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Silva levitated to the countertop, heading for the scrolls hanging on the walls, looking for some sort of diagram. He scowled slightly as he realized there wasn't one. The closest they came to decribing how the feien anatomy worked was in the "Feien Sex" section.

That wasn't what he was looking for. This time. But he kept reading, a thought looming in the back of his mind...

There was a flutter and then a soft metallic clunk from the windowsill as someone tried to navigate a slightly-awkward item indoors. Kookaberra struggled only a moment more before managing to unsnag her trident from the edge of the windowframe and continue into the shop. While the trident, by normal comparison, was still very tiny and intricate, for a feien of her size, it was hard to get around with.

She rather hoped to see a familiar face. She'd gone out twice and both times had run into Indra in the past week, but had yet to check in with her other friends. Recalling she'd run into Shalafi here before, she hoped to see him again.

Silva looked up at the sound, frowning slightly as he tried to place the new feien. He couldn't. She might have been at that dumb party Ice had insisted on throwing, but he hadn't paid much attention back then.

Besides, she was short.

But the fork thing was interesting... "You need help with that, darlin?" He drawled, slightly amused at her trouble.

Berra turned in mid-air to try and place the voice, her ears perking. She hadn't immediately noticed anyone before, but she quickly located the maroon-winged silver-haired feien nearby.

"Hmm?" it took her only a minute to realize he meant her cargo. "Oh, I think I've got it! Thanks, though!" she smiled, moving to land and introduce herself. Her statement was not supported much by the fact it made her flight a little uneven as she did so. When the she landed, she was a little winded and gratefully shifted the trident so it was propping up her weight.

Silva smirked, shrugging as she leaned on the tridant. "What is that thing, anyways? A fork?" She didn't look like the type to carry around a big-a** weapon, but who was he to say?

Indra fluttered in, looking a little... sneaky? Well that wasn't like him at all. He slipped in though the mail slot, catching on of his wings momentarily in the metal flap and hanging until a hearty bounce dislodged him. Hmm... this wasn't his best moment at all. He was trying to investigate the portals without raising any eyebrows but it seemed that wasn't going to be happening this morning. Served him right for not trying in the evening like he usually did. But what was this? Familar faces? He brushed off his grey markings, batted his wings free of clinging dust, and wandered into the spattering of feien.

Berra looked to the three-pronged trident and then back to Silva. "Sort of..." she said with a shrug to match his own, her smile slipping a notch at her own fatigue with the weapon. Ever since talking to Indra about it, she'd become bound and determined to get the trident under control before it could hurt someone. She was getting a little better at staving off the sudden and inexplicable waves of sadness or anger it tried to instill in her when she was near it at least.

"Yanvir sent me on a quest for it a little while ago...but I wouldn't eat spaghetti with it, if that's what you mean. It has kind of a temper." She was willing with the information as she saw no need to hide where it was or where it had come from.

As though in confirmation, the yellow jewel at the base of the prongs gave off the faintest pulse of light.

"It's a tempermental fork." Silva repeated, blandly. "Hell, I'll buy that. You know how to use it?" He was curious. And when he was curious he was more apt to help someone out. In his own messed up way. "I mean like a weapon."

He reached down, fingering his chain as he evaluated the differences between the tridant and his own weapon. The tridant wouldn't have as much flexibility, but it would require less momentum to make an impact...

"Not yet, no...I haven't had it long enough." she said with an almost apologetic shake of her head. Up until actually carting it back home, Berra had never seen the need for a weapon of any description. In fact, up until it had been pointed out to her that weapons could be used for defense and not just for attacking, she preferred to simply think of the stabby fork as being an ornamental accessory.

Now, however...

One yellow eye wandered back to Silva and the way he was looking between his chain and the trident. Likewise the way he seemed much...well...brawnier than any juvenile she'd seen. Perhaps he had experience with these sorts of things and that was why he'd asked...

