no fear, no doubt. [k'sel]

[glamourie]

Tables were designed for eating on. This was fact. But someone had failed to tell K’lir that... apparently. That or, more likely, he just didn’t give a damn. And yes, he was taking up an entire table.

Arms folded behind his back, the greenrider looked for all the world as if he was the most relaxed person in the world. He was laying long-ways across one of the smaller tables in the main hall with his legs dangling over the sides, one boot dangling off his toes. Being short, that alone wouldn’t have been enough to hog the impressively large table, but K’lir wasn’t content with just that. No, he had with him a salamandyr who was sitting behind him gnawing on the ring that Darya bought him as a crown (Showoff had managed to get wherry juice on it and thought it the most delicious thing ever), and behind the salamandyr was Fuzz, K’lir’s duck. Fuzz was a pure white avian and she was sitting daintily as if she owned the place. Overall result: Three very weird individuals taking up the majority of the table. Someone bold could theoretically come over and try to eat there, but it was likely that at least one of them would try to steal food. At least. Maybe. Perhaps not. Who knew? Fortunately, it wasn’t dinner time, so K’lir wasn’t inconveniencing people too much.

Okay, he was, but he also didn’t care. Typical K’lir, eh?

It was the middle of the morning, before the afternoon meal and the entire main hall smelled like... like... K’lir crinkled his nose, sniffing the air. It smelled like... roast wherry, he decided. Which probably meant some kind of roast wherry for lunch. He also smelled – Tuber! – yes, tubers. Thank you Showoff, for being helpful. His hand came up to rub his nose and K’lir sniffed again; vegetables. Roasted? No, grilled. Grilled inside? Selenitas moving up in the world. His head tilted. It really did smell fantastic and that was the reason for K’lir’s presence in the Main Hall. He was hungry. He didn’t experience hunger much like most people did. K’lir getting hungry was an extremely rare occurrence – he usually came to the Main Hall to have food once per day and then disappeared, picking at it throughout the course of the day. Morning meal was out. Dinner was out. Lunch was safe. He’d decided, when he finished cleaning up, that he would come lurk until the food was ready. Asking the drudges to make him anything made him feel guilty – like he was pitied. K’lir hated pity. He could be patient.

And the smells were fantastic. Being blind meant that all of his other senses had begun to compensate. Sound was the big one; he could hear footsteps in the hallway at night when he was laying in his furs. But smell was also picking up and he could easily smell what was being cooked for lunch. It was kind of enjoyable to take in the scents. K’lir’s eyes were closed and he was relaxing – picking up on every little smell. Garlic. Parsley. Some other seasonings he was unfamiliar with but knew usually went into a rub for roast wherry. He licked his lips and hummed pleasantly to himself, anticipating. He wanted one of the first meals served – then everyone else could have theirs. Yes, K’lir was selfish in that regard. (He was also being quiet, so he’d probably get his way – K’lir being quiet was such a rare occurrence that most people wanted to reward him for his ‘good behavior.’ Like positive reinforcement to a cat really.)

[Lotty]

Bold? K'sel? Never. Such terms could never be attributed to the same man who howled and barked at candidates or hugged and hung on women begging them to "hate him forever". Nah, the brownrider was just a wisp on the wind, easily floating away in the breeze and unlikely to ever bother a soul. Which is exactly why of all of the tables in all of the dining caverns in all of the world, the dark haired punk had to go and flutter over to the chaos in the middle of it all, just like a moth to flame. He was just drawn to the scene, and with his sparse brunch in hand - he was a snacker and had pilfered some bread from the kitchens which would hold him over for at least an hour - and small little squadron of firelizards stationed around the shadowy portions of the hall, he made a move towards K'lir and his merry gaggle of pets.

