i fear we're facing a problem. [tags; evr]

[glamourie]

Lovelovelove give love, yes?

K'lir twitched and offered his salamandyr an extremely unpleasant look. There was a good reason for that: the little bronze creature was perched on a pair of black leather pants. His rich bronze hide glittered in good health, the red tones highlighted by the black material, and the little salamandyr was making quite a show of strutting around. The way his frill flared, one might think Showoff was unhappy: not the case. He just loved to live up to his name by showing off his frill and… pretty much everything else. Flicking his wings, Showoff stood up on his hindlegs and chirped – yes, chirped – up at His. There was definite laughter in his eyes, the salamandyr equivalent of amusement. He was intelligent enough to recognize when he was offending His, and stubborn enough not to care all that much about it since he wasn’t being crammed into dirty socks or anything equally unpleasant. He liked the slick thing beneath him… and His needed to get it for him. That or he’d just take them. He wanted it. Never mind that Showoff was absolutely too tiny to carry a pair of leather pants and would likely have no use for them once he owned them – His needed to hand them over already. Just do it!

Normally, K’lir indulged his salamandyr’s whims. He was very fond of the little monster, even if Showoff made him crazy more often than not. Even if Showoff was why he barely could stand to be in the same Weyr as Uu’n, who apparently didn’t know he existed. However, there was a very good reason (aside from the obvious lack of practical uses) why he didn’t want to give Showoff the leather pants. The last pair he’d owned – a gift to him – were destroyed by Showoff in a fit of temper over Baoth’s bath being prioritized over him receiving attention. He didn’t want to buy another pair for the little monster to destroy on a whim. Not to mention it wasn’t even the first thing Showoff had asked for at the Gather. He was currently considering throttling the salamandyr – who kept changing his mind every five minutes. He was more moody than a pregnant woman.

Love? Please?

“No. You haven’t earned any kind of gifts or anything like that. You’re not even behaving now. Now get off of that or I’m going to fling you at the nearest ugly person I can find – and there’s so many blonds here that I’m sure I can find someone.” The green weyrlingrider rolled his eyes and literally swept his hand over the pants, knocking Showoff off them and onto the ground with a startled squawk. Ignoring his protesting pet, the redhead gave a rough sniff and started to turn away when something about the pants caught his eye – the fastenings. Instead of the usual tie up the front that most leather pants seemed to possess, these had numerous silver buttons that glittered in the afternoon light. It was obvious immediately why the bronze liked them, but… K’lir did, too. His hand moved up to pass over the buttons thoughtfully before he jerked it back as though burnt. So he had a weakness for black leather. So what. “You better not have scratched those. I probably can’t afford them anyway.”

Showoff scrambled across the ground and came to rest right on the top of K’lir’s black boot. The weyrlingrider looked down at him and scoffed, one hand smoothing out his black shirt. Gather finery in all black. He probably wouldn’t have attended the Gather at all if not for the theme – but his wardrobe was aptly suited and he wanted to get Kahrelir some new toys. The boy was currently staying with his mother back at the Weyr – and Baoth was at the outskirts of the Gather huffily watching everyone move around; she’d much rather have just slept. Golden eyes narrowed into slits before he shook his foot slightly, trying to dislodge his little clinger.

“Go. Shoo. Go bother Baoth. I don’t need you giving me ideas, pest.”

[mierce]

Honestly, why did they have to bother coming to the Autumn Gather? As far as Evrgarde was concerned, they were all the same damn thing. The only part she had any interest in was the paper lanterns lighting towards the end of the festival, but even then it was more of an obligatory interest than anything else. Aw, come now Evrlove— Iorath chuckled to himself at the vicious images of pain and misery His suddenly sent his way. You should meet more people! Get to know your fellow Weyrfolk.

Hmph. At least she was able to convince Lange to stay back in the weyr. Fortunately the green was easily placated with the assortment of custom made hats Evrgarde fashioned for her. She pressed her lips together in annoyance. She, a dragonrider, being bullied into submission by a stupid flitter. Ridiculous.