"But I'm willing to learn?" she offered, standing up straight and not leaning quite so heavily on the fork any longer. "Anything to keep it from going off again and hurting anyone unless I tell it to."

Her mind turned to the small hole in Karma's bedroom wall the trident had been responsible for and she tried not to feel guilty. She didn't want to hurt ANYONE, really...but, if it ever came to that...

Silva smirked, anticipation running through his veins. So what if it wasn't his weapon? This might be entertaining. "I can't promise I'll know exactly how to use that, darlin. But if you're having trouble with it, learning how to fight with it is probably the best way to... get it under control."

He loved his chain... probably more then anyone or anything else. Had gone to the pits of hell and faced a killer bunny to get it back. But this... this struck his interest. "You'll have to get strong enough to pick the b*****d up easily, first though. You got any weights at home?"

As he spoke, Kookaberra seemed to brighten almost immediately with relief. Somehow she'd expected to be brushed aside once she'd said she didn't know what she was doing. The other juvenile seemed to give off a 'no bullshit' aura about him that was slightly intimidating, even when he was speaking kindly.

"No, but I can get some." she said assured him, propping the trident up a little straighter. With her lighter mood, whatever 'life' had stirred in the jewel was gone now and it remained cold and stoic.

His wings flexed slightly in anticipation. "You're cute. You'll make a damn good fighter, it'll catch them off guard. Now when you get the weights, make sure you have a few different versions. Something light, something kind of heavy, and something that almost knocks you over. You'll work your way up." He stopped, cursing as he thought of the different styles of lifting Ice had taught him.

"On second thought, get your weights and I'll show you how to use them." He turned, looking around. "You take a week or two with the weights and I'll figure out how to use a staff. What's your name, Darlin?"

"I'll get them as soon as I can!" Behind her, her red-dipped wings gave a slight flutter, trying her best to keep her happiness at the other being willing to work with her contained. No sense putting him off by bursting into happy chatter and huge smiles when there was still a chance he might dismiss her as being a featherheaded little baby.

The wings stopped in mid-flutter settling back against her shoulders again as he asked her name and she quickly regathered her composure.

"Kookaberra." she replied, and then quickly added. "But everybody calls me Berra." she fell silent, watching his back now that he'd turned and waited to see if he'd reciprocate the introduction.

"Berra, huh? Alright, Berra. Since I'll have to deal with you on a regular basis I'll make an exception." He looked at her for a second, chewing slightly on his toothpick. "Name's Silva. And now that I've told you that I'm going to get you to the point where you can kick my a**. Or at least make it entertaining."

"Get your weights, Darlin. And start up a running course. You're going to need it. When you've found the weights drop me a note. I'll show you how to use them." Even as he spoke he was examining the tridant visually, making notes for his own makeshift version to learn with. He would have to figure out a way to get the prongs...

Silva...not that she was prone to forgetting names, but she made a note to remember this one and mouthed it silently to herself once in a murmur. Mainly on the assumption it would not be repeated if she forgot it.

As he spoke, she nodded raptly like a student in a one-on-one lesson with a teacher. Running course, weights....she could remember that. She wasn't entirely sure what she would do, should he ever get her to the point where she would be a match for him, but it never hurt to be prepared. You never knew.

Watching his eyes settle on the trident again, she hesitated and then shifted her hold on it so that she was holding it horizontally and offered it out to Silva for better inspection.

"If you're going to be training me, I suppose we should both get to know it." she said amiably.

He nodded, taking the tridant to test the weight, only to go still, a strangely vicious gleam appearing in his eyes. He stepped back, starting to twirl the tridant like a baton, feeling not quite in control. "What... the hell..." He gritted out, turning it so it twirled beside him, using similar methods to the ones he had with his chain to control himself.

"Is this thing?" He finished, reaching out and forcing his movements to stop. It had been an unconscious thing, based on months of training, channeling the anger inside into something useful. But this time it hadn't been completely of his own choosing. And his anger hadn't completely been his own.