There was just one peculiar thing about K'sel today, one little mundane thing that ultimately could mean a whole lot. Although he moved like usual with his moccasins beating lightly against the ground, smelled of his typical spicy cologne, and probably tasted mostly the same should he be licked, his voice was still on the mend and therefore undeniably off. While usually a warm tone with it's rough edges and gentle masculine rumble, today it was stricken with the vestiges of a sore throat and left whispery and cracking, squeaking on some words and always struggling to hit a proper level. It was puberty all over again, and all thanks to one unfortunate night blowing too hard on a horn. A vuvuzela to be exact.

So it was that when he opened up to say hello, to mutter his usual droll greetings, he sounded entirely too much like a chain smoking fourteen turn old boy, "Hows it goin?" Pry he might into the incident at the flitter hatching, but K'sel didn't necessarily care all that much about the silly "fight" anymore, and he was a little more interested in the use of tables as beds. Usually he just used a hammock, but to each their own. Sitting down, taking a bite of his bread and effectively getting crumbs all over himself - again, much like a fourteen turn old - he jutted the snack out to the duck for a moment in a sort of 'you know you want some' gesture before withdrawing and taking some more for himself. Nobody could say he never offered now.

[glamourie]

How’s it – who was –

K’lir decided to sit up and respond to the very weird greeting the only way that he knew how. He reached out, fingers curling in the shirt of the person speaking, and yanked him down into a kiss. What? No one ever said a greeting from K’lir was normal. It wasn’t. And to be honest, as embarrassing as it was, he was a lot more likely to recognize someone from groping them than he was from their voice. This voice was new to him. Okay – he didn’t technically need to kiss him by way of greeting (especially not with tongue) but hey, he was K’lir and people just got used to his antics or they didn’t last very long at Selenitas. Or so he told himself. (The more sensible way of addressing a near-perfect stranger, of course, was to say hello, ask who it was, possibly touch their shoulder… K’lir was doing touching but oh, it was most definitely not shoulders; his hands were quite neatly wrapped around the man-boy-thing’s torso in an effective you-will-not-escape sort of glomp.) The kiss didn’t tell him who it was – but the flash from Shade did. And Showoff’s frilling irritation also told him who it was talking to him. Still – free groping.

“Heeeeello, K’sel.”

And you wonder why people call you easy, Baoth observed irritably. K’lir ignored her and she tacked on, I do not believe that Pettahth’s will thank you for cramming your tongue down his throat, LirMyLove. But that’s the point, isn’t it?

The green dragon was ignored. He knew very well why he had a reputation as… well, any of the reputation elements he possessed. Easy. Annoying. Bratty. Obnoxious. Irritating. Nothing pleasant, to be sure. He didn’t much care what people thought of him. Being that he pretty much did whatever he wanted on impulse and figured others could just suck it up, K’lir was not surprised that many others found him annoying. Hell, he was more than used to getting slugged on a fairly regular basis. He expected a fist to the face in response to randomly deciding to play tonsil hockey with someone he barely knew, too. But it amused him and if the price for his entertainment was a bloody nose, K’lir was pretty sure that he was more than willing to pay it. Plus he had the decidedly unfair advantage of being able to play the You just hit a BLIND MAN card whenever anyone was mean to him. Yay for manipulation.

“How nice of you to join me. I was getting so lonely. Fuzz isn’t nearly as good of a companion as I’d have liked,” K’lir lamented, voice deliberately dramatic. The duck elected to respond by looking K’sel over for anything shiny that she could steal. It was a competition between her and Showoff: who could steal the most shiny things. She was winning. She’d managed to steal a gold dragon. Top that. (Okay, technically Hepaticath was indulging her, but Fuzz didn’t know that even if Showoff and K’lir did, and being that she was a duck, there was no effective way to communicate that to her, either. So… she was convinced she was in possession of a gold dragon. Yes.) “Why do you sound like you’ve been eating uncooked wherries, I wonder. You’re not sick are you? If you get me sick, you have to take care of me~” Never mind that he’d kissed K’sel, not the other way around. This was K’lir. Logic was for squares.

[Lotty]

Expectancy violations ahoy!

