Look at the crowds bleeding with laughter [F'ur]

[rii]

The pair of fans were a bone white with colorful threads woven through the fabric to create an image of dragons dancing through the setting horizon. The edges were lined with a reflective silver that would catch the light much like a blade. Cased in a dark hardwood with long crimson tassels; they were modest in size – truly a pair of normal fans. With a push of thumb the colors came to life against the dark, full length robe. The shadowed figure controlling the fans was easily dismissed as eyes were naturally drawn to the twist of color.

One fan spanned to conceal the lower portion of face. A half mask crafted from a feline's skull hide the rest. Stark white with dark beads and feathers hanging from the sides. A thin black material had been attached to the mask, making it more of a hood to hide the rest of the wearer's face and neck. Even the insides of the hollowed eyesockets were veiled in black to ensure no one saw beyond the death of the fanged mask.

The robe was black hemmed in dark gold. An equally dark wide sash tied snugly around the waist kept the robe closed around the slender torso – the fabric stiffened there with more materials to create a more androgynous appearance. In death, gender hardly mattered. The sleeves were wide and long – stopping just short of fingertips. The robe's bottom hem brushed against the ground, with the front partially agape to reveal slippered feet. All black (including pants and shirt) to create the a dark illusion that lacked the depth and shape of legs.

Through the thick mess of festival gatherers the dark figure weaved. A near eerie sight of death and feral grace – a touch different than the bouncy macabre performers he resembled. Beads clinked almost musically against the hollowed skull. The empty sockets slowly surveyed the crowd. But, upon not finding anything of interest, the fan spun to a close and he moved on.

It wasn't until the attention grabbing 'hey' and hand moving to seize him around the waist that F'lix paused. He caught the man's hand with a closed fan against the wrist – stopping it short of true contact and pushing it away in the same motion.F'lix placed his own hands into the wide sleeves of opposite arms before turning to the man. The fanged mask cocked to the side in a quick jerk that caused the beads to knock against the dry bone. Inquiring – the simple body language said it all while he regarded the man already well into his wine.

"Yer one of tha.." He made a lazy gesture with his hand. Hm, about as good with words as himself, F'lix mused in mild humor. It didn't matter though. He understood. One of them, the wandering performers of the gather. The point of it all was to be mistaken for one of them, was it not? "Ye sing? Dance?"

The skull didn't move, but F'lix eyes did, flicking around behind the black veil to determine who – if anyone – else's attention he had earned. Two others. The stranger's hand made another grab and again a closed fan caught it – this time rapping sharply across knuckles. Just as quickly F'lix hands returned to the sleeves.

"Ow–geez–" The man shook his offended limb. "No need for that."

Dance–isn't that what he wanted? F'lix hardly felt the need to entertain a half-drunk, but.. Beads rattled against the bone mask as both fans flared. Wrists and fingers sent them into a smooth, colorful motion. Easy distractions to those not sound of mind. F'lix side stepped around the man, brushing the open fan feather-light past his jaw. Another shifting step. The sound of beads, music, and hum of conversation – could barely hear the rip of fabric as the darkened blade cut easily through the material of pants. Just the barest noticeable tugs as F'lix move around, the sleeves and fans touching here and there in a haunting display of prowess (toned down to a dance for the war-shy southerners).

By the time the laughter rose, F'lix was already slipping away, one fan fluttering over the lower half of his face to over express his innocence of the entire scene. Meanwhile his other hand passed unnoticed, slipping blade back into the hilt hidden up those flared sleeves. The man was left with his torn pants dropping past his knees before realization struck.

"Wha—hey—" The man's outburst and frantic grabbing at his severed waistband was cut short by the brief flash of red. The outstretching crimson tassel as the closed fan swing, striking lightly against the side of his head. It was gone in the next instant and F'lix further slipped into the mass of bodies before the confusion could wear off – so clueless – the braided crimson cord trailed in his wake.

A gather was meant to be fun, everyone just had their own ideas of entertainment. The man's half-full coin purse was tossed aside..

[Requiem]

Colors meant to draw the eye. Darkness meant to keep it. Well-disguised, yes, but who else moved like that? Lips twitched. Fans. That was amusing. He should have felt guilty, probably. Corrupting influence that he was. Should have.

He tapped his foot idly against the stall he leaned back against, the soft click barely noticeable in the noise of the crowd. Steel tipped boots that added a couple inches to his height. Just enough that average replaced short. He pushed up off the stall, walking towards the drunkard. A hand extended. Gloved. He yanked down a sheet of fabric from a nearby stall, flipping the marks at the vendor and sweeping it around the bottomless unfortunate. The fabric whipped, flaring in the spin. Meant to draw attention. He clapped the man on the back good-naturedly, sending the drunkard stumbling and nearly tripping over the fabric he clutched around his waist.

