El'ai, Thierry


While escaping cannibal women, a wet half-naked Thierry bumps into a lost Southern El'ai.


It is late night of the first day of the third month of the first turn of the 12th pass.


Igen Weyr Bazaar Sidestreet

OOC Date


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Bazaar Sidestreet

No matter the time of day, the darkness here is almost absolute, adding a certain je ne sais quois that borders on the treacherous. Here and there, cobblestones have gone missing and leave holes that are perfect for snagging the feet of the unaware. The stench is also criminal, a mixture of urine, rotting meat, and other things best left unexamined in the heaps that pile up next to the back doors of certain of the bazaar establishments.

OOC: Takes place immediately after Thierry stomps out of the girl-riddled baths.

It's cold, it's dark, and the Igen bazaar's sidestreets are dimly lit, their occupants slowly slinking out of the night and into the warmth of their homes. There's one man, however, who stands out like a sore thumb - not because he's stomping down this particular street cussing and kicking and smoking up a storm with his puff-puffing on a bedraggled toke, but because he's doing it in nothing more than a /towel/ around his waist and his unlaced boots, with his clothing - a guard's uniform, for those sharp-eyed enough to notice - draped over his arm. He's clearly cold, driven on by ire, and absolutely sopping wet, with soapsand scum still visible in his sodden dark hair.

El'ai is not often in Igen, though of late, he is here more often, especially as it gets close to time for the laying of Elicheritath's eggs. The twisting walkways of the central bazaar are easy to get lost in, which is how the Southern bronzerider ends up hesitating at the entrance to one of the side streets. Pausing momentarily, he's about to turn around and head back the other way, when Thierry is caught sight of. Brows raise. Unsettling blue eyes widen. And a hand is raked through his hair. "You are," the towel is glanced at, "— come from a bath?" The last is amended quickly, the darkness unsettling as is the realization that he does not know where he is.

From the gentle steam that's still curling up from Thierry's wet skin, the bronzerider's assumption is probably correct. "Fuckin' /women/, man!" That's the best greeting the taller man's going to get at the moment, as Thi seems relieved to see a fellow /man/. Almost-man. /Guy without boobs/, anyway. "A /swarm/ of them. /Fuckin' swarm/, coming on in like thread on shit and just — " He holds up his hands, wiggling them frantically - like madwomen, perhaps? Then he pulls on his toke, hand shaking from the cold, breath quivering, too, as he exhales. Still cold. Very cold. "Do /not/ go to the baths. If that's what you're asking? Where you trying to go, anyway?" Perhaps the streetbred opportunist in him helps to pick out those who look… out of place.

Dark brows raise even further as Thierry goes into a proverbial frenzy of anger, though the teenager doesn't respond at first. The darkness is a good shroud against what his expression might give away as well as mask any cherubic sweetness that still lingers. "Uh." Smooth, El'ai. "No, I mean I don't need a bath." Does he give a quick, sly sniff just to make sure? Maybe. "Are there…" Now he might be craning his neck a little to see where these harpies might be, just in case they're chasing Thierry! Shoving his hands in his pocket, he half-steps to the side, to finish his sentence with, "I take it the baths are not a place to be." His lessons about Igen hold steady, for he isn't forthcoming about where he's trying to go. At least, not yet.

Thierry gets the meaning of that neck-craning sure enough, and turns to look over his shoulder, even though he knows they're not coming. "Nah man, they're still soaping their tits up or whatever the fuck they do when they're not… there was fucking /10/ of them, man! All naked and titsy and soapy and - what the fuck's a guy gonna /do/?" He draws shakily on his toke again, really quivering now in the cold. "Don't go, man. Don't go if you want to /survive/. Fuck the baths. I'll show you somewhere better." Thierry shudders head to toe, goosebumped skin prickled with the cold. "You from here? Don't think I've see you? Don't go over there," he jerks his head towards the Weyr, "much, though."

A flicker of confusion draws El'ai's brows together as his head cants slightly to the side. "But it's a baths? Isn't that what you're supposed to do?" The innocence to the question softens any rebuke that anyone might read into it, as the bronzerider is genuinely confused. "I won't," sometimes the boy is too literal for his own good, "I've had my bath already." When Thierry gestures to the weyr, the Southerner half-turns in that direction, which does afford the other boy a look at the knot he wears on his shoulder. "I came here before the strange goldrider fell from the sky," he comments back to Thierry, "and helped get my sister transferred here despite the others showing up. Vergora was partial to nowtimers." A hint of smile here. "But my sister and I went to Southern when it was found." His eyes take in Thierry once more, an honest curiosity lurking in both demeanor and expression. "What about you? Are you from here?"

