He Raised A Hand, Smiling At Her As He Swore Solemnly, "I, Kaleh'a Quickdraw, Promise To Not Get Injured

He raised a hand, smiling at her as he swore solemnly, "I, Kaleh'a Quickdraw, promise to not get injured due to an addle-brained idea of high risk and no reward." He lowered his hand, glancing around for a moment, and noticed the Grand Marshal was missing, along with a few other high ranking members, and he let out a thoughtful hum, walking around the awning area, looking for them, and finding just the normal staff. The wounded, at least those that could walk, were already leaving, returning to homes or beds to rest and recover, and the archer realized the Marshals must have gone to survey the aftermath of the skirmish.

Which gave him a terrible idea that he accidentally voiced aloud. "I wonder if we could see where the attack was, get an idea what happened..." He said it absently, and a passing Twin Adder stopped, looked at Kaleh'a, recognized him, and replied as if he had asked them specifically.

"I would check in Larkscall, east of the Sylphgate. I heard something happened by Castrum Dryadis." Before Kaleh'a was even finished turning towards them to thank the young soldier, they were off, carrying a bundle of blankets for the infirmary, and leaving the archer shifting his hat on his head.

"Well," he murmured, his tail flicking behind him, "I might go take a look."

He wasn't purposely excluding Cyra, but he also felt like she wouldn't want to go, turning towards her again with every intention to dismiss himself and head for the area described.

He was quick to reply, and though she knew the apology wasn't necessary, it was the appropriate response. It's what people expected. Anger was an emotion that made people uncomfortable, even if it may have been justified, and hers was a never-ending ocean of it. It was more than she wanted to share. Even a single mote of lava could cause irreparable damage were it to touch the flesh. Cyra wanted to avoid lashing out without reason. Kaleh'a, at the very least, didn't deserve to become the target.

So the rage had been tucked away. Forced behind a door that had already been bending at the hinges behind the pressure that laid just on the other side. Deep breaths helped quell the quivering fury as it pounded on that cage. Now was not the time or place.

"So long as your wounds are not a result of some addle-brained idea with high risk and no reward, I would consider yourself safe should you require my services as a White Mage." The smile that tugged at her lips was gentle, but it wasn't genuine. The humor was there, but it was saturated with emotion.

13th-dragon-prince--[Prior]

“Trusted Command has earned… and Whillow has Feasted…” That blue tongue pushed between his lips slowly to lay at his bottom lip just a small amount before sliding back into the heat of his mouth - suggestively obvious for the bluff he played. How long would it take until his friend pushed him away? Till more of that hot-blooded heat flushed tender skin in such a fun reaction? It was always such a good time to tease!

He hadn't expected what Whillow had just randomly admitted, his eyes still looking away as if embarrassed, taking a moment to try and control that feeling as he saw from the corner of his eye the little dragon laughing, laughing at him. He felt that heat rise again, but this time for the sting to his pride at that laughter. He was used to being in control of his emotions, and he had dropped his guard with Whillow and he had pounced like a predator on that relaxation of his guard.

He turned, his scowl present, as the laughter finally subsided, and finding that Whillow's expression had changed, those slits mischievous, almond eyes locked on Bryn, and he found his expression turning from a scowl to a more concerned look, unsure what the wily dragon had planned. And rapidly, rapidly found out what.

Those light words were anything but light in meaning, the soldier's eyes widening, his body tensing, the slow pace Whillow took while approaching left him staring, watching how his tail swayed, his hips, every part of the dragon's body saying something, telling him something, suggesting something. The claws on his boots, the closeness of the dragon, essentially pressed to him, chest to chest, his heart pounding in his chest as he opened his mouth, tried to say something, and couldn't.

Claws dragged up his chest, wrapped around his neck, had the soldier hesitating, his hands lifting, darting to the gecko's hips, holding him, neither pushing him away, or pulling him closer. It was just to keep him there, just to make sure he didn't--

The little dragon rose, on his tip-claws, and the breath in Bryn's lungs froze, leg shifting, body shivering as that tail wrapped around his leg, held him close, whispered words leaving his mind reeling, thinking, entertaining. He eyed that tongue, the way it slithered from his lips, teased Bryn, and slipped back inside.

No. The little dragon did not get to suggest and tease without repercussion, he did not get to hint at what he was offering and expect Bryn to just push him away. His hand darted up to the Whillow's head, his neck, the back of it, holding him, pulling him up, close, his forehead pressed to his, his eyes, those silver pools, glowing, something rising, teasing, growling from his lips as he held Whillow there, his head tilting, his lips brushing the little dragon's pointed ear as he growled out, "Do no...tempt...me. Because I will...Whillow...take it."

