Smeared black ink [F'ur]

[Requiem]

He never really understood what it was that sparked F'lix off. One moment he was calm, even joking around and relatively at ease, the next glaring suspiciously or downright...glaring daggers. The Fortian wasn't certain what he'd even said that merited such a response. Or was it what he'd done? F'ur wasn't sure. Why it mattered he didn't know. He mentally went over the actions and words to attempt to discover it. Comments about the kid's memory...but then the Bendenite was speaking and that cleared it up a little. Sort of.

Regardless, F'lix was apparently leaving, and that was not to be allowed. Not like this. Not just a brief flare of anger and there it was, the old animosity sitting there between them. F'ur came up off the rock, moving far swifter than he had been a moment ago. He was already half coiled with his knee in the air anyway. His arm circled in and out to prevent any attempts at defense from the blade, something he wasn't really that worried about, the movement ending with his fingers closing on the young man's wrist. His weight carried him into F'lix and them both over the edge of the boulder, the Fortian adjusting so that his knees hit the ground straddling F'lix's waist instead of driving the air from him by planting in his gut.

He let the momentum drive his forearm forward, landing on the Bendenites right elbow. Pinned, more or less. But, now that he had the other stationary, he had no clue why he'd done this to begin with. Thinking of what to say was near impossible, and F'ur just blinked at F'lix dumbly. "What -?" Great start. It bubbled up to the surface swiftly thereafter, though, a flood of words that left his mouth without thought. "I don't get you. First off, a good memory is a compliment. Yours isn't even good. It's extraordinary. I've only heard of people who can do that. What took me months to perfect, you could probably learn in a day. Maybe two."

The grip on the Bendenite's wrist became less restrictive, though he didn't remove his hand. He wasn't giving the kid a chance to lash out...at least in a way that could prove deadly. "Nor did I say anything about not liking it. I don't know what the 'this' is you're growling about. Does it bother me that you've analyzed my movements in one setting? Yes. You can call it whatever you want, but fighting is who I am. So if you're analyzing that - whether you mean to or not doesn't matter - then you're analyzing, dissecting, me."

He leaned in closer, though his weight was still mostly on his legs to keep himself from hurting the younger man. His voice dropped in volume. "There are a limited number of people I've allowed to analyze me, F'lix, all of whom are dead. Not by my hand, but still dead. I should kill anyone doing it without my permission. I should." Actually, the filter was back up enough at this point to change 'any Bendenite' to 'anyone.' F'lix was not precisely the enemy, but fifteen turns said otherwise. Fifteen turns were hard to argue with.

F'ur suddenly released his grip, rolling over, away from the boulder and onto his back. Open, yes, but not in any way that would ultimately be too much of a disadvantage. "You surprised - continue to surprise - me." He lifted the foot slightly to study it. "I'll keep it, spitting hissy from you or no. It would be better if it was finished, but, heh." A soft snort. But of course the kitten had decided to get all ruffled over something. A glance at the Bendenite. "Now you can go, if you want." He didn't allow people to just run off on him in a random fit of rage...if they wanted to stay angry, that was their own business, just as it was their own business if they decided to explain themselves or not. He'd done his own part.

Why? Because he realy would like to see whatever it was in F'lix's mind, and because the prospect of teaching him had suddenly become a good deal more interesting. If only the little spitfire would remain calm for two seconds at a time.

[rii]

F'lix flinched, but F'ur was too fast, too effective, already pinning him to the ground. Slightly muddy ground at that, cause being from Saboth's earlier damming of the stream. Despite being a bit perturbed at the feeling of soft, wet earth molding against his back, the younger did take notice that the end result of F'ur's move wasn't painful–more of a means to keep him from moving rather than be threatening. F'lix responded to that by remaining lax, not trying to fight F'ur off. That sort of physical contact didn't fuel his temper–although it still remained, lightly flaring with each heartbeat, simmering in his eyes as he continued to glare at the Fortian's.. confusion?

F'lix's anger abated somewhat at the lack of animosity from F'ur. "I don't get you either, so we're even there." He retorted under his breath. Warily F'lix let his gaze slip over F'ur's face while listening, trying to find any sort of ruse behind the words. His brows began to knit together, thinking, but for the moment his lips remained closed. Besides, anything he was preparing to say got shoved to the back of his mind when F'ur neared. The words he shared were dangerous, but.. in a twisted way, flattering. But at least F'lix had gotten the idea behind them–just needed to ignore the other was too close. Before F'lix could let feeling delve too deeply, to start hating the fact he was attracted to this older man, F'ur rolled aside–distance. Distance did good to clear the mind.

Laying there, F'lix remained silent and for a long moment stared up at the sky. Replaying F'ur's words for a second listening, without any misleading tangents of actions involved. Then, quite suddenly, F'lix was on his feet. Standing a bit rigid, back facing the supine Fortian. Shoulders were slightly hunched, hands held slightly away but still loose at his sides, still on edge. That, or loathing the way his muddied shirt stuck to his skin. Perhaps a mixture of both. Absently, during his rise, F'lix had flipped the small blade around to hug against the inside of wrist and forearm, but fingers were still open, very easily hiding it, completely inconspicuous if he had been facing anyone.