"Well yeah, but they shouldn't - I mean, not in front of —- they fucking /turned/ on me, man!" Thierry is scarred by the experience. "Oldtimers're sharding /weird/, man. Don't get 'em. Don't know if I wanna, y'know? 'specially some of them rider ones… they don't /get it/ here, man. These're my streets. My bazaar. My home. Born and bred here - just down there." He raises his head to suggest somewhere further down the alley they're in. "Whatchoo go to S-S-Southern for?" He's wracked by a cold shiver, and rubs at his upper arm as he sucks in another lungful of smoke from his toke. There's a little bit of heat from it, at least!

"Oldtimers are weird," El'ai will agree to that, though he might give Thierry a touch of the hairy eyeball for the boy's first statement, but hey the shadows will cloak that expression somewhat. "Some of their ways make sense," the bronzerider says with a strength of conviction, "Especially the way they treat their women." Maybe it's because of his aforementioned sister. "Oh, because there were too many goldriders in one weyr. My sister did not want what happened to Kohleth and Vergora to happen to her, so we moved. Southern's real nice, even if it does try to bake us." He rocks on his heels, though he keeps well upwind of Thierry's smoke-making thing. "Maybe you need some clothes." This comes with a dubious (and sympathetic) look to the other boy's lack of… garments. "That can't be comfortable."

Thierry's nose wrinkles in distaste when El'ai brings up Igen's once-Weyrwoman. "Your sister's one of ours, yeah?" He's gathered as much from what's been said so far. "Better she left. Dunno what's with them /old/ ones, but we've lost /two/ of /our/ weyrwomen since they got here. Prob'ly best for your sister to steer clear." His teeth are chattering now, making it hard for him to pull in another smoky breath. "Got'em here, but they're filthy. Day's patrol-grime on 'em, don't wanna put them back on just now." No, he'd rather stand and catch his death in the cold - such is the logic of teenagers. "I had to get outta them baths real quick, man. You don't understand. They were gonna /eat/ me or some shit."

"She's once of Igen, yes, but didn't Impress here. We've been all over. Sekhaenkath's one of her babies, though." Beat. "Khalyssrielth." Presumably the sister's dragon. Sometimes getting details out of El'ai is like trying to bleed a rock. "I have heard about the loss of your Weyrwomen. Vergora was…" Intimidating. Powerful. Insane. "…that was sad." Leave it to El'ai to put a rosy twist to that whole affair. "I never really met Corelle. She was after I left." Lips twitch as humor surfaces and once more the boy's dragging his hand through his hair. "Eat you? You have cannibal women in Igen now?" Okay, cue the dubious eyebrow raise that leaves the bronzerider's expression comical. "Did they have forks?" Perhaps he's imagining a horde of naked, boobified women chasing down poor Thierry with silver forks. That might also explain the comical expression!

"Course they had forks, they're women." Ba-dum-tsh. Thierry smirks at his own attempt at a dirty joke. "Betcha they're all anti-knife, though." Wink wink. Bigger smirk - a sleazy sort of lip-curling smirk. "Igen cannibals're the /worst/, man. You've got no idea. Oughta hop on that dragon've yours and beat it while you can." Back to the safety of Southern! "Dunno if I know them names, though. One of them 'ths yours?" Dragon gossip and the who's who of other Weyrs isn't really Thierry's strongpoint.

The dirty joke sails right over El'ai's head, leaving the bronzerider to stare intently at Thierry for a shade longer than is polite. "Huh." Mulling something over, he re-shoves his free hand into his pocket and shrugs, "I think they'd be okay with knifes if they'd want to eat you." On the surface, the other boy's dirty comment seemed to also have sailed over his head, but upon closer inspection it's entirely possible that El'ai is riposting with a possible zinger of his own. "Uh-huh. Well, I'm gonna be here to stay for a while yet, soon. Sekhaenkath is mine. Khalyssrielth is my sister's dragon and my dragon's dam."

Riiiight. Thierry looks at El'ai as if he's not all there, for the way in which that /awesome/ joke he made didn't even get /understood/. Well, balls. If there's a deeper meaning there, he's just unable to pick up on it, being the more obvious type himself. "Your sister's dragon's your dragon's ma?" Thi looks thoughtful as he flicks his toke butt away, where smashes in a shower of sparks against the nearest wall. "You're staying here, yeah? S'alright to have more /men/ around. /Good/ men. /Our/ men." Not Oldtimer weirdos! "Sekhnath? S'that right? Dunno why it's familiar."