He shoved it towards her, a slight sweat breaking out. He was suddenly aware just how strong the little feien had to be.

Berra blinked twice in surprised shock as it was shoved back toward her and quickly took it up again. The trident's shaft vibrated slightly in her hands and faded as though something had struck it hard. She bit her lip as the trident became dormant in her hands and then looked to Silva in all seriousness.

"It tried to get you too..." she said quietly. It wasn't a question, it was a worried statement. She took a deep breath and let it out again slowly, trying to keep away a headache that threatened to muscle in, as though a cheated protest from the fork at being taken from its newly-found source of power. "This thing is dangerous...the sooner I learn to keep it under control, the better." Maybe THIS was why Yanvir had sent her out for it. Maybe it hadn't been an aimless journey chosen at random after all...because if this ended up in the wrong hands, it could do very real damage.

"Yeah." He grunted, feeling the his muscles vibrating slightly, and fighting the urge to reach for the tridant again. He didn't want it. The last thing he needed was something that tried to control him. "Guess it did."

He eyed the tridant, then nodded. "That thing, darlin... keep it away from guys like me. I'll make my own version. Something that doesn't try to mess with my head." He reached out, tugging gently on one of her pigtails, a crooked smirk on his face. "You're strong, darlin. A hell of a lot stronger then I am. But we'll figure it out."

He turned then, wondering if the silver feien before was still around. He had been too busy to acknowledge him... or just too much of a d**k, he wouldn't be surprised either way.

She smiled back as her pigtail was tugged, a slight blush staining her cheeks and choked up her hold on the trident a bit, as though it was an unruly dog she was tightening the leash of.

"Okay." she nodded, hoping very much that they WOULD figure it out. Soon, preferrably, before it had a chance to cause unneeded damage. Her thin black brows shot up a bit as he turned again, seeming to look for someone or something.

The little pigtailed feien looked as well, wondering if someone had entered the shop without her knowing while they'd been talking.

After a few seconds of not seeing anyone he shrugged, turning back to Berra. "We've got work to do, Darlin. I've got a fork to make. And you've got weights to scrounge up. And whatever you do, keep that thing away from a guy named Corvus. With my luck the b*****d would know how to use it. Fix his big mistake of summoning us in the first place."

His dislike of the feien was probably exaggerated, but better safe then sorry, he figured. He turned, heading for the door, only to pause and look back. "And darlin? Keep my name to yourself." He called before walking out the door.

Berra nodded, both in confirmation of what he'd said and in agreement to keep his name secret, waving as he left. "I will. And thank you!" she called after him. She'd heard the name Corvus before from her father who seemed to have similar dislike for the feien in question for his own reasons. She wasn't sure what Silva's where and they were none of her business.

Alone again in the shop, she looked about herself, her fingers unconsciously tightening on the trident until the blood was pressed out of them in a white-knuckled grip. No, she wouldn't let anyone bad get ahold of it, she promised herself. And now she had someone to help her learn to handle it, which was even better.

And she had work to do...

Taking one last assessment of things, she flitted back to the window and out into the afternoon winter coldness to head for home.

Silva stepped into the shop, his new staff in one hand, his chain hanging from his waist, a piece of paper rolled in the chain. He had a diagram to work on, after all. If he planned on forcing his "Aunt" to make him a training doll he would need to know where the weak spots should be marked at.

He crossed the floor and headed for the counter, planning on "Borrowing" some sort of writing device while he was at it. He still hadn't gotten his supplies.

The counter was already occupied, in one corner; a tousle-haired Feien was very carefully cutting something out, stiff paper, surrounded by dozens of equally small white rectangles; the nubs of old coloured pencils were around him as he frowned, using a small part of an old razor to very carefully pare it down to the desired shape. His grey wings were folded around his shoulders like a cloak; he didn't even look up as Silva approached, obviously totally engrossed.

