[Oba] Talk Stab-y to Me (Dris/Damis) [FIN]

[Painted Moose]

Dris'rynne waited ever so non-patiently inside of the inn's great room. Mercenaries and travelers alike clamored onto the long, bench seats to devour the food placed before them on the tables. For once she wasn't fussing over her mens' lack of table manners; in fact, she could have cared less.

Only when Mataba, a wiry oban, placed his hand on her shoulder did she move. "You've been staring out the window for hours; who're you waitin' on?"

"A lead. I'm fine Mataba, really; I'm just going to step outside." Dris'rynne excused herself from the table amid a flurry of confused looks. She was infinitely glad that the lot of her men respected her despite her race and gender, but honestly - the concern got annoying quick.

One of the mercs murmured something about her 'cycle' and another kicked him under the table.

It had been a few days since Dris'rynne had seen Damis. She had given him her location, and while there was certainly no guarantee that he would come she found herself hoping that he would. The swordsman kept herself squeaky clean every day, with just the faintest touch of Jauhar oils lathered onto her skin. It was too much, even for her, but her mother had sworn by them. So maybe...?

Instead of going outdoors she instead settled atop a stool by the open window. From here she could watch most, if not all, of the passerbys and maybe wait for...someone who might not even show up.

Grow up, Dris.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Damissan hadn’t planned on staying especially long in any single given city, but Tivrod was pleasant enough to merit lingering to at least some extent, and it was the last of Oba’s cities on his trek. And, he had a date to keep.

Tempting though it had been in the wake of ‘excitement’ on the day he’d happened upon Korres in the market to simply follow the woman up on all her agreements with him that day, the afternoon had been eventful on its own, and certain experiences did well to have time to sink in. She, certainly, had looked flustered enough by the day’s events, and being with her had left him with an eager, itching curiosity—among other sorts of eagerness that he might or might not have the opportunity to explore, depending on how accurate his reading of the situation had been.

Regardless, either way it had felt as though giving the day some time to settle was appropriate, and she had welcomed him back any day within the next several. He kept himself busy, but patience only held out for so long, and on the evening of the third day, he was more than ready to take the opportunity for whatever it was worth. He bathed, dressed — not in attire befitting a priest, but practical, clean traveler’s clothes — and fastened his weapons at his hips, their weight familiar and welcome. Then, he set out.

Admittedly, there was a pinch of trepidation — or wariness? — that came with knowing he was quite literally walking into a den of mercenaries to pick up something closer to a ‘date’ than anything else. But he let that thought slip to the wayside. Korres was a grown, attractive and fit woman. Surely, it wouldn’t be anything like approaching an inn full of protective fathers and brothers armed to the teeth and ready to gut him.

He hesitated outside of the inn, eyed its entrance, and scuffed his boots once to the hot clay earth before stepping forward. He had made it this far, after all.

They seemed to be in the midst of a ‘rowdy’ meal—that putting it lightly, and at first pass, there was a distinct lack of fair-haired shifter women among the grizzled crowd.  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

"Oi Mataba, it's that wahn from the chuffin' market. The bloomin' weird wahn." That was enough to catch Dris'rynne's attention she turned her gaze, expecting to see some poor female who had turned down a night of 'bliss' only to see a familiar face. Dris'rynne caught sight of Damis long before he would have been able to see her. From behind a wall of men she could peer through the cracks and spot the incoming oban. He looked strange dressed; his clothes were simple, unassuming and while they fit him well they weren't what she had come to mentally associate him in.

She stood and moved closer even as her men pressed closer to Damis. They were an unruly bunch, with some so large it was doubtless that alkidike blood ran thick in their veins. Dris'rynne came up to Mataba's side, and patted his back. "He's with me."

The largest man, a big bruiser named Rivyn, passed a quick look between the two and narrowed his eyes. It became obvious that he was the one who had spoken earlier once he opened his mouth, "I daan't kna, boss, this wahn makes us look normal. Maybe ya should stay away - wait, 'a come 'e's wif ya anyway? Wot do ya want wif our boss, lil' geeza?"  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Damissan’s eyebrows flicked upwards in spite of himself. The momentary wash of relief he experienced upon initially spotting Korres — and hearing her distinctly feminine voice amongst a crowd of those who were decidedly not — was quickly replaced with something else altogether when faced off against—whoever this man was. Towering and imposing among them. A small, niggling voice in the back of his mind suggested he ought to be intimidated. The man could likely hoist him easily as any log. But instead, he found himself caught up on trying to piece together what exactly the man was trying to communicate over his accent.

‘Little’ anything was also not on the list of things he was accustomed to being called, considering that, at least among earthlings, he was taller than most.

That evidently didn’t hold true here.

His gaze flicked from the man, to Korres, and back.