Thierry is presented with a mild smile for his look questioning El'ai's sanity, the other boy outwardly unfazed by such looks. "Yeah. I would live with Bailey every time we moved and one time I was just there for her clutch. It worked." So simple. "Staying here for now," he mildly corrects, a flash of male pride in his eyes. "Sekhaenkath caught Elicheritath, Tuli's gold. She's to be laying her eggs soon." He pauses, then divulges a precious bit of information: "It's our first." Clutch, presumably.

"Aaaw, /s-s-shit/." Shivering sympathy there for the bronzer, as Thierry shakes his head sadly for him. There goes the condemned man. "You gonna be stuck with her? Are you meant to say congratulations to someone who's dragon knocks another up? I dunno. Dunno if you oughta be congratulated - mebbe commiserated. Dunno if I'd fancy being with /that/ one." He pulls a face, nose wrinkled in distaste, as he fumbles in the clothing over his arm for another toke. "D'you gotta stick around and play egg-da? Sounds like a bum deal."

"Tuli isn't so bad," El'ai protests. Tuli could be breathing fire with horns coming from her forehead and El'ai would still say this because she is his first flight catch. Not that Thierry would know that, but some semblance of that conviction exists. "And I am not entirely sure. I mean, we don't have to be there all the time like the gold does, I think." The bronzerider shrugs in a devil-may-care way that prompts a grin. "I'd say congratulations. First flight, first win." Not bad odds!

Thierry snorts softly, scrubbing under his nose with the back of his hand. "Mebbe we're talking about different Tulis," he leaves it there, with a sneery sort of smile. A lungful of smoke's drawn from his toke, exhaled in long, slow stream into the air above them as he nods in response to El'ai's grinning. "Yeah. Alright. Congratulations." Then a pause, as the blue-grey smoke trickles down to just enough for him to puff out one smoke ring and be done. "Here. Tell me something. Got all sortsa rumours flying around 'bout that dragony fuck stuff. D'you get it in good when you land it?"

"Maybe." El'ai is dubious on this, but he doesn't pursue the topic because of his own shaky ground he's on with Igen's junior. "Thanks." Even with Thierry directing his smoke to the sky, the boy's quick to shift his stance to ensure he's not getting any smoke to the face. Just in case. Can't be too careful with that stuff! "Well." He shifts from foot to foot, looking a touch uneasy. "It's good, yes. But it's good because your dragon wants it to be good. It doesn't really matter what happens between the human parts." Which doesn't really sound all that appealing when a person comes right down to it!

Not that appealing, and nonsensical too! Thierry gives El'ai a /weird/ look as he stands there and shivers, teeth still chattering away when he's not talking. "Dunno how /that/ works." How can sex be good if it doesn't matter what's happening with the good bits? "You sticking around a bit now, Southern? How's about I show you what's what in my land, huh?" Never mind the rider said he'd been there before. "You into gambling? Wanna bet a bit? 's'not rigged, I can guarantee it."

"It's not easily described," El'ai proffers with another, teenaged shrug of his shoulders. "I am — or was — trying to find my way back to the weyr." If El'ai were on his own, his trusting nature would have him traipsing after the unknown boy with little care as to who Thierry is and what his motives are. Fortunately, the bronzerider's looked out for by a much more discerning bronze as high above them, against the midnight sky, the brilliance of Sekhaenkath's foot coloring is all that's easily seen. Yet it's enough to cause the bronzerider to hesitate, then say slowly, "Nah, I'm not really into gambling." He's vice free, really! "I'd better get back to the weyr…" This comes with the slow back-step towards the main thoroughfare of the bazaar. He pauses, gives the other boy a quick grin, "Try not to get eaten by women with forks and I think you need to get some real clothes on." No Thierry popsicles here! With a final nod, he starts to make his way back.

The dragon up ahead is there without Thierry knowing, or he may be a little more cagey down here on the ground. "Shame. Woulda taken you to /my/ place. No damned women there… 'cept my mum. And my sister." And they don't seem to count. "Weyr's that way," he points down the alley in the direction he's just stomped from. "Keep going. Straight on, you'll hit the centre. Easy enough from there, can't get lost." Being a guard has made him /helpful/. "Watch the fuck out for them women, though - they're gonna be cannibal prunes coming after your pretty ass. You won't stand a chance." He winks, touching his fingers to his forehead in a salute as he steps around El'ai, walking backwards a few steps in the direction opposite to which he's just pointed the bronzerider. "You need anything, Southern, you come find Thierry, yeah? Gonna get sick've that Oldie goldie /some/ time, I betcha… See you around, man." He gives a parting nod, before spinning on his heel and trotting off, hand clutching at his towel - and breath visible in the night air as he cusses the cold.

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