For once in his life.

Ursa stretched in the corner, where she'd been taking a break before it was time to fly back home. Another day, still no sign of Yanvir. Maybe he was avoiding her. Maybe she was looking in the wrong places. No matter. It was good practice, flying all the way to the shop. Withstanding the wind and cold could only toughen her up, after all the inactivity of being dead.

She floated through the shop, and caught sight of a smaller figure on the way out. A much smaller figure, weightend down with a chain and a stick. His figure looked powerful, but he was so SMALL, to be armed to the teeth like that. Ursa resisted the urge to chuckle.

"You there, boy!" She greeted him, gruff, but not unfriendly. "I don't suppose you know Yanvir?"

She didn't really expect him to, but it couldn't hurt to ask.

Silva turned at the voice, blinking at the large female in the air. "Don't think I do..." He stopped, for the first time hesitating over the use of the word "Darlin." This feien didn't look like ANYONE'S darlin. But hell, Sunil hadn't been, either. So he smirked and finished the sentence. "Darlin."

"Yanvir..." He stopped, remembering what he had read when looking up Julius. "One of those ancients, right?"

"I don't know why you persist in looking for him, Mama Ursa," the occupied Feien remarked, calling out, one of his small rectangles shifting in the breeze created from both Ursa and Silva's movement. One of his long, slim hands reached out to snatch it up; like a favourite pet, he fussily put it back by his thigh.

"I hear Yanvir's terribly uncouth. I don't think he bathes, honey."

Ursa nodded.

"That he is, honey," Ursa crossed her arms, and looked the juvenile over. Paranoid kid. Maybe he was worried about meeting up with Corvus. Not that chains and sticks would not any good with that overgrown juvenile.

Unlike Silva, Ursa did not trip over the word 'honey'.

"As am I. Brought me back from the dead, he did. But for a necromancer no one knows a damn thing about him. Not even that Corvus."

Ursa shrugged. That was the story of her (brief) life.

She glanced over at the other juvenile boy. A choppy arm gesture was all he got in greeting.

"And if you were brought back from the dead, you'd look the one who did it too, kiddo. That's not the kind of thing you just medicate with a stiff drink," Ursa examined her claws. "Although I'm not sure what kind of Feien ressurects and runs either."

THe more she thought about it, the more it pissed her off. Bah.

Cascati looked up and looked winsome, grey eyes wide, razor stilling in his hand. There was something about Ursa which made him want to look winsome; possibly the fear of getting sat on and squashed to death, or some other end equally ignominious.

"I don't know, Mama. Maybe if it was a very stiff drink. I hear bourbon helps."

He nodded, taking in the idea of being ressurected for a second, then shrugging. "Hell, darlin, it's just like being summoned by a b*****d that can't stand feien in general. Pretty much par for the course." He took to the air, glancing over at the other feien briefly before turning to look at the ancient.

"That make you an ancient, too?"

Ursa snorted.

"Does it now?" she quirked an eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind. Whiskey's not bad - I know THAT from experience."

Ursa laughed. It was short, and sharp, and booming.

"Although it set me singing, and believe you me, honey, that's not a place you want to go."

When the laughter faded, Ursa cracked her back. Coming in from the cold stiffened up her muscles.

"Damn straight it does, kiddo."

Her smile turned to slight consernation. "Are you talking about Corvus, then? I guess we are in the same lot. That boy's head is large enough to fill this shop."

She looked at Cascati. Then at Silva. Then back at Cascati. Raxors? Staffs? Chains? Check.

"Is that why you lot are all going around armed?" Now, it was time for Ursa's knuckles to be cracked. "I prefer the basics."

Cascati grinned, giving Silva the same slightly-wary onceover that the other juvenile had given him, and picked up another of the stiff white rectangles. "Bourbon's smoother than whiskey, Mama Ursa. You'll have to try it sometime. Of course, I can't sing either."