"You have a strange way of making a compliment sound like it's a bad thing." Not quite an insult, but F'lix had definitely gotten the impression that his memory was not a good thing. "I learn well enough by watching." And that had been one of the reasons he wanted to watch F'ur. If the man chose not to teach him, F'lix was still determined to learn from him–one way or another. Just so happened F'lix was a visual learner. The younger enjoyed learning, even though it just was not the same as if he was being taught. There was a great difference, to him, between learning a move from a teacher–the why and how, than just observing it in a demonstration. The latter way he had to guess and just incorporate it into his own use–not knowing the full extent of it.

"But you're giving it too much credit. I can't do what you can do.. " A touch admiring of the other's skill. F'lix didn't even entertain the idea ever becoming that good. Even if he could remember it all and mimic the motions with little err, he lacked the.. passion.. that seemed to tie itself in the way the Fortian moved. Part of which made it so appealing to watch the man."I'm sorry it bothers you. I can't turn it off. I don't mean to do it.." His free hand raised, dismissively waving through the air. He understood, somewhat, the idea that F'ur did not like to be.. figured out. But really, F'lix didn't know much of the man at all.. "If it's any consolation, there's more to you than just your fighting style."

Hn. Scowling slightly to himself, and the empty clearing ahead of him, F'lix curled his arm back to pick at the shirt clinging to his frame. Dirty. The younger didn't mind blood, but anything else.. especially mud, and the way the fabric clung to his skin. He wanted it off. "I'll finish it." He finally decided, the words soft. "But," The tone took on a dark note, the hand snapping up to fist in his short hair–similar to the way F'ur had done to him, but with a more violent edge. "Don't–" his fingers curled further, almost going white with what made him so angry about the action. "–grab me like that."

Then, as an afterthought, "Please." It came out in a near growl, but at least he said it.

[Requiem]

F'ur glanced sidelong at F'lix's posture, his own decidedly lax. The Fortian had gone beyond control of facial expressions and words - to controlling his body language - precisely because it was such an easy thing to read. F'lix was clearly still upset, though perhaps not as upset as he had been...F'ur couldn't be sure. Not really his problem, in the end. But what interested him more (and this no doubt because he was a bloody-minded individual) was the positioning of the knife. Oh yes. Those hands would have to be controlled whenever F'ur couldn't be certain of them. Even he wouldn't have known it was there if he wasn't aware of its existance. But of course, F'lix couldn't be as harmless as he seemed. Silly of the Fortian to think that way, even if he really didn't see Bendenites as much of a challenge. Their biggest advantage was numbers. Throw enough numbers at someone and you eventually won.

Filing that away (because he'd rather not get knifed through the ribs because he'd startled F'lix or the Bendenite suddenly had another hissy fit) for later reference, F'ur plucked idly at the grass, apparently not perturbed by the muck sucking at his back. He wasn't a fussy sort.

"And you don't give it enough," F'ur commented quietly. No, it wouldn't substitute for actually getting out and doing it, but the other part of that was F'lix wouldn't have to be knocked on his ass half a million times to figure it out, either. The Fortian envied him that. F'ur was simply fortunate that he'd learned most of his lessons with - if not a friend, than someone who wouldn't gut him on impulse - as opposed to actually in a fight. He wasn't a quick learner in the slightest. But once he had it...it became instinct, muscle memory, something he owned. And F'ur's own small brand of genius was how he dissected something once he had it and made it purely his own, tweaking, strengthening. Because...something that worked for someone else, didn't necessarily mean it was the best method for you.

The man snorted outright at F'lix's 'consolation.' He just didn't get it, did he? F'ur was fine with being deemed a 'mad dog'. Absolutely fine with it. Let people dismiss him as a man not quite in his right mind, more animal than human, a killer they muzzled and then pointed in the right direction and said 'get em.' His style was very methodical...but it wasn't supposed to seem that way. The method was meant to be buried. Because it was safer to be dismissed as crazy, as animal, than if people were to recognize what lay behind it. If he didn't quite follow orders, it was only because the bloodlust distracted him. Better to leave bronzers slightly uncomfortable than to be watched too closely.

Not even most of the better Fortian fighters could dissect his movements enough to realize there was a method, a very cold calculation driving everything. They would have dismissed his fans as a random whim, probably joked that he liked the colors or something. Pet the animal, make sure he's loyal and praise him, and you can always use him. F'ur wasn't a fool. He knew what the game was, and it suited his purposes well enough. Even if F'lix didn't put that all together, he did recognize the method, if only subconsciously. The proof was in the lines on F'ur's foot.

Foot still raised to keep it away from the muck, F'ur bobbed his leg lightly. Yup, not aware of F'lix's tension. Seeeeee? "Don't apologize." Silly, that. The foot notably stopped bouncing at the sudden shift from what sounded like a vaguely neutral tone, F'ur's brow rising. It was kind of...odd...given F'lix didn't seem to care about contact in general, and he hadn't done anything the young man couldn't extract himself from with ease - without violence. Probably best not to probe on that one. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know. The manner with which F'lix demonstrated made it pretty clear that whatever the action reminded him of was much more violent than F'ur usually got.