They glided overhead, gently circling Blossom Hold a few times before the blue brought them down in the outskirts of the Gather. Evrgarde slid off from the saddle and smoothed out her clothes. At Iorath's kindest of suggestions, she had bathed and changed into fresh clothes before leaving her weyr. It had been a few days since she properly cleaned herself, and the smell of days-old blood was getting to be awkward. Although she had begrudgingly agreed to do so, she had to admit it felt a lot better, being clean.

Leaving her blue to his own devices, Evrgarde headed into the gaggle of people. (Shards, she hated people.) Dressed in black pants, shirt, and vest that she had weaved herself, black boots, and a pair of black leather gloves, she moved like a shadow. Aside from the metal baton, her entire person from the neck down was basically a solid shape of darkness, blending well with the others who dressed in a similar manner.

She wasn't really looking for anything, being a person of utility rather than vanity. Curiosity got the better of her though, and she found her way to the Weaver Stall to see what others weavers have done. Sometimes there were interesting designs and she hoped to glean inspiration for the craft.

Through the symphony of sounds from surrounding conversations, Evrgarde suddenly picked up on a particularly one-sided argument coming from the direction of the Leather stall. She gave a casual glance in the general direction of the stall and spotted a young man gesturing towards a pair of leather pants. Meh. Nothing to see there.

[glamourie]

Well, fine. His was being difficult. A right pain in fact. Showoff frilled, eyes going a bright shade of scarlet, and the salamandyr stood up properly. He shook himself and shot K’lir a murderous look, his long and sinuous tail weaving into the air above him. His frill went wide, obviously irritated, and he huffed. Stupid DungheadHis. He just didn’t know how to let something go. Well, fine. Showoff frilled again and leapt off the boot, his little claws scraping in the grass. If that was how he felt, that was just fine. He’d find something else – someone else – to entertain him. Someone more interesting than His. Honestly. It wasn’t his fault that the Dunghead left his favored pair of covering thingies out in public where his claws could rip through them. He hadn’t meant to demolish them, it was an accident. Really. And even if it wasn’t, he’d done far worse than just destroy a pair of pants. His was over-reacting way too much. It wasn’t as though he didn’t get some fun out of it too. Showoff knew very well that His had enjoyed poking Shard’s. It pleased him immensely too, but Showoff liked getting attention of any kind. Hmph.

Dungheadmine dumb dumb. Fine. Find better.

And he would, too. Showoff turned his head, hissed at K’lir, and then scampered across the ground looking for someone more interesting to play with. He darted in and out of the legs passing around him, careful to avoid being stepped on. Five turns gave him experience. He hissed quietly to himself as he ventured away and…

… spied a pair of unprotected feet. His eyes flashed in interest…

K’lir snorted as Showoff seemingly gave up, and turned back to the pants. Yes. No. Yes. No. He couldn’t decide. On one hand he wanted very badly to buy the pants – he knew they’d look good on him – and on the other he felt… like it was a waste of marks. If he was going to be frivolous, he probably should just spend his marks on Kahrelir. He blew a raspberry and chewed his bottom lip. Visibly shifting his weight, K’lir sighed. Yes. No. Yes. No. Yes.

Taking advantage of his mindmate’s distraction, Showoff bolted. He became little more than a bronze blur tearing across the ground, doing flying leaps over people’s feet as he neared his target. Once he came close enough, the salamandyr flung himself onto Evrgarde’s leg, his claws digging into the material of her pants. They weren’t long enough to penetrate without effort and he was being careful as he darted up the woman’s leg and side. He swiveled quickly over the front of her chest, onto her shoulder, and from there he flung himself up and onto her head. If it occurred to the little bronze that his behavior could be perceived as annoying, he gave no indication. He happily frilled from the very top of Evrgarde’s head in the direction of his mindmate at the leather stall and pleasantly broadcasted to all near him – especially the person he was perching on – his new claim.

Uglymine now, mine now. Better than Dungheadmine!

