Logfile from M3
You
enter the
The monument of old and rebuilt several
times over, the Greenwish Observatory stands as both
an ancient landmark and a marvel of modern science. Built alongside the
majestic and famous
Contents: Contents:
Hien arrives from the
Hien has arrived.
The
leaves were just beginning to change colors; there was still enough moisture to
render them still stiff, not crunchy or brown, and the brief kisses of cold had
done interesting things to some of their colors, though it was light. The
recent rains had swollen the river a bit, though near the shore in certain
places it was a little less fierce. A figure floated there, treading water, the
sculpted skin pale like that of a corpse, the closed eyes supporting this
impression, though there was a warmth to the skin that no dead body could hold,
and the fact that the figure managed to maintain himself in his position
despite the current, even muted as it was, showed that he was, in fact, not
dead. The faintly offcolored water, clean but still
faintly silted as river water was prone to be tinted the skin below the surface
a warm mocha, and for all appearences the fellow
seemed to be asleep. What was visible was... well, flawless, chiseled, the
figure dressed only in a pair of white shorts and what looked like a length of
prayer beads around his neck.
What
a strange coincidence -- or perhaps not so strange -- that others should pass
by, also wanting to enjoy nature... and, well, notice. Or not notice. Hey look,
it's a dead guy! Right, must be a tourist. Move along.
The
Fool, clad in some of his newer raiment, is strolling along, hands in pockets,
just enjoying the change of weather. He had always liked cold weather in
It
reminds him of home. It isn't anywhere near the same, but...
He's
got a song on his mind, too, and as is in his nature to do, he gives voice to
that song, bringing it out of the murky depths of his mind and into the crisp
September air.
Je n'ai pas peur de la route o/`
Faudra
voir, faut qu'on y goute
o/` Des méandres au creux des reins
Et
tout ira bien...
The
prayer beads stir faintly as the chest suddenly raises a bit, a stir of darker
silt rising as the figure abruptly gives his arms a bit of a swirl, reorienting
to the vertical with an easy movement and erupting casually from the water, the
stuff cascading out of the long, tangled strands of shiny raven black, the warm
brown undertones of it coming through faintly as he clawed a drift of dark,
pouring bangs from his forehead, pushing them back casually. He straightens,
rising from the water, the liquid streams dripping from his hair and from the
odd shorts, the hand wide strip of semitransparent dark brown vinyl-like
substance between the hem and the upper leg make an interesting contrast to the
pure white of it that complements his pale skin. He slips towards shore, not
even minding the cold, and indeed, he almost seems to be ...steaming? Must be the temperature change. "I do so miss the
water..."
Hearing
someone singing about... roads? He concentrates faintly, a little rusty with
his french, and idly wanders up the slope. Although
he's damp and barefoot, oddly no dirt seems to cling to his feet as he makes
his way upwards.
Le vent l'emportera
o/`
Ton
message à la grande ourse
Et la trajectoire de la course
A l'instantané
de velours--
The
Fool stops his singing abruptly, hearing both someone emerging from the water
rather hastily AND a voice. A familiar voice, at that.
He even jumps slightly, head whipping around to track the noise. Who...what--?
Staring in that direction for some indication of
what that was, Feste picks up singing after only a
moment's pause.
Même s'il ne sert
à rien... o/`
Feste(#3650POenAC)
A broad-shouldered, wiry man of
Norwegian ancestry, Feste stands about 6'5", and
carries himself with the air of a man who has unlimited patience and grace;
seemingly gliding rather than walking. His face is foxlike,
with high cheekbones, unusually narrow for his bloodline. The creases and lines
of someone who smiles often and a perpetual twinkle in his ruby-red, synthetic
eyes give him an almost permanently amused look -- like he's enjoying some
private joke you're not quite in on.
His hair is a bright blonde, naturally
streaked with darker strands. Unruly bangs frame his thin, ovallish
face, and the rest of it is bound in a tightly tied ponytail that glides
between his shoulderblades, the ends hanging at about
the middle of his back.