Dark eyes narrowed humorlessly, a mild flicker of irritation. Just a stumble. Tch. Black, half-transparent cloth was wound over the chin and forehead, leaving only the eyes, the skin itself blackened where it emerged. But that was just to keep his face in darkness beneath the hood and flaring hat. Faceless.

It was a white figure, because black was just too expected. Skin tight clothing beneath, the outer layer was all white and deliberately loose. White shirt, bracers that looked suspiciously like bone and covered the top portion of his hands. A white overcoat over the shirt, sleeveless but stiff, held in place by a scarf wound tightly around his waist...held open. The pants were dark, but white thread ran in suggestive designs that never quite let you know exactly what they were suggesting.

There was but one splash of color. Crimson, wrapped loosely around the neck and left to trail. It followed his movements much as the cord followed the fanned one's. From the straw hat dangled bone and metal on fishing lines lost to the eye, as if they were just floating around the peaked hat unsupported. A contrast, yes, to those around him but not - in the end - out of place. The silhouette had been carefully constructed to be just enough different. Average height, his slenderness concealed in swathes of fabric that still hugged his form. There was nothing androgynous about him. Male. Reeked of it.

He suddenly sprung forward, certain then that he had the eyes he wanted. Leapt up onto a nearby stall, rolled and twisted until he was in front of the feline fan dancer, on one knee, arms sweeping out. Bone blades, inset with darkened metal that absorbed rather than refracted light, swept out in front in a wide sweep, the head still bowed. He slowly lifted it, noting the hush with relish as space cleared around them.

Putting on a show, clearly. The whispered excitement made that clear. If the southerners had thought it real...they'd already be running. He stood, twirling the blades through his fingers. Not as - elegant as the kitten, no. The display lacked such grace. But then, his efficiency was his grace.

Smirking, he tilted his head to one side, the dangling bits clinking hollowly against one another. He imagined F'lix's recognition. No one else had to know who either of them were. A dance, kitten? His foot slid back slightly, the blades disappearing...where it was impossible to discern.

[rii]

The dark figure stood still as his lighter counterpart landed in the space ahead of him. There was never a questioning of who, even if at first the costume made the ex-Fortian just another faceless stranger. Who's attention had F'lix been aiming to attract – the fans alone spoke enough of the answer. There would be those that would gawk and awe at his costume, others that dismissed him as another performer. And then there would be that one able to look beyond the bone mask and colorful twirls. One that could read into the movements and see the base behind the outer deceiving appearance.

Who knew it all better than F'ur?

Of course F'lix would be recognized – by F'ur. In return it drew the observant older man into revealing himself. Not that they were hiding from one another. As if they could. The masks and costumes may cloak them from being recognized by the on lookers, but it wasn't fooling either of the blueriders. Besides, the dramatic appearance – pulling on the attention of those around them – the obvious separation from the other typical gatherers – F'lix could practically see the smirk hidden beneath the veil of black.

F'lix remained in place, turning the fans upward so the long sleeves covered the full extend of both arms. Only the crimson cords remained visible, swaying from the movements of the spreading crowd. Side to side the fanged mask tilted like metronome with the rattling beads keeping time.

In response to the blade twirling, F'lix spun the fans around in mimicry of F'ur's own talents. In the end he used his fingers to manipulate the fans into a slow wave – catching the sparse light against the reflective edges to suggest metal instead of mere fabric. He watched the ex-Fortian's dark eyes the entire time; almost regretting that his own expression would remain hidden; just the lifeless empty-eyed skull staring back. An advantage, in a way, but part of the thrill came from seeing the passion in the opponent's eyes.

Then, as F'ur's foot moved back, so too did F'lix's. His own slender form crouching low over the left heel – a clear, silent answer to the invitation to dance. That was a dance he could enjoy, even if the eyes around them required a toned down version of what F'lix would classify as a dance. The two fans twirled in unison, moving apart to place one – snapped closed – in front of himself while the other – flared – flicked as a patient heartbeat next to his head.

The closed fan gestured for the white figure to come – bring it. Theatrics were more of F'ur's expertise, and F'lix would count on the other to set the tone for the situation. F'lix remained low to the ground, resembling the beast the mask represented. The way the long robe fell in folds against the dirt also served to further hide the position of his footing. The open fan flicked to the side – the tail flicking in preparation of a pounce.

[Requiem]

Definite recognition. This pleased F'ur. That, or F'lix simply recognized another dancer when he saw one - he would have known for sure if he could see the kitten's face. Not that it really mattered. Maintaining the position, he crouched in time with F'lix's own motion, going just as low. The flicker of the fan was a nice touch. It tempted the eye away from the forward hand - the hand in play. F'ur stepped in half-time to the 'heartbeat' the phantom cat set, a creeping motion.

His head tilted to one side, then the other. Sharp gestures. Establishing the beat of the dance as the hat exaggerated the movement. The soft click of the boots on the pavement could now be heard as well, in the hush. He liked the eyes. He liked the fact that the people here were bearing witness...and likely had no earthly clue what they were actually witnessing. It appeased his sense of irony quite nicely.