The proclamation stole K’lir’s attention and the greenrider whirled around, eyes narrowing into golden slits. His gaze scanned the people of the crowd before he spotted Showoff; the salamandyr was small enough to miss, but the way his red frill was flared wasn’t. “NO!” the greenrider shrieked, loud enough to be heard across the group. His face colored with his irritation and K’lir growled before storming through the crowds. He shoved people out of his way as he went, with little regard for consideration. He deliberately squeezed his way through before reaching up to grab at Showoff from the woman’s head – not even bothering to speak to her. He didn’t know her and really did not care if he was being rude.

“You obnoxious little pest, you’re going to spend the next tenday in a sock and then I’ll feed you to Baoth, troublemaker!” Showoff chose that exact moment to leap down the back of Evrgarde’s shirt, just to be difficult, and K’lir twitched before adding, “Sharding little – What are you doing!” Because bad attention was better than none, of course!

[mierce]

At first Evrgarde brushed off the poking against her thigh as having bumping into something someone was carrying. Her pants were thick enough that the claws hardly felt like claws. However, as soon as the little pest took his first step, she froze and twisted about in place trying to land even half an eye on whatever it was. Showoff’s sudden and brief appearance in her face just before he crawled onto her shoulder and leapt atop of her head was enough to send her reflexively hand grabbing for her baton. ‘Cause bashing herself on the head was obviously the best course of action in such situations, of course.

Fortunately, she had the wherewithal to not do that. Instead she tried to grab the salamandyr just as K’lir arrived after plowing through a whole lot of people. “Ugly?!” she demanded, her voice easily overpowering any threats K’lir threw at his little pet.

Alas.

When Showoff skittered down her shirt, Evrgarde’s mind went completely red. Commence a solo game of Twister. Her arms immediately twisted back in an attempt to grab the salamandyr, but it was not to be. All her wild movements in an attempt to get the precious little bronze out of her shirt only seemed to goad him into skittering about some more. Now, this particular bluerider was not normally a very vocal person, but she also did not typically have many opportunities to enjoy the company of a salamandyr treading all over her torso like she were an obstacle course. Thus, a crowd began to gather (pun intended) ‘round as a doll-featured woman spewed profanities and threats that could give sea-faring vagrants a run for their money.

She saw nobody of course as she flailed about in a furious fit, much too invested in getting Showoff in her fists and smushing him right between her fingers. Like coagulated blood. Blood. With a roar she flung a fist out, coincidentally and completely unintentionally (though it would likely please her greatly later on, in hindsight) at a certain salamandyr owner’s face.

[glamourie]

Ugly, the salamandyr confirmed pleasantly. However, no conclusions should have been drawn from that: Showoff insulted everyone and everything casually – it never dawned on him how disrespectful he was being and if it ever did, he likely wouldn’t care. The little bronze was incredibly arrogant (as was typical of his species and color); his opinion was that everyone should just learn to define words the way that he did. Therefore, everyone around him was some variation of either ugly, stupid, or dunghead. It was worth specifying, however, that Showoff’s absolute worst insult was ‘pretty’ – which actually was considered a compliment by most people. The way he said it though left no doubt that he absolutely detested anyone he called that, and he didn’t use it often. Comically, most salamandyrs had adopted that word as their most dreadful insult, too – all because of Dael impulsively using it as such. Every word could be an insult, clearly, when used in the right context, with the right mental tone.

His feeling on the word ‘Ugly’ was probably why the creature found it very odd when Evrgarde began spinning around, seemingly rapidly. His claws dug into her skin to keep himself from tumbling free and he flared his frill from beneath her shirt, unaware of how pointless the threat was when he couldn’t be seen. Her swatting made him hiss and he frantically squirmed out of reach, darting all around underneath her shirt – from her back to her front and back again, with little regard for modesty. His confusion projected onto his eyes, turning them odd colors that rapidly flashed rather than full-fledged whirling. He cooed up at the cursing female, though it was likely impossible to hear him with her swearing as she was. What did he do to this one? It was damaged. Damaged.

