[Kh'vrim] Window shopping.
RL Date: 8/25/10
IC Date: 8/2/23 --Why would I bother cleaning up a log if someone else has already done so?
It's summer here, a typical sweltering day. Some workers are down at the market, cleaning out the firepit. Nenita is helping them! She's supervising! Okay, not really. It actually seems like she's trying to relax, but she does peek over there to see what they're up to. She probably can't help it, she's nosy. But since it seems like the three burly guys digging out crappy used up charcoal don't need the help of a goldrider, she moves along and begins to wander past the boothes.
Kh'vrim's window-shopping. It's a good way for him to pass the time, yes, though the vendors themselves don't seem to appreciate the looky-lous so much. Still, he peels himself away from a trader trying to sell him a new razor-- 'cause, bald, so he must go through them pretty fast, right?-- with a smirk, far enough in his own thoughts that he nearly walks over the top of Nenita before stopping to notice her. "I hope you get a discount, at least."
Nenita squeaks when she nearly gets trampled on by the much bigger person. She hazards an annoyed look at him as she takes a step or two backwards. "I hope that you usually watch where you're going and don't normally trample innocent women." There's a glance down to his feet and then up to his bald head again, a look over her shoulder to the razor selling guy. Maybe Kh'vrim needs it for his facial hair?
"There's a lotta relative terms in there, don't you think? Normally, innocent..." Kh'vrim trails off, as if there are more. There aren't, but it makes his point seem more strident, yes? Taking a step back himself, following her glance over his shoulder to the razor-vendor, he shrugs and looks bemused himself: what can ya do? "As a protective measure from guys like me-- stroll a bit?" He sticks his elbow out in a way that, were it not so lazy, might be almost chivalrous.
"Did you correct the speaking of others as a profession before you were a rider? Or is that just an annoying hobby that you enjoy?" Nenita asks, eyebrow arching. She doesn't look back at the razor guy again, no need really. Instead she's watching that jutting elbow, maybe a touch suspicious before she slips her own smaller arm through his. Not to get too excited, she's still keeping a safe couple of inches between them.
Kh'vrim smiles benignly and points out, "Neither. Just that I don't normally do anything at all with-- to innocent women, so I can't really answer that question." Covering Nenita's arm but briefly with one hand, mostly to shift it so it's not right there in the crook of his elbow, he turns enough to put them on track toward the booths, offering, "So what're we shopping for?"
A misunderstanding of his words, whoops. Nenita plows on ahead like that totally didn't happen at all. "Is that because innocent women somehow have the wiles to avoid you or is it because you like your lady friends more rough around the edges?" With her gaze dropping from the quiet study she was doing of his jaw to the boothes that are approaching, she shrugs. "I don't really know. A lot of the crap here is tourist stuff. I don't need anymore seashell necklaces, but sometimes you just need to walk around."
"That's a good question," answers Kh'vrim like he's being authentic. Which he's not, but he puts on a good show for it. "Maybe it's just because I don't know any innocent women? Which, I guess, goes back to whether or not they avoid me or I avoid them. Chicken or the egg, huh?" There's a momentary but pointed look aside at Nenita, a woman he knows? Possibly innocent? But-- "I was dead afraid you were gonna tell me you were just here to supervise the removal of the charcoal, truth be told. It makes me happier to know it's leisure, somehow." He commences with the walking around, a real just-looking stroll.
"Is it? Funny that you don't really know the answer. Seems like you'd be old enough by now to know your type." Is there a hint of teasing in her voice? Possibly. It almost sounds like relaxed teasing too and not the 'omg the guard is up!' sort. When he admits that fear she clears her throat and shoots a brief glance up at him. "I may have watched them for a couple of minutes. But I restrained myself from getting involved. They probably don't really need my help over there."
Kh'vrim, with a laugh, not about to point out that Nenita's almost being *gasp* relaxed, just rolling with it; "Maybe I'm old enough to know that this business of 'type' doesn't really mean much. Last few months, she's a redhead with curves that don't quit. By winter, maybe a skinny blond. Next summer, a little dark-haired thing could be nice." Not that that's pointed at all. "I figure if I'm fortunate enough to get a woman to say yes, I better not get all hung up on her 'type.'" The throat-clearing and side-stepping of his remark deepen his grin, have him adding, "No? I guess you don't look much like the coal-shovelling type."
