(Untitled)

[braveomaticaya]

Outside, there is a whooping, laughing sort of shriek as Tsu'tey falls--rather gracelessly--from one of the larger trees, landing on his feet at the last moment before impacting the earth. He's still caught in the middle of a rare laugh, leaves stuck in his braids and looking exceptionally like a fifteen-year-old boy

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[mr_gaeta]

Not a lot of things would startle Gaeta out of his run right now.

That, though? That's one of them.

He yanks himself up short fast enough to stumble, gasping for breath and -- unable to stop himself at first -- staring at Tsu'tey.

[braveomaticaya]

He looks--for lack of a better word--giddy, shaking his head to get the leaves out of his braids (which are finally clean again after that adventure with Adrian and William) before he notices Gaeta.

His ears don't pin themselves back like they would if he were angry or apprehensive, but his tail flicks once, twice, like a wary cat's. He's used to the humans staring at him: they look much like he imagines he did after seeing one for the first time. "What?"

[mr_gaeta]

He raises a hand, still struggling to catch his breath. It does the speaking for him: I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb you.

Gaeta plants his other hand on his thigh to lean over his knees for a second.

"Sorry," he finally manages.

[braveomaticaya]

Tsu'tey raises a hand carelessly in a silent it's alright, coming closer on long legs that fold up and bring him closer to Gaeta's level, tail out behind him for balance.

"You should sit," he says bluntly. "You run too hard, and you will injure yourself. Humans are frail this way." He doesn't intend it to be insulting--he really doesn't, but coming from a race that has carbon-fibre reinforced bones, it happens to come out that way at times.

[mr_gaeta]

Just as Gaeta doesn't fully intend the sarcastic bend to his voice when he replies, between breaths, "Yeah. Thanks."

Like he needs the frakking reminder.

Still, wobbly from exhaustion, he takes his hand from his knee and reaches out to catch himself as he half-falls, half-kneels against the damp grass.

[braveomaticaya]

There is a blue hand--only four digits, long and thin and looking like they'd be brittle when they aren't--that reaches out to steady the man's shoulder. But Tsu'tey...isn't normally talky. Which is why he merely regards Gaeta through the gold eyes that are his species' hallmark, striking when viewed with the striated blue skin and strangely leonine features.

"What is your name?"

[mr_gaeta]

It's a bit unnerving. Unnerving, though, isn't always the same as unwelcome.

Especially when you're having some trouble sitting up straight.

Gaeta swallows against a parched throat, pushing away the last of his surprise with it. "Lieutenant Felix Gaeta, sir," he says. "May I ask yours?"

He's moving up to multiple-word sentences. An improvement!

[braveomaticaya]

A definite improvement! Though given who he's conversing with they may stick to single sentences for a while longer; the clan leader-to-be is not the most eloquent in English.

"Tsu'tey te Rongloa Atey'itan," he introduces himself formally, with the gesture of touching his fingertips to his forehead as usual. There's a semi-protracted pause before he continues. "People here call me Tsu'tey. you are military?"

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta is more than all right with that. Any thoughts more complex than oh gods I hurt or oh gods I need air have fallen a bit by the wayside.

Which was, of course, the point of such a difficult run.

He blinks at the gesture, blinks again as if to clear away the faint puzzlement, then nods. "Pleasure to meet you," he says, some of his own formality lost in the rote recitation of necessary words. "I am, yes.

[braveomaticaya]

He notices the blinking; most of the humans are confused with it at first. "It means I See You," he explains. "To see...to acknowledge presence, but not only on the surface. It is a complex idea," the Na'vi elaborates, or tries to.

It's hard to impress upon an outsider the significance it has. "You should rest." He rearranges a bit to sit on his heels, still long and almost lanky by human standards, as if he's been unnaturally stretched. "I know some human military. They are not all bad."

He has some mixed experiences.

[mr_gaeta]

"Oh." Gaeta shoves a few sweat-soaked curls of hair from his forehead, peering up at Tsu'tey. "It's, ah. It's a good idea."

At the next, his mouth quirks a bit, humorless. A little quieter, as he lets his hand drop: "I try not to be."

[braveomaticaya]

"You have not shot at me," he says, after a minute of quiet. "This is a good start."

He notices the curls, and can't help but be interested by them; Na'vi hair is always bone-straight, even after being taken out of the tight, tiny braids most keep theirs in. "Your hair. It spirals that way on it's own?" He knows Trudy has curls, but he doesn't talk to her much. She's...different.

[mr_gaeta]

His brow furrows: why would I do that? Cautious, he adds, "There's a rule against violence here. Even if I carried a sidearm I wouldn't..."

And seriously, why would he in the first place?

Gaeta touches his fingers back to his hair. "Oh, uh. Yeah." Rueful, "It always does that when it gets too long."

[braveomaticaya]

"The humans on my planet are not very fond of my people," he says. "They are wary of us, and shoot often without knowing what they are shooting at."

They have a touchy history, to say the best. He nods at Gaeta again, or more specifically the curls.

"I find them interesting. Na'vi--the people like me--our hair is very straight, very fine. It does not curl like that." which is why the children find human hair with all the myriad textures and colors so fascinating: and, if Tsu'tey were honest, he does as well. (It might not be entirely normal for what amounts to a fifteen-year-old in human terms to be so interested in color and texture, but the Omaticaya are an artful clan. He has grown up among textiles and weavers and more patterns than most humans.)

[mr_gaeta]

Oh.

"I'm sorry," he says, quieter: as if he could apologize for every action taken by humans he doesn't even know. Gaeta drags his hand back through his hair. "There, ah, aren't many other people I serve with whose hair curls this much. Most of the time it's straight, too." A huff of breath. "And supposed to be short."

[braveomaticaya]

"There is a pilot who has curls like that. The children always beg to play with them," he says lightly, with a shrug.

"Most of the time we are not hit. Don't be sorry."