Coincidentally, his sentiments were shared by his mindmate, who openly stared at the woman as she… swatted after Showoff? Freaked out about him touching her? He wasn’t likely to bite or scratch – K’lir trained him well not to do that, so why was she freaking out so bad? If she just held still, he could remove the salamandyr, but the flailing around made him reluctant to help. His mouth hung half-open (fly catching anyone?) and he tilted his head –

“Hey, if you – ”

Whatever else K’lir was going to say was cut off when a fist most efficiently impacted his face. Being barely 5’4” and downright tiny, he hit the ground with an audible thud, his hands going up to his face to protect his now bleeding nose. Droplets of blood slid down his mouth and collected on his palms as his golden eyes flicked up in blatant surprise. He didn’t usually expect to get hit or anything – yes, he was ornery, but most people didn’t actually get physical with him (probably because he was small enough that he looked like he could break in two if people weren’t careful). His eyes narrowed into dangerous, angry slits and he dropped one hand to the ground to push himself up, wobbling awkwardly. The anger on his face was plain as day.

“You sharding IMBECILE! HOLD STILL AND I’LL REMOVE HIM!” It was shouted loud enough for everyone to hear and K’lir really didn’t care – he sounded nasal, but that was to be expected after a blow to the nose. “Or you can just keep thrashing and he’ll eventually tear you up because you’re too stupid to wait and let me get him off you! Ignorant, sharding, wherrymating, dunglicking –” Odds were the insults could keep going, considering it was K’lir – he was very … direct, to put it gently.

[mierce]

…Except, Evrgarde wasn’t exactly paying attention to the words from K’lir’s mouth. She heard them, but it was an in-one-ear-out-the-other situations. Which was likely just as well since K’lir was preoccupied with insulting her in more ways than Showoff did. Yeah, that was a well deserved punch, if she had the presence of mind to consider the situation.

The bluerider’s flailing extended to include her legs and she began to tread about, arching her back this way and that. A few of the spectators attempted to step forward to help, but quickly retreated as she blindly drew near. They had seen what could happen if they weren’t careful, and were pretty certain they had no intention of finding themselves with a broken face.

Her bizarre little dance eventually ended when she (unintentionally) ran into K’lir, knocking them both to the ground again. She spun around once more, then tripped over his legs and fell face-first on top of him as well, her shoulder just missing the greenrider’s chin. She grunted as she landed, her mind in slipping from anger to confusion as she found herself staring at earth that had been well trodden by a week of festival-goers. In a bit of a daze, she didn’t move immediately—nor did she notice that she was lying on top of someone with blood leaking from his nose.

Showoff, that lucky little bronze, had just been making a trip up her stomach when he suddenly found himself wedged between her breasts. How awkward.

[glamourie]

He. Was. Going. To. Kill. Something. He just didn’t know what, or who, yet. All he knew was anger. K’lir hissed profanities as he hit the ground with force enough that it was audible and his arms flung out to his sides. He probably wouldn’t have minded that quite as much if a woman wasn’t on top of him within seconds, the very same one that busted up his nose. As it was, the greenrider twitched underneath her, momentarily disoriented by the fact that he was squished by someone else. A steady stream of insults passed through his mind, colorful enough to make a grown man blush, and he kept his eyes clenched tightly closed to avoid trying to murder his tackler/human blanket on the spot. Something told him that trying to string a stranger up by their guts would not go over well at Blossom and he had enough issues with that, thanks to Calistoth Rising at Blossom once upon a time. So no strangling, gutting, flaying, or any of that stuff. Just… fuming. He wanted to murder her on the spot. First she punched him, then she had the nerve to fall on him. And to make matters worse, she wasn’t even pretty (not that Lir found most women pretty – his preferences tend to be for men, after all).

His hands moved, one still half dribbled with blood, and he instinctively grabbed her wrists. It wasn’t a strong enough grip to hold her in place if she moved – K’lir wasn’t strong, period – but it was enough to make it clear he was not happy. Not happy at all. Enough with the thrashing. Just… enough.