But really, should K'sel have been so surprised? He was playing with fire here and tempting fate by approaching the redhead in the first place, nevermind that the guy was trying to relax and Faranth forbid anyone ever do that. No, an off the wall reaction was warranted, although the brownrider would have never put money on having his mouth violated in such a fashion; arms reaching around him and trapping him as a tongue forced its way into his mouth. His own was curiously dancing around to avoid contact, but more than once tangling in a slippery slick caress. No, no, no... his face twisted uncomfortably as spit trickled and tickled harshly against an already sore and healing throat. Must escape. His whole body instinctually wriggled back and had the other man's hands not have been clutched securely (maybe a little too safely for K'sel's preferences) then the rider could have very well have fallen backwards in surprise....as an escape.

K'sel would give K'lir one thing however: It was without a doubt, a unique way of saying hello. Even as he came up for precious, sweet, free air and flicked and spit away the unwanted offenders with a "pew pew" - ugh was that a piece of hair in there - he couldn't help but shake his head in a moment of humored disbelief. The kind of movement that plainly spoke of his conviction that these things solely happened to him and nobody else. Now, what to say in return? A simple hi? That couldn't suffice all things considered, and instead the rider felt it necessary to play along with the greenrider's whims. K'sel after all wasn't the straightest straight man to have ever graced Pern, and especially not when pushing the limits met a desire for ironic laughter. Fluidity was a gift of southern upbringing.

"Sweeeeetie..." fun to hear when his voice had all the timbre of gravel being raked against a slate chalkboard, but he softened the tone with a comforting gesture; his whole body leaned into the greenrider and his head nuzzled into the very convenient space between the collabone and jawline so that his stubble may tickle against any bared skin. Punching? No, that was a time and place for that particular action, and this was neither the time nor place.

K'sel... what exactly is happening between you and Baoth's? This is a most unusual display as you've never taken to this one before.... The rider didn't think that this necessarily required a response other than a strong mental laugh directed Pettahth's way. Watch out, I might just take that as meaning that I need to be flirting with Baoth... And when pray tell, has this flirting you do ever paid off before?

He pulled away again, giving a cautious look over to the duck as she examined him for shinnies although admittedly he hadn't a clue that this is in fact what she was looking for. As far as he knew she could have been sizing him up to eat him, but regardless shine was not something that was necessarily associated with the rider. Hints of flair came via color, not glitter, and any ornamentation that adorned his wrists or neck were of woven materials, twine, suede lace and seashells at its very finest. Anyway, "Sick? Oh no, no, no....no worries about catching any nasties from me!" He couldn't help be a little facetious in his delivery even if the strained voice betrayed the feigned gestures and expressions that K'lir couldn't even see, "Watch out my dear K'lir. It is apparently possible to crack a throat up from too many...activities," he was purposefully vague knowing all too well the other man would, as human nature tended to dictate, interpret the worst possible meaning.

[glamourie]

K’lir decided he liked K’sel. Not that it was a particularly difficult conclusion to come to: on the few occasions that he’d met the brownrider, K’sel had never expressly given K’lir a reason to dislike him (though, really, K’lir’s memory was gold-fish quality; he may not have recalled). But anyone who played along with his games and antagonistic ways was officially in his good books, pretty much permanently. K’lir did things for responses and really, the best way to respond to him was to play along; he didn’t start cussing and throwing insults with people who went with his games. And he wasn’t an expressly bad person, either. He was just… antagonistic. Contrary. ‘Bitchy’ wasn’t inaccurate either. K’lir was someone who did things to rile people up, made no effort to hide it and rolled with the punches that inevitably came from his behavior. One learned to just… go with it. Take him with a grain of salt and ignore him. Or play along. Playing along was more fun. He wanted to purr but humans couldn’t purr very well, unless their name was R’wign and he wasn’t sure he was human. So he settled for the next best thing and grinned ear-to-ear in an expression that said I’m amuuuused! without words.

