding?!" Taln responded, showing an instant keen interest that made his bright eyes flare.

"I dunno about that but if you mean an exclusive bond that no one else can make, but for an Ixam, yeah..." Mitt let his answer hang temptingly, trying to encourage the guy to want to check out Stoker. Then he could offer him some Stoker time as a bribe to hear about the scars. And of course any reason to talk about his Ixam was a good thing. A win-win for sure!

"When he wakes up, can I look at him more closely?" Taln asked, utterly fascinated with the beautiful gleaming young Ixam.


WC 706 Total WC 2,226

[Taln]

When the kid started asking again about Wind Reach, there was nothing more Taln wanted to do than shut that guy's big fat mouth. He'd been very careful not to mention anything out of the ordinary, keeping things far more hidden than he'd revealed. Just vague general topics purposely as boring as possible so as not to generate any special interest. Hair color, mountain, and tough society, that was all. And even that was more than he'd wanted to mention but dammitall with the food! Why did he get so stupid about food lately? He wasn't like that before. He'd refused food out of fear like any other living creature. But now? Hm. For around the last decade, he'd slept during the day and ate at night, going entirely nocturnal. Now he worked cleaning out cages at Nora's during the best and hottest sleeping hours. At least most of the cages and crates were outdoors where he could soak up the sun's warmth to the fullest each day. Wait, that made sense now, all things considered. Eat and be active at night and digest things in the heat of the day. That clicks. Taln hadn't slept in ... hmm.. well. Taln tried to use normal body language with Mitt but the kid was blind to all of it. He couldn't read people in the least. Or maybe he did see it and just didn't bother to care? The lean ginger sighed at Mitt's comments, knowing that he himself had been that self-centered and tunnel vision brained too in his early twenties. He was grateful that he was around to look back and see the mistakes and perspectives from a better place now. Wait what?! Wind Eagle bonding?! But with a lizard? No way! Oh I have GOT to get me one of these! An internal dialogue laughed deeply within and Taln's smile finally showed on the outside too. On quiet soft feet, he crept outside to stand about twenty paces from the Ixam, his golden eyes pinned on it. The Inarta sank to sit comfortably in the sand and wondered what it would be like to really get to know one of them. Taln stayed as silent as he could so he wouldn't accidentally disturb the creature. Suddenly Mitt was clomping toward him from The Tidepool and muttering something about talks and bribes as if Taln were deaf. "What about talks and bribes?" he asked vaguely, his eyes still glued to the young Ixam, watching the gold and crimson scales gleam under Leth's light. The kid's heavy stomping 'walk' had woken up the Ixam. Obviously. Who could sleep through that guy's monstrously heavy stride?! "You heard that?!" Mitt asked quickly. "I'm a freak but not a deaf one." He retorted. Heard was always remembered. Stoker opened his sharp red eyes and turned his head to Mitt, rising to all fours. His finely made wedge shaped head looked up at the young smith and he moved forward to rest his head on Mitt's leg, sharing his warmth. He reached down a hand to fondly stroke the soft clean scaled head, rubbing the eye ridges affectionately. Something in Taln stirred deeply, and more than anything at this moment, he wanted that too. That small gesture between two living creatures not needing a word to convey such a close-knit bond. The lean redhead swallowed back his envy a little but couldn't take his molten eyes off the Ixam. "How big do they get?" Taln asked softly. Stoker turned swiftly to eyeball the Inarta and put himself between the two, clearly defending Mitt from him. "Pretty damn big. Tazrae showed me his dad and that red guy was huge. She said that with me feeding Stoker, he'd get even bigger than his sire and the wild ones would ever get." Mitt stroked the top of the spikes growing upward where the head met the neck and the Ixam's eyes closed in pleasure. "It's ok Stoker, he promises he wasn't trying to take your bug snack the other day. Were you Taln.." Mitt said pointedly. It took a full chime for it to register that Mitt was talking to both of them and he felt the red eyes slowly open to watch him intently. "No, no that wasn't my snack. I wouldn't take your snacks from you." Taln answered, wanting more than ever to have an Ixam of his own. WC 734 total wc 3,090

[Mittle]

The guy looked ready to give in to anything for an Ixam, so Mitt chanced a move.
"So I was thinking if you really want to know more about these incredible Ixam, I could totally share what I know about them. But you could tell me about your scars first."

Taln's entire body went rigid and his eyes remained glued on Stoker.

"You mentioned a Tazrae and Bree that I could go to instead. Sounds like they would know a lot more than you do. Was this the 'talks and bribes' you mentioned earlier? No." his mouth clamped shut around the last word and his eyes flared brightly enough to cast his shadow along the beach sand.

"Why not? They're just scars." Mitt insisted, clearly not taking a hint.

"You got a short memory kid. I know you didn't forget my flaming freak beacon the other night, right after I said the word NO and you pushed anyway...." The warning threat drifted quietly and hung heavy on the hot humid night air.

Stoker didn't quite know what was going on but something had made his human give off a fear smell. He moved to stand in front of Mitt, but kept a scarlet eye facing Taln. The Ixam thrust out his dewlap to a bright threatening red color and held his mouth open to display his teeth.

"What are you doing?" Mitt looked down and put a large hand on Stoker's shoulders trying to calm him. The Ixam looked pissed.

"That's an aggression display." The lean redhead said softly. "He's making it a me, not you."

"How the hells would -you- know?" Mitt snapped, "I've got the Ixam not you!"

"It's complicated. Never mind."

"I was just asking about the scars Taln, not your entire gods damn life history."