It's only a couple of inches. A couple of inches isn't too far for Nenita to move her elbow into his ribs when that absolutely totally definitely was pointed comment is made. "Type isn't always about where and how your flesh hangs on your bones. Innocent versus not innocent doesn't always have to do with physical appearance. Again, old enough to know the difference?" More of the teasing before she laughs and dshakes her head. "No, not really. I was never very physical as far as moving heavy things around. Much better chance of me killing myself than of being any help."
Kh'vrim's, "Ow," is a little dramatic, yes. "I thought we were talking 'rough around the edges,' sweetheart, not just plain ol' rough," he adds with a theatric sulk, reaching across with his free hand to rub his side. "How's this-- I'm old enough by now to not be picky. I like pretty women. If they have to talk, I'd prefer they were smart enough to be worth talking to. Lucky for you, I could care less if they've got an aptitude for physical labor." He beams like he really believes he just made Nenita's day.
"If you think that's rough, well." Nenita rolls her eyes a bit dramaticaly before directing a lazy smile towards him. Oh, but then there's more eyerolling. "You don't really think that I lay around wondering if you have a desire to sleep with me? That I sit in my weyr and hope that I'm good enough for you? Give me a break." There's a sigh and this time it's a touch despairing.
"You don't know," Kh'vrim begins, sniffling. "I could be really sensitive and delicate underneath. What if I bruise easy and now I'm going to have to try and cover up that the Weyrwoman's been beating on me?" Nenita's latter comments will earn her a good, loud laugh and then he's shaking his head, saying, "No, I don't /really/ think that. I like to kid myself sometimes, sure." What man doesn't. "Does it make you happy to burst my bubbles?"
Nenita untangles her arm so that she can use her hand more freely. She squeezes his arm and then pokes at his side to feel how sturdy he happens to be. "I think you're exaggerating. You don't feel like an easy to bruise wimp. Unless you're suffering from some sort of disease you haven't mentioned yet?" No longer attached by looped arms she takes this moment while they're wandering aimlessly around to fix her hair. Because it's a mess, again. With a pin in her mouth and amused glance is tossed his way, she'll talk around it. "No, but I don't think that I am." Pin removed. "Bursting any bubbles. You probably don't have any. Just throw whatever you've got at whoever is in front of you and see what sticks."
Kh'vrim, with his own arm free, draws up that side of his shirt as high as his ribs, poking around with the heel of his hand like he's searching for broken and protruding bones. "S'possible, yes. I might be exaggerating. All in one piece?" Since Nenita did the tactile inspection, she can help with the visual one? And, because things have been going so well and apparently 'blunt' can only be put on the back-burner for so long, he adds, "Why is your hair always fucked up?"
The pin slides into place, her hair now more properly managed. She tilts her chin to the side, dark eyes going over the exposed skin. "You appear to be in one piece. Now you won't have to hide the bruises of my abuse." His question has that gaze going up his body, lingering on eye contact and then flashing up to his head. "Why are you bald? Why do you have a pronounced forehead?" A beat for her return questions to sink in. "Because life is just annoying like that."
Like he's calling on reserves of patience here; "Look, for starters. If I let it grow, there's actually some little up there. I know you're bashful, but you can feel it, trust me." And Kh'vrim swipes his hand across the top of his head, proving the point to himself, at least. "Ignoring that, I think it goes back to mom's dad?" With a shrug, clearly none of this (baldness) is his fault. "We could shave yours, too, solve your problem, save money on hairpins."
Nenita pats his arm, soothingly. Really. "Sure there is, I believe you." An actual genuine laugh comes out of her and now she's shaking her head. "I'm not bashful. But you are right on the whole trust thing. I don't go touching the heads of relatively unfamiliar men." Mention of shaving her own has that hand going to her head, where she protectively covers her mess. "No, thanks. And I'm offended that you think my biggest money sink is /hairpins/."
