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"That's just as well, I guess," he decided cheerfully, after taking a moment to laugh. "I doubt I could run as far as I used to, especially in this heat. Being ridiculous is much easier." And, in some ways, just as useful. Trine's junior goldrider had enough serious concerns, even with Abigail awake again, and he was more than happy to take her mind off politics. It was far from heroic, but it worked for him. Besides, she was pretty when she smiled.

Perhaps not a green flit, then, Pipith amended. A brown, I think. Yes, His was good-natured and reliable, if not timely. They make each other laugh. It is good.

"Maybe I could, but you might not want anything to do with me after," he teased. "Have you ever been near a Runner who just finished a long run? We get all gross and sweaty." Not that riders didn't get plenty gross and sweaty at times, especially in an environment like Trine's, but it wasn't quite the same.

"That sounds like a good deal to me. I think a haggard old wher is about the last thing I want to look like." He shuddered dramatically at the thought.

Pipith pressed his own nose against Cepheith's, exhaling softly. We will remind them to visit more often, and they will give each other more smiles. Real ones.

His triumphant grin at earning a 'point' quickly turned into a concerned frown at the mention of scented oil. On him. That was just wrong. But he was not about to be defeated! "Then I'll just have to take my shoes off, and trust me, no amount of scented oil can cover up the smell of Runnerfeet."

"Yeah, but on the upside, being a goldrider means no one would really care if you looked like a wher," Set'al pointed out, chuckling.

That chuckle was cut off, however, by the serious look she was suddenly giving him. He was pretty sure they were still being not serious, but shards, there was always something a little scary about girls when they decided to look Serious. It took a couple of beats longer than it should have to formulate an amusing reply. "I take care of that thing," he answered, pointing at Pipith. "It's a full-time job."

Yes, we will, the bronze agreed, answering her croon with one of his own. He did not attempt to refute his rider's accusation.

"As long as you promise keep your scented oil to yourself, I'll keep my feet to myself." He kicked lightly back at her foot with his in retaliation. He did not want to smell like flowers, thank you, or whatever other flavors such products might come in.

"How kind of you to consider your bronzeriders," he said dryly. "I think I speak for all of us when I say I appreciate it. It'll make fawning so much easier." That was hard to get out without losing it again.

"He always does." The prospect of Pipith getting back at him didn't dampen his spirits at all; really, what could the bronze do that he hadn't done before? Or often. Like wake him up obscenely early. "Oh, I can think of a few times, but that would kind of kill the mood. Wherfaces and Runnerfeet are much more fun."

"Warning duly noted," he promised, and pretended to be thrown off-balance by the shove. He let himself teeter on one foot for a few seconds before resuming a more solid stance. "Careful~!"

At her determination that she should make it harder for them to fawn over her, Set'al snorted - and if she was flirting, he managed to remain oblivious to it under the guise of all their joking around. "Yeah, good luck with that. You really would need a wherface, and you'd probably need to smell pretty bad, too. That might keep us away, or at least force us to fawn over you from a safe distance."

"Thanks. The last thing he needs is more reasons to make my life miserable." This was said fondly, however, without any real bite to it. As much as they liked to complain at and about each other, he and Pipith were still partners.