“Your boss,” he said at length, adopting the most open and unassuming tone he could muster, “was kind enough to volunteer knocking me on my arse a few times. We met in market a few days prior and I bothered her enough with my theolo—” Deciding halfway through that sentence that the word in question might be beyond most of his audience, Damissan cleared his throat. “We talked, and to make up for my wandering mouth, I thought it only appropriate to let her take a round at what she’s best at. Hopefully while retaining all my limbs, if I’m lucky. We’re going to spar.” Smiling, he offered a hand. “Damissan Mataou. It’s a comfort to see she has so many charming and capable men at her back.”  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

"Oh. 'eaven and 'ell, that does sound loike 'er, yea." Rivyn barely looked over his thick, meaty should just to see Dris'rynne's confirming not. Her exasperation at the whole thing showed; it was obvious this kind of thing happened a lot. They were constantly standing up for her when she didn't even need it, which was cute some days. Just not today.

"Dam, you've got a long name." Rivyn chuckled and reached out to squeeze Damissan's hand in an iron clad grip. He drug the smaller man closer with a snarl. "I hope she wipes the floor with your bal-"

"That's enough of that, Rivyn." Dris'rynne was slightly more amused now. Slightly. If this was anything akin to what it was like having brothers than she had missed out. She waited until the hulking bear of a man released Damissan before snapping, "If you ever pull a stunt like that again you'll be ex-communicated and flogged. Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am!"

"Peachy. Let's go." This time, she took Damissan by the elbow and led him back outside with a very clipped, very speedy stride.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

The returning handshake—if tight near to the point of bone-crushing—was reassuring. Until it was a lurching jerk, dragging Damis far closer than he wanted to be to the hulking beast of a man and subjecting him to the close proximity of a low, growling threat that sounded almost more feral than literate—

“Ah—”

And then Korres was stepping in.

Damis took the moment where her focus was on scolding her company to compose himself, clearing his throat and not rubbing his sore hand to check for bruises or dislocated bones, just—casually brushing over it. His posture had straightened by the time she returned her attention to him, and he did his best not to look deeply relieved as they made their way out. The outside air, though, when they reached it, did seem especially fresh and welcome. He drew a breath, mouth curving back up towards his more typical easy smile.

“Well,” he said. “That was an experience. Quite the following you have there. I feel like I should consider myself fortunate you were nearby when I came about or I might have been a step or two out of my league.”

Though the urgency eased off once they’d made it out of the confines of the many amassed mercenaries, they continued to walk, him keeping at her side until they came upon a stretch of cleared, hard-packed earth that looked not only suitable for a good, free-range spar, but also as though it had been used in the past for just that. There, they stopped and Damis studied the space, tapping a boot to the earth to test its give and then rolling his shoulders as he took a step back.

“You’ve clearly won over their more, ah…protective inclinations and loyalty. And being that at the very least, Rivyn will be disappointed if you don’t ‘wipe the dirt with my bald head’…” He shrugged out of his shirt, folding it neatly and setting it aside in a ‘safe’ place in the shadow of the building before moving forward again and letting his hands come to rest on the hilts of his blades, “…I hope you don’t mind me sparing unnecessary casualties from a number of rolls in the dirt. I just had it washed. Other than that, as chivalry demands…” He drew his swords, hefting their weight and then settling into a relaxed stance with a flash of a grin and a nock of the head, “…fair ladies first.”  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

"They're rough, but loyal." Upon first joining Dris'rynne had expected so much flak that she'd nearly talked herself out of quitting before taking on the first mission. Much to her surprise, and disbelief, when their only concerns were over whether she could actually wield her swords. No talk over her height, gender, disability or race; it had been so blissful she never wanted to leave.

Dris'rynne inspected the area with a quick, passing glance. She twisted her torso to the side while keeping her legs planted firmly on the ground. Twist right, pop her back, and then turn to the left. "I can guarantee Rivyn wasn't talking about your head. I would wager it was a reference to something, or somethings, much lower." The man was as crass as he was big. Once done with her stretches, the swordsman lifted her weapons, keen on continuing her discussion but one look at Damissan killed her words.

She had to physically shake her head just to get her mind in working order. "It's fine; you're hardly the first man I've seen sans shirt." Just the first she was mildly - moderately - attracted to. Dris'rynne flicked her wrists, fanning her blades out to either side of her, before re-positioning them. The mune ran the length of her forearms, pressed close to the skin while the blades were left on display. In an instant she ran at him, spinning her upperbody to strike.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Stretching likely would have been a good idea. But too late for that now. He had been walking about earlier, and stretched before his run that morning—it would have to do. Besides, having the opportunity to stand back and watch had its own benefits, and Damissan’s eyes casually trailed where they would as she moved, twisting and unwinding her body.