Strange, considering he was a killer, but F'ur was efficient. He might toy with someone a little in a fight, but speed was key, so anything particularly brutal...just wasn't him. He was more about snapping necks, crushing windpipes and smashing faces. Quick. The extent of his nastiness was a mocking smile or clearly not bothering to fight someone seriously...i.e. fans, not getting up to take someone down, not removing his hands from his pockets, etc. That was more to anger someone and reduce their ability to reason, anyway.

Rolling easily to his feet, he padded over to F'lix. "Fair enough," he replied, a moment before his hand closed on F'lix's, putting just enough pressure on the junction of thumb and forefinger to loosen the grip as he removed it from the younger man's hair. It was bothering him. F'ur wasn't stupid enough not to start getting ideas, ideas which were better ignored when F'lix wasn't in that posture. If nothing else, he respected the younger man enough not to want to probe those directions, even if only in his mind.

Bouncing over to the rock, he flashed F'lix a smile and patted it lightly. "Promise I don't bite. Too hard. Come on." He scrunched his nose up in a fair imitation of a weyrbrat. "You promised." Whiny voice and everything. The harpers would be so proud of his performance if they could see it. Clearly journeyman material. Yes...F'ur could easily amuse himself. (In truth, he just wanted F'lix to be concentrating on something else so they could both be relatively comfortable again.)

[rii]

F'lix heard the snort to his comment, but paid little mind to it. He saw more there than just a fighter, although that was a big part, but let the man take it as he saw fit. F'lix wouldn't force his opinion on the matter. He grew up in Benden, after all, now there in laid monsters. Men who no longer acknowledged other beings as anything more than objects. Where torture was not done to gain information, but to sate a sick twisted hunger for pain and blood. To those unfortunate enough, a quick death would be considered a mercy. And that was behavior outside of battle.

Eyes narrowed on the moving shadow, slyly watching F'ur's approach–but F'lix expression widened (just for a brief moment) when the other removed the hand from hair. The younger had not realized he had still been gripping it in that fashion. Guess his mind had been too busy reflecting, but—

Best not to think about it, he didn't want his thoughts going down that path any further than they already had. Shove them back inside the darkness and hope they were never given light. Fortunate for him, F'ur provided a very decent distraction. Oh, he figured it was an act to cover over other things, but at the moment the bluerider didn't mind. He scoffed, "Hard enough though." What if he wanted to be bitten again? Hn. F'lix eyebrow arched at the.. was that a pout? He let his eyes 'casually' drift down to his blade, examining the inked tip while trying not and let the amusement brim too brightly in his eyes. "Now that's a scary look."

Two steps brought him back to the boulder, he gave the other a brief glance–silently, sarcastically communicating that 'warning' he was suppose to give before making any sudden movements. Then he hopped up, crossing his legs underneath himself and pulling the ink dish closer. No intention of reaching for the foot, or scooting closer. F'lix didn't want a replay of the last event. He'd wait for F'ur to give him.. the foot. It was just a foot. Before he could stop himself, he spit out the question. "Do you not like being touched, or am I just a special?"

F'lix kind of.. leaned away after asking it. Hoping not to get kicked for it.

[Requiem]

Hard enou- Oh. Right. He'd forgotten about doing that. Come to think of it...yeah, wow. F'ur made a mental note to keep away from F'lix if Ino caught another green with a female rider any time soon. He couldn't seem to help himself when that...frustrated. If Inocenth hadn't commented he probably would have just taken the kid right then and there, as long as F'lix didn't care. No, he wasn't someone to force himself on someone else. Throw himself at someone else...unfortunately...but not force.

Good Inocenth had mentioned something. F'lix was proving to be tenacious enough without that to add to it.

"Isn't it?" he replied easily, the pout dissolving into a mild smile. "It's like a ball and chain. Just can't resist em when they pout. Probably works better for people your age, though." Yeah, he didn't imagine he looked that young. It was more likely just funny. Undoubtedly the kid was trying not to laugh outright at the ridiculousness of the expression. Another brief pout, teasingly, the bluerider settling back onto his palms to regard the artist with the temper flares with casual interest.

F'ur blinked at the sudden turn of the conversation. "Ummm. I'm just weird?" As if that would satisfy the Bendenite. "To be honest...mostly it's just instincts and training. Unless I'm really comfortable with someone, I can't turn them off without really concentrating on it. That's why a warning's always a good idea...if I don't know it's coming that usually ends less than well. Apparently can't turn it off while sleeping, either, if the complaints are to be believed." Mild shrug. "Sorry." It didn't explain his reaction to the hand on his leg, but that had already been explained. The touch just brought him out of his studying the etching. That had been what he was reacting to.

F'ur lifted his foot and wiggled his toes before F'lix's face. "Well? Are you going to tell me where you want my foot or not?"

