Welcome to Gaia! ::

A problem with little time off in the needs of the Guard was finding time for human connections. Finding time for any humanity between the boredom and tension of nothing happening and the indecisive uncertainty of wanting it to or wishing nothing would.

At least with all the work he'd had the chance to meet plenty of people to make it a little less lonely that he really wasn't sure who Herger was. And especially some people who knew exactly what they liked and were vocal about it - such with the Dark Mirror Senshi Chariklo. The amply endowed warrioress had been frank about liking a good time- enjoying dance and alcohol. While there wasn't always a lot to go around, Nærøyfjord made some of the runs to supply the outer rings of lower nowhere with something to take the edge off. It meant that he was given some leeway in keeping one of the cases of Ommegang he'd brought back. The powers that were probably figured that his fraternization with the Dark Mirror was a point of positive connection, and worth the sacrifice of some ale.

Nærøyfjord didn't care too much for the politics of it. Chariklo had helped them out thus far, and so far as he could tell was a genuine lass out to save her people and others that were in the same boat, maybe even if it wasn't always beneficial. He hoped it wasn't just mutual backscratching, and that there was actual care. He was pretty sure it must be- she laughed at his stupid jokes, and had agreed to partake of some ale and dancing with him and he very little of substance to offer the Mirror on a political standpoint.

Nærøyfjord was on Earth.

If the retreat was ever called, or defeat admitted and flight to space needed...he'd just end up being one of those standing the gate to let others go. He had no where to go. The Negaverse had Earth.

An uncharacteristic sour frown curled across his mouth and he squinched his nose, thumbing the ipod that was supposedly his awkwardly to put it to one of the upbeat, moving mixes the man named Björn must have used for something. Dancing? Working out? The thing started playing some WOOOB WOOOOB breeeeaaaaahhhh breaaaaaaahhh WOBB WOOOOBWOOOOB through the cheap travel speaker. He set it aside, opened two ales and sipped from one as he stretched to crack his sternum.

"It's all in a tale." He swigged again, stuck his tongue out at nothing, at the situation, and felt better.

"It is fearsome maybe, if it is stuck?" He looked over to the source of voice, expression notably more pleasant. "I was just caught up wondering what comes when we lose. There is no where but Earth for me. There isn't a reason to worry about it, woven so long ago, but sometimes it would be nice if the version was clearer to read. Or listen to. I'm not much of a reader, I guess."

The last was said with a hearty laugh, and he rubbed at the punched spot idly. He reached over to clink his beverage against hers in a faux toast. "It is from New York, I think? "

A quick check of the bottle while they both could read confirmed it - Cooperstown brewer of Belgian style ales. "Since it is the East Coast, maybe it is not so hard to find it in plenty? I have seen it at most distributors I've visited. They do holiday versions, too. But it is hard to spend a lot of money on beer, instead of food food. It has a lot of calories, though. Does it matter what the drinking age is out here in the camp? Maybe it is not so much the U.S. here?"

What did princesses of whole planet places think of such things like Earth country laws? "Was your day well?"

Since one of the things he DID read was magazines, and did not discriminate by the gender politics of them, he'd seen some things about 'romance' novels and their legitimacy as literature. "They call them bodice rippers, ja?"

"The kind you could model covers for but with titles like 'All Knight for Alice'? " The Mirror Princess was certainly buxom enough to please any cover artist's aspirations. Even as large as his own hands were, he was pretty sure that it was wishful thinking to take on those dragons. How the woman's wife managed was a mystery for the ages well worthy of solo contemplation.

Nærøyfjord would report no complaints, nor he expected many in the camp to who'd gotten beyond the paranoia of early warfare politics. The general idea of modelling though was rather pleasant. Familiar, too, in that way that he couldn't place as related to himself but which usually signified it was. Like the woman, Anna, that said she was his mother and acted every bit the part. Maybe he'd modeled for something at some point. "We could all make money at being stuntmen for movies."

He listened thoughtfully to her complaint of the day- it was a serious consideration and threat treated lightly. "Just make sure you put a mirror in a few distributor warehouses before you move so we can still get beer, ja? "

It was only half a joke.

"I'll even help carry the cases. But really, if you need to move your family, let me know if you can before it gets so bad. If it can be fit through mirror, I can carry it for you while you open the doors to your halls. You can carry your Ava, though. Like kärringkånk." He grabbed another beer, opened it and passed it to her.

He chuckled, nursing his own drink more in the descriptions of the bizarre tastes of fiction writers for subject matter. It was too close for comfort, but at least it was something the Youma never seemed to be actually interested in. If THAT happened on the battlefield, he was pretty sure the Crazy would run more rampant than it already did in the Resistance lines.

He gave a gentle smile in reply to her thanks. He knew it could mean a lot, even just offers, but he never made JUST offers. But at least Chariklo knew to ask, and knew he would be there if he could. But it is all too serious

"I can show you what it is- wifecarrying races like this." He shifted to standing as he said it, his drink put aside, and reached to pick her up if he was allowed. First just to show off and get her to laugh but jouncing her straight up, then to a more classic position.

He wasn't worried about beer-spillage. It was a worthy sacrifice for the chance of fun.

The giggles were exactly what he was hoping for, and his own view certainly wasn't anything to be sad about in the initial position. Into the second, he offered the explanation- "It is calle dteh Estonian Carry, this one. It is the usual position. Some people use piggyback. I don't think I've ever compete, but it doesn't matter so much if I have or not since I can't remember and no one recognises me anyway. "

I don't even recognize me

He had no suspicions that the Dark Mirror Eternal-c**-Princess was admiring his posterior until the fateful 'attack'. Nærøyfjord danced forward, not that this really helped in escaping an assault from someone he himself was holding in a carry, "Hallå!"

"This is your technique to encourage faster running? I think it will work very well. " With a gentle jounce, the knight brought her back to shoulder and then set her down on her feet again- she might as well be a leaf. "My backside has royal approval? Or still deciding with your evidence? "

"Race cars get decals...some sportsman wear those sponge on tattoos. Knights of old used to get favors before jousts. Maybe I get stamps of advertisement from fine princesses and princes, ja? Though if your stamp goes there I will be competing in very small clothes to be able to display my approvals and accolades of Princess Chariklo of the Mirror. " He patted his own haunch in emphasis, tracing the line a mans bikini would take.

He looked up at her condolences and returned a friendly scrunch of his nose. It was not always so dour as all that, nor was their time together now meant wholly for airing heavy laundry. It was better made light of. "It is only sometimes a problem. Like not remembering how to wax if I'm going to be wearing a bikini while carrying beautiful princesses on my shoulders. I don't suppose you or Amytis can offer tips? I must have used to..."

He considered one of his past-white arms in comparison to some photos he'd seen over the two years of the Björn fellow. He'd never looked particularly furred sans-shirt. Most weights sportsmen didn't, except maybe their legs. "Unless I can get away with a kilt? Are kilts approved uniform to pin your sigil to?"