At her ‘correction’ in regard to Rivyn’s intent, Damis’ teeth flashed briefly in his amusement. “I must say, then,” he piped in, “that I do hope you don’t wipe the earth too roughly with those. I haven’t yet made any children with them and would rather prefer they stay in functioning order until I’m in a position to do so at the very least.”

When she finished, eyes returning to him—and taking pause—Damissan mentally pocketed the swell of satisfaction that came with it. Her stare didn’t linger overly long, but just enough that he took it for a compliment just the same—and promptly after blamed that for how long it took him to respond when in the next instant she was there.

His blades made it up in time, sweeping up instinctively to guard him and deflecting against hers with a sharp metallic clang. “Fast,” he noted, and then was on the move himself, slipping out from under her blades and pivoting to sweep at her sidelong. He wouldn’t likely be able to keep up, but if she were indeed a professional—which it certainly seemed she was—that was to be expected. He would be pleased with himself if he managed it well enough not to be an embarrassment.

And to keep his a** off the ground to whatever extent possible.  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

Well, in that case, she would have to treat his 'lower' bits with extreme delicacy. Dris'rynne mentally rolled her eyes, thinking over what kind of woman might fall pray to that smile and have his children. Could be anyone, really; most likely some stuffed up oban woman. A delicate little waif of a thing; something for him to 'protect' and show off for.

"As are you." He was young, but quick on the defense. It was a good sign. She would have really done damage had he been too busy dawdling, and Dris'rynne didn't want the match to be over too quickly. Where was the fun in something like that? She moved in time to narrowly slip a blade between his and her side, using forward pressure to parry his attack. It wasn't the best angle to keep attack from, however, so as soon as she could Dris'rynne moved out of the way.

If he was smart he would try for her blind side, and that was what Dris'rynne was banking on. It would have been an easy strike; one she might have tried herself, if in his shoes.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Swordplay, to Damissan, always felt a little like dancing—with higher stakes, of course. Rarely did anyone lose an extremity on the ballroom floor, but this came with a specially heightened level of thrill and risk to it, with the same benefits of pseudo-intimacy. There was a great deal to learn about someone when all their focus was on you, and yours on them, attempting to predict and react with as much immediacy as possible.

As a boy, he adored sword practice—despite certain degrees of impatience at the time—and his parents had of course humored that interest with the best tutors they could find for him in the years to come, leaving him with a well-tailored and professionally honed grasp of all the technical ins and outs of the art. But the person-factor could not be taught. Every individual fought differently, betraying certain aspects of their personality, their confidences and weaknesses.

And there was no replacement for practical experience, which he distinctly lacked. Still.

While his general instinct was to dance about, take risks, and of course show off, being slightly out of his league and up against an unknown factor inspired him to temper that—within reason. He stayed largely on the defensive initially, keeping his focus on not sustaining injury while trying to gauge his opponent, and moving. Always moving. So far as he could discern his most obvious advantages were his height—and the range that came with it—and his full range of vision. He waited, though, not pushing her blind side until after both of them were warm from a period of testing each other.

Then, skirting to her left, he made a stunted, fake pass similar to other simple maneuvers already tried, only to abort it at the last moment to twist and attempt a swerve in on the opposite side.  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

Dris'rynne loved the adrenaline high that came from swordplay.

It was as close as she would ever get to an actual high, which made the entire experience something of a novelty to her. Despite her family owning a smithy she had never picked up a weapon of her own until her teen years; which, by proxy, should have meant her skills weren't very honed at all. Instead, she lived, slept, and ate swordplay to the point it was all she dreamed of.

But so very rarely did she get to practice with another who used the same weapons she did. It was brilliant. She saw so much of her own moves being reflected in his own, and yet, he also brought so many new ideas to the field.

Dris'rynne was fast, and lethal. She moved in stroke for stroke, never letting up unless absolutely necessary so as to overwhelm him. She tried to exploit as many openings as she could find, and occasionally Dris'rynne would toss in a well aimed kick. Naturally she had attacks that missed, as was she too slow to block certain strikes. Winning wasn't the absence of being hit; it was how well one recovered and was able to keep going that made a winner.

When the long awaited moment came, Dris'rynne spun to place her blades in the way of his own. With his swords busy, she brought her boot up close to her chest, and kicked against the back of her blades, ramming against him with as much strength as she could.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Damissan should have expected it.