"I know, I know. Something about 'not on the first date.'" Beat. "Meeting," he corrects himself, permitting a temporary smirk. "Point is, I /have/ hair, and you're being awfully abusive today, what with the hitting and the picking on me." Kh'vrim looks over the top of her covered head toward the razor-seller-guy, eyes a bit too bright for a second; "You sure? Maybe it's not your biggest money sink, but every little bit counts, right?" The stroll, it seems, has come to an end, nearly back where they started, and here he pauses; there's the quality, something in tone and posture, that faretheewell is forthcoming.
"I get this feeling you only want to shave my hair off because I made fun of you for being bald. And that forehead remark. I bet you wouldn't have suggested it otherwise." That would make this the first time that he's taking off before her, which in itself seems to have her looking a bit awkward. She's used to being the one leaving apparently. "Meeting." That's a confirmed simply, her lips pressing together in a closed smile.
Kh'vrim drawls a lengthy, "Wellllllll. If the alternative is that I just wanna reason to come at you with a razor, wouldn't you prefer it's punitive? Rather than homicidal?" He looks from Nenita's awkwardness to the horizon for a second, guesstimating the time, before it's, "I better go. I'm supposed to /meet/ someone about lunchtime, pretty sure it's now into the hour when I deserve her storming off in a huff." As if hopefully.
"How about no razors at all? How about that's just not an option, period?" Nenita questions, a dark 'brow arching up. Her mouth quirks into a more perky smile, made more so now that there's apparently some other woman. "Oh, right. Well, you don't want to be like that kid with the hair we met the other day. Sitting all by yourself eating a melty fruit parfait. Have fun, hopefully she's still there." Looking somewhat relieved, she takes a step back and jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "I have some more pins to sink my money into."
Kh'vrim, with a chuckle, "You were supposed to offer to console me if she told me to shove off. You're so bad at this." Sighing, snickering through his nose at her and the hairpins, he does trot on about his business-- yes, trot. Cavalier as he may pretend, he evidently doesn't want his Sure Thing getting /too/ mad.
IC Date: 8/2/23 --Why would I bother cleaning up a log if someone else has already done so?
It's summer here, a typical sweltering day. Some workers are down at the market, cleaning out the firepit. Nenita is helping them! She's supervising! Okay, not really. It actually seems like she's trying to relax, but she does peek over there to see what they're up to. She probably can't help it, she's nosy. But since it seems like the three burly guys digging out crappy used up charcoal don't need the help of a goldrider, she moves along and begins to wander past the boothes.
Kh'vrim's window-shopping. It's a good way for him to pass the time, yes, though the vendors themselves don't seem to appreciate the looky-lous so much. Still, he peels himself away from a trader trying to sell him a new razor-- 'cause, bald, so he must go through them pretty fast, right?-- with a smirk, far enough in his own thoughts that he nearly walks over the top of Nenita before stopping to notice her. "I hope you get a discount, at least."
Nenita squeaks when she nearly gets trampled on by the much bigger person. She hazards an annoyed look at him as she takes a step or two backwards. "I hope that you usually watch where you're going and don't normally trample innocent women." There's a glance down to his feet and then up to his bald head again, a look over her shoulder to the razor selling guy. Maybe Kh'vrim needs it for his facial hair?
"There's a lotta relative terms in there, don't you think? Normally, innocent..." Kh'vrim trails off, as if there are more. There aren't, but it makes his point seem more strident, yes? Taking a step back himself, following her glance over his shoulder to the razor-vendor, he shrugs and looks bemused himself: what can ya do? "As a protective measure from guys like me-- stroll a bit?" He sticks his elbow out in a way that, were it not so lazy, might be almost chivalrous.
"Did you correct the speaking of others as a profession before you were a rider? Or is that just an annoying hobby that you enjoy?" Nenita asks, eyebrow arching. She doesn't look back at the razor guy again, no need really. Instead she's watching that jutting elbow, maybe a touch suspicious before she slips her own smaller arm through his. Not to get too excited, she's still keeping a safe couple of inches between them.