More little chips of white paper fell to his lap as the razor did its work. "You sound like you're stiff, Mama, is it from beating poor little Tango to pieces?"

"Chain's for hunting, staff's something I'm learning to teach a... friend." He said simply, figuring this wasn't worth being cryptic about. "I doubt Corvus would come here in the first place. Too... good... for the unlucky bastards he summons."

"Tango? She's too young to spar with," Ursa stretched again. "I've been plowing snow, toughening up. This old girl's gotta do something with her day. We all do. What have you got there, exactly?"

Smoother? Ursa wasn't sure if she liked the sound of that. Whiskey, yes. Beer, yes. But smooth? Smooth sounded like it was for people with liquid tongues and slim physiques, who did not know the pleasure of hitting something and feeling it crunch between their fists, or drinking until their head spun and they started singing about sunken ships and abandoned lovers. In other words, it sounded like it was for people like CASCATI. And while Ursa had no problem with the boy, she didn't hold with acting like that herself.

"I saw Corvus here," Ursa stated bluntly, turning to Silva. "For a summoner, the man didn't know a damn thing about what was going on in his shop. That or he wanted to play with me by withholding information. Either way, damn unimpressive."

Cascati gathered up a few of the rectangles in his hands; some of them already were marked, very carefully, in Casca's laboured-perfect hand. "Cards, Mama-honey. I like a flutter or two."

He set them down again, by his folded legs, and winked at her teasingly. "You know how to play poker, Mama, or for ladies like you do I have to keep it to Go Fish, vous comprenez?"

Silva twitched slightly, not liking the idea of running into Corvus, but not worried. "He's a d**k." He said simply, shrugging. But the comment about training had caught his attention. The ancient trained. Probably as much as he did.

"What kind of weights you use, Darlin?"

This was... exhilerating. Shalafi had long ago memorized the way to the shop and could fly it in his sleep. Now, he was enjoying the snow, the way the cold air slid over his skin and ruffled his feathers... and the fact that he wasn't stuck out in the sweltering heat anymore, like he had been when he got lost in the summertime. Large wings spread fully as he swooped past the window of the shopt, appearing almost like a snowball that someone had thrown. By the time he landed at the doorway, he was loathe to leave the frigid weather. However, he'd told Yeande he was coming to the shop and if he didn't at least make a token appearance, he'd be a liar.

He squirmed in through the mail slot, falling free for a moment before his wings caught himself and let him land gently on the welcome mat.

"Fer a lady like me? You gotta be kidding, kiddo," Ursa looked down at Cascati. "My human's other charge plays a mean hand of poker. Girl's got the damndest luck. But I can hold my own. You looking for a game? Doesn't seem like it'd be the same without a drink or two. "

Granted, Ursa held her luck because Neon got drunk a LOT faster than her. Still.

"Don't think I've intriduced myself. I'm going by Ursa," she told the other Juvenile. "And I keep with the basics. Pushups. Crunches. Bench-pressing. Lifting glasses. What, you work out?"

Her eyes shone with a tiny spark approval.

Training-heads. Cascati suppressed a shudder at Ursa and Silva; training was not his thing. He already had a never-fail weapon, and her name was Div.

"Not got the cards ready, Mama," he apologized. "But when we do, you're on. I couldn't beat you with my hands, but I'm a better challenge at poker. I'll play you. Avec plaisir! Maybe I can teach Tango-angel, too."

His attention was turned by the small white lump that had fallen on the welcome mat, like a particularly large and feathery snowflake. "Howdy, stranger," he called out, voice a slow drawl. "You cold?"

"Darlin, I was born working out." He replied, his tone turning smooth, a slightly devilish smirk pulling at his lips. "Weights, running, even got two brats to help with my fighting. Basics are good, though."

The lady had arms bigger then his thighs. He was impressed. "Poker, huh?" He finally turned to the other juvenile, actually curious for once.