F'ur hunched his shoulders slightly, creating a more feral silhouette. The blades (when had those sprung back to fingers?) sparked on the ground in a quiet counterpoint. He slunk around his 'opponent', his partner, in what definitely resembled a prowl. Waiting for something....and there. The quiet beat of a drum. His eyes narrowed in pleasure. Harpers could never resist a spectacle, now could they? And with the beat so clearly defined...no, he hadn't known or planned on it, but he had hoped.

Build it, he urged the harper silently. Build it. His head stopped center, the attached bones and metal swinging. Flicker of dark metal in the pass of an arm as he stepped toward F'lix. Fade back. Keeping the pulse - internalizing it. Yes, there it was, getting louder oh so gradually. And, just as could be expected (only the best of harpers could keep themselves from speeding up when the volume upped) the tempo crept faster. Tempted to laugh, he settled for another lunge forward, another fade back.

Testing. Building anticipation for what everyone had to know was coming. The stylized hunt. He paused for a moment, fading back just a little further, bringing his hand up in front of him just a little sharper and shifting his weight to the left. All subtle movements the crowd wasn't likely to pick up on, but that he fully expected F'lix to notice and understand. Enough anticipation. Time to dance.

[rii]

The actions were mirrored. F'lix keeping his body facing F'ur but moving in slow, steady side-steps to keep them in that continuous, circling prowl around each other – sizing one another up. The fans remained in place, every other beat punctuated with a sweeping of the open fan to the side; the flickering tail of the feline waiting for the show of weakness and key moment to pounce.

Interesting, F'ur. F'lix quietly mused to himself as the beat of hollow bones was replaced by a drum. The younger could almost swear he imagined the sound, mistaking it for his heart beat, if not for being able to hear the vibrations centering from one direction in the distant crowd (he hardly acknowledged them, his interested honed solely on the figure in white). So this would be the tune of the their dance. Really could assume the whole thing had been staged.

F'lix took it in as he observed his partner, never pausing in motion, silent in his own ways to feel out the rhythm and F'ur's movements. The use of blades was not lost on him. The various loose layers made it difficult to discern their sheathed positions. F'lix had a good guess of where from his own experience of hiding blades. He would have a better idea of the location once he got close; it could not be a true dance if they didn't get within a breath's space - or closer still - from one another. Not that he was concerned about the blades. True they were more deadly than a fan, but in F'ur's hands they might as well be another colorful distraction meant to draw attention away from what was truly dangerous.

A challenging step. F'lix drew his front leg back, rising slightly upon his back one as both fans flared open in front of him. The bright splash of white enough to demonstrate the aggressive snarl. Fans raised along with him, one over his head while the other remained level with his torso. The arching back of fur bristling in feral response: I'm bigger than you are, more dangerous, do you really want to die today?

Again into motion, F'lix crouched back down low in a twirl of fans. With the second lunge he too moved forward, a half-step; not enough to be within true range, but enough to swipe both fans – cutting horizontally through air in opposite directions. A warning slash of claws.

A coiling – must be due time for the pounce. Both fans snapped shut as F'lix sprung forward. No rush to his movements, aside from the speed that came with the ease of a practiced skill. A blinding flare of white with a side-step. A low swipe with the other closed fan as he moved. The black robe moved with the darkness, the heel lower still and hooking around as he went.. past.

A dance, one that would not end in death. Enough to be enjoyable to his partner, but passive enough for the watchful sets of eyes. A twirl of fans, the rattling of beads and bones. At one point F'lix drew back and dropped low, one leg stretch out and sweeping around then behind himself before slipping back beneath the robe's hem.

Just how close would F'ur allow him to get. Again F'lix mildly regretted his mask (aside from having his peripheral vision hindered). He wanted to be able to look into the other man's eyes as they danced. Instead F'lix settled for brushing against the older man every now and then as they weaved a series of motions with each other. The younger aiming to – yes, there it was – hitting the little bits of bone and metal of F'ur's hat along the muzzle of his own mask.

[Requiem]

F'ur stepped lightly around F'lix, matching the other bluerider's speed. He deliberately changed his tempo of movement to be more brisk, more choppy than the fluid motions of his partner. The timing was still the same, of course. Steps landed to the beat of the drum. Movements began and ended the same. However the start and stop motion was certainly deliberately meant to accentuate the differences within the similarities. F'ur loved irony and paradoxes, and that was reflected in the dance of the two men.

His blades were used sparingly, disappearing and reappearing seemingly on a whim. To draw the eye, truly, just when it was likely that they'd find the pattern becoming just that tad bit mesmerizing, drawing the mind back into the watching. The older rider slipped into a form that F'lix had seen before, that day on the rocks at the beach. Giving the younger man the knowledge of his motions so F'lix could create whatever picture he pleased. F'ur was just as interested in the ex-Bendenite's whims as he was in creating something different.