"Those scars are almost all my entire life history, so it's none of your business." The lean and irritated redhead looked up at Mitt from the sand and said slowly and carefully as if speaking to a child.

"There is nothing exciting, fun, happy or adventurous about what's on my back. Not one of those stories would amuse you in anyway. Not unless you're a sadist. Are you?"

"Oh. Um no." Mitt looked down at Stoker and patted the spikes down and soothed the reptile into closing his eyes again.

"Go get some more snacks in the water Stoker. I saw some fish jumping on that side over there." The fast young Ixam veered a wide berth around Taln and jumped into the water with a joyful splash, his tail thrashing water everywhere.

Taln looked down at the sand in front of him and the fiery glow to his eyes died back down to yellow embers. His tongue flickered in and out to idly toy at his lip ring and his expression was unfathomable.

"I just thought coz my scars were stories that helped me learn, that that's how everybody else' was too. I really wasn't trying to be a dick."

Mitt trod heavily to sit about five paces in front of him and sat down drawing up his knees to rest his arms on them. The young blacksmith turned over his right hand to display a scar across the knuckle of his thumb.

"Like this one. When I was eleven, my dad said I was too young so I went behind his back and tried to use his hammer. I didn't know that I was supposed to grip it all the way around with my whole hand so I put my thumb on top. First strike broke my thumb in three places!" He laughed at his own expense, knowing it was at least a lesson learned.

"So you did that?" asked Taln in a very soft, incurious voice.

"Yep."

"And are all your scars accidents? Mistakes you made, caused purely by you...?" Taln asked with an emphasis entirely lost on Mitt.

"Uh huh." Mitt nodded.

"And you could have easily avoided some of those scars? Most of those scars?"

"Yea."

"Then you're a damn lucky guy."



WC 676 WC 2,902

[Taln]

"You could always ask An'un Dui about Wind Reach. If you can get near her." Taln suggested unhelpfully. The name sounded far more like an actual bird call than anything the guy from Sunberth had ever heard. "What? I can't even repeat whatever the hells you just said!" Taln continued on in Nari, his tone angry and scathing, caustically biting off each sibilant with venomous hatred. The harsh words sounded almost exactly like two falcons attacking each other fiercely. "She was born the same year I was. Any Inarta could give you an earful about stupid Deks and what a waste of space they are. A necessary evil to clean up your vomit after a party or use your whip on as an inanimate unfeeling unnamed practice dummy. A pet, a thing to take at your whim whenever you want, to own and use and score however and whenever you want with no repercussions-hells, they'll cheer you on while you do! The bloodier and more painful, the happier they are! You idiot child. It must be so gods damn nice to grow up in a world where you always get enough to eat and don't wake up to a possibly life ending beating for your mere existence. How amazing that you can lose your temper and not do anything more than a single punch at your maddest you infantile, stupid, pushy, ignorant, privileged, spoiled selfish brat!" A few night raptors responded back sharply to Taln from the tree canopy behind him, challenging another bird that sounded like it was trying to move in on their territory. Mitt blinked rapidly at the redhead's commentary, startled at how it sounded like an angry bird. Did that guy just chirp or something? What the hells kinda clickety clack, ear splitting, whistling language was that?! He didn't know what any of those weird whistling sounds the guy made were supposed to mean. But the furious tone wasn't lost on him at all. "Ok I know I heard the word decks in there. What's a deck in your language?" the tawny haired young man asked, trying to lighten the mood. Taln smiled at the release, finally able to say to Mitt exactly what he been dying to yell at him. He'd sorely missed speaking Nari and hadn't even realized it. "Fine. I'm feeling better after that. I'll give you one question you can ask me about that subject and I'll answer it." Taln replied in Common. "And then you will totally drop it. For good. And never, ever mention it again. That's my deal. And if you do stupidly bring it up again, I'll answer in Nari." wc 442 total wc 3,532

[Mittle]

Mitt's face was pure astonishment at the sudden onslaught of sounds. Shrill bursts of sharp whistles in a series of awkward glottal stops interspersed with seemingly random clicks and clacks poured forth in an unintelligible dissonance. He couldn't even begin to fathom that strange, birdlike fury of sound as a real language and just thought it was a freak thing at first. He caught the word decks though. Why is that guy getting so angry over something as average and mundane as decks? What was the big deal anyway? How could a man that tall make soft bird chirps? Seriously weird bastard.

The tawny haired young man had no clue why the guy was suddenly so mad but he tried to lighten the mood and keep him talking. Ok that didn't work so well. That was a spectacular fail.

The young smith's eyebrows went up and he wasn't sure what to say in response to Taln's strangely worded comment so he let his eyes wander on the young Ixam as he pondered it. Only one question?! How could he find out all he wanted to know with only one question? How did you get them? What does each one mean? When did they happen and why? What was the best way to phrase a question that wouldn't just let Taln get away with yet another cryptic, monosyllabic answer?

"Only if you promise not to respond with something vague like it's complicated or some lame shit like that."

The ginger nodded, his expression still unreadable.

"How do you explain every single mark on your back-all of them?" Mitt pushed, feeling that he'd confidently asked the best possible question.

"You only get one question, is that how you want to word it? Didn't you want to take a few more chimes to think it over?" the redhead asked back. "Are you sure that's the one you want to ask?"

He leaned forward intently, his grey eyes fixed determinedly on Tan's face. Mitt looked and felt confident as he reconfirmed his question,
"How do you explain each and every single one of those marks on your back?"

WC 354 Total WC 3,256