Today Feste
wears a long-sleeved black shirt, almost like the top of a tunic or uniform in
the fabric it's made of. It's a sharp coal black, with a high collar --
currently unbuttoned -- and the shoulders are a bright crimson, providing a
sharp contrast. The red extends down his arms, gradually tapering into a point
at the cuffs. It's relatively tight-fitting, but not overly so.
The rest of his outfit is similarly
simple, and similarly dark. Black slacks just barely cover most of black, synth-leather shoes, which appear to have very thin soles.
They add nary an inch to his height, only adding to his generally amiable
appearance. The last detail is a pair of sunglasses -- polarized round lenses
with silver rims and zig-zagging arms of the same
color.
Feste might be a tad bit startled as a streaming
figure suddenly appears beside him, the steps casual and the only sound the
occasional dripping of water; his approach was silent, his appearance free of
fanfare or telltales, and his eyes off in the distance for a moment before he
turns slowly, regarding the one beside him, and comments softly in a warm
voice. "You seem a little too joyous to be singing of melancholy
things..." He takes the red eyed one in for a moment, his posture changing
a bit as he shifts around, now walking a tiny bit ahead of Feste
and backwards, though he seems to have no issue navigating in this method. He
takes Feste in thoughtfully, his hair already having
ceased it's long, incessant dripping, and now merely
lay long and intertwined with itself. He states it easily, a simple observation
he had made before. "You don't like looking at me."
!
The
first words that spill out of Feste's mouth are the
Norwegian equivalent of 'Jesus Christ!' Poor Fool. He's really not used to
being sneaked up on, especially not like -that-. Normally he could hear them
before they got close. Not today, it would seem.
The
song is effectively over, at least right now. Hah. Feste
keeps on a-walkin', only looking back at Hien once to affirm that it is, indeed, That Guy. Ngh...
It's
not that he's... hostile, or bothered, or annoyed or anything along that vein.
He's just... shy? Avoidant? Subdued.
Yes. That's the word.
"I
have no exquisite reason for 't, but I have reason
good enough," he says, easily heard. His pace is steady, even, and still
slow.
The
figure wasn't trying to be forceful... he wasn't trying to be insulting, or
particularly harsh. He just spoke as he saw it, and did so in a self assured
voice. There was no malice there, no hurt intended, and indeed, his tones were
assured and thoughtful more than anything else. "You do not strike me as
too terrible an introvert. Why do you shrink back from me? Do you dislike me?
...or maybe there is something that you'd not like seen?" He steps up a
bit, so that he's almost in front of Feste, though
still walking so as not to block this one. He looks thoughtful for a moment,
his words curious, exploratory. "Have I offended you in some way?" Another pause, and thoughtful. "Do you not like me? Am
I annoying you? I wasn't trying to. If I was, you would know for certain, I
assure you..."
The
Fool cannot help but smile, but he's still -not looking at Hien-.
Rather, he's contemplating his shoes. They're nice shoes. Very
comfortable. He continues walking.
"Not
at all, sir," he says, rather airily. It's the hallmark of the Fool --
aloofness. La di da~
"Not at all. I am simply being cautious. The times call for it, and I must
respond in kind." A nod. Yes. That's what I
wanted to say. That works.
"Did
you like my song?" A change of subject. It's time
Feste did a little probing of his own.
The
eyes never stopped staring, their gaze piercing, oddly insistant,
an expression that this one rarely wears. He abruptly
stops, so that if Feste were still studying his
footwear he might not notice until the last moment. "It was beautiful, and
touching, but you sing it too sadly. It doesn't suit you." And abruptly,
the hand drifts forward, just before Feste's chest,
so as to keep him from running into the damp figure. The fingers drift upwards,
trying to beckon the chin and head up, though not touching right away. His
words are thoughtful. "...You are interesting too."