A close pass, followed by a spin kick that just missed the bluerider, trailing him almost languidly. The sheer fabric of the scarf followed in its wake...and continued, the man drawing it from around his neck. It looped over one of F'lix's wrists, drawing tighter as F'ur spun the opposite direction. They'd been dancing now for a good while and it was probably time to end it. Not that F'ur minded continuing - at all - but the crowd would grow tired of it and he preferred to end on a high point.

He suddenly tugged the other direction to throw F'lix off-balance...if only for a second, and wrapped the other wrist, drawing them both together. F'ur crouched low, a blade emerging as the scarf transferred to one hand. He left his side open for anything F'lix might choose to do with his wrists bound. (There was just something wrong about a feline losing this sort of battle, really, and it had always been a dance rather than a competition.)

[rii]

A few moves into the form and the familiarity registered. Behind the mask F'lix eyes narrowed in silent, unseen, questioning. With a twitch of forearm the crimson tassel (knotted on the end) flick out near the ex-Fortian's head. Curious that the older man would slip into that of all things instead of continuing with the impromptu. On the other hand, if one of them reacted a moment too slow the illusion the crowd saw would be shattered. Bother.

White – a living canvas. Although F'lix was something of an artist, he painted in strokes of crimson and therefore he could not create an image tailored to his skills. Not to that particular depth, anyway, F'lix settled for quick diagonal sweeps of the fan that sent the blood-hued cord trailing out behind the move, tracing briefly over the ground in an imagery enough to sate his aesthetic tastes.

As F'ur went through the motions, F'lix followed intimately – adding in the appropriate flare of fan at the right time to show he was paying attention; that he knew this form and added the blinds as if out of subconscious habit since the ex-Fortian did not wield the more colorful of distractions. F'lix knew it all a little too well. Knowing when and where those small windows of opportunity were open for the briefest of moments. Just enough for a touch, a brush of body – an amused smile quirked behind the veil of black.

Did F'ur notice those little tugs on his outer costume? The music of the harpers, and the sound of their moving feet – that sang out a much different song – drowned out the tell-tale noise of the rips. Those whirling fans and wide sleeves hide more than just movements. This part of the dance was not for the crowd, for they saw nothing but the colorful twirls and playful, low crouches done with wide steps to put a elegant grace to his slender black form as he wove himself around the white hunter's motions.

It just wouldn't do to let the man escape unscathed. And even though F'lix would never deal any true harm to his partner, the symbolism was there; well hidden as it may be. Such an intimate dance came with a touch of pain, of blood, of life and death. So many things, but that may have been just F'lix's dark inclinations.

It was all coming to an end. F'lix growled – the first sound he made – as the fabric seized his wrist. It would have been more than easy to slice through the material but that was not part of the show (the word particularly distasteful in F'lix's mind). He pulled the scarf tight, just as F'ur jerked him in the other direction. The younger rider stepped with the force, snapping the fanged mask down near the hands that bound both of his.

Captured?

Beneath the robe, F'lix feet shifted into a new stance as the skull stared blankly at F'ur – hiding the defiance in those golden eyes. The bluerider saw the opening and acted on it, breaking their smooth dance to make a more dynamic ending. He hooked F'ur's foot, pulling it out from under the ex-Fortian while jerking the scarf free – or just enough to raised both arms up above his own head. Thumbs slide the fans open wide and lightly trembling as he loomed, the crimson cords and scarf dangling down at the crouched white figure.

He would not be captured and tamed into some docile animal. He would not go peacefully. The hunter would have to finish him off, or die in the process. And, well aware that it was F'ur that held the blade, F'lix made no motions to guard himself as he came down at the older man in a final lunge.

[Requiem]

Was he irritated? That amused F'ur even more. Oh, there'd come a time when they could do this without the buffer of known moves. When they came to know each other well enough that action and reaction was second nature. Right now...no it wouldn't really hurt anything but the mood if they didn't judge correctly, but he had another image in mind. Another purpose. Blade dancers intrigued him, and if he could whet F'lix's appetite for a similar but far more potentially deadly dance... He needed a teacher of his own for that, and he knew which one he wanted.

A casual flip of the wrist, an almost imperceptible loosening of the scarf, as F'lix's leg snaked behind his ankle. His leg slid forward, back angling upwards but back in an exaggeratedly off-balance stance. The younger man descended on him, F'ur flinging his head back at the contact, the hat flying, rolling, as the man's arms crossed in front him, pulling the scarf entirely free.