[rii]

F'lix rolled his shoulders, twisting a bit in discomfort as the shirt continued to cling. Hopefully sitting in the sun would at least dry it.. then he could flick the mud off, or such. His gaze remained on F'ur, a faint curiosity there about the odd subject. Brows peaked in the center of his forehead at the second pout, giving the other an (also teasing) look of.. one who worries about another's sanity. "You're right," Near dead-pan. "I can only just barely resist."

Pouting, hn. F'lix didn't pout.. sulked sometimes, that had to be the closest he got to such an expression. And his version of sulking involved.. glares and growls–maybe cute to the odd person. The younger was positive he didn't even know how to manipulate his facial expression to even mimic F'ur's pouting. He slowly shook his head at the very thought and turned his eyes down to his lap. A wry smile crossed his lips, not even going to try it. Probably send children shrieking to their mothers.

"Complaints, hm?" An eyebrow arched, questioning. What, did F'ur put people in holds while sleeping? An amusing thought. F'lix didn't raise his gaze, but smirked none-the-less. He shrugged in initial response to the explanation. Filling the information away, but not thinking too much on it. Not at the moment. Really he was trying to slowly clear his mind so he could go back to the carving. Couldn't do that stewing with troubling thoughts. "It's fine." Though he didn't really get how combat reflexes tied in with touch that didn't even vaguely relate to an attack. But F'ur had said mostly, and F'lix wouldn't pry any further.

A stern look was shot at the wiggling toes, then past them at F'ur's face. F'lix slightly raised his own knee before casually reaching up, grabbing the underside of F'ur's ankle, and guiding the foot to set down against the make-shift 'work table'. It would be easier that way for him to get around the ankle. Maybe a bit uncomfortable for F'ur, but tch.. F'lix was more concerned about getting the design right rather than the Fortian's positioning. A side-long glance casted toward F'ur. "I was tempted to surprise you, the day I saw you running into off toward the beach. Not jump out and say boo! mind you. But just.." He whistled, a good imitation of a bird not from the south, but a northern song bird. "–just to see if you'd notice."

Despite talking on the rather tangent line of conversation, F'lix mind was drifting as he trailed over the pattern already inked into F'ur's foot. Slowly pulling his mind into the trace, line by line, move by move.. flick of wrist, sideskip, flare.. The small blade found the ink dish and he went back to work. Moving the pattern back and over the vulnerable Achilles tendon–careful to be especially light in that area, not just because of the weak spot, but touches there tended to earn reflexive twitches. F'lix went slowly, hand more tense there than usual so he could pull away if F'ur did flinch.

Slicing tendons would be bad.

Once past the tendon, F'lix absently used his fingers to wipe away the blood–not thinking much of the action. He blinked at a sudden thought, "What do you want this to look like in the end.. the .. general picture? Anything you like in particular.. ?"

[Requiem]

"You're here," F'ur stated cheekily. He wasn't exactly sure what was with the sudden cheeriness...perhaps that he'd managed to placate the hissing cat. By pouncing him. No one ever said that F'ur's sense of irony was dead, that was for sure. "Yeah. You have to be pretty comfortable with being crowded...and unable to move. And apparently I mutter threats that make absolutely no sense. The current favorite is 'make a move and I'll shove the runnerfly up your ear so far it grows out your toenails...if you don't mind.' " He trailed off, sobering a bit. Hrm. Yeah, he'd found it hilarious when the boy told him that, hadn't he? Mostly the 'if you don't mind' part. Apparently he had odd dreams. (And was utterly fail at threats.)

The Fortian angled his hips forward and leaned back on his elbows, finding the position mostly comfortable, his expression completely innocent as he met F'lix's little glare. What what? Just trying to keep the other bluerider on task. Not messing with him at all. F'ur, mess with people? Faranth forbid. His eyes narrowed at the sound of the birdcall, and he shook his head mildly, a strange sound that was half-snort, half the click of a tongue emitting from him. "Well, seems you have a little common sense then, despite all appearances." A slight smile to soften the words.

"You'd likely be tackled for that one. Northern birds in southern forests...probably a northern strike team. Going in fast and hard under cover of the forest." Which F'ur would know about quite directly. The wars had been going on so long now in the north that little was done on dragonback anymore. Dragons were responded to immediately and violently in controlled airspace, and the contested air was asking to be torn apart...mostly dead zones. Most of the battles were fought on the ground now. Well, the true battles. You still found yourself in the air at least once a sevenday, and of course there was the endless drilling for both. He missed it. Sharditall, but he did.

F'ur watched the blade for a few moments, sitting up again to wrap his arms around his leg because that made it easier to see. Until F'lix started going past his tendon. Feeling it was enough to put him on edge, so he deliberately placed his eyes on the Bendenite's face instead. So serious. With that thin line of ink still on his cheekbone. F'ur's lips quirked. The expression of the face made it clear how much care F'lix was putting into it, and the line on the cheekbone was distraction enough to keep him from bristling. That tendon was a very vulnerable spot. Ino had even lifted his head, a low hiss too soft to make it all the way over to the rock, though F'ur heard it in their bond readily enough.