It's
musing, then he's turned away, idly lashing his fingers through his hair a few
times, a leather string in his teeth as he begins working on his hair, not
facing Feste for a moment as he gathers a quick and
expert ponytail, the hair rapidly drying despite the chill. Even the proximity
to the pale man's fingers would have conveyed a certain searing heat, as if
fevered, though obviously he was not. "What are you being cautious for? I
don't carry a weapon, as I am sure you can see..."
[OOC]
Feste
ahem.
[OOC]
Feste o/`
Hot-blooded, hot-blooded! o/` ?
[OOC]
Hien has a metabolism ICly
like a small rodent. he eats a full meal seven times a
day and tends to exercise about six or seven hours at a time. he only sleeps four hours a day and he can't stand standing
still.
[OOC]
Feste says, "Geez louise. o.o"
Talk
about 'dangerously close'. The reaction is quite likely the desired one -- Feste stops almost immediately as those fingers go for his
chest, and his head snaps up. Not so violently as the word 'snap' might imply,
but you get the general idea.
"It
does too suit me. Music is not about everyone else's perception of it, it's
about the musician's perception of it," Feste
responds flippantly, as he eyes Hien. He hadn't
really gotten a -good- look at him yet...
"You
are a creature of violence," he says after a brief pause to cross his arms
over his lower chest. He can see that in Hien -- he's
seen it in too many other people.
"I
am a creature of movement, of energy, of potential. Yes, perhaps violence,
though I have not explored that aspect of myself as of yet. Things have been
moving at a pace I rather dislike. A slow one."
He turns then, dropping his fingers from his rapidly
drying hair, his eyes finally fixing on Feste's,
trying to hold them there, perhaps a momentary battle of wills. He seemed to do
this subconsciously, his demeanor thoughtful. "I am not weak and helpless
if that is what you mean. Does this make you nervous? Is this why you avoid
me?" He wanders a bit closer, his gaze never wavering, though it was a tad
bit more social now, less rigid. "Are you used to dealing with those who
are unable to bring a hand against you? Are you used to being 'safe'?" At
that word, he says it in a certain inflection, as if safety, as if relaxation
and contentment were something abhorrent to him that he tolerated for society's
sake.
"You
are regretful, sad. If this is the twist that the singer adds to the song, then
tell me. What has caused this within you that you would bleed pressure from
that wound through song? If it is truly the musician's
perception of it."
Oh,
so. Feste forces himself to look back. Do not be
timid, Andruw. Do not force my hand. You are only
making this unpleasant. Besides... it's fun.
"Tch. I am not afraid of
power. Prior experiences have taught me, though, that it is a wise man who
takes his time with those who are, and have it." He shrugs. "Safety
is not such an abominable thing, sir. Not all of us are as formidable as you
are." As you look, more like.
The
latter comment gives him pause. Feste's head cocks to
the side, ever so slightly, as he contemplates it.
"It
is, in a way. The man who wrote this later put a bullet in his significant
other's head," he says, musing. "As for -my- causes, those are not
yours to examine. If you want to know, you shall have to earn it through time,
persistence, and hard work. Oh, and I give points for creativity."
The
figure softens his gaze perhaps a bit at that, gently inclining his head and
commenting softly. "Sumimasen.
I, perhaps, am being a bit forceful, and for that I am regretful." He
pauses a moment, staring out over the beauty of the river, and comments simply.
"A great double fistful of this world is rather unique to me, so I am not
sure what would count as creativity or what would not. I suppose that would be
within your perceptions..."
He
pauses, turning in his own way to eye Feste. His
words are slow for once. "I admit, I am not a being of the slow, the long,
the drawn out, or the patient... but I ...I can learn, perhaps. I have much to
learn in this world still, as I am sure all of you do."
The
pause is thoughtful this time, before Feste might
find the black haired marble statue beside him again, the movement swift and
barely registered. He studies him again, his smile never deviating faintly. "Earning it. Is that an open invitation, as it so
sounds to be? Or a challenge?"
Apologies already. That's interesting; he
doesn't get apologized to often. So far apologizing to Feste
involves rope and chairs, but we won't get into that.