“Are you quite finished?” K’lir said testily; his tone betrayed the level of his annoyance, giving little left to doubt about whether or not he was angry. Some men might’ve been happy about a woman being sprawled over them. K’lir wasn’t most men, or even in the minority. And all he saw her as was a blatant annoyance. “Lesson one in dealing with salamandyrs: the more you react, the more amusement they derive, and therefore, your ultimate best option in dealing with them is to ignore them. They will get bored and move on. Lesson two: You hurt someone’s salamandyr, you may as well be hurting their dragon. Lesson three: Punching me in the face makes me really want to bite your nose off. That’s not relating to salamandyrs, but you’ve got about thirty seconds before I try to act on that impulse, starting now.”

Not that K’lir was exactly a threat, but being punched in the face tended to drastically reduce his mood. Then having someone sprawled on top of him, however dazed, didn’t help. The expression on his face was near murderous, and he deliberately held her wrists to prevent any more punching (if she did, so help him, he’d slam her face into the nearest table, small size be damned).

Why ugly fuss? Showoff inquired from the spot safely nestled between Evrgarde’s boobs. His position was probably odd. He was careful, though, to tuck in his claws, obviously well trained in that regard. Silly, silly. No hurt uglymine. Love. Much better Dungheadmine say Nooooo. Dunghead mine, NO love. To emphasize this very important point, Showoff crawled out from Evrgarde’s shirt and landed on K’lir’s chest before flaring his frill defiantly. Leaking, leaking. Dungheadmine is leaking. Uglymine show you. Should have give, should have give, Dungheadmine. Showoff best, see, know best. See, see… His words, in true Showoff fashion, were broadcast for all to hear; it didn’t matter to him if others didn’t want to be involved. They weren’t important after all.

“Shut up, you pest. You’re the reason I’m in this mess at all and you’re lucky I don’t cage you for this!”

That would be remarkably efficient. Really.

[mierce]

Evrgarde made something of a grunt in response to K’lir’s threats as she pried her wrists free and pushed herself up to her knees. Despite the short burst of chaos, she favored him with the most disinterested of expressions. Showoff was still making announcements for all to hear, but not that the little lizard was no longer on her, Evrgarde found herself a little more tolerable of his somewhat nonsensical blabbering. Not that that meant she liked salamandyrs; in fact, she hated them more than people.

“Well then, fortunately I was able to avoid going through proxy by pest or dragon and directly hit the idiot who couldn’t keep his vermin in reign.” The words came out in a deadpan delivery. Was K’lir expecting an apology of sorts? From Evr? Oh that’s gold.

With barely a glance spared at the bronze salamandyr, the bluerider rose to her feet and stepped away from the still prone greenrider. Sighing, she began to brush the dust and grass from her sleeves and pants. The staring and murmuring from the crowd didn’t bother her one bit and she paid them little mind as she directed her attention to fixing her hair. Stupid salamandyr.

When her hair was back in place, she straightened her shirt and looked to some distant point behind the crowd. Now, where was she going again?

[glamourie]

“If you think that’s out of reign, you’ve got another thing coming, sweetcheeks,” K’lir replied pleasantly to the woman. Little known fact: the more pleasant his tones became, the more likely he was being nasty and in that case, it was definitely pronounced. Trying to control Showoff was like trying to stem the oncoming tide. K’lir could moderate him on some levels but he wasn’t perfect. However, making K’lir mad was usually an excellent way of unleashing Showoff’s maliciousness in full force. He was perfectly happy to let the salamandyr show this wench exactly what out of control was. He didn’t take much pride in things, but one of the things he was proud of was how much control he did have over Showoff. He hadn’t bitten her on the tit, had he? As far as K’lir was concerned, she ought to have been counting her blessings, instead of being so arrogant and bossy. “You need to develop a thicker skin, s’a wonder no one’s knocked your bleedin’ head off for that mouth. I do keep him under control and if you hadn’t been stupidly flailing around like someone dropped ice on your crotch, you’d have known that I was going to pry him off of you. But you were busy over-reacting like a damned fool.”