Keeping his leg carefully still, he let his hand drop to the ink, his torso not moving at all. Every action was from the wrist and the shoulder. He didn't want to risk anything that might make that knife slip. But then F'lix's fingers brushed his skin, and at the same moment his hand shot up, fingers drawing up the younger man's cheekbone. Perfect. He flashed a self-satisfied grin.

"Cats," he stated teasingly. Whiskers, whiskers, whiskers. He'd get that other cheek, too, before they were done. "Cats and dragons, blood and gore." In a near singsong. "And also that white flower that grows on the hills near High Reaches...the one that shades to black at the center and is kinda droopy. Oh, and eyes. I like eyes." Rather random list, there, but the question itself had been pretty general, hadn't it?

[rii]

Numbly he felt the touch and after a delayed second, in which he intently studied the bleeding lines, he turned his head to look at F'ur, as if the other had tapped his shoulder to gain attention. Blink. Huh? None the wiser, F'lix thought nothing more of the phantom-like sensation skimming around in the back of his mind and quietly listened to the list. Slowly his eyes narrowed, a light scoff. "You're no help. I should make it into a kitten playing with a ball of string."

Eyes traced the winding 'string' of a pattern, smirking that he actually could see such a silly thing on the man's foot. Yes, the inside series of lines illustrated something deadly, and the outer impression was utterly ridiculous. Tempting, but no. As a joke it would have been great, but as a public show of his artwork, it would not. Cats, dragons, blood, gore, flowers and eyes.. riiight. F'lix mentally grumbled to himself while trying to pick out a suitable image to subtly mask the written pattern of F'ur's fan dancing. Not that anyone would be able to read it, but he didn't want anyone trying. It was for F'ur only.

"I'm well aware that my common sense diminishes when I get around you," He muttered, feigning offense, now responding to the comments as they replayed in his mind. "But I was weeell out of your reach when I toyed with the idea. More worried about you throwing something.. Mm, but good to know you would have noticed the sound didn't belong." Pause. "I'll have to think of something else now."

A smirk twitched, F'lix purposely keeping his face downcast to avoid snickering–which he probably would if he looked up at F'ur. The complaint was.. highly amused, but in the wrong area of subject to start teasing. Overly snuggly, but quite lethal, Fortian muttering nonsensical threats to imaginary enemies in his sleep. How.. endearing. F'lix briefly pondered over that person's reaction to that. Of course, they probably didn't realize the danger that came with F'ur. Did anyone really know? Still, that single image, F'lix bite down on the tip of his tongue, chest cavity shaking a bit as he held down the laughs.

Mentally, F'lix had come to the end of his memory that had been replying F'ur's form on the beach. He didn't want to start over.. or pick and chose moves to finish off the trail–but it still needed to be longer. Brows knitted and F'lix bent over F'ur's foot and began to draw–and that would be a more fitting description of how he finished off the pattern. Forming the lines into something more smooth, longer, sweeping low up the front of the ankle, turning up the bottom of the shin bone then doubling back in a gentle arc. The end split off in a forked tail.

As he worked a soft smile lightened his features. Since his mind didn't have to replay the memory of F'ur's method with the fans, nor translate it into the abstract art, it freely wandered to other things. Hm, yes there he could use the flaring fan arcs as extending claws.. the winding around the ankle a tail.. near the middle a curve of a long neck.. then down lower a different tail.. a coiling haunch.. A lot of work. Would need to thicken a lot of the lines. Should save it for another day so F'ur's foot didn't turn into a bloody mess.. was running low on ink anyway..

[Requiem]

F'ur snorted softly, a common enough tonal expression of his. "Do whatever you want. I don't argue with men with knives." Not true in the slightest, but whatever. He didn't argue with men who were carving him. That seemed kind of...stupid. "Not exactly out of character for me, either," he added, blatantly amused. The fan dancer wearing a kitten playing with a ball of string permanently etched onto the foot that likely would kill at least a dozen more men somewhere down the line. That appealed to his sense of irony right there.

The Fortian kept on having to focus on other parts of F'lix's face to keep from laughing. The kid had no idea so far. Oh, it was priceless. He schooled his face into a semi-serious expression, but the one part of himself he didn't always have perfect control over - his eyes - were laughing very clearly right at that moment. "You have more common sense than you display, you say? I don't believe you." His fingers were again playing in the ink, withdrawing whenever F'lix seemed to be going for it again.

"Regardless, I doubt this new idea will be much better. So far your ideas have amounted to northern birdcalls in southern forests, taking me on without your pretty claws, following me around, attacking me from behind...and trying to drown a weyrling. The ink blood thing might be a little weird, but it's definitely your best idea thus far."

He didn't really expect F'lix to pay much attention to what he was saying, but the words themselves might be enough of an added distraction that he wouldn't pick up on F'ur's plottings. The stinging trace of the blade, however, drew his attention for a moment. Call him crazy, but he didn't think those strokes were all that kitten-like, unless it was some seriously malfungled string. Peering down at the image taking shape, he soon gave up. Too much blood smeared everywhere (albeit the cuts really were pretty light) to make out anything definitively.