The
Fool listens rather contently to Hien's words,
perhaps relishing the sound of his voice. Yes. The game is begun.
Instead
of speaking, Feste starts singing again -- a
different song this time, much slower, but also lacking that false-upbeat
pretense of before. This is part of the game, a phase that so far only a few
have been initiated into the mysteries of. Feel special.
Stroke of luck or
gift from God?
Hand of fate
or devil's claws?
From below or saints
above?
You come to me... o/`
And,
in something much slower, much more held, restrained, tempered, the figure...
stops. He wasn't moving before but he suddenly stops even the stillness of
before, to a lack of movement often attributed to terms such as zero kelvin, and other such theoretical
concepts. He turns to the red eyed one, his voice soft as he dully echoes.
o/`Here comes
the cold again.
I feel it closing in
It's falling down and
All around me falling.o/`
Sadly,
it would be beautiful, were it not for the almost frightened tones in the young
man's voice. He drags a hand through his bangs, seeming to grasp for control of
himself, looking almost pained for a moment... before he stares softly to Feste, the look once more unreadable, complex, thick with thought and feeling and something else, something
hard to define.
"You
do sing... so well."
Excellent. His judgement
was not wrong, and his efforts were not wasted. Two can indeed play this game.
Although
the reaction Hien gave wasn't exactly the one he was
expecting. Not really. Sure, being sung at did produce some *odd* ones, but
very rarely did people seem so... well... like this.
The
Fool's hands, clasped behind his back, grip tighter. "Thank you," he
replies, quietly. Well, that's why he was singing in the first place! Now to make his next move.
"So,"
says Feste, still looking Hien
in the eye, "what's your name?"
Hien
This
young man has a strangely sculpted look to him, like he were
carved from a single block of marble. Standing six feet tall, he has a spry and
sprightly bearing, his movements swift, eager, and full of energy. His young
face has sharp features and is crossed with a faint smile more often than not, and his pale blue eyes burn with intensity... gaze
darting to and fro, mindful of everything in the world around him, as though he
were fascinated by even the most mundane details. His skin is pale, smooth and
flawless... not even the smallest scar, blemish or wrinkle to be seen, helping
accentuate his carved, statuesque appearance. In contrast with his pale skin,
his hair is a dark, raven black, pulled into a snug ponytail that flutters
behind him as he moves.
He's
dressed up in a rather Ninja-appropriate outfit, quite similar in design to Hiryu's, though its color is a stark, ghostly white.
Bundled around his neck is a long white scarf that like his ponytail, trails
with his movements. The flawless pale skin of his arms are exposed by his
sleeveless white gi, forearms wrapped in white and
hands snug in brown, fingerless gloves. His white pants are loose up to the
knee, then bound tight and tucked into heavy, brown and black combat boots.
Various straps and belts support other various pouches and pockets, their color
likewise dark brown against the white of his uniform. Across his back is
strapped the unmistakable shape of a Strider's Cipher, its blade honed and
polished to a mirror finish.
The
name comes up easily into his memory, and slides easily onto his lips. He
didn't really like the nickname Guy, but White Man, or Man of Ivory White, as Jingen Zougeiro roughly
translated to, worked just fine for him. "My name is Hien."
Yeah,
as a name it worked- waitaminute... hold that
thought, rewind.
Hien felt, at that moment, abruptly vulnerable, a
feeling he didn't particularly relish, a feeling he'd felt only a few times;
floating in the warm brush of that ever so faintly too cold liquid, gripped in
the teleportation matrix, and just now, a simple slipup he had no reason to
commit.
He
studies Feste thoughtfully, not quite knowing how
this could go, one way, or to the other. And so he played it
off casually, merely gazing off over the water.
The
Fool has a tendency to influence those around him in strange and surprising
ways, whether he realizes it or not. Sometimes he makes a conscious effort, and
other times... he is just as surprised as his 'victim'.
