Funeral Singers [open]

[Lotty]

It would probably better to be plucking the stray leaves that were clinging to his hair and beard than be plucking on the strings of that dinky guitar, but priorities were priorities and a eighth mark or two his way would do him some good. After all, he wasn't sure how long this stint at the weyr would last, and whether it be a day or a month he wanted something to show for it. His marketable skills might have been far and few between, but one of those few were entertainment, and he had been taking to perching on the back of wagons and serenading whomever came by. Too bad that as of lately that usually included few others than the cartbeasts...and they just liked to mock him...

Murrrrrrrrr one of them rumbled as it's tail swatted some gnats that had gathered 'round it's rump. A cheeky sort of scowl was thrown at the beast and the vagabond pith-fully snarked back with a, "Oh shush you..." not once breaking from the bouncy sort of jig he had been working out on the fretboard. It was very important not to stop. He couldn't stop or take his mind off he work lest it fall into much more solemn things, unspeakable things. Long wavy hair and that big rimmed hat could only trick the people into an illusion of a pleasant pacifistic mountain man for so long. Faranth forbid a soul have its secrets right?

Ah but enough of that! What was there to complain about? It was a beautiful autumn day, and though the weyr had little in the ways of deciduous trees, he imagined the oranges, reds, and golds of October leaves there on those more exotic stretches of roads. Kicking his legs to fall to solid ground he pretended to crunch dried foliage under his boot clad feet to the rhythm of the music. Singing of course to his oxen friends, "I've been through the Igen Dunes, and I've met a girl or two in East Keroon...but baby..." and now he was dangerously head to head with one of the horned animals, "I'd only settle for youuuu."

He swirled on a heel and meandered on back towards his sittin' spot, a few animal bone necklaces clinking against each other in his hasty movements. Long ago Ari had wanted nothing more than to be alone like this, but it was funny how things like that changed...especially since being alone couldn't earn him much more than scraps and jerky to eat, and to be truthful he was absolutely famished. Guh, another night snaring vermin ahoy! After all, one could live off of redfruit and citrus alone...even if it did prevent scurvy.

[Requiem]

"How much will it take for you to stop playing that infernal slopwork?" the man questioned in a decidedly peevish tone as he stepped out around the beast which Ari had been serenading. Useless piece of baggage, Aramis. The 'performer' had taken up with them just outside Blossom, sweet-talking the culture-starved men who suffered from the disease of perpetual wanderlust - or perhaps just perpetual greed - into allowing him to tag along. Well, Micah didn't find him the least bit entertaining. The noise was enough to make a man want to sink his pike between the man's ribs. It was, however, too much effort. Instead, the older fur trader simply paid him to still his fingers and shut his thrice-bedamned trap.

The man's purse was decidedly heavier after pawning off a fair amount of feline hides. It was not that pouch he loosened from his belt, however. "You're the artsy type, aren't you? Why don't you do something actually useful and find a way to sell these." He tossed the bag with little regard for whether or not Ari would be able to catch it. If nothing else, the bag might at least still those fingers long enough to avoid the building migraine when Aramis went to catch it. Inside were quite an array of feline claws and teeth. "I always just end up throwing them into some river anyway."

Micah moved over to a barrel where he plopped down with a grunt, stretching out his legs in front of him. The pike was allowed to hit the dirt as the man pulled off his gloves and began popping the knuckles in his fingers one by one. "Hat looks ridiculous," he grumbled, jerking his chin at the big floppy thing. He pushed the longish hair from his face to give Ari a heavy-lidded scowl. "Though I suppose it fits a third-rate noisemaker like yourself." So yeah, maybe even the rather reclusive Micah didn't like being completely alone all the time. That, or the crowds of the weyr made him ill - he much preferred stalking and killing his prey to a bunch of yammering, sweaty bodies jostling against him - and he was trying to run Aramis off.

He flicked at the dirt on his pants then stuffed his hands into his pockets, the glint of the joining ring he had yet to discard after losing his better half catching the light before it disappeared, too. "Hunting's terrible here. How long did he say we have to stay?" 'He' of course referred to the leader of their caravan. Micah refused to refer to him by name, if only because it made him that much more determined to smother the man in his sleep. Arrogant prick.