"Not really seeing my kitten down there, F'lix," he commented teasingly, the probing behind the comment subtle but decidedly there. If this method really ended up working as well as the Bendenite thought it would, it might catch on in the ranks of the northern weyrs, he thought to himself absently. Though how they'd find out about it was...kinda hard to determine. The imagery was taking up more of his leg than he'd initially thought, but he found he didn't mind it much. Really just curious to see the finished product.

The bluerider again thought about the Bendenite's far cheek, working out a way to get to it without F'lix being the wiser.

[rii]

"Don't tempt me."

F'lix shot a mock glare up at the Fortian. It was only meant to be a brief glance, but he did notice the suppressed laughter in the other's gaze. Golden eyes narrowed further, suspicious–and exactly what did he find so amusing?–but F'lix soon adverted his gaze to other things. He sat straight and lightly nudged for F'ur to remove his foot rather than just shove it aside. "I want it to heal, see if this part comes out decently before I go about even.. further than entertaining the idea of a kitten." He cracked a smile, the humor of it was not lost on him. F'lix had not really decided what to make it into; he couldn't give a definite answer. So, he gave a faint shrug of one shoulder to communicate the unspoken information.

"Oh yes," F'lix mused with a subtle roll of his eyes–which came out more of his eyebrows raising then lowering in a quick succession. "I've been secretly plotting all these silly ideas just to.. " Pause, blink. "What were you doing there that day? Intervened at a rather convenient time."

The ink dish was slid out of the way, the knife set aside, as F'lix rose onto his knees with a single hand planted ahead of him so he could lean over F'ur's leg (not touching!) and reach for one of the oiled rags he had used earlier to clean off the thickened ink. He then drew back to his original position, moving a bit away from the Fortian and re-crossing his legs, back slightly turned toward the man.

Suddenly going quiet, F'lix kept his gaze to himself and went about cleaning the slender blade. Surely now F'ur would go off.. hunting or such. No reason to stick around since F'lix had voiced being done with the inking. Not that the younger wanted him to go, but.. he didn't like to dwell on those thoughts. But they came unbidden. Shardit. He wasn't clingy, despite F'ur made it sound as if he stalked the Fortian around thinking of ways to get his attention. Actually, lately, he felt the need to just leave F'ur alone. Vaguely he remembered things from when he had been.. knocked silly. And like the subconscious rule he had about not touching F'ur, a new one had risen since that day: leave him alone.

So this F'lix did now, despite that he didn't want to.. but since they were done, he left F'ur alone.

But was he really to blame, this time, that F'ur had been the one to approach. F'lix softly sighed to his own thoughts, eyes on the blade.. perhaps annoyed at the spot of ink stuck in one of the groves. Brows knitted and he rubbed more vigorously at the spot. Slowly growing more irritated with himself, already his thoughts had shifted his mood to a darker note–very clearly brooding on his end of the rock. And, getting too wrapped up with his inner musings, F'lix couldn't seem to bring himself to give more than a dismissive snort to the subjects.

A slight frown creased his features when he noticed the ink and blood coloring his hands. Without thinking, F'lix popped the side of his knuckle into his mouth to clean off a smear of blood. Neh, tasted like ink. He needed to wash his hands.. and his shirt..

[Requiem]

"Can't say as I remember. I'm usually out here somewhere, and movement tends to draw me." He shrugged. In this case, it was true enough. He didn't recall the exact reason. Why he stayed? Curiosity. Habit. "Seemed a good opportunity to watch you when your guard was down." That was definitely the truth right there...it was too potentially distasteful not to be. "Picking a fight with weyrlings. Kind of silly. Although he was a rather annoying little git, I'll admit that much."

F'ur sucked lightly on one billowing sleeve, squinting at the foot and otherwise more or less not marking what was going on with F'lix. Oil rag and dirty knife? Not too hard to figure out there. He began rubbing at his foot to clean away some of the blood, rather than walking on it. Of course, walking on it later would probably just cause some more bleeding. He ignored that for now. F'ur wanted to see what it looked like, of course.

Pausing periodically to suck at a new part of the sleeve, soon it was covered with steadily darkening patches of crimson...not because there was a lot of blood, but because the material itself was light and seemed to soak it up. He wasn't sure, as he looked at it mostly clear of blood, but...it didn't look very kitten-like. Satisfied that at least his suspicion seemed to be mostly correct, F'ur's attention turned to the younger man. Sucking on a knuckle and making such a face as to indicate 'blech.' A small little smirk twitched at the side of the Fortian's mouth. The kid definitely seemed young. A lot.

F'ur's left hand, which had been held slightly to one side the whole time, fingers down and loose, flashed up before F'lix could see the darkened fingertips, then drew down the side of the Bendenite's face slowly as he urged (though with no real pressure cause the point was the markings) the other to look at him. "That nasty, huh? Most people don't just start lapping blood and ink off their hands. This would probably be why."

Small smile. Lifting his foot again, he turned it so it was out of any shadow. "You're not bad, you know. At all. Ever thought about making a few marks off these pictures? Not necessarily skin carving or whatever...bet you could with little trouble." Unaware of moping from F'lix...after all, the other tended to be a moonstone around him, shifting constantly and with no real indication as to why half the time...the Fortian tucked his foot into the crook of his other knee. His left hand curled slightly, fingertips hovering near his palm.