"Hien," echoes Feste, trying
the name out. Hien. It's kind of nice, actually. Has a nice ring to it...simple
vowel sounds... yes. "A pleasure to make your
acquaintance."
He
smirks, and takes advantage of Hien's being distracted to study him back without having to meet
that stare.
Ahh, but the stare is not that easy to avoid. He
knows he's being stuided, and for some reason, this
amuses him, and so he does not move to meet that stare as he had originally
contemplated doing, but instead merely lets a casual roiling flex of all the
muscles on his back play across his smooth, chiselled
skin, letting everything along his neck, shoulders, waist and lower back
progressively tighten and relax once in a steady downward motion, letting it
continue to his thighs and calves, before flexing his toes in the dirt. "As it is with you. I'm glad you like it... your voice
called to me, you know. Maybe it's the voice. Maybe it's something about you,
but you're one to be noticed, I have seen."
Yes,
well. Hien is certainly pretty to look at and AUGH
that's DISTRACTING.
Despite
the momentary... how shall we put it... inner turmoil that simple act of
showing off gives Andruw, all that shows of it is a
brief blink. Uh-hmm. that's
very interesting, yes.
Feste idly rises up on his toes, then
rocks back onto his heels. An unconscious sort of thing --
just fidgeting. Tra la la. His
voice, oh?
"Oh,
yes," replies Feste, practically beaming. "Very much so. It's my job, really."
Hien studies this one, though not in the eyes, as
that seems to make him a bit nervous. He lets his eyes run down this one, and
back up, the gesture as subconscious as Feste's
fidgeting, though just as casual, so not as harsh as say, the visual
interrogation he's used to offhandedly tossing around. He offers Feste a warm and... approving? Smile, his hands casual as they briefly undo the knot at the back
of his head, his hair (which still manages to look both hot and masculine
despite its length. Ha, take THAT Mr Booblights!) coming loose in his
hands for a moment, trailing between fingers before he rapidly reties it. At a
pause, Hien moves once more close, not seeming to
notice or really observe the laws of comfort zones, and, his nose almost
touching Feste's chin, (for yes, he is a bit shorter
than he is)... as his hand casually came up, drifting slowly through the bangs,
the skin feverishly hot and the eyes that studied him thoughtful, casual, and
obviously seeing little to no issues with what he does. "You are, perhaps,
the second person I have seen with hair like this..." The words are
musing.
Hm. Feste continues to
just observe -- seems he's turned the tables on Hien.
Ha! Take that.
Double
hm. Feste isn't sure what's
up with the hair, although the smile is nice. It's very pretty hair, though --
he just doesn't understand the seemingly random tying and retyi--
Forget
the laws of comfort zones. Hien has just crossed the
demilitarized zone and entered into enemy territory. Feste
inhales sharply as he finds the shorter man very very
VERY close... hands in his hair...
He
does not so much as twitch, staying stock-still...
must not move. Don't move. Just stay. Keep your cool...
"Do
you mean the color?" Yes. That's the ticket. Keep talking.
Hmm... "No, I was referring to more... the
length. Most males seem to have shorter... are you okay?" He paused, for
just a moment as his hand withdrew, he almost looked vulnerable, confused...
then a look of embarassed agitation. He pulls away,
taking a simple step back, and abruptly brings the heel of his hand up,
slamming him hard once between the eyes, a tad bit higher, more his forehead.
"Stupid. Stupid. Personal space! Rrrrrgh."
He turns away, hiding his own embarassment, not
knowing how to react to what Feste might be feeling.
That... was probably a rather large faux pass there, and it had been going so
well too... His fist tensed faintly, his posture radiating embarassment.
He hadn't even been embarassed when Sheena had
explained that people wore clothing when they went swimming... why was he so embarassed now?
His
words were awkward, and honest. "I... am not sure if... an apology is
sufficient in such a situation, but I would wish to offer one anyway. I hope it
does not add to your insult."
"Oh,"
replies Feste, sounding quite embarrassed himself.
