from_the_west (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
from_the_west) wrote2009-09-17 07:16 pm
from_the_west) wrote2009-09-17 07:16 pm
Entry tags:
the indirect use of force: rin and tiun.
i had a request for rin and tiun's early adventures and several for indirect force [sidhe!team leverage], so hey, multiple birds in one fic. first part.
****
The message arrived via a brightly dancing butterfly, which, once it caught their attention, unfurled its wings wider and then wider still, into an explosion of red-orange feathers, tipped with black and blue as if dipped into ink wells, attached to a black-haired, black-eyed, shyly giggling cherub. This spoke to a different sort of urgency; Huan didn't often trust messages with the butterfly-minded among the fravashi.
The flower-perfumed note bore only a single line: The pirate's returned. The rest was a map, with a glowing dot tracking a trail upon it--among whatever he'd last stolen, there had been a marker hid. Tiun gave the map a brief study, rolled it up and stashed it, as his twin squinted up at the sky.
Two fingers of sun between him and them; he'd likely beat them to his ship again, and it'll be the same old story--their horses, fleet and sure-footed as any in Tirnanog, could not match an airship as long as they did not learn to sprout wings and fly. "Instead of chasing the fox, let's find his den, tá."
'Course, it was just as unlikely they'd be able to find the quiet hidden harbor where he'd anchored his flying den. Best they could do was find a ship and crew to commandeer--the second, they decided was easiest and best, tá, and given the lands they were riding circuit through, on the mainland far to the east, they knew exactly who to go to next.
Tiun whistled the butterfly back again, while Rin quickly inscribed a note.
*****
The house was quiet when they galloped up to it (Should we be disappointed that there's not a ship here already?), reined in and dismounted all in a series of fluid, easy, half-mirrored motions. Tiun went to the door, Rin hung back and kept an eye out.
'Twas the lady that answered (If that was, in fact, the part she was playing today.) and she looked, said "Oh, nil hea!" And slammed the door in their faces.
Tiun looked at Rin. Rin shrugged back. So much for being polite. They forced the door and walked in. It was surprisingly tidy, but admittedly, the last they'd seen of SeWyn themselves personally, he hadn't been doing all that well, nil hea. The lack of complaint, or indeed, his appearance on the Isle, cracked and brooding, said he was doing somewhat better these days.
"Where's t'Cridhos?" Rin demanded.
"He doesn't want to see you." She (What sort of name would we get, if we asked her now?) snapped indignantly. "And get out of my house!"
"Liar." Said Rin, and "Not your house, though, is it?" Said Tiun, as they brushed past, and there was another one there, at the doorway with a wary soul and a fighter's stance, glancing from them to the lady and back again. Rin immediately started scanning the house for other presences even as the fighting man spoke--
"C'se ta, Soloni?" (Ah, so that's it now.)
"Troublemakers." Soloni declared, as she walked away. (Going to the Cridhos to warn him.) She was one to speak. (Ye sure? Since when did he inspire that sort of loyalty?)
"Rin and Tiun A'Drakon, Fidei Defensoran an Tirnanog." Tiun answered, while Rin noted five minds and auras altogether, three of them bright and loud enough to mages of some sort, two of them particularly so, and one of those two likely to be SeWyn himself, sparking and flaring, most likely from sugar. They might have reassured the household this was not the reason they were here, but the underlying tension suggested that it would be a waste of words. "We sent a message ahead, tá?"
"You're the ones needin' an airship and a crew, tá?" The unnamed fighter asked, and at their nods, he called--"Oi, Aten!" His physical voice might've been quiet-low, and rough as a cheap blade over a whetstone, speaking of a mix of habit, and winters spent hunched too close over smouldering coals, too many burning villages, and payments rendered in whiskey, but his mental voice was younger, clearer, had some strength to it.
The call went out just as one of the brightest of the presences came in; with the flick of two fingers, he gave the fighter's aura a good sharp spark to the head, and the fighter jumped and glared. "What's that for?" In a belligerent growl.
"For you, nil abair and no need to pay. I am not headblind; you do not need to yell, nil hea." They would have simply given him credit for being of Avalonian heritage, if not for the distinct and all-too familiar Lucánian accent and manner. Avalon Rianic, clearly. Not likely to be a relative of theirs though, unless by a marriage everyone failed to mention, tá.
"That's Rin and Tiun A'Drakon, tá."