Cold? Shalafi grinned, shaking himself off and looking towards the voice. "I think I came that way," he said softly, letting his wings fold behind his back as he padded towards where Cascati was. Up... must be on the counter. He flew up there, landing lightly and turning to determine where the voices were. "It's wonderful out there."

"It is if you're an ice-feien like us," the other juvenile murmured, wondering at the unseeing milkiness at the newcomer's eyes. He moved as if he had twenty-twenty vision, and there was the strange bite of familiarity that he'd never experienced; meeting another Feien of your element. "It is gorgeous weather, honey."

He looked at Silva for the first time, mutual interest sparked. "You play, darlin'?"

"Then it's set, kiddo! Maybe when yer older we can have a real game, with the right refreshments."

By which Ursa meant, of course, a nice cold glass of ale. Noen went for the hard liquor, but Ursa preferred a creamy thimble full of microbrewed goodness. Nothing like it after a day of hard labor.

"Fighting?" Ursa addressed Silva. "I practice that too. Maybe you oughtta come to me when you're older as well, honey."

Ah! And there was another juvenile. Where were all of the adults? Kids running wild - Ursa wasn't sure if she approved.

"You like the snow, boy?" She called out to the newcomer, in a booming voice. "Well I'l be. I've been tunneling through the snow for endurance training, and you're a skinny little thing. What's your secret?"

Grinning, Shalafi nodded towards Cascati, suddenly curious as to who this other was. He'd met Amalthea and knew that she was an ice feien too... apparently this one was as well, and he'd never even known there were more. As he was about to reply, he heard Ursa's voice behind him and turned curiously. Another new one...

"My name is Shalafi. I'm an ice feien, so it's absolutely perfect weather for me. During the summer, I stayed inside in the aicon most of the time. I don't tunnel through... well, not unless I dive in and have to dig out. But that never takes long."

"Older? Well, Darlin, I'm what... four months now. Don't know if age is what matters." He turned, his smirk getting a little evil. "I'll play. But if you call me 'Darlin' one more time we might have to find a replacement for you." He said, fingering his chain. "There's just somethin wrong about being called that by another male."

He glanced over at the other male, blinking as he realized who it was. "Well if it isn't bleach boy! What was your name again..." He stopped, trying to think.

Ursa snickered, and patted Silve on the head, genially.
"And since I'm only a couple weeks, maybe you're right at that. But it does matter when yer half my size, honey. I could bend you into pretzels. I don't want to spar kids."

Ursa nodded at the Ice Feien in greeting. Ice, eh? Ursa hadn't bothered to look into her own element. She liked the daylight, and the liked the feeling of snow melting on her skin. That was all she knew. The large Feien did not have much use for magic.

"Shalafi, eh? Ursa."

She noticed that the boy's eyes weren't focussing on anything. Strange. Maybe he was addled.

"It's good to meet you, Miss Ursa," Shalafi said politely, holding out a hand towards her. Instead of holding it as though to shake her hand, however, he was holding his hand almost palm-upward, as he did for every lady he met. "You must be the one Yeande has been talking about. Once Ursa spoke again, Shalafi's eyes locked to her instantly and didn't waver again, except for vague flickerings which he couldn't control.

"I know how you feel. I've been holed up sitting on frozen bags straight out the freezer for the past months, sweetheart. Ugh. The heat. I wish it was winter all year 'round. What's your name?"

Cascati flipped his heavy head of hair with one hand, languid, turning back to razor and cards again as he affected temporary deafness with Silva. "All right, honey-love. No 'darlin''. I agree, it's so rustic. It should be dar-ling, don't you think? Prediletto. Cara mia. I will, of course, beat the holy hell out of you at poker."

He smiled again. Winsomely.

Being patted on the head? Now that was a new one. And honestly, had it been ANY other feien he would have shoved his fist through their jaw. But this one... He paused, looking at her and chewing his toothpick thoughtfully.