The hand on his hips pulled him closer, pulled him right up against him, as he let the dragon press against him, press to his chest, to feel that beating heart, feel that pulse that beat wildly with interest, and slowly he let his face drift away from his ear, so close to the scaled cheek, before he felt his nose brush Whill's, and then pull back fully, his hand at his hip pushing him back softly, away from his warmth, but not off his boots, as he growled out just as teasingly, "Later. When I can have you to myself."

He whistled, softly, Featherflame trotting closer, fweeing with approval and readiness to go, Bryn jerking his head to the bird mount and saying, "Let's go. Unless...you are afraid of your new Trusted Command."

He was silent as she reached out and grabbed her staff, the conduit that focused her healing power seeming to relax her at least slightly, the Miqo'te archer following her as she exited the room, his mind on the injured, and the questions he had for the Grand Marshal. Questions, he realized, he likely would not get answers to. His brow furrowed for a moment, his eyes stormy blue, then fading away, the consternation giving way to concern for the blue haired Keeper, knowing that the injuries and their cause weighed heavier on her than he.

Although clearly it was taking a bit of a toll on him too, as he remembered he had left his bow and quiver with that prized feather back in the room, turning, sneaking back, slipping through the door, grabbing his stuff, and slipping out with a mouthed apology to a healer, slipping back up behind Cyra as he fell into step comfortably behind her. He was perfectly fine giving her time to process her thoughts, her feelings, let his own wash on through him, which all resulted in him just feeling more tired.

Clearly though, Cyra had a bit of fight left in her. Those white knuckles gripping her staff, finally starting to relax, suggested she was still wrapped up in her thoughts when they reached that open area again, where she had originally cast her spell, the archer stopping and leaning heavily against a support pole and letting out a groan, the feather reminding him of its presence by slowly tilting forward, the archer lifting weary hands and pulling it from the quiver and turning towards the counters behind him. He might as well get paid for the hunt, but Cyra's voice stopped him, his gaze turning to her in full as he focused on her pinched brow.

So she does have an opinion of these conflicts, he thought with mild interest. Her earlier comment on not helping an attacking force, only a defending one, was interesting to the hunter. The notion of not taking the fight to your enemy, or target, was foreign to him. To him, the first shot was the decider. It had to be. So why not fire it first? It certainly was not the same in a war, but this skirmish...how long could Gridania suffer casualties like that without some show of force?

"You never have to apologize to me for how you feel, Cyra." He gave her a soft smile, nodding his head to her. "I don't hold your concern or feelings against you. Frankly I would be slightly more concerned if you had no reaction!" He chuckled lightly and shifted the feather in his hands, tilting his head as he walked towards the Twin Adders levemete. "Your concern for them shows your heart, and suits one called to heal! Oh, and if they ever ask me to head to that area, I will be sure to not add another injured soldier to your burden."

It took him only a moment with the levemete to get his payment, handing over the feather as proof, the palm sized bag of Gil he received enough to pay for his room and food for a month, securing that need quickly enough. Which left what he had already earned, a considerable amount, free for him to use for other projects. Like purchasing wood, logs and planks, for the dilapidated house he had promised to help repair. Turning, his tail flicked softly, and his eyes dropped to her scarf, to the little blue feather charm there, and he smiled warmly. The skirmishes are getting worse, he thought, but at least...there is a little bit of joy still left here.

It took the gentle tone of Kaleh'a's voice to bring her back to the present. Her sideways glance at the hunter a quiet mark of acknowledgement at his suggestion. She released her painfully clenched hands, feeling the knuckles creak with overuse and strain. Cyra rubbed her hands together like she had been washing blood from her own stained hands. It was with a quiet sigh that she reached out for her staff that had leaned up against the wall. The familiar wood of her conduit felt like a home away from home in her hand.

Delicate, raw fingers wrapped around it gingerly to avoid the pain in her own hands from the work she had done. It was satisfying work, but this had left a sour taste in her mouth. This was not an accident, like she usually saw, or an illness that she spent many nights hand-brewing potions, tinctures, and other treatments to aid in recover. This was a slaughter.

The healer was eerily quiet as she exited the Twin Adder's Infirmary. She could tell by her fellow Keepers' concern that the unspoken questions had been ever present on their mind as they worked to aid the injured soldiers. She wanted nothing more to ignore the gnawing dread in the back of her mind. Now standing under the pluming fire of the evening sun, she stopped right outside of the entrance. She needed a moment to calm herself before she could even speak. This wasn't Kaleh'a's fault, and Cyra needed to curb her anger before it became an outburst without warrant.

They didn't have all the answers. Those wounds could have easily been from the hostile Ixal tribes in the area, or even a sudden attack by multiple different groups of the Shroud's dangerous flora and fauna. There were just too many variables, and without hard evidence or warning from the authorities that be, she needed to let go of the emotions that crowded her heart. The grip on her staff relaxed, her knuckles no longer blanched white with her palpable rage. Her shoulders eased into a more comfortable posture, and the lightly crinkled skin around her nose relaxed as she willed herself to let the feeling pass.