The mage looked blank.
"The F.D.s SeWyn told us about. You ready?"
"Oh! Salve. It is always a pleasure to work with brothers-in-and-of-the-light. For a change." He said, shooting the fighter a look before smiling a bright and pretty smile, as he pressed his hands together and gave the slightest of bows. "Xandre Aten."
Rin and Tiun gave the fighter pointed looks of their own. Aten followed their attention and intent and frowned. "You did not give them a name? Why are you so rude? Is this your--"
The fighter's scowl deepened. "You were not gonna say anything about my maidre, nil hea?" With an actual flare of temper to work with they could see him even more clearly. Merely gruff, they decided, not accustomed to being liked or trusted by their sort, but not actively hostile in an impending attack way. Nor as irritated by the mage as he might pretend.
"--but I am pleased to report that his maidre had nothing to do with his apparent lack of manners." Aten finished cheerfully, still smiling. "He is called Ever Turi." As for the mage, he projected a genuine good humor that should probably be declared suspect out of principle. No one should be that pleased with life in general, even among sidhe mages formerly of Avalon, although they supposed that if they blamed his happiness on his relocation, they could take away a few strikes to his apparent sanity and give him a little credit for good taste. But only a little credit, tá. True, he was attractive, and that definitely skewed the balance of things, but good taste was also important.
"Are we done? Let's go." Ever said brusquely, leading the way out. "I know somebody whose ship we can borrow. Aten's gonna play navigaen."
"You ever do that before?" Tiun asked.
"Nil hea, but it's my purpose to do anything that I've never done before better than anybody else that does it all the time, whenever I am asked." Aten replied, adjusting his cloak.
"Well that should work out just fine, then." Rin remarked, as the corner of Tiun's mouth quirked.
"You do not get to mock unless I crash us into a mountain." Aten said indignantly. Nothing could express offense like an Avalonian Rianic.
"He's hopin' we'll be too dead to mock then." Ever snorted.
"We don't recommend it--"
"--we will absolutely sit around and mock ye--"
"--all through the After 'til we're reborn or you are." Tiun finished.
"And then come find ye and beat the will out of ye when we get our memories back." Ever put in for good measure.
"Hey, be kind. Words hurt, tá?" Aten said. He didn't seem to feel wounded so much as eager, and maybe that should've been a warning in and of itself.
****
The message arrived via a brightly dancing butterfly, which, once it caught their attention, unfurled its wings wider and then wider still, into an explosion of red-orange feathers, tipped with black and blue as if dipped into ink wells, attached to a black-haired, black-eyed, shyly giggling cherub. This spoke to a different sort of urgency; Huan didn't often trust messages with the butterfly-minded among the fravashi.
The flower-perfumed note bore only a single line: The pirate's returned. The rest was a map, with a glowing dot tracking a trail upon it--among whatever he'd last stolen, there had been a marker hid. Tiun gave the map a brief study, rolled it up and stashed it, as his twin squinted up at the sky.
Two fingers of sun between him and them; he'd likely beat them to his ship again, and it'll be the same old story--their horses, fleet and sure-footed as any in Tirnanog, could not match an airship as long as they did not learn to sprout wings and fly. "Instead of chasing the fox, let's find his den, tá."
'Course, it was just as unlikely they'd be able to find the quiet hidden harbor where he'd anchored his flying den. Best they could do was find a ship and crew to commandeer--the second, they decided was easiest and best, tá, and given the lands they were riding circuit through, on the mainland far to the east, they knew exactly who to go to next.
Tiun whistled the butterfly back again, while Rin quickly inscribed a note.
*****
The house was quiet when they galloped up to it (Should we be disappointed that there's not a ship here already?), reined in and dismounted all in a series of fluid, easy, half-mirrored motions. Tiun went to the door, Rin hung back and kept an eye out.
'Twas the lady that answered (If that was, in fact, the part she was playing today.) and she looked, said "Oh, nil hea!" And slammed the door in their faces.
Tiun looked at Rin. Rin shrugged back. So much for being polite. They forced the door and walked in. It was surprisingly tidy, but admittedly, the last they'd seen of SeWyn themselves personally, he hadn't been doing all that well, nil hea. The lack of complaint, or indeed, his appearance on the Isle, cracked and brooding, said he was doing somewhat better these days.
"Where's t'Cridhos?" Rin demanded.
