the shadows call {open}

[Requiem]

Micah caught the flung towel with a slight smirk. What was that supposed to be? Silly toymaker. The trader was toweling his hair dry when Cain started in on bets again. This drew a soft snort from the man. "Yeah. I think I'm done taking up bets that you're bound to win. Do you always only stick your neck out on done deals? Boring." Aramis was always in a tree. Micah figured it was to keep the throngs from jumping him and beating the snot out of him with that shardblasted gitar. Mobs tended to lose steam when lynching their man involved climbing giant trees.

"We could," Micah conceded. His tone made it clear that this was the last thing he wanted to do, however. Most of that caravan was made up of men and women - lifelong vagabonds, really - who formed up into a nice closeknit clan of ignorance. They didn't like outsiders much, either. Not that Micah would ever admit it, but he tolerated Cain and Aramis mostly for selfish reasons. In other words, he knew enough not to completely isolate himself around people who had no law but their own and no love or trust for anyone but themselves. Not that his two semi-companions were likely to be any use whatsoever if things went south. It was just a deterrent. People picked fights with groups far less than they did individuals.

Micah trailed after Cain, a bit disinterested in the whole affair. A bet was a bet, though. At least he might get interesting sounds out of Aramis. (Of course, he'd have to do all the heavy lifting. As usual. If he ever had the opportunity to choose his own company, he'd have to find someone not afraid to get their hands dirty next time.) Finding Aramis proved to be surprisingly easy, though. Cain had the height wrong, but not the location, and wasn't it just so accomodating of Ari to be in a tree directly along the path to the caravan?

Micah hardly wasted any time. He caught the young man by the wrist and yanked him right off the branch he was sleeping on, throwing Ari over a shoulder. Skinny malnourished musicians - and that was used in the loosest sense of the word - didn't weigh terribly much. The hunter dumped him into the water and added a gruff, "Strip." With any luck, Aramis would react amusingly.

At that thought, Micah decided he really was far too bored here lately.

[Lotty]

Blegh, Aramis was refulgent with the festive aura of an evening's worth of regrets. Last night was entirely uncalled for, and while he didn't care to go into details about the whole shindig, he was going to mentally note to never repeat that mistake again. There was good reason they had never attended the trading clan's late night "soirees" and it turned out that it wasn't just because the caravan was populated by a band of libertines. While curiosity most definitely killed the feline so to speak, it only left him irreparably scarred and entirely too hungover. Not to mention the fact that he was still trying to figure out if the so called bearded lady was in fact a lady.

But he was alive, physically unharmed, and catching up on his sleep when he felt he body shake loose from it's spot on the tree. Well that was weird. He was almost sure that even in this deep meditative sleep he had not mastered psychokinesis nor levitation, and since he most definitely wasn't dreaming, then that could only mean that evil incarnate had finally come to claim his soul and dispose of his body in the nearest hole or body of water. It was about time as far as he was concerned, "Sweet Death, I knew all along you would come for me..." the words were muttered sleepily without even so much of a crack of his eyelids, it made it only that much more surprising when he felt the empty vessel that was his body break the river's surface.

The water did do a service of waking him up. Synapses began to fire at will, his eyes finally opened to the clouded, dream world of the river, and algae seemingly reached for and wrapped around his fingers and hands while he was left to blankly look at the light fixed at the end of his tunnel vision. If it wasn't for the stray passing fish, and the undeniable tightness that marked a shortness of oxygen, he very well could have remained there on the riverbed. But realizing he wasn't dead - pfft, how unfortunate - he popped his head up over the surface and spit out a steady stream of water like a venetian fountain head.

Strip.

The wet dog that Ari very much resembled was befuddled by this request and this was noted by the clear confusion on his face - well if one could manage to catch the expression between all the shaking of his hair and scratching of his neck, "Strip?" this sounded like a fraternity's induction ceremony gone wrong, "Feline hunting makes sense, but I didn't know that sexual deviance and cult initiations were a part of your repertoire..." his eyes drifted over to Cain, not only to implicate him in the crime but to look for a explanation... was that soap sand he spotted? Oh my, he was getting a bit of a make over wasn't he? What a cute little game for their coterie.