Whiskered kitten.

[rii]

"Thought I was the little spy." A half-smirk, but the expression quickly faded. "Wasn't picking a fight. Not a real one.." F'lix muttered, the taste of ink on his tongue making his expression distasteful and words a near growl. "Wanted him to leave and he really wasn't getting the hint." If he had wanted to hurt the kid, he would have. "The.. pushing him in the water.. just wanted to leave a lasting impression on him to not bother me again. Which, failed, in case you were vaguely wondering."

Ah, finally got that little glob of ink out of the groove. The touch, was.. odd. Unprovoked, and definitely sliding along his cheek–suggesting wet fingertips. Usually if F'ur wanted his attention, F'lix would find his chin seized or .. anything really, but with a firmness behind the contact. Not a light brush. Paranoid mind went to work out a reason of why–f'ur toying with again obviously. Not fair at all. But why? And, then his mind did it, drawing up the image of F'ur's restrained amusement, then the brush that had been on his other cheek. But, and F'lix was rather proud of himself for it, he didn't give any indication toward the suspicious inkling of a hunch he had formed..

F'lix glanced at his hand, then to F'ur's blood soaked sleeve–eyes lingering there a moment before raising to F'ur's face. "Didn't realize.. see a cut, on the hands at least, tend to.. suck the blood off. Didn't really think about it.. until I tasted ink." Why did that sound so weird when voiced. F'lix shrugged the thoughts aside, expression oddly blank on the matter. He didn't have a problem with blood. It could be a rather fascinating substance at times. So?

Shifting around, F'lix set the ink and knife down on the ground, purposely doing it near the water's edge just so he could get a quick glimpse. Oh.. that sneaky bastard. The younger moved back up, turned back toward F'ur, still not giving away that he knew about the whiskers. His brow was knitted, but eyes down on the freshly carved design, thoughtful about their appearance. F'lix made a gesture toward the sunny side of the rock. "Would you stand up, there in the light.. I want to see how it looks when the ankle is bent.. might make adjustments so it doesn't appear scrunched."

Yes. Such a fussy artist, worried about how his artwork would look.

"To answer your question, no." F'lix shrugged, still keeping his gaze on the foot. He never thought about marks, rarely spent any, and the idea of.. sharing his artwork didn't sit well in his stomach. "The skill itself is useless.. just a pastime."

[Requiem]

F'ur didn't bother to hide the wry smile that slithered across his face. Oh, really? F'lix, having trouble with someone who seemed to want to hang around despite the fact that common sense should have told him to run far and run fast? That didn't sound at all familiar.

"I'm somewhat fond of the taste of blood myself," the older bluerider commented, the familiar smirk still very much in evidence. No, F'lix hadn't said that precisely, but he couldn't find the taste too disgusting if it was so much a habit to suckle at blood that the Bendenite didn't even think about the ink mixed in. "Coppery." Though he didn't usually lick it off himself. Sometimes other people...again, though, pretty rare. It was a good indication of internal damage, though, something that he'd had his fair share of, unfortunately enough. That or cutting his lips on his teeth when someone managed to get in a good punch. Which was probably why he liked the taste; it meant the fight was getting interesting.

The Fortian cocked his head to one side, curious, until F'lix finished his explanation. Ah. That made sense. He rose gracefully, weight on his left foot. After a moment, he touched the foot down gingerly, stepping forward to the spot indicated. "You really think it would scrunch?" Seemed to him that, with the way the Bendenite had his foot while carving into his skin, the design should hold. But he certainly was no artist, and F'lix probably knew much better than he did. If there was even an inkling of suspicion in the Fortian, he was ignoring it, because he took the other bluerider at face value, glancing down and studying his foot with a mild frown.

"Not really useless, I'd say." F'ur gestured with a hand, in fair imitation of the coiling strokes the other had been making, though that wasn't difficult given F'lix had been mimicking his movements to begin with. "Works on control, anyway, which is important for someone who fights with knives." Or with anything, really, but that was beside the point. "And it clearly displays how much detail you notice." But he could understand why F'lix wouldn't want to sell his work. Just like F'ur wasn't big on demonstrating his style. Some things were just too personal to sell off.

[rii]

Taste. Flix never thought much of the taste, although truth be told it was a familiar one. He liked.. blood was best when pouring from a fresh, deep slash to the bare flesh. Warm to the touch. Slit a man's throat from behind, place a hand over the gash so the arterial spray didn't paint the walls. Could feel a person's very life slipping away as the blood gushed over fingers. So black, glistening in the moonlight—No—F'lix eyes flashed, narrowing, grateful that he had kept his gaze adverted to the foot. Thoughts were halted from delving any further. Neither the time, nor the place for such dark musings.

"Mm.. " F'lix managed, not having much more to say on the matter, and he didn't have to since F'ur had complied with the request. He nodded slightly to the question. "Having the full weight on a foot can alter it." F'lix too, rose, crossing his arms and fixating a heavy, scrutinizing gaze on the digit. Part of him did want to see how it would look when standing, and also how someone else would see it from the same standing angle. He took a step closer, chin tucked to chest–a common enough stance for him, except usually he had his long bang to mask his face from view.