"He doesn't want to see you." She (What sort of name would we get, if we asked her now?) snapped indignantly. "And get out of my house!"
"Liar." Said Rin, and "Not your house, though, is it?" Said Tiun, as they brushed past, and there was another one there, at the doorway with a wary soul and a fighter's stance, glancing from them to the lady and back again. Rin immediately started scanning the house for other presences even as the fighting man spoke--
"C'se ta, Soloni?" (Ah, so that's it now.)
"Troublemakers." Soloni declared, as she walked away. (Going to the Cridhos to warn him.) She was one to speak. (Ye sure? Since when did he inspire that sort of loyalty?)
"Rin and Tiun A'Drakon, Fidei Defensoran an Tirnanog." Tiun answered, while Rin noted five minds and auras altogether, three of them bright and loud enough to mages of some sort, two of them particularly so, and one of those two likely to be SeWyn himself, sparking and flaring, most likely from sugar. They might have reassured the household this was not the reason they were here, but the underlying tension suggested that it would be a waste of words. "We sent a message ahead, tá?"
"You're the ones needin' an airship and a crew, tá?" The unnamed fighter asked, and at their nods, he called--"Oi, Aten!" His physical voice might've been quiet-low, and rough as a cheap blade over a whetstone, speaking of a mix of habit, and winters spent hunched too close over smouldering coals, too many burning villages, and payments rendered in whiskey, but his mental voice was younger, clearer, had some strength to it.
The call went out just as one of the brightest of the presences came in; with the flick of two fingers, he gave the fighter's aura a good sharp spark to the head, and the fighter jumped and glared. "What's that for?" In a belligerent growl.
"For you, nil abair and no need to pay. I am not headblind; you do not need to yell, nil hea." They would have simply given him credit for being of Avalonian heritage, if not for the distinct and all-too familiar Lucánian accent and manner. Avalon Rianic, clearly. Not likely to be a relative of theirs though, unless by a marriage everyone failed to mention, tá.
"That's Rin and Tiun A'Drakon, tá."
The mage looked blank.
"The F.D.s SeWyn told us about. You ready?"
"Oh! Salve. It is always a pleasure to work with brothers-in-and-of-the-light. For a change." He said, shooting the fighter a look before smiling a bright and pretty smile, as he pressed his hands together and gave the slightest of bows. "Xandre Aten."
Rin and Tiun gave the fighter pointed looks of their own. Aten followed their attention and intent and frowned. "You did not give them a name? Why are you so rude? Is this your--"
The fighter's scowl deepened. "You were not gonna say anything about my maidre, nil hea?" With an actual flare of temper to work with they could see him even more clearly. Merely gruff, they decided, not accustomed to being liked or trusted by their sort, but not actively hostile in an impending attack way. Nor as irritated by the mage as he might pretend.
"--but I am pleased to report that his maidre had nothing to do with his apparent lack of manners." Aten finished cheerfully, still smiling. "He is called Ever Turi." As for the mage, he projected a genuine good humor that should probably be declared suspect out of principle. No one should be that pleased with life in general, even among sidhe mages formerly of Avalon, although they supposed that if they blamed his happiness on his relocation, they could take away a few strikes to his apparent sanity and give him a little credit for good taste. But only a little credit, tá. True, he was attractive, and that definitely skewed the balance of things, but good taste was also important.
"Are we done? Let's go." Ever said brusquely, leading the way out. "I know somebody whose ship we can borrow. Aten's gonna play navigaen."
"You ever do that before?" Tiun asked.
"Nil hea, but it's my purpose to do anything that I've never done before better than anybody else that does it all the time, whenever I am asked." Aten replied, adjusting his cloak.
"Well that should work out just fine, then." Rin remarked, as the corner of Tiun's mouth quirked.
"You do not get to mock unless I crash us into a mountain." Aten said indignantly. Nothing could express offense like an Avalonian Rianic.
"He's hopin' we'll be too dead to mock then." Ever snorted.
"We don't recommend it--"
"--we will absolutely sit around and mock ye--"
"--all through the After 'til we're reborn or you are." Tiun finished.
"And then come find ye and beat the will out of ye when we get our memories back." Ever put in for good measure.
"Hey, be kind. Words hurt, tá?" Aten said. He didn't seem to feel wounded so much as eager, and maybe that should've been a warning in and of itself.