"Apologies." It was all she could say in response to her sudden change of behavior. They had only just met, and of course he hadn't needed to see her in such a violent expression. "The Grand Marshall knows my feelings about these conflicts. Not that my opinion matters, and it shouldn't, but I worry for the well being of those young men and women they keep sending to contested territory." She pinched the bridge of her nose, careful not to poke herself in the face with her own claws.

🍉 What’s your character’s favorite kink? (both)

Bryn: He seems slightly surprised by the question, but after a moment he chuckles. "Well, a rather personal question, but you did ask nicely so..."

He takes a drink of water, preparing for a day of travel, before he answers with no hesitation. "Dominance. I enjoy taking, and being, the dominant one. It's sweeter if my partner fights back a little. I will preface that with this though: I will never do something I haven't discussed with my partner before hand. Communication is beyond important if you are going to take control. Verbal and non-verbal." He takes another long drink, and when he sets the water glass down, his cheeks are slightly red.

"I...also have heightened senses from combat and...well, the point is that sensations and playing with them can be a huge turn on. Whether it is directed towards me or towards my partner depends, but sensual touches, or the deprivation of one sense to heighten another... All on the table."

Kaleh'a: "Oh wow! Someone has never asked me that before!" His tail flicks excitedly, and he scoots up slightly in his chair. "I'm a switch, I like to be dominated or dominate, so I have a few kinks, you might call them! One that goes both is voyeurism. Not in the 'fully in public' kind, but that sensation of 'we could be caught if we aren't careful'?" He shivers, and his tail curls up behind him, his ears standing at attention. "Heh, well, it adds a bit of extra spice to the interaction!"

Leaning back, he casually continues with, "Also, I grew up around bows, bow strings, and tying knots. I guess at some point it hit me I could use it for more than just tying up animals I had hunted, and it could be used for more intimate matters! It's a bit of power play, and I don't mind getting tied up, but there is something about putting that trust into someone else's hands to take care of you while you can't react... It's nice to know you have someone you can trust that deeply.

"Both of those, of course, need communication!" He laughed and glanced over at the stoic soldier. "I'm going to echo him, I ask before, during, and after to make sure my partner is okay. I'm not going to shy away from my likes! But I won't force them on someone either. So communication people!"

He chuckled at her intonation of the Twelve, his tail flicking good naturedly as he replied with, "Menphina has yet to fail me." His ears flicked, then settled, as he shifted slightly on his feet, leaning absently towards her, not touching her, but just close enough that he noticed, and shifted the other way on his feet, crossing his arms as he tilted his head. "I doubt they attacked unprovoked, more likely defended. There was no general call to arms at least... I just wonder where was attacked."

He rolled his shoulders, reaching up and adjusting his cap, then pulling it off, shaking his head like a dog as he let his hair fall back into place, the white tips gleaming until he pulled back on the cap, ears flicking and making it sure it rested just above them, not touching as he observed the injured, finally turning to Cyra fully, mouth open to say something...

His eyes flicked to her hands, the way they clenched, and he fell silent, watching for a moment as he let her go through...whatever she was going through. He didn't know her history, but something about this attack had made her uncomfortable, and he half wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder, comfort her, but he held back, knowing from the short time he had spent with her, it wouldn't be well received. He waited for her to calm before he spoke, his voice soft as he nodded to the door. "Come on, let's get some fresh air. We've done all we can here. And I can only imagine how exhausted you are."

He reached out, opening the door to the infirmary, opening it for her and holding it, as he gave her a soft smile.

Cyra's ear rotated toward the other Keeper who moved to stand at her side. Her careful eyes followed the direction his finger pointed her in. The way his hands shook was understandable. This job wasn't for everyone. It was messy. It was painful, and not every effort made would result in a life saved. These Adders were the lucky ones. Still, there was something the Grand Marshal hadn't told them before coming in to aid the urgently injured. It didn't sit right with her.

She let out a soft hum in acknowledgement of his statement. Observant as she would have expected a hunter to be. Yet, as he looked back at her, she felt the guilt on his words.

"Pray that the Twelve keep you safe from harm. The ones here are only lucky enough to have made it home." Her tone was even, the barest of anger peeking through as the emotion hung on her lips. "I hope the Grand Marshall understands the cost. And I hope that for his sake, this was not anything other than a defensive effort."

She couldn't stop her shaking hands from clenching at her sides, sharp nails poking at the skin but not breaking it. Cyra was not opposed to aiding the Adders in their defensive efforts if they needed more mages on the field, but she would not assist in an offensive strike. She knew the kind of destruction the Garleans were capable of. She had been part of it at some point, regretfully.