"...ah..."
As
Hien backs off and turns away, Feste
swallows, and after another second, relaxes. That was strange, and mildly
frightening, and yet kind of nice all at onc-- dammit, not again. The Fool sighs inwardly -- oh, Andruw, when will you get over yourself? Stupid
little Anglican boy.
F
merely waits as Hien gets himself sorted out, taking
advantage of the pause to resettle himself.
"It's
quite alright. I wasn't insulted to begin with." Strange, though, that Hien should have no knowledge of these things. I mean, it's
only proper... hm... "Don't -- worry about
it," he manages, after another awkward (at least for him) moment.
He
turned back then, eyeing him, his own gaze still aflame with those cold blue
fires of his mortification, but they are tempered as he gains control handful
by handful. His words were soft. "I wish I could. I tried not worrying
about it, but then it just got worse until I worried about it a bit, and it
seemed only then I was able to fix things. I want to drop it, but then, it
might not be fixed, and then you would hate me." He wasn't looking at Feste right then, and frankly, he was a bit afraid of doing
so for one of the first times... "I don't want you hating me Feste, ...not
for something like that. I do not want you to hate me for anything, but
especially not a simple, stupid mistake."
Facing
that gaze, Feste finds he is perhaps not as strong as
he thought he was. He's frightened by the intensity of the gaze -- not visibly,
as his actor's self-discipline has made facial expressions just another tool,
but inwardly.
"I
do not hate," F replies, voice equally soft and soothing. Not without
great reason and sufficient provocation... "Especially
not for things like that. Be at peace, sirrah."
Oh
snap, he said sirrah again. (curses!)
Rather than an insult, he uses it as a term of endearment, and so...
Hien nods, playing with his hair again. The gesture
seemed almost ingrained, as his hands drifted along his scalp, slightly mussing
the hair in the tie. It was a subconscious thing. Almost an
instinctive thing. His mother did it. Well, one of them. Sheena. She
habitually played with her hair. That's where he got it from. the hair now had a tiny bit of wildness to it, no longer
smooth and tight and controlled. Sorta like the edgy
white clad and white figured form, now dry, and hot in the fleeting wind. He
turned back, staring at Feste for a second, those
eyes still full of emotions, not just accepting, but also giving, though what
they gave was muddled, wild and unreadable.
"I
am glad... I dislike the thought of being... disliked... by you. Why do I
dislike the idea of being disliked by you so strongly?"
This
must be what Abernathy feels like, what with his constant urges to braid Feste's hair. The Fool would just love to either swat Hien or put his hair back up or something... odd as that
sounds. sigh.
Words, words, words. So
useful. So worthless. So
telling. So confusing. What to make of them? Feste crosses his arms again, if only because it means
movement. He fidgets, you see. He looks askance to the water over yonder and
smiles.
"Because I am very, very likeable, Hien. People are drawn to me. They
don't quite understand it, but still, they are unable to deny it," the
Fool replies, almost lecturing the Strider. Yes. Professor Feste will teach you all you need to know about living
life! (flee while you still can)
Use
the tone of authority on a child and they will listen, and thus he was, and
thus he did. It was subconscious, the gesture, the straightening of the
shoulders, the alignment of the spine. The eyes,
boring into his brai- well, maybe not so much that
bit. He listened. Oh great god he was listening. With a
capital L. He was Listening. He nodded as that
brief bit came, and then, with that faint confusion, he asked. "But likable visually as well as the rest? Why am I
drawn to you that way among all the rest? I don't want to touch other people's
hair..." this seems to confuse the young man, and he slips into a thinking
pose, obviously a Thinking Pose, his look intense and musing.
"It
just keeps getting more complicated. Every day. More complicated." Literally in that
case. This was day four and it was already starting to make his head
spin.
Except
Feste, in his teacher-mode (he has one! he was a TA
at oxford!) isn't really watching Hien, and thus
cannot see his Thinking Pose. Feste turns toward the
river
"Visually? Absolutely.