Kh'vrim smiles benignly and points out, "Neither. Just that I don't normally do anything at all with-- to innocent women, so I can't really answer that question." Covering Nenita's arm but briefly with one hand, mostly to shift it so it's not right there in the crook of his elbow, he turns enough to put them on track toward the booths, offering, "So what're we shopping for?"
A misunderstanding of his words, whoops. Nenita plows on ahead like that totally didn't happen at all. "Is that because innocent women somehow have the wiles to avoid you or is it because you like your lady friends more rough around the edges?" With her gaze dropping from the quiet study she was doing of his jaw to the boothes that are approaching, she shrugs. "I don't really know. A lot of the crap here is tourist stuff. I don't need anymore seashell necklaces, but sometimes you just need to walk around."
"That's a good question," answers Kh'vrim like he's being authentic. Which he's not, but he puts on a good show for it. "Maybe it's just because I don't know any innocent women? Which, I guess, goes back to whether or not they avoid me or I avoid them. Chicken or the egg, huh?" There's a momentary but pointed look aside at Nenita, a woman he knows? Possibly innocent? But-- "I was dead afraid you were gonna tell me you were just here to supervise the removal of the charcoal, truth be told. It makes me happier to know it's leisure, somehow." He commences with the walking around, a real just-looking stroll.
"Is it? Funny that you don't really know the answer. Seems like you'd be old enough by now to know your type." Is there a hint of teasing in her voice? Possibly. It almost sounds like relaxed teasing too and not the 'omg the guard is up!' sort. When he admits that fear she clears her throat and shoots a brief glance up at him. "I may have watched them for a couple of minutes. But I restrained myself from getting involved. They probably don't really need my help over there."
Kh'vrim, with a laugh, not about to point out that Nenita's almost being *gasp* relaxed, just rolling with it; "Maybe I'm old enough to know that this business of 'type' doesn't really mean much. Last few months, she's a redhead with curves that don't quit. By winter, maybe a skinny blond. Next summer, a little dark-haired thing could be nice." Not that that's pointed at all. "I figure if I'm fortunate enough to get a woman to say yes, I better not get all hung up on her 'type.'" The throat-clearing and side-stepping of his remark deepen his grin, have him adding, "No? I guess you don't look much like the coal-shovelling type."
It's only a couple of inches. A couple of inches isn't too far for Nenita to move her elbow into his ribs when that absolutely totally definitely was pointed comment is made. "Type isn't always about where and how your flesh hangs on your bones. Innocent versus not innocent doesn't always have to do with physical appearance. Again, old enough to know the difference?" More of the teasing before she laughs and dshakes her head. "No, not really. I was never very physical as far as moving heavy things around. Much better chance of me killing myself than of being any help."
Kh'vrim's, "Ow," is a little dramatic, yes. "I thought we were talking 'rough around the edges,' sweetheart, not just plain ol' rough," he adds with a theatric sulk, reaching across with his free hand to rub his side. "How's this-- I'm old enough by now to not be picky. I like pretty women. If they have to talk, I'd prefer they were smart enough to be worth talking to. Lucky for you, I could care less if they've got an aptitude for physical labor." He beams like he really believes he just made Nenita's day.
"If you think that's rough, well." Nenita rolls her eyes a bit dramaticaly before directing a lazy smile towards him. Oh, but then there's more eyerolling. "You don't really think that I lay around wondering if you have a desire to sleep with me? That I sit in my weyr and hope that I'm good enough for you? Give me a break." There's a sigh and this time it's a touch despairing.
"You don't know," Kh'vrim begins, sniffling. "I could be really sensitive and delicate underneath. What if I bruise easy and now I'm going to have to try and cover up that the Weyrwoman's been beating on me?" Nenita's latter comments will earn her a good, loud laugh and then he's shaking his head, saying, "No, I don't /really/ think that. I like to kid myself sometimes, sure." What man doesn't. "Does it make you happy to burst my bubbles?"