Arms flung wide as he fell backwards, blades against wrists till they cleared F'lix and snapping out. A wide flare of cut sleeves that looked suspiciously like wounds left over from feline claws. F'lix's or F'ur's doing, that? It hardly mattered, as clearly the older man had known they were there, given the timing. The scarf flung wide and billowed over the pair, wide and broad enough to obscure most of them from view. As it fell symbolically over the two, F'ur pulled down his scarf with one hand and removed F'lix's mask, flinging it clear of the scarf. His left hand hit the ground outside of the concealing red, twitched, stilled.

That arm might have been 'dead,' but not the rest of the man. He had his arm looped up under F'lix's to keep him pressed tight, his tongue exploring the other man's mouth with abandon. A more private dance to finish out the first. F'ur nuzzled him, listening to the silence of the shocked crowd with just one ear as he worried F'lix's lower lip. His voice came in a soft murmur. "Feline, hm? Not the best of disguises if you wished to hide from me," he teased laughingly. Of course F'lix couldn't have meant to do so dressed as he was.

Groping for the feline mask, he pulled it back under their scarf for F'lix to replace if he wished, smiling in clear satisfaction.

[rii]

Before the hat and mask could stilled completely at the feet of gatherers, lips were met under the falling drop of crimson. F'lix's tongue still sweet with the taste an earlier indulgence of wine. A part of him was pleasantly amused by the jointed death instead of the expected triumphant hunter remaining upright. Something darkly pleasing about taking down his attacker in a dying lunge and now sharing a thorough kiss beneath the crimson shades.

Golden eyes slitted open at the words, teethly nipping at the older man's whispering lips. His own quirked to the side in a smirk before answering. Not verbal, but a repeating kiss – slower, involving more nip and gentle pull of teeth than of tongue. Answer enough that he wanted F'ur.. to find him. It was a task in itself not to move into a better, more comfortable, position instead of laying half-sprawled on top of the older man.

"If I wished to hide from you." Purred quietly, picking up on the fact that F'ur knew well enough that the disguise was only meant to cloak him from the general public. Although how much the ex-Fortian acknowledge it was done to lure him out instead, F'lix wondered privately. Perhaps an unacknowledged, subtle manipulation on his part. He attracted certain attention with reason; it wasn't entirely by mere chance.

Now what?

The sound of the dispersing crowd came to his ears, but F'lix found that he could care less and – most of all – didn't want to move. Of course, he also didn't want to be lying in the dirt surrounded by the shuffling feet of the gather, nor holding a.. conversation.. under the scarf. The longer he stalled the more awkward F'lix began to feel. He was never one to enjoy putting on a show for other people. A private game yes, but he was not a.. flaunter.

"That was fun," F'lix rubbed his cheek against the older man's jaw. Then, as the short hairs of gruff pricked at his skin the younger turned his face to lightly bite back. An absent, near feral reaction to the scratching feeling of the coarse facial hair. "We should do it more often.

"I have some things to pick up from some of the stalls.. " The words trailed off, raising slightly in an unvoiced invitation. Almost apologetic – he didn't want to move. Golden eyes scanned F'ur's face in silent questioning. Communication failure. Instead of asking if the older man had other things to do, or hinting (more strongly) at wanting his company.. F'lix tried to let the tone of voice on the end of his words do all the work that talk was suppose to do. Than and the fact he wasn't making any motions to remove himself from the white figure were plain enough clues; if asked his opinion on the matter.

"You?"

Maybe that would help – maybe F'ur was better at reading his very.. non-verbal way of communicating. F'lix suddenly sat up, his fingers pushing the scarf away while also sweeping partially sweat-damped black strands out of his eyes (they just reached into them at their present length). Following the move came the mask, sliding over his face and the tell-tale scars. He planted both hands, with fans, against F'ur's chest in a crouching motion. The bone mask snapped to either side before the younger rider rose to his feet.

He stepped aside, fans switching to one hand before the open palm extended to F'ur.

[Requiem]

F'ur's arm slid down F'lix's back, lingering there just above his hips, growling softly at the kiss. For all that he was very much enjoying the attention, the older man was no more interested in airing their personal business to the public than F'lix was. He was a very private sort of person beneath all the showmanship and bluster. The appeal of this sort of intimacy right beneath the noses of the ignorant crowd was appealing for that reason only: that they were ignorant. Not that he was inclined to lose the companionable weight on top him any time soon.

"We should," he agreed, keeping his voice low so no one beyond the scarf could hear him. F'ur was pleased, his eyes narrowing in an expression that was clearly calculating. First step accomplished. Now F'lix should be far more open to the idea of teaching him how to better handle knives so that they could take this to a new level. Not that he probably would have disagreed anyway, but F'ur was never above arranging things to his best advantage. It certainly couldn't hurt.

Pick up a few things, eh? F'ur watched him, and yes, he was just a touch mean. He knew what F'lix was asking, but it amused him to keep the other man guessing. Or perhaps he just liked the searching look. The younger man rarely looked more vulnerable than when trying to determine F'ur's reaction to something, and the older bluerider found that particular expression attractive simply because F'lix wasn't vulnerable. Most of the time.