But then, it was worth a shot. Of course, as surely as he knew he’d need to attempt to make a try for her obvious ‘weak’ spot, it was just as sure that he hadn’t been the first. Or the second. Or the third. Clearly she was accustomed to the attempt, and though he was anticipating some variety of lashback, his attention was on the catch up of his blades and then—

“Hhnnnph—”

He grunted at the impact which, despite her frame, was enough in full force to knock him back and in his already unbalanced state, designed for a lash out, not stability, his balance skidded—and thudded to the earth, knocking the breath flat out of him. He rolled, tucking his blades as he did and righting himself again the instant his legs allowed. His chest still felt greedy, bemoaning the shock of impact and dragging in at the hot air. Outwardly, he coughed, shook his head to clear the dizziness, and then the rest of him to clear the dust. After, his grin hooked back into place, lopsided as he settled his blades in front of him again.

“Well—” He cleared his throat again, evening his breath before continuing. “Repeat that,” he invited, “and all drinks for the evening, stiff as you like, are on me.”  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

Perhaps a little time skip to the bar is in order?

Dris'rynne tried not to gloat too much. Despite her heavy breathing the shifter was grinning from ear to ear, clearly having much more fun out of this than she should. She flipped the sword in her right hand around before slipping it into the sheath at her side. Soon after she managed to do the same for it's twin, then kept her arms crossed over her torso, fingers hovering over the hilts of her blades for a quick draw.

He was flexible, she would give him that. Being nimble in a close combat fight would save his life one day. In the grand scheme of things she should have praised him for that, but Dris'rynne would have preferred to see him with his back on the dirt for just a little while longer.

She shrugged her shoulders, "If you insist. I wouldn't want to throw away such a generous offer." Even if he hadn't talked about drinks she would have given it her all once again. After all, why wouldn't she? Maybe this time she could pin him to the ground and -

Woah girl, calm down.

She blamed Tes for that. With all of his 'free love' talk, and all the physical interactions...It was enough to turn a good girl bad! Shaking her head, Dris'rynne drew her blades once more and rushed in.  

[Miss Chief aka Uke]

Painted Moose

Back and forth, in and out, up—and down, again. So the dance went, and Korres didn’t disappoint. Damis didn’t have to ‘let up’ in order to be eventually grounded again, and if this time he lingered longer and waited to stretch a hand for a pull up, well—it meant that there was a moment he got to stand there, a step too close with their hands clasped as he asked her what she drank, and all in all, he didn’t consider that much of a loss. By the time they called the spar a wrap, he certainly felt thoroughly worked and trusted by the pace of her breath and the overall exchange that he hadn’t been too underwhelming for her, either.

And there were few things more welcome and familiar than a good pinch of liquid courage once one’s muscles had been taxed and wound up. It occurred to him, very briefly, that he ought to keep a very close check—if he were even to drink at all—on whatever he did consume. It was what he was here for, after all, what he had set out to do: practice restraint, among other things.

Upon stepping into the walls of the local establishment for such endeavors, however, that particular notion of caution had been carefully tucked back and all but muted to a quiet niggling in the back of his mind.

Of course he would be careful.

Of course he would practice reasonable restraint—he wasn’t about to make a fool of himself when everything else was going so well already. But he couldn’t very well invite her along with him and then not even participate himself. Just one, or two. Entertainment within reason. It would be simple.

As the approached the counter, he ordered, dropping out enough coin for the both of them before turning his attention back to his company and studying her. “So,” he said after a moment, “shall we begin with my life story, yours, or my theory of God? I have to admit, I am curious as to how you came to your current…employment. When I imagine a cut-throat mercenary leading a band of men half the size of mountains through burning deserts, admittedly the picture I’d conjure without instruction is less…” His gaze flicked over her, and then to the ale when it came. “Easy on the eyes.”  

[Painted Moose]

The Only Black Uke

Dris'rynne was no novice to the devil's drink; under the best of circumstances she could hold her own and still walk afterwards. That didn't mean she planned on pushing those limits today; just a few drinks, enough to put a solid burn into her muscles. It was on Damis, after all, and what kind of person would she be to turn away his offer?

She placed her order, and perched atop a bar stool. Her legs were perfectly poised, much like any proper girl might sit with such a short skirt; not that she was proper in the least. Admittedly this wasn't exactly how she thought their conversation would go, but...it wasn't entirely bad, was it? Not when he thought she was nice to look at. That made her feel a little less weird for staring at him so much. "My mother is a blacksmith in Jauhar, so it was expected that I would follow suit. There was some...family drama back home that led to me coming with my step-father to Oba, he's a traveling merchant, sells the family weapons, and I just...never left. I never had much talent for the iron, so I thought I could make a few quick coins entering tournaments. Tournaments turned to odd jobs and eventually I fell in line with the Irregulars. Their former boss retired not too long ago, so I'm still in the adjustment phase of actually leading them. I'm just waiting until they wisen up and walk out." She smiled sardonically and reached for her ale.

"What about you? How does one so young go about dedicating their life to heralding a new religion? "