[Avu]

Well, he hadn’t really meant it as a bet, but sure. Cain shrugged amiably, hands pushing deeper into his pockets as he wandered down the path, deliberately slowing so that by the time Aramis came into view, Micah had about caught up with him. For a minute, Cain eyed Aramis, wondering just how likely a concussion was if they accidentally shook the sleeping musician out of his tree. Accidentally being the key word, of course. Because it was so easy to accidentally shake a tree. He’d just opened his mouth to ask when Micah decided to take things into his own hands. Literally so. Torn between amusement and bemusement, Cain turned, deciding to keep his mouth closed for once, and followed Micah and his boneless burden back towards the river again.

The undignified dump into the river—and Aramis’s seeming contentedness to remain at the bottom of the riverbed—earned a quiet huff of amusement from Cain, who settled back against his rock, sweetsand at the ready to pitch at Aramis whenever he resurfaced. When he finally did, resembling a very soggy canine more than an actual human being, Cain waved cheerfully at him, curling one leg underneath his body. Clearly he was just a sideshow; apparently Micah was more than happy (or as happy as Micah ever got—it wasn’t a word Cain generally applied to the man) to make sure Aramis got his bath. Good man.

“As of about ten minutes ago,” he informed Aramis casually. “C’mon, strip. Also, catch. You’ll smell as appetizing as any woman, except I only got one towel. Have fun.” Cain tossed the sweetsand over Micah’s head to Aramis, and if it managed to land on Aramis’s head, well—purely a happy accident. “You do have clean clothes somewhere, right?” All their—his—hard work would be for nothing if they both went and got right back into absolutely filthy clothing. Grr.

[Requiem]

At least Cain was amusing himself. Micah made a mental note to see the rat half-drowned as well before the day was out. He was looking entirely too smug to just leave him that way. (Kid had to know his place, after all. Swelled heads weren't good for the immediate future.) Nevertheless, the hunter was content to focus his attention on the other man he was half-drowning. Too bad. Water seemed to have woken Aramis. Oh well. It seemed they wouldn't escape that poor excuse for music just yet.

A glance was cast back over his shoulder at Cain's words. "That's right. I can't resist existentialist hobos." A half-shrug was given the toymaker. "He doesn't need clothes. Tree huggers don't have modesty, do they?" Then, because Micah wasn't the most patient of men, he stepped forward and tugged Ari's shirt over his head. The garment was flung at Cain's face. Overdramatic bastard. Maybe the stench would overwhelm his olfactory senses and give him an aneurism. Then he'd really have something to complain about.

"Hurry it up," the trader barked at Aramis. Really, they just couldn't do things in a timely fashion, could they? He had all manner of things he had to get back to. Like lurking the hallways and glaring death glares at the passing dragonriders. Sure, there was no proof that mental hexes actually worked, but there was no proof that they didn't. There was also brooding, glowering at the trees and breaking various offensive inanimate objects. Who was going to take care of all these necessaries if not Micah?

Yeah, okay, so his life was boring. That didn't mean he preferred the company of these, though.

[Lotty]

Why would he want to smell as appetizing as a woman? Ah well, he wasn't going to ever think too hard about something Micah or Cain had to say. That would just be a blatant waste of time, and instead reached up and snatched the sack of sweetsand, "Yeah there are clean clothes somewhere," worst came to worst he could worm his bony ass into some pilfered laundry. If he tore it up enough then the true owner probably wouldn't even know it was theirs. The idea of it amused him even if theft wasn't one of his usual sins; screwing with a dragonrider or two definitely was.