"Could probably pick up a few things myself," he responded, to F'lix's question. "Or at least keep you from spontaneously acquiring more fuzzy little creatures." He found what he determined to be a soft spot for pets in F'lix to be endlessly amusing.

Grabbing hold of F'lix's hand firmly, he levered himself up, catching the scarf and winding it back around his neck. He didn't bother to cover his face, just reached own for the hat and put it back on his head. The smattering of applause went ignored as his hands traveled to his pockets and his head tilted to one side inquiringly. "So which stalls did you need to go to? It looks like you already hit up the more interesting ones," he added, amused.

[rii]

"One."

He tucked the fans into the wide sleeves, next to the hilts that sheathed a set of his smaller knives, and allowed the ends of the tassels to trial out from the enveloping black. His arms were folded in front of his chest, each disappearing into the sleeve of the other. He was enjoying his costume – and would continue to do so while it was still acceptable to wear such a thing. The soul-less mask silently regarded the ex-Fortian. "I have one fuzzy little creature. And she keeps the other pests out of my Weyr." See? That clearly justified him acquiring Avaria. She had a use and it was not that he found her cute little fuzziness adorable..

Beads clacked against the mask as F'lix tilted his head in the opposite direction of F'ur's expression. Those pocketed hands drew his curiosity – but he wouldn't inquire, merely watch. That aside, F'ur seemed to be willing to tag along. "What if I plan to acquire one for you?" Of course he didn't but watching the man growl about it would still amuse him.

F'lix suddenly stepped forward, brushing against F'ur's chest as he determined.. yes.. F'ur was taller. Amused by this, F'lix eased back and tapped his slippered foot against the boots the ex-Fortian wore. Aside from the weyrling lessons, F'lix had never seen the older man wear shoes of any sort. Being in the thin slippers took away from F'lix's normal height (he rarely went without his boots) and so the somewhat exaggerated difference in height came as a.. surprise. F'lix had not noticed while dancing. Almost strange, F'lix noted to himself, that he had gotten use to F'ur being at a certain height that he didn't have to think about adjusting his own motions to match him..

More interesting ones.. ?

The bone mask tilted down to regard the dark robe. A sheepish smile curved on his lips that, although unseen, carried enough in his words. "I was having some things made and.. they really don't take no for an answer." In fact, those weavers had been taking his measurements and pulling down fabrics while he continued to refuse. "Like over-bearing mothers. They were very persistent." And F'lix had been in a willing mood (maybe from the wine); he had more than enough marks to spare and the only reason he had gone there was to have things made for.. someone else.

He casually flicked at one of the hanging piece of bone on F'ur's hat, silently redirecting the attention onto faceless dancer. It was interesting, the whole effect, when F'lix paused long enough to look over the older man. He touched at a slash in the outer garb only now wondering if F'ur would be upset. Still, F'lix slipped his fingers into the gash (that didn't go through all the layers) to poke at a very specific place between the man's ribs. He quickly retracted the limb, pale hand disappearing into the black.

He paused, watching F'ur's expression, then finished on the topic of stalls. "I didn't want to carry everything around so–" Here F'lix turned to lead off in the direction of the nearest stall, the leather worker, with intention of getting away from any of the audience that had lingering eyes. The show was over. Shoo. "–I left some things with the stall owners."

[Requiem]

"Yes. Just a tool for pest control," F'ur agreed good-naturedly, but his eyes were clearly laughing at F'lix, even if was a very subtle sort of amusement. A tool for pest control that just happened to be small, furry, and convenient for cuddling. Nothing at all suspicious or sentimental about that. Nothing at all.

The older bluerider was blatantly amused by F'lix's comment, and rapped lightly on the bone mask, cocking a brow at the hollow sound. Real bones. Nice touch. "Have you forgotten already? I have the best pest control agent of all...Impressed to him a good twenty turns ago now."

Anything else he might have said - no doubt in much the same teasing manner - was arrested by F'lix's close proximity. He tilted his head up slightly so he could see the younger man better without the dangling pieces getting in the way. A small smirk touched his lips as the ex-Bendenite apparently answered his own question. Yes, F'lix. I'm wearing boots to add to my height. Strange, really, that something so small would please him - that the fact that the F'lix noticed the slight increase in height pleased him. It meant the younger man was paying attention.

It was, truly, a bit unfortunate that they had an audience. F'ur knew southerners were far more open to a male-on-male relationship, but not really amongst the holdfolk, and not really anyway. More open didn't mean open. It was all a matter of relativity. Besides...while he didn't mind his flirtations being witnessed, his actual interests he tended to be far more possessive of. Almost neurotically so.