Golden eyes momentarily raised to observe F'ur's mimicry. A slight smirk twitched on his lips. Not many made the connection between careful brush strokes of art to something related to style and control in fighting. But, of course, fighting was a type of art to the Fortian, was it not? It certainly came out in such a way, in F'lix's point of view. A masterful piece of art, that, complete with scarring.. Hn. Another line of thought that was not allowed to be pursued.

"Thanks," He said quietly, albeit a bit gruffly. F'lix didn't say what for but it shouldn't matter. Besides, the younger didn't take compliments well, if at all. And coming from the Fortian, such things seemed to cause more damage than good to the Bendenite. Brush it off. F'lix, tilted his head, now he slightly bent forward though, "F'ur.." Brow knitted–was there something wrong with design?

"I thought I.. " The words were quiet, more than so, purposely done because soft words had the tendency to draw people near.. to lean in closer in a subconscious action to hear. And.. really, F'lix knew better than to make any sudden movements around F'ur. The man was not comfortable around him, nor would he ever be–mused the younger. But a bit of turn-about was fair play.. only F'lix was not as sneaky as F'ur. F'lix was, for all intents and purposes, Benden–thus having a much more straight-forward approach to matters (if with a touch of subterfuge). Maybe in time F'lix would learn to do otherwise, but for now F'lix wasn't going to sulk that he couldn't repay the 'generous' act of whisker painting (beside that it would unoriginal) because F'ur's.. mixture of dislike and reflexes.. didn't allow F'lix to get close enough, and F'lix's touch was cause for instant suspicion.

It had to be direct and surprising, maybe with an unvoiced prayer and a little warning. F'lix couldn't deny his appeal to the danger he placed himself into–but he did trust F'ur–still–not completely, but more than he should. Obviously his common sense did vanish around the Fortian. But, again, he couldn't just let the Fortian win without putting up a fight. And sure, likely F'ur would highly annoyed. But–honestly–whiskers?

".. said no one was getting whiskers." The only form of warning he gave before smoothly arching up to F'ur. No real bodily contact, but F'lix was good at getting intimately close without actually 'touching'. The body language was confident, he knew what he was doing; a flirtatious, challenging way that reminisced his actions in their first meeting.. complete with other intentions in mind. His body may not have touched the other, but F'lix nuzzled the side of his cheek up F'ur's neck and part of his face–smearing inky whiskers along the way. Kitty kitty, yes, lapping blood and pretty claws. F'lix even trilled his tongue–purring–at his to-be teacher. Then the other reason to why he had asked F'ur to stand became very clear. F'lix hooked an ankle with his own, then put his weight into a shove that would push F'ur backwards into the stream.

That was the plan, at least.

[Requiem]

A flick of the wrist in F'lix's direction was his only response to the thanks, the bluerider not pursuing that topic of conversation any further. There was no sense in thanking him for something that simply was. An observation was just an observation - stated or withheld, it didn't change a thing. But actually coming out and putting these thoughts in the open would likely just seem to be further attempts at flattery, when that wasn't his intent to begin with.

"Mm?" He frowned down at the younger man's head, glancing down at the foot as well. It was still bleeding in a couple of places, but, from what he could see, the cuts were holding true to their original shape. From what he could see. "What is it?" he put quietly into the silence, not moving because F'lix seemed so intent upon his foot at the moment. It was awkward and uncomfortable, though, standing still while having this vague sense of wrongness surrounding them. F'ur was patient, yes, but he still would rather be doing something rather than waiting for something to happen when he didn't know what that something was.

His eyes widened and narrowed in quick succession. F'ur could have simply jumped back, forestalling whatever form or retribution the Bendenite had in mind. He was too stubborn, though, his lips twitching into a smirk. Had to give the younger bluerider credit; he'd fooled him there. Not bad at all for someone from a place where subtlety was pretty much nonexistant.

F'lix was just as fast as ever, but not so fast that F'ur didn't have time to lean into the nuzzle a bit...to lean into F'lix a bit. The ink felt strange against his neck. Not just the ink, really. F'ur himself tended to be bold and even 'touchy-feely' in that he had no problem with getting up close with near strangers, but it was still pretty rare for others to initiate such behavior with him. Partially because he tended to react by putting them back in their place. This time, though, F'ur's response - whatever it might have been - was truncated by the foot hooking his ankle.

His leg slid out instinctively for more balance, moving at the same time as F'lix drew his leg forward and pushed. There was no helping it. Albeit, had this been on the edge of a cliff, he likely would have reacted differently, but hurting himself in any way just to prevent falling into water was ridiculous. F'ur's arm snaked up, however. F'lix was quite close. It wended beneath the younger man's armpit, crossing behind F'lix's back and clamping onto the opposite shoulder, the action bringing the Bendenite tight against his chest as his feet lost their purchase.

He let go of F'lix before he even hit the water, putting enough space between them that the younger couldn't surprise him again right away as soon as his limbs regained feeling from the numbing, unexpected chill.