It was tempting to punch her clear in the face for the attitude. Really hard. Although, “really hard” for Lir was a far from impressive feat and had a high likelihood of getting him laughed at but that aside, he really wanted to break her face for being so irritating. His golden eyes narrowed into slits as she stood up and proceeded to start brushing herself off like a prim and prissy girl. He did not like women usually. Most of them were manipulative and irritating. He tolerated certain ones, but there was a reason he strongly preferred his bedwarmers of the male persuasion and her lack of apology or acknowledgment at her own idiocy was enough to enrage him. And of course, K’lir had no real brain to mouth or anything else filter: as soon as an idea occurred to him, he acted on it, most of the time. Even when it was not the wisest thing to do. He wouldn’t have been K’lir if he behaved any other way.

The greenrider swung his legs at the woman’s, deliberately sweeping her feet out from underneath her. He waited on even bothering to sit up, let alone trying to stand. The look on his face was near to murderous as he pulled his legs back to himself and rolled over to prop himself up on his hands and elbows. Through blood red strands, K’lir gave her a very vicious look.

“Fixing your hair – who’re you trying to impress? After making such a dunghead of yourself, I doubt anyone here so much as acknowledges you as little more than scum under their boots. At best they’re wondering what kind of brain damage you’ve suffered – so am I, actually. What kind of person walks around punching others trying to help them then acts like they’re justified? Oh, right, someone who’s got tits, of course. Women like you make me glad I prefer men.” If he realized how sexist that comment sounded, K’lir gave no indication. Likely, he didn’t care. He was not a typical man’s man and had no desire to impress anyone so if every female at Selenitas thought he was horrible, good for them. Maybe Baoth wouldn’t ‘accidentally’ step on them or something. She did so hate females…

[mierce]

While K'lir babbled something about skins and ice cubes, Evrgarde had already set her mind to leave the fool be and get on with her business. The stares from onlookers did not perturb her as much as they should have--or likely would have to someone a little less damaged, as the little greenrider so lovingly described her. But, she cared little for their audience and thus cared little for their opinions as well.

Regardless, her plans were promptly halted with the impulsive sweep of her feet. She did a comical flip akin to someone slipping on a bar of soap in a bath tub before landing solidly on her shoulder blades, legs momentarily sticking up in the air before they, too, met the ground. Luck be with her, the metal baton was situated just under the curve of her back so as to have dealt little damage as she struck the earth.

A flurry of rather bloody images crossed her mind then; all were images of bloodily maimed wild beasts. Rather strange considering that it was a human who had the gall--the gall--to purposefully attack her. And here she thought he would be pleased to see her leave. Well, if he wanted her company so much to prevent her departure, perhaps she ought to entertain him.

Wincing, Evrgarde sat up and rolled her shoulders. Both gave a satisfying crack, freeing some tension sustained from the impact. She then rose up to her knees and frowned at the new patches of dirt, dust, and grass that now clung to her black clothes. How annoying.

When K'lir was finally done ranting, she looked up at him with now a moderately engaged expression--well, for Evr anyway; she probably still looked rather disinterested to most people. "What was that?" Yeah, she wasn't really listening. "You like men? How very nice."

She stood and rested a hand on her baton while looking down at K'lir with mild resignation. "For someone who soooo despises women as you claim, you are sure making it hard for one to leave. Oh my, could it be, that you're simply putting on a show?" She tsked and crossed her arms. "If you really want to play, then you should have just said so rather than going about it the long way."

Surely the boy wasn't expect her to acknowledge that she may have been in the wrong here. Not. At. All.