F'ur settled for brushing his fingers casually over F'lix's, as if removing the hand or reminding someone that it was there. No one watching would likely think it odd. The older bluerider had already noted F'lix's strangeness about his hands, however, and knew that a touch that would mean little to someone else was actually pretty intimate as far as the younger rider was concerned. "Yes, deadly one. Your claws were on target," he murmured, amused. Of course, he was less likely to cut it that close if it wasn't F'lix. F'ur didn't feel the need to protect his ribs from his lover. Wonder why.

Trailing casually after the dark figure, his hands once again sheathed in their pockets to assuage the temptation of just snagging F'lix around the waist - he did fit so perfectly, after all - the figure in white was content to watch the retreating form. "You left your clothes with them or something?" This was merely a whim? F'ur'd already acquired what he intended to wear before the Gather even opened. Then again, he was a very deliberate sort of person.

[rii]

Behind the mask F'lix's eyes narrowed in thought. If F'ur wanted to slip in those little touches, then those gloves would have to come off. With that thought came a glance cast over the shoulder. It was meant to be a subtle action, but the stark white of the bone mask contrasting against the black of the robe seemed to over exaggerate the movement. F'lix enjoyed sneaking in those small affections. Because, for the most part, F'lix preferred to remain reserved – broody would be a more appropriate term – so those almost meaningless gestures meant a great deal more to him.

Although, for what he lacked in social learnings (his own version a very warped and twisted knowledge) F'lix attempted to make up in other areas that he did know well. Such as later, in private, he could express how much the other man had been on his mind that day; or how much he missed him; how much he wanted him; how much – was it really any wonder that F'lix, unable to properly express his feeling in words, would instead rely on actions?

No one could say F'lix wasn't a passionate lover.

Alas, his own touch was merely that: a touch. An awkwardness of not knowing how to behave around F'ur in a public setting. F'lix had wondered how close the other man would allow him to get with a blade. The answer to the show of a more intimate trust made him privately smile.

The expression quickly blanked, at least momentarily, as they came up to the stall. F'lix stripped of the fanged mask and held it loosely against his thigh. Almost cautiously F'lix glanced side-long at the white figure – brow wrinkling slightly as he considered the question, and what he may have imagined as a touch of confusion. "No.." His head tilted, a clear indication that he was thinking. "I bought some things and left them with the stall owners while.. looking.. for you."

His attention moved to the leather crafter. F'lix purposely kept the more scarred portion of his face toward the man because – unfortunately, in his opinion – his face tended to be one of the more memorable ones. The recognition was quick and with a quiet 'thank you' F'lix accepted a small, wrapped parcel.

"Is there anywhere in particular you want to browse?" F'lix shifted, his body turning more toward the white figure. His eyes briefly scanned over the darkened skin surrounding F'ur's eyes before passing on to observe the crowd. "Maybe eat something?" He tossed out the offer. F'ur was always hungry, right? Not that F'lix didn't have something entirely different in mind. "I just need to stop by two stalls to pick up my things. I'd like to pack them with Saboth. He's idling out by the lake. Something about being amused by the dolphins.."

His fingers picked at the strings binding the package. His expression, thankfully, remained casual - even lifting a brow at the other man. In a softer tone, purposely dropped to try and exclude those around them, the bluerider mused to his counter-part. "And isn't it usually me trailing after you." His lips quirked briefly in a smirk before he gaze turned once more out to the various passerbys. Funny that he could feel awkward now when he had been at perfect ease dancing with the man.

[Requiem]

Shadowing F'lix in silence, he dipped his head to keep his face in shadow, as usual mostly for his own amusement. He liked the way people seemed to skirt the two of them, just by a slight shift in his stance. His companion managed to be forbidding in a 'don't touch me' sort of way naturally...F'ur's projection was more deliberate. Or less instinctive. However you liked to put it.

Watching the other bluerider from beneath the shadow of the peaked hat, he frowned mildly, noting which side the younger man turned his head to. And how quickly he was recognized that way. The irony was...in the north, at least among dragonriders, such markings were not immediately distinctive. F'ur was fortunate he had no facial scars of his own. Skilled he may have been, but there was still a good deal of fortune involved - especially in those early turns. It wouldn't have bothered F'ur if F'lix didn't seem so conscientious about the scars. (The older rider liked them, actually. Not that he was by any stretch of the imagination normal.) He liked the duality...a duality he saw mirrored in F'lix. His sense of irony was clearly still very much alive and kicking.

"Made most of my purchases earlier," he responded lightly, hand descending to the small of F'lix's back and urging him away from the stall. It was likely just a hyperactive imagination. His mind tended to do that at times, and Terror had reawakened it in droves. The salamandyr was quite content clinging to the underside of the hat and peering out past the danglies. Against, against the current. Different feel. Did he see? Yes, he saw. Could be nothing. Could be, but things usually weren't nothing, were they? Normally, no, but where paranoid salamandyrs were involved...But it bothers you too. You saw it first. There is that, isn't there?