"I'll hold you to that, Darlin. When I get a few inches I'm going to hunt you down." He told her. Then he looked at Cascati, slowly pulling his chain off, tossing the staff onto the counter. "Honey-love, huh?" He repeated, twisting the chain around one wrist.

Ursa's hand left Silva's head, and grabbed Shalafi's wrist in a powerful clawed grip. She shook his hand thrice - heedless of the upturned palm - and then returned her hand to her side.

"You too, honey. Yeande's talking about me? Give her my thanks."

So this one lived with Yeande? Well behaved boy. She must take her juveniles in hand. Ursa approved.

Well, so much for that idea. Shalafi had to admit, that's the first time another Feien had nearly tugged him off his feet with a handshake. "I will, Miss Ursa," he said, smiling to her. "She spoke well of you. I think the reason Ankou didn't follow me around today was because he was afraid he'd run into you."

Anyone who could take THAT idiot to task deserved respect.

Shalafi turned slightly towards Casca and Silva, one ear twitching at the clink of the chain. "That didn't sound good..."

"Suit yourself, honey," Ursa told Silva, with a wry grin. "Who knows, you might even be a good workout."

Then again, he might not. All of these Feien were such TINY things. It was no wonder they were all dead.

Ursa floated into the air, slow but steady. "I'll see you kids later. Give Yeande my regards."

And with that, she left the shop. There was training to do! She couldn't spend all the precious daylight in idle chitchat with juveniles.

"Honey-love," Cascati repeated, voice sweet and light as he focused on his cards. He didn't even look up at the chain. "Dearling. Darling, my love, it's a guh sound, anything else makes you sound like you grew up in a barn. Not that I'm suggesting you grew up in a barn, sweetheart, I'm sorry. Tesoro mio, duckling. Angelito?"

And there went Ursa, who had been possibly slated as a last line of defence. Damnit.

Silva grinned, viciously, moving quickly so he was close enough to the annoying b*****d, then flicking his chain out in the move that was meant to wrap around someone so he could pull them in. He had been looking for an opportunity like this.

The chain caught; it wrapped around Cascati's slim forearm, the stiff white pieces of card scattering, before he could even react. None of them fell off the counter, thank God, he thought dimly; he looked up at Silva, arm jerking up like a rag doll's, eyes half-closed and fingers on the other hand closing down.

"Do we have to resort to violence, my love? The Good Lord disapproves."

"What are you doing," Shalafi hissed, moving towards the pair. He couldn't SEE what Silva was doing, but he had a pretty damned good idea. "Back off..." he began, faltering slightly when he realised that he didn't know the brash young Feien's name.

"It's all right, honey," Cascati said quickly, voice a murmur with a calmness he didn't quite feel. "Don't get yourself hurt on my account, all right? We ice boys have to stick out for one another. Shush-a-shush. I can handle myself."

"This isn't violence, Darlin." He said coolly, pulling on the chain so the other male would be face to face with him. "This is just a little... lesson."

There was a purr in his voice, almost seductive, completely at odds with his actions. "You want to call me pet names, boy, you better be able to back them up."

Casca's body was jerked, completely yielding, less give than Silva had probably accounted for; he was jerked upright and directly into the other Feien, bodies flush for a moment, his own skin icy-cool against the other juvenile's.

"Aren't we gettin' intimate, angel?" he purred, accent thickening almost imperceptibly. Aggression tactics. Male rituals, all over again. "And here I thought you didn't like bein' called pet names by boys. It's all right, my love. I know you're all confused."

Shalafi backed up a step at Casca's words, eyes narrowing slightly as he let his other senses tell him exactly where the other two were. "You're right," he said softly, stepping behind Silva and reaching out. He felt his hands brush against skin, praying it WAS Silva... at least if it wasn't, the other feien wouldn't be affected by it. The moment his hands made contact, their temperature plummeted, having the equivilent of a flas-freeze against the skin and sending tiny sparkling crystals forming against the other's flesh.