[Lotty]

The proper answer was 'How much do you got?' but it really wasn't Micah's money that he wanted, that seemed rather counterproductive considering that despite the man's abrasive nature, he is the one that ultimately he would mooch off of. Sure they hadn't known each other all that long, but something about that caravan... Either way, Ari was hardly ruffled by Pissy Pants as he so adoringly was calling him; a name that did not result solely from that foul attitude, but also from the pleasant smell that the whole lot of them could stake claim to. Hey, even if Aramis had enough sense to jump in a river now and again, nobody ever said he always had the means to acquire soap, and a whole lot could get lost in that hair of his which had finally reached a length that could be bundled into a ponytail.... not that he necessarily did mind you.

Because of mess of greasy waves he almost missed the bag thrown at him, and the instrument he held didn't help, but it was in the nature of performers to have good hand eye coordination and the man was quick to free a hand and snag the satchel, the result of which granting Micah his wish, the playing ceased. In fact the guitar was disregarded completely, as he set it down, the wooden body letting out a discordant moan while he poked through the contents of the pouch, "Artsy? To an extent... I don't have the patience to play arts and crafts hour though...." and his own collection around his neck was much too extensive. He felt the tip of one of the claws considering their applications, "Carve the teeth up a bit, make some arrows or darts..... shit throw some hooks on it...get yer gen-yooo-ine feline teeth hurr!" Bah he'd bother with it later, and tied the ends of the bag up to one of belts he let hang off his thin waist.

Leaning against the side of the wagon he acknowledged the remark on his hat by pulling it off and tossing it, trying to land it on his traveling companion's own head. Ari was left with a scarf tied clear around his head like a headband. To keep the sweat off surely. It took only a second more before he was smartly replying in easy tones, "First rate noisemaker... third rate musician, and I've taken something of a liking to it," of course he meant the hat. All things considered he had owned better hats in his life, but with it's holes in the brim and wherry feathers punched in the side he thought it had a certain amount of rustic charm. A suitable replacement for the ones long lost.

"Shit..." he muttered as he tried to recall what their great anointed leader had told them, "I don't even know if he mentioned it to me..." by now he had taken to playing with a little pocket knife, flicking dirt out from under his fingernails, "but let me tell you...I am thrilled to be here myself," as romantic and wonderful as he could make them seem in song Aramis was not the biggest fan of dragonriders, and here is was hanging out on their doorstep hoping for their charity, "the drawbacks of so called civilization..." he remarked idly as a pair of dark eyes smiled at Micah.

[Requiem]

Micah caught the offending headgear on a finger, spinning it around once before tossing it a short distance ahead of him. Thing smelled just as bad as most of their party. No one had to get anywhere near the traders to know who they were. Follow your nose, as it were. Granted, he thought that the dragonriders probably wouldn't begrudge them the common baths, if only to get rid of the stink, Micah wasn't about to go cozying up to any of the arrogant high and mighty's to ask. Besides, it was a good way to keep all the unwanteds at a distance.

Well, perhaps not all the unwanteds. Greasy mane over there wasn't really taking the hint, now was he? No matter. Aramis never did.

"You would," he stated dourly. No one else could find the value in such a ratty, useless thing. What need did any of them have to keep the sun off them, anyway, in the jungles? Trees did that just fine. (Not that you could tell by the deeply tanned skin. Leaves apparently didn't block out everything.) Micah briefly considered kicking dirt and leaves onto the hat just to spite Ari, but what was the point? The 'professional' noisemaker would probably like it. Of course. Bah.

The trader stretched, wiggling his toes in the confines of his boots and wishing he had solid, warm earth beneath them instead. Hated boots. "You really are useless, aren't you? Third-rate musician, and you can't even get any information." Micah sighed. Wasn't that what harper types were for? Knowing every trivial little nothing that could possibly crop up? Not that Aramis would ever qualify as a harper. He was only mildly better than Micah himself, and that wasn't saying much; Micah's musical ability was so close to nil he couldn't even tell when other people were playing bad unless it was really atrocious. Fortunately, no one ever asked him to sing. Unless they were insane.

He'd gladly keep time with the shaft of his pike on their skull, though. Always willing to do that. "Tch. Tell me about it. Could use with a good culling. I'd do it myself if it wouldn't bore me to sleep after hunting felines," he added, stifling a yawn.

[Lotty]

Spoil sport. Tossing around his hat like that... Aramis couldn't be all too mad about it though, he half expected Micah to do exactly that and anything less would have been unusual and perhaps warrant fetching a mindhealer or whatever kind of crystal light shaman they had tagging along with them in the caravan. Odd lot they travelled with, but thats what Ari liked about it all. He was not conventional in any way, and he felt that conforming with any kind of crew that did not appreciate eccentricities were not worth his time. So when the hunter replied with a sour "you would" he was not in the least bit bothered. If anything it was a bit heartwarming to know that Micah actually understood him. How sweet.