I have a very pleasing appearance, and apparently, very nice hair..." He hmms, thoughtfully. Yes.
Everyone -- EVERYONE -- wants to touch his hair. This has become an undeniable
fact. He's also unsure whether to be flattered or get his gun.
"You
would not be the first. Not even close," he continues, amused. "As
for complications..." The Fool turns back to Hien.
"Life
is one giant complication. It's part of what makes things interesting,
no?"
Hien nods. This one is indeed knowledgable.
Almost in the same way father is knowledgeable. Well... of the father that is
still alive, though he knew Master Roshi (XD) counted
as his father as well. He was knowledgeable as well. So many
wise people in this world. He nodnodded
thoughtfully, before turning to Feste for a moment,
and asked, completely out of the blue. "Will YOU go swimming with me some
time?" It was... pretty sudden, yeah. >.>
Ooh.
Swimming. He hadn't actually done that in... a long time, and... he missed it. Quite a bit.
Feste arches an eyebrow in slight surprise, still
smiling roguishly. "Will you let me teach you how to fish? I think it
would be a good lesson in patience for you." Truth.
And he really would like to... Abby's a dumb vegetarian, so...
[OOC]
Feste meheheh. If I can get you to sit still that long, I
think they should give me a prize.
[OOC]
Hien says, "Uh, Yeah. He tends to standing
exercise after a minute and a half of not moving, if you can, then, well,
DUDE."
[OOC]
Feste can see it now. "Look, Hien!
A fish!" *Hien jumps in
after it* "...well, that's one way to do it..."
Hien is SO SO SO VERY not a vegetarian. His food groups so far are Meat
and Unhealthy. Yes. Unhealthy. Something he's devoted
to. He can burn off any impurity and fat dies in his system in flames. He has
to eat unhealthy. Low fat? Low
calorie? Even cholesterol is slaughtered by his raging metabolism. He is
NOT a vegetarian. "I'd like that." Though in truth, it'd be a unique
experience for both of them. "Okay. I fish, you swim. That work?"
"Works
for me," answers Feste cheerfully. Yay! Fish! Swimming! Cute ni-- er.
Hien is SUCH eye candy. Admit it! Give in to the hot
sculped bod!
But
then Abby would hurt him, and Andruw would freak out,
because he's a pansy with morals.
Feste hmms quietly, tapping
his fingers on his arms. "When shall we do this, sirrah?"
Hien is hypnosis, he is allure, he is beauty that
knows it and at the same time does not. He is innocence and competence and
confidence and he has a nice ass too. But currently he's thinking. "I have
no obligations unless my fathers decide they have something they wish me to
do... so when you are available I suppose."
"Ah."
Yes, well. You've got to be careful about who notices these things, sometimes.
"I am in much the same position, except instead of...fathers... I have a
patron. Though, even then..." Feste bites his
lip to stop a smile, half-succeeding.
"...let's
just say I'm open. Call me sometime." (teehee)
Hien nodded faintly. "Oh, I will. I will."
He turns, bowing to this one, and in a formal tone intones. "oyasuminasai. Thank you and
goodnight, I think it is time for me to eat again." He pauses, looking
minutely annoyed. "Three times. Pfft."
[OOC]
Hien is going to ICly die
when he's like 35 or something. We're talking multiple heart attacks, stroke
and GRAND MAL seizures... >.>
[OOC]
Feste says, "geez louise."
[OOC]
Hien says, "He's grinding his body to the limit
as it is. I figure it'll be going along great, then BOOM it's over violently.
Live fast, die young, win valuable prizes."
Ooh,
a bow! Feste bows right back -- not the straight bow
of the Japanese, but the sweeping one of a European courtier.
"Takk for i dag,
og god fornoyelse,"
he says, with just about as much formality. Thanks for this, have a nice day. Later, kiddo. He starts off, but then halts, to turn and
wink at the Strider.
"Don't
die on your way home," he adds, in a precise imitation of a certain albino
government official.