Silva choked, then started laughing, letting the chain loosen so it slipped off of Casca, and lightly shoving the other male away. "You've got a point. You don't have enough curves."

Then he turned, looking at Shalafi. "I once told you I owed you one, kid. Consider this my debt repaid." Then he snorted. "But I'm going to kick your a** in the poker game, pretty boy." He said, looking at Casca again before wrapping his chain around his waist and heading for his staff. It was then that the freezing hit him, making him curse.

He shook slightly, looking over at the blind feien. "Why the hell did you do that?" He asked, fighting the chill.

"Because you sit there and think that you can hurt someone just because they're smaller than you... or seem weaker," Shalafi whispered, shaking himself, but not from the cold. He'd BEEN on the receiving end before, and now that he was faced with someone else and the same situation, he realised just how it must have seemed to his friends who were trying to warn him about Calico. "We aren't weaker," he said softly, keeping his voice perfectly calm and stable. "We just THINK before we act."

"There's a bit of blanket over by the counter," Cascati said blandly, the razor he'd hidden in his fingers dropping to the floor; he picked himself up and fastidiously brushed himself down, feeling slightly numb, moving next to Shalafi. That had been too close, too stupid. Hot-blooded. "I think it was used for wiping the wood down. Try rubbing your back with it, dearling. You might get frostbite. Can't have you die on me before the poker game."

"You damn little idiot. He's not hurt." Silva said, irritably. "He's just a little shook up. If that. And I didn't attack because he was weaker. I attacked because the b*****d's annoying." He twitched, irritated at the way he jumped to conclusions.

He nodded at Casca, heading for the rag. "Damn overly-emotional bastards..." He muttered, grabbing the rag and rubbing at the frozen spot. He glanced over as the sound of the razor hitting the ground caught his ears, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"You might be worth putting up with, after all." Was all he said.

Snorting softly, Shalafi turned to Casca, feeling his hand brush against the other's arm before letting it come up to rest on Casca's shoulder. The touch only lasted a moment before he moved again and turned away from Silva completely. Excuse or not, the boy reminded him of Calico. Not exactly like him... this one at least had a bit of rationale behind his violence. But it was close enough to disturb Shalafi.

Cascati grinned at Silva, star-bright. "I'm not going to tease an armed feien who looks like he knows how to handle himself with no back-up, mon ami. I'll be looking forward to our game."

He ran his hands through his hair again, shaking it out, trying to get back to his normal state of Casca-being as he looked at Shalafi's back. Not only had the other feien stuck it out for him, but he was blind - or nearly so; he moved damn well, though, enough that he'd been unsure for long minutes. He reached out to give an equally fleeting touch to the other ice-feien's shoulder. "You didn't need to do that, brother. Thank you. Merci beaucoup. I owe you one."

"You don't owe me anything," he said softly, the faint smile returning. "You said yourself we had to stick together."

Silva grunted, eyeing the two males for a second. "Drop a note at Ice's when you pick a time. I'll be there." Then he looked at Shalafi, noticing the way he had turned away. Problem was? Silva didn't give a s**t. He even TRIED to work up some emotion, but couldn't.

Then he grabbed his staff, dove towards the ground to pick up his paper, and headed for the door. Maybe "Plowing snow" was worth trying, he thought, already forgetting the situation he left behind him.

"We do. I'm not the strongest, as my tongue tends to forget." He grinned, before remembering that Shalafi probably couldn't see it, all wasted; he sighed in mock-drama. "We can be soft, fragile juvies together. Though that was some bit of magic you used, brother. I've no talent for it."

His voice raised as he bid Silva goodbye, gaily, one hand waving. "I'll do that. See you there, angel. I can't wait."

The hand dropped as Silva left, out into the bitter snow outside, and he sighed. It was remarkably candid. "I wish I knew how to handle the strong ones better. They all seem to fly off the handle. No?"