Still perching out there at his spot by the wagon, the man had absolutely no intention of leaving. At least not anytime soon. Eventually he would leave to take a much needed mid afternoon nap... to save up for all that business he conducted at night you know, and of course he was reminded again in the back of his mind of various other types of tasks that needed to be attended to. Chores if you will. Nobody said living holdless was a life of leisure, but for now he was going to stay, if only to prove a point. He was here first you see, and if Micah had any intentions of being alone then he shouldn't have picked this spot amongst the grunting cartbeasts and his finger picked guitar. Apparently brains and misanthropy did not have any kind of direct correlation.

"Not quite as useless as you when the felines are all gone though..." obvious, because otherwise the hunter wouldn't be here talking to him, "Letting the dragonmen chase your kitties away..." with the help of their ugly little wher things no doubt, but that went without saying, "As much as it bores you mentally, knocking off a few of our fine 'thread fighting saviors' would do something for your soul. Oh the feeling of revenge....yummy," a little bothersome of a statement if it wasn't said in such a saintly voice - then again, maybe that only made it worse. Maybe he'd speak a little kinder of the dragonriders if they actually did fight Thread instead of bouncing around the planet fighting each other.

Oh well, he wasn't about to dwell too much. One way or another he was going to have to start faking some charm with these weyr people. Keeping your ear to the ground could only do so much. The soil tended not to talk back so well.

Of course this probably meant getting clean. He was amiable enough to the prospect but he'd be damned if that meant cutting off this marvelous beard of his. He could forgo his hat, yeah, but some things crossed the line. Either way he needed some soap sand first, and he'd need to do some serious trading to get some of that. Perhaps he'd pick up enough from his planned little fishing trip, "Going fishing later...I know the prospect doesn't excite you but maybe you'll get a kick out of helping me hijack and commandeer a raft out there on the river?" And who knows, maybe Captain Ahab would get his Moby Dick and stop bitching so much, but Ari greatly doubted this and offered mostly to be nice, but didn't assume that the man would be into such a tranquil activity as freshwater fishing.

[Requiem]

It was a blank expression that was turned upon Aramis, though that wasn’t to say that the emotion behind it wasn’t decidedly…cold. Even the faint hint at an upturn to his lips didn’t suggest good humor. He shrugged one shoulder after a long moment. Yes, he was ‘useless’ when there was nothing to hunt. Finally, though, what might have been a hint of a smile made it to his face. “If the dragonmen scared them away, perhaps I can endure the boredom long enough to remove them so that I can return to my hunting, hm? Would destroy our business, though.” Pity. All those marks that he didn’t spend anyway would disappear in a cloud of smoke. How terrible.

Still and all, Micah wasn’t quite crazy enough to take on a whole weyr full of ‘dragonmen’ simply because the breed awakened his murderous tendencies. He’d need a better reason. Like someone insulting him. That should do it. Sadly, only the other traders had bothered. You’d think people would be less polite. Maybe this was what was meant by ‘civilization.’ Everyone insulted you in their minds and to their companions while you were well out of earshot instead of to your face. He filed these thoughts away to be considered later.

His eyes slid toward Ari again. The sigh might not have been audible, but you could feel it on the air just the same. “Fishing.” That was a singularly boring endeavor. But was it more boring than sitting here and drawing random patterns in the dust with his toe? This was debatable.

Micah decided then and there that if Aramis couldn’t make it with his thrice bedamned wailings, he could figure out how to get by on his lonesome. The kid was being entirely too friendly. “If by ‘hijack’ you mean cut it loose from its moorings while no one’s paying a lick of attention, then no, that’s not at all interesting.” He slid the long hunting knife from the belt wrapped around his thigh for just that purpose and slashed through the sleeve of his overcoat. It was the work of moments. The sleeves were now just past his elbows. That solved part of the heat problem.

Too bad it didn’t do that much.

“I’ve an idea. Why don’t you play chicken with the edge of the waterfall? I’m sure it’ll be entertaining to anyone who happens to notice, and you might just rid everyone of that infernal clamor while you’re at it.” He sliced through the seams of the shorn sleeves on a whim. There had to be some sort of use for the fabric. Then a thought occurred to him and he began cutting strips lengthwise.

