No, I suppose not. There is a pressing matter I must attend to before we can discuss our mutual dealings with madness, when it is settled, I will see you there.
[video] --> [ACTION?]wilywilywaysJune 6 2011, 03:27:39 UTC
What, mutual? Speak for yourse. . .
Right. I'll just. Be here, then.
[Right. This is hopefully the beginning of a ceasefire. Let's keep the arguing on the down-low.
A little bit later finds Hawke hunkering down on the sidewalk stretching past the Kurzweil Barracks. She's clacking her steel toes together out of boredom. Pickles her ever-faithful mabari is curled up behind her, providing flop support.]
ACTION LIKE YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE illiterageJune 8 2011, 01:00:26 UTC
[ Fenris is seen approaching not on long after their conversation. Shoulders hunkered under the weight of his longsword, his gait appeared unaffected as his strode over to her with purpose. ]
We mustn't speak here. Follow me.
[ He spoke shortly, regarding the mabari with only a brief glance of interest before turning on his heels. ]
ACTION TO STOP THE PRESSESwilywilywaysJune 9 2011, 02:10:36 UTC
[Hawke tries to be optimistic and not think too hard on why he brought his sword to a supposedly peaceful, non-violent encounter as she rolls to her feet and lurches to follow. The dog gallops after and ahead of them, snuffling at everything in his path.]
Why mustn't we? You're being conspicuously shifty. I don't like it.
ACTION TO BE INFECTED BY THE SOUNDwilywilywaysJune 10 2011, 01:33:23 UTC
[Fenris, honey, you're reaching.]
And that wasn't snide at all. I said I didn't like it, not that I was surprised. It's not as if anyone we know is on the station. Is it?
[The only one oblivious to the palpable tension is, as ever, Pickles. He shoves his nose into the elf's crotch by way of greeting, and his master snorts.]
ACTION TO GODMODED YOUR DOGilliterageJune 12 2011, 01:14:25 UTC
[ Fenris snarled with a harshness not even a mabari hound could manage on a bad day as he shoved away the animal's offending snout. Regaining his gait, he turned to Hawke without expression. ]
If only it were that simple.
[ Done with the cryptic dodging, Fenris dove into the opening of the barrack's seldom used and seldom known of public garage, Pickles followed. It was spartan, housing only a pair of weather beaten twenty first century jeeps for the use of residents needing to get to from one end of a zone to the other without the smaller teleporters. Fenris regarded them as insanely fortified carts, useless.
Still, he found area was satisfyingly private. Alone for a moment with the mabari, he turned to it, bent his knee, and let muscle memory guide his hands through the slobbery beast's fur; clawed gauntlets were powerfully useful for ear scratches. Stubbornness over his situation couldn't make Fenris deny that the dog's stench alone was a dead ringer for the one "back home."Tell me, mabari. Are you still the Kitten I knew
( ... )
ACTION TO I THOUGHT FENRIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A SASSY CATwilywilywaysJune 13 2011, 06:18:17 UTC
[Absurdly, Hawke has a moment where she feels guilty for not being the person he clearly wants her to be. Her pointy boots scuff at the garage floor, and she looks anywhere but at him and the mabari. The jeeps are bizarre and very interesting to look at.]
His name is Pickles. He got into a jar when he was a puppy and had the runs for a week after. Father called him that and, er, it took.
[He whuffles, drooling onto Fenris's finely crafted armor in agreement. She grins -- tentatively -- resisting the childish impulse to swing her arms.]
ACTION. HE HAS HIS MOMENTS, YOU'RE IN ONE. DWIilliterageJune 13 2011, 06:34:19 UTC
You never went into detail, I never asked. Everyone just assumed it was for whatever quick laugh could be gained from calling-- 'Kitten!'--only to see a mabari charging at you.
[ His use of you as opposed to a detaching Hawke was...a step in a direction that could be called right. Hawke kept her eyes on the jeeps, Fenris busied himself with the mabari. Retreating into their respective distractions, conversation apparently proved easier.
Fenris chewed his tongue, quiet for a time before before speaking. His voice was so low it could easily have been mistaken for a husky grumbling noise from either him, or the dog. ] Why I came--when I saw you...it was your face.
You're not going to claw my eyes out, are you?
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Where are you?
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Would that suit?
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The Barracks are not ideal for these sorts of discussions, but seeing as we both know where they are, it will have to do. When?
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Right. I'll just. Be here, then.
[Right. This is hopefully the beginning of a ceasefire. Let's keep the arguing on the down-low.
A little bit later finds Hawke hunkering down on the sidewalk stretching past the Kurzweil Barracks. She's clacking her steel toes together out of boredom. Pickles her ever-faithful mabari is curled up behind her, providing flop support.]
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We mustn't speak here. Follow me.
[ He spoke shortly, regarding the mabari with only a brief glance of interest before turning on his heels. ]
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Why mustn't we? You're being conspicuously shifty. I don't like it.
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[ He's already paces ahead of her, closing the distance between the dog and himself. He noted with stubborn spite that Hawke's mabari was darker. ]
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And that wasn't snide at all. I said I didn't like it, not that I was surprised. It's not as if anyone we know is on the station. Is it?
[The only one oblivious to the palpable tension is, as ever, Pickles. He shoves his nose into the elf's crotch by way of greeting, and his master snorts.]
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If only it were that simple.
[ Done with the cryptic dodging, Fenris dove into the opening of the barrack's seldom used and seldom known of public garage, Pickles followed. It was spartan, housing only a pair of weather beaten twenty first century jeeps for the use of residents needing to get to from one end of a zone to the other without the smaller teleporters. Fenris regarded them as insanely fortified carts, useless.
Still, he found area was satisfyingly private. Alone for a moment with the mabari, he turned to it, bent his knee, and let muscle memory guide his hands through the slobbery beast's fur; clawed gauntlets were powerfully useful for ear scratches. Stubbornness over his situation couldn't make Fenris deny that the dog's stench alone was a dead ringer for the one "back home."Tell me, mabari. Are you still the Kitten I knew ( ... )
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His name is Pickles. He got into a jar when he was a puppy and had the runs for a week after. Father called him that and, er, it took.
[He whuffles, drooling onto Fenris's finely crafted armor in agreement. She grins -- tentatively -- resisting the childish impulse to swing her arms.]
. . . Kitten, eh?
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[ His use of you as opposed to a detaching Hawke was...a step in a direction that could be called right. Hawke kept her eyes on the jeeps, Fenris busied himself with the mabari. Retreating into their respective distractions, conversation apparently proved easier.
Fenris chewed his tongue, quiet for a time before before speaking. His voice was so low it could easily have been mistaken for a husky grumbling noise from either him, or the dog. ] Why I came--when I saw you...it was your face.
You are in Leandra Hawke's spitting image.
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