Nenita untangles her arm so that she can use her hand more freely. She squeezes his arm and then pokes at his side to feel how sturdy he happens to be. "I think you're exaggerating. You don't feel like an easy to bruise wimp. Unless you're suffering from some sort of disease you haven't mentioned yet?" No longer attached by looped arms she takes this moment while they're wandering aimlessly around to fix her hair. Because it's a mess, again. With a pin in her mouth and amused glance is tossed his way, she'll talk around it. "No, but I don't think that I am." Pin removed. "Bursting any bubbles. You probably don't have any. Just throw whatever you've got at whoever is in front of you and see what sticks."
Kh'vrim, with his own arm free, draws up that side of his shirt as high as his ribs, poking around with the heel of his hand like he's searching for broken and protruding bones. "S'possible, yes. I might be exaggerating. All in one piece?" Since Nenita did the tactile inspection, she can help with the visual one? And, because things have been going so well and apparently 'blunt' can only be put on the back-burner for so long, he adds, "Why is your hair always fucked up?"
The pin slides into place, her hair now more properly managed. She tilts her chin to the side, dark eyes going over the exposed skin. "You appear to be in one piece. Now you won't have to hide the bruises of my abuse." His question has that gaze going up his body, lingering on eye contact and then flashing up to his head. "Why are you bald? Why do you have a pronounced forehead?" A beat for her return questions to sink in. "Because life is just annoying like that."
Like he's calling on reserves of patience here; "Look, for starters. If I let it grow, there's actually some little up there. I know you're bashful, but you can feel it, trust me." And Kh'vrim swipes his hand across the top of his head, proving the point to himself, at least. "Ignoring that, I think it goes back to mom's dad?" With a shrug, clearly none of this (baldness) is his fault. "We could shave yours, too, solve your problem, save money on hairpins."
Nenita pats his arm, soothingly. Really. "Sure there is, I believe you." An actual genuine laugh comes out of her and now she's shaking her head. "I'm not bashful. But you are right on the whole trust thing. I don't go touching the heads of relatively unfamiliar men." Mention of shaving her own has that hand going to her head, where she protectively covers her mess. "No, thanks. And I'm offended that you think my biggest money sink is /hairpins/."
"I know, I know. Something about 'not on the first date.'" Beat. "Meeting," he corrects himself, permitting a temporary smirk. "Point is, I /have/ hair, and you're being awfully abusive today, what with the hitting and the picking on me." Kh'vrim looks over the top of her covered head toward the razor-seller-guy, eyes a bit too bright for a second; "You sure? Maybe it's not your biggest money sink, but every little bit counts, right?" The stroll, it seems, has come to an end, nearly back where they started, and here he pauses; there's the quality, something in tone and posture, that faretheewell is forthcoming.
"I get this feeling you only want to shave my hair off because I made fun of you for being bald. And that forehead remark. I bet you wouldn't have suggested it otherwise." That would make this the first time that he's taking off before her, which in itself seems to have her looking a bit awkward. She's used to being the one leaving apparently. "Meeting." That's a confirmed simply, her lips pressing together in a closed smile.
Kh'vrim drawls a lengthy, "Wellllllll. If the alternative is that I just wanna reason to come at you with a razor, wouldn't you prefer it's punitive? Rather than homicidal?" He looks from Nenita's awkwardness to the horizon for a second, guesstimating the time, before it's, "I better go. I'm supposed to /meet/ someone about lunchtime, pretty sure it's now into the hour when I deserve her storming off in a huff." As if hopefully.
"How about no razors at all? How about that's just not an option, period?" Nenita questions, a dark 'brow arching up. Her mouth quirks into a more perky smile, made more so now that there's apparently some other woman. "Oh, right. Well, you don't want to be like that kid with the hair we met the other day. Sitting all by yourself eating a melty fruit parfait. Have fun, hopefully she's still there." Looking somewhat relieved, she takes a step back and jerks her thumb over her shoulder. "I have some more pins to sink my money into."
Kh'vrim, with a chuckle, "You were supposed to offer to console me if she told me to shove off. You're so bad at this." Sighing, snickering through his nose at her and the hairpins, he does trot on about his business-- yes, trot. Cavalier as he may pretend, he evidently doesn't want his Sure Thing getting /too/ mad.