F'ur directed them back into the main flow of traffic, removing the hat as Terror scurried into his sleeve and relative safety. He rearranged the red scarf to fall across him in a wide swathe, removing most of the white from sight. "Yes, but you're the one with errands," he responded breezily, a light smile touching his lips. If F'lix picked up on his unease, that was fine, but he didn't care to worry the other man when it was likely nothing. Very, very likely nothing.

"Can't bring Ino to gathers," he commented off-hand, wending toward the middle of the crowd where the crush was strongest. "He's likely to eat passersbys out of boredom." The man cocked his head to one side. "Lead the way, F'lix. And yes, maybe something to celebrate. I got Sel'n to take the reins back now that he's well..." F'lix already knew why F'ur felt the need to resign - was likely the only one who did, aside from Inocenth himself. F'ur's official claim was that he'd much rather play with the kids and let someone else teach them. He was - immature enough in action that he wasn't much questioned. Then again, it was convenient that Ka'rys had gotten amnesia. No one really to fight him on it.

Still there? Not sure. Something didn't quite fit. F'ur resisted the urge to look over his shoulder, trusting Terror to find anything if there was anything to be found.

[rii]

F'lix rolled the string between his fingers, unable to keep his eyes from narrowing and flicking over F'ur's face in clear questioning. Still, he didn't stall or fight against the hand guiding him into the thick tangle of the wandering gatherers. The younger rider didn't like the feeling that accompanied him – the overly formal touch leading him away as if he was a clueless fool. It was more suited a gentleman to a lady, or someone who wanted to hide something past the line of peripheral sight. F'lix didn't particularly like it, but went along regardless of the faint bristling in demeanor. It became a simple trust in F'ur that whatever the man had in mind couldn't be bad; even though F'lix's quiet irritation of not knowing (about what, was the part that annoyed him) translated itself through his hands. The end of string began to fray under the attention.

"The stalls aren't going anywhere.." F'lix's eyebrow arched as he continued to watch F'ur with a subdued interest. The removal of hat and expanding crimson over the chest finally gave it away – altering appearances. Given that F'ur lead him into the congestive mess to bump shoulders with strangers instead of through the clearer paths to the next stall clicked enough with F'lix's own sense of paranoia. Hiding in plain sight, shuffle the cards, lose the eyes.

Slipping the package into the front of his robe, F'lix adjusted the sash to hold it firmly against his chest. "Oh?" Faint amusement touched the word, along with a soft shining to his golden eyes. "If not Ino – Inocenth, then does that mean you came to the gather with someone else?" Half tease, the other part mere curiosity how the man arrived at Blossom. F'lix would never ride with someone else, but F'ur didn't have his peculiar unease around other dragons.

F'lix tied the fanged mask to the sash circling his waist and turned to weave through the crowd. The other man's words made the younger pause long enough to glance over his shoulder, surprise clear on his expression. He didn't know who Sel'n was (F'lix had purposely lived under a rock for most of his time at Selenitas. Likely he only knew who S'rei was because the bronzer was his Wingleader) there was only one thing F'lix knew F'ur would hand over the 'reins' to.

Whatever the younger might have spoken was lost when he stepped full on into a taller patron. A shuffling of feet, a grabbing of arm, F'lix easily moved around the individual without toppling to the ground. A very brief and dismissible run-in. "Sorry." He offered, hands in his sleeves and submissively ducking his head in a fashion that was very unlike him - not that the stranger would know. F'lix slipped away, moving toward the jewelry stall. He stopped a few paces short, and with a shift of weight he bumped casually into F'ur's side. One hand eased the hat out of F'ur's while pushing a skeletal mask into the palm - one that yes, he had just stolen from the waistband of his former obstacle.

With no verbal explanation, F'lix lifted his free hand to rub at the side of the bridge of his nose. F'ur still had that darkening make-up around his eyes, and while it blended in when the black material was up and the hat on, well..it sort of stood out without those two things. It was all probably nothing. Terror. It had to be that skittish thing because this would not be the first time that salamandry's paranoia was bad enough that F'lix started to feel twitchy because of the run-off in F'ur. Neither the time, nor place, for a questioning. The mask could serve as the.. furred fort against the bad shadows.

"That is a reason to celebrate-" He smiled, the words themselves a teasing purr. It was good news. "-maybe a bit of wine while you tell me exactly how you managed to get this Sel'n to take the job. Back, you said? Are you sure he's well?"

The exchange at the jewelry stall was similar enough to the leather one, and a smaller packet joined the first inside the black robe. F'lix still had one more stop to make, but he dreaded returning to the weaver stall. Fussy old women, he didn't want to deal with them – although he was sure that F'ur would be rolling with laughter to watch such a scene. He could do it later, or another day. Drumming the pads of his fingers on the hat, F'lix tilted his head at the older man. "So do we eat now, or do I gather the rest of my things and pack them with Saboth first?"

In short, do they stay amongst the crowd to be lost to the mob, or move out into the open to see if there really was something there.