Oh gawd. Sorry for being a slowass putz. *ducks*

[glamourie]

Snerk. Snerk snerk snerk. She so had that coming. K’lir eyed the sprawled form of the woman with a decidedly self-satisfied smirk that faded ever-so-slightly as she started to speak, and was rapidly replaced by near hysterical laughter. Putting on a show indeed. He flicked his long, blood red bangs from his face as Showoff darted onto his leg and scurried up the side, obviously pleased; evidently bad attention was still attention and he did so love being at the center of it. (The best way to punish Showoff, as a result, was to totally ignore him – something that most people didn’t realize. Screaming and flailing got nowhere. It was a trait that K’lir shared, perhaps unfortunately for the general public: it was really hard to run him off.) It took the greenrider several moments to contain the wild amusement, and even when he stopped laughing (really it was only about a minute and a half), he couldn’t keep the amusement from his face.

“Lady, you’re about old enough to be my mother,” he said with a definite dry tone. He knew very well that she was not, in fact, old enough to be his mother. Not unless she carried her Turns really well, anyway. K’lir was nineteen, after all. “You probably couldn’t keep up with me, even if we tied one leg behind my back and made me hop around. Besides, you’re kind of a hag.” Subtlety, thy name was K’lir. Really. “I think if I wanted a hag, I’d go for one around my own age, not you. You’re not even pretty and why are you standing like that – are you like Kalierre the second? I’m gonna call you Limpy now too.” Because that was what he called the Dragonhealer behind her back: Limpy. If it dawned on him that making fun of a cripple wasn’t the kindest thing in the world to do, K’lir certainly gave no indication… but eh, it was unlikely it ever even occurred to him that he was being impolite. And if it did, he’d just say she started it. Maturity was just second nature to him, clearly.

He also wasn’t terribly observant.

One hand went up to rub his nose, still painfully sore, and it was strongly tempting to shove her down again just because. She’d started it by hitting him but shard it if he wouldn’t be the one to finish it all. He didn’t quite know how he was going to do that yet (K’lir was kind of a wet noodle when it came to physical fighting even if he did have a big mouth), but… he was sure he could think of something. Something. It would probably involve putting sap in her underwear at some point though. That would teach her to shoot her mouth off to him. Or anyone. Maybe he should just.. put something unpleasant in her mouth. That had its appeals. He scrunched his nose.

“You’re about as pleasant as her too. Ugh. Don’t ever say I didn’t warn you,” he grumbled, rubbing his nose. Warn about what? The impending revenge of Showoff, of course. He wasn’t about to tell the salamandyr not to mess with her, and she reacted so much… yeah, he was going to have fun with her, and she had it coming for being so… so annoying. Stupid, even. “You can leave now.” Because she clearly needed his permission to do just that. Clearly.

Love uglymine, funny funny. Do again.

[mierce]

Eyes. Roll. Evrgarde barely listened to K’lir’s little soliloquy and instead (discretely) focused on the little salamandyr. Not that she was particularly interested in it or actively considered the pest a threat, but it provided her with a somewhat stationary visual point of reference. She actually half expected the boy to launch at her and start attacking, but all he did was call her all sorts of names backed with what she regarded as empty threats. So this boy wasn’t going to play any games? Pfft. What a waste of her time.

“Yes, you’re right,” she finally said with a resigned sigh as she absently picked invisible hair from her sleeve. “You are far too much like a child to bother with. All talk no action.”

She didn’t know her Kalierre was, nor did she really care. A cripple did he call her? Clearly someone needs to turn this brat into a feline or canine so that she could cripple him then leave him in the jungle. But alas, he was a fellow human (she thought with some disdain) and for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to seriously maim another person--no, punching didn’t count; it was an accident after all. Why, she had no idea, but as much as it would please her, the thought of her baton wedged in the kid’s skull made her somewhat queasy. She wasn’t sure whether this was a good or bad thing.

Instead, she favored his general direction with a smile, and dropped both arms to her side. “Oh, so you’re done talking? Good, I was worried you would run out of air soon.” She turned and forced her way into the crowd… though she didn’t get very far before Showoff’s broadcast hit her. Was he going to send that thing to her again? Ugh. She hated people.