Well the smirk was there before he was assaulted anyway, and was left to cling to the sand filled sack as the hunter began peeling the soggy, wet, second skin right off of his back. Now, now, the man should know better than to be so forward in his advances as to actually begin undressing him. Licking his lips and pulling them together into a coquettish moue, Aramis flicked a wet strand of hair back behind his shoulder and teased, "Micah... I believe I need a little help with my pants... they're soooo tight," even he couldn't keep a charade like that up for long and his face grew increasingly red as he tried his damnedest to hold back the laughter welling up in his lungs and throat.

Something had to give though, and he let out one of his heavy chuckles before opening up the soap granules and lathering up, a process that occurred in spurts between working on unhooking the belts loosely slung around his waist and unabashedly pulling his pants off. Items were all thrown onto the shore line - his hunting knife most reluctantly, as the piece held particular significance to him. Running more of the suds through his hair he asked his companions, "Happy now?" Only to throw leftover soap in their direction, "What about you two?" Certainly he wasn't the smelliest of them.

[Avu]

Shirt in his face.

Which might have not been so terribly bad, except that it was a dirty, unwashed shirt and he was definitely clean and washed and had exactly zero desire to become the opposite. The sound that left his mouth was a mix between choking and a yelp, and a hundred percent humiliating, as Cain ducked so fast his chin clipped his knees, effectively earning him a bitten-tongue and a cut-off choke, the latter of which he appreciated a little more than the former. Fortunately, the shirt managed to flop just over him, hooking itself onto the rock behind him, and Cain cautiously nudged it off with one finger, wondering if it would, at this point, be a good idea to just forfeit his entire finger. It was contaminated now, after all. He’d have to see if it got a rash or not, he supposed.

Fortunately, Aramis’s failed attempt at pretending to flirt was enough to distract Cain, who curled himself safely around his knees, arms tucked under his thighs and his toes pressed against the edge of his stone chair, and snorted in wry amusement, content to be momentarily quiet and let Aramis bug Micah as he pleased (and also partially because he figured if he stayed quiet, the embarrassing squeak he’d just uttered would be forgotten faster, just maybe). Still, not speaking for too long would be suspicious, wouldn’t it, so, “You’re the last,” he told Aramis. “I spent like, forever and a day in the baths when we got here, and Micah just had his turn.”

He shrugged, added like an afterthought, “And we’re getting pie, probably. Corrupting kids is surprisingly rewarding, you know?” It wasn’t hard to imagine that yes, Aramis probably did know, unlike Micah, who probably just scared kids to death whenever they were unlucky enough to come across him. They would probably be telling stories about him years after he’d left Selenitas like he was the Boogeyman. Watch out or Micah will get you, he likes to hide in dark deserted jungles and wrestles with felines for fun, and, oh yeah, he also smells like a field of flowers and likes pie.

[Requiem]

Micah's eyes tracked to Cain for a brief moment. What was that supposed to be? An impression of a chipmunk? If so, the little blonde was managing to make even chipmunks seem macho. He turned back to Aramis with a dismissive snort. Maybe if they were lucky the toymaker might have bit his tongue clear off when he hit his chin. That was it. Just keep thinking positive.

Sadly, it seemed that neither of his companions had undergone spontaneous tongue amputation. Micah regarded Ari with a critical eye before stepping back. "More like you have no ass to hold them up," he responded pleasantly. The trader waded out of the river, content that the musician could finish up on his own from here. No sense in truncating a wash right in the middle.

He came over to lean against Cain's rock and seriously considered attempting to silence the toymaker - or at least attempt to make him squeak Micah's favorite drinking song - by assaulting him with the discarded shirt. Only one problem there. He'd have to pick it up. Though not overly concerned with cleanliness, the trader still had about zero interest in smearing Aramis's sweat and stench all over his hands.

"Cain has a sweet tooth." The comment was a flippant one. He regarded Aramis for another moment then sighed. Really, what was he still doing here? "I kept my part of the deal. Give the drowned rat over there my part of the pies." He left, then, without another word. The man wasn't terribly keen on company on the best of days, and these two were more than capable of entertaining each other. Heh.