“Be careful, brownrider; I might think you actually like me.” He knew better. Not that he thought that K’sel disliked him – far from. He was pretty sure that the brownrider wouldn’t have approached him (K’lir wasn’t being subtle by any stretch of the imagination in his sprawling on the table, after all) if he disliked him. He just doubted that he was remotely interested in him – see: spitting and very blatant discomfort. It was amusing. K’lir was not past glomping onto people who offered entertaining responses and he had, on more than one occasion, gone out of his way to bait them from others just to pass the time. K’sel wasn’t usually a target and – by indulging him – he probably never would be. K’lir preferred people who shoved him away and hissed to pick at. He missed T’rid horribly.

The explanation for how K’sel’s throat got sore actually made K’lir smile. It was a wide, knowing smile, too – one that spoke volumes of K’lir’s thoughts on the subject. He’d never made any secret of his blatant preference to men (typically he liked his women more feminine than him if he had to be with one and Baoth simply wouldn’t abide by that anyway – his green detested other females and was even considering eating Fuzz, let alone a real rival for attention), and it didn’t take much to put two-and-two together. Especially after Baoth’s last… eventful flight. Most people knew well how ‘experienced’ K’lir was. See: Showoff and Daeluunya being mates for years. It wasn’t exactly a revelation to anyone who knew of K’lir. And those who knew him knew well just how blunt he was.

“I’m in no danger, handsome; I don’t have much of a gag reflex. I’d offer to show you but I get the distinct feeling that youuuu,” K’lir lifted one hand to ‘crawl’ his fingers up K’sel’s chest, “would turn that offer down and consider running away to the other side of the Weyr. So close-minded. I can do anything your girlies can do, without the danger of giving you spawn. You’d think that would appeal. How boring.” Pause, then, “How’d you hurt your throat? Serious question now.”

[Lotty]

"Like? I suppose so, liking is a dangerous sort of emotion for me," he explained to the greenrider as he gave another nuzzle, "could get in a whole lot of trouble that way, I think it is best that it stays at a safe lust," and he was completely distraught that his voice was ruined for the time being, a gentle inflection would have went miles drenched in smokier tones. Just had to settle with what he was given to work with though and words were delivered exactly as he had imagined in his head along with all of those lovely gestures and expressions of the face that K'lir didn't get to see. That was ok, he was able to remind himself once or twice along the way that he needed to be a little more tactile, and gingerly played with a bang that hung over the other rider's forehead. Oh smukins, sweet dear pretty baby...

Clearly K'sel couldn't care less if he was caught flirting around and playing with the infamously sexual K'lir. He didn't even care if his actions were misinterpreted as truth in the eyes of the gossips or if a friend were to walk in on their session. Firstly, he was rather apathetic to the opinions of others, at least in the regards of his sexuality (why should anybody care ever?) but more importantly he was too immersed, the rider liked to take things to it's often ridiculous conclusion. There was a joke here, and a certain safety in the humor and if nobody else understood it then it was their loss. At least he could tell - he had been careful to gauge the other man's reactions - that someone was appreciating the efforts.

He unhooked an arm from...whatever tangle it had been caught in and grabbed the hand that was creeping it's way up his chest. How familiar that gesture would become to him, though he didn't realize it then, and he pulled the lithe little appendages to his mouth and grazed the fingertips with his lips - chapped and cracked as they were - before opting for a more chaste kiss on the knuckles, "Lack of spawn is appealing yes, but you can't save my heart," dramatic whispers crackled out in the creepy timbre that only he could ever manage. Strained and oddly frantic even in it's slowed pace, "When you leave me it will hurt all the same pretty baby..."

Another kiss before he lightened his hold, even settled back away for a breath of fresh air. It was a slight change of subject now, and in turn a change of attitude. Sure the casual nature was still there, "The throat thing?" He rubbed it again, "Came into possession of a horn...musical instrument horn that is. Made the most annoying buzzing sound known to man, and I took a little too much pleasure in being a shit disturber. Yes, I literally blew too hard. Strained my throat, and now I'm stuck drinking the nastiest tonics until it gets better," he smiled again despite the pain. Even he had to admit it was pretty funny, "Thought the worst that would come of the damn thing was a black eye. I wear those well."