[Lotty]

"I guess its a question of economics then," not that Aramis was particularly well educated in that department. He wasn't. The man was backwater through and through and a good chunk of what he knew was self taught, and with this came a certain disregard for the high falutin', effete types that so often ran around places like you know...weyrs and halls. Regardless, this meant no lack of sharpness nor clarity in his vision, "If there are less dragonriders there is less reason for our boss man caravan leader to even take us this way. Why we show up I don't even know, its hard to collect revenue from a group of people who tend to get or take whatever they want anyway..." and so they were left to specialize, be little boutiques if you will to pander to niches untouched by the mainstream crafts. In theory feline hunting should do very well, but to dragonriders who already got laid by virtue of the fact that they are dragonriders... then there are issues.

Ari was trying to think up a product that would bridge these various little groups and be a universal hit. For the moment, it was the fermenting beginnings of a quickal brew, you leave anything to set for long enough and it was bound to go alcoholic...he just had to get it right, and with so little time and no place to properly store it...bah, moonshine just had to put on the back burner, probably better for a day when he got sick of the adventure of the road and tried one more time to settle down and grow old on a shanty house porch.

Half ignoring the other trader, he did manage to catch what he assumed to be a resounding no, and boy was he relieved! Ari sighed loudly and pressed his hands up to his chest with a well timed eye roll, "Oh thank Faranth you found me out. For a second there I was scared that I might have made fishing sound somewhat alluring, but whew false alarm," he circled a bit in his spot before picking up his instrument again and swinging himself up to the back of the wagon again, "Now I don't have to worry about your sorry ass tagging along," he could not keep from screwing around on the strings, no, but at least he would save Pissy Pants some semblance of sanity and reserved the fiddling to nothing more and muffled notes; twisted and turned as he tuned the thing.

"Hmmmm nope," was his reply to the suggestion and he left it at that. He could certainly think of many better things to do of course, but still, this was quickly turning into a male territory contest. A perplexing one, but one nonetheless. All the while he examined Micah cutting off the sleeves of his coat. Hmmm ok weirdo, because that is a much better solution than just taking the sharding thing off. He wouldn't question the action though, better that the man be busy re-tailoring his wardrobe than opening his mouth and ruining the perfectly good vibes he had been basking in just moments before.

[Requiem]

"Hmph." Apparently that was all he had to say on the subject of their caravan boss. There really wasn't much sense in complaining about it. They'd signed on knowing that this was one of the places the caravan would stop. If Aramis was that opposed to it he could very well scoot at the next stop and wait to hook up with a caravan that avoided Selenitas. There were enough of those, were there not? Micah didn't like Selenitas. But he didn't like the Holds, either. Only content when on the move or hunting. Socializing. Bah.

The hunter elected not to respond to further comments on fishing either. What was the point? Ari was either employing sarcasm or trying to goad him. Or it could just be that weird sense of humor of his that meant he meant every word but thought he was clever by phrasing it funny. Since Micah didn't plan on 'enjoying' Aramis' company for any longer than necessary lest he strangle the man, the what was rather moot.

An audible sigh accompanied the string playing. "Must you?" he grumbled. Maybe he was somewhat fond of Aramis, if only because his reaction wasn't stronger than that. Not that Micah was likely to admit anything that ridiculous even if it was true. He began tying the strips together, making the knots tight and small. His hand dipped into his pocket after a moment and turned the circular object there over in his palm. The man's eyes drifted past the runners before his jaw tightened and he returned to his little project.

Forearm braces were removed and the tied strips wound around his lower arms and hands. The braces had begun rubbing his arms raw. Technically, he didn't really need the extra protection of layers and leather when he wasn't hunting. Call it a twisted sort of hope that he wouldn't be spending all his time at the weyr sitting on his ass. He laced the braces back up and pointed the knife at Aramis. "Pity." The knife made a circular motion. "It'd be a vast improvement to that ratty appearance." Like he had any room to talk. No one ever said Micah wasn't a hypocrite.

Well, now he was officially bored again. What to do? He was tempted to start using the runners for target practice. Wanted to test out that spear-thrower contraption one of the other caravan traders had made on a whim. In the end, though, Micah simply crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall of the wagon. Hadn't slept well in months. Now was as good a time as any for a nap. The man was asleep in seconds in the manner of someone used to sleeping anywhere, under any conditions.