01-21-2018, 02:17 PM
Yeah. Fun. Expand the horizons. Think of the possibilities. There were plenty of hardcore revolutionaries walking about these days. A good old fashioned chip on the shoulder really put a guy on edge. A creative insult later and anyone could find themselves neck deep in this sort of claw off your own face fun. Araya didn't sound too interested. Maybe it just wasn't for everyone. Only the insane ones. Yeah. That sounded about right.
Kitten-weak, Araya strained and Jai was dragged to his feet. Their first step ticked off a count in the back of his head. Then a second one. Light, kittens were cute. Scared to death of him, though. Last time Jai went to scoop up one of the little fuzz balls, he'd ended up soaking a bloodied up hand in ice water the rest of the night. So fun he hardly cared about claw marks ruining a good black sleeve.
Another step. It bloody well hurt to spit; Dragonmount had an easier time coughing up its insides. But swallowing what was still leaking from the gumline was quickly turning his stomach again. Emptying it the first time was pleasant enough. So more bulbous drooling it was. He probably looked about as awesome as it felt, too. Another step. Three. He swayed, uncertain of what was going on when the next count came to a halt. Forges of a stoking threat descended. So distracting, it'd cook a man alive and he'd only stretch out, grab the salt, and drink the skin-dripping flames faster. So, yeah; the menacing human barbecue of close quarters saidin drew his attention. Human barbecue? That's it, he was going crazy alright. What'd he used to tell himself? You're out of your bloody mind you flaming crazy-. Jai watched the Pattern scorch before his eyes blankly, fist gripping Araya's coat through it. Araya was channeling. What was the guy wearing? Was that a pink scarf? It was a guy, right? Right. Sure; he was channeling. Jai was up to speed now.
It was dusty where they went. With terrible lighting. And the furniture was half-rotted. What wasn't covered by sheets at the least. Araya tossed him in a chair. Out of which he bloody nearly fell, but eventually came around to rolling his head back to the cushion, bloody ready to pass out again. Unfortunately, he didn't stay there long. Throat clogging drainage seeped backward; blood from the toothless crypt in his gumline pouring down the wrong direction. Jai groaned something about eating a steak and ended up leaning forward, forehead in his hands and letting gravity do the work.
Wait. Tar Valon? He looked up as Araya was taking off his clothes, no.. just a coat. Right, not a woman. Just a guy; Asha'man probably; one not fond of black. Odd, really. He'd look pretty good in it. Then again, a good clean black uniform dappered up the ugliest of mugs. Just for proof, Jai looked down at himself. His coat hung completely open. The shirt beneath barely buttoned together. The fine fibers of both collars were soggy with blood, spit, and vomit. Half of which stuck like dry scabs to the spikes across his unshaven throat. The sweet aroma of strong drink almost covered the faint fragrance of urine. Yeah. Black could dapper up a trolloc face.
So. Probably Asha'man. Given that Araya could- Do stuff. Like channel gateways. It was a good thing he wasn't a lady. Other than the disturbing wonder of a lady channeling saidin, Jai wasn't particularly at the top of his game just then if she'd had something in mind. Though, actually. He probably could- No. Maybe not. Turned out, Araya only cast a spoiled coat to a cabinet revealing a not-pink shirt beneath. Scarlet scarf, green coat, and whatever color shirt that was. He must have a sporadic love of color-palettes. The shirt was more orange than pink Jai wagered, staring at it, trying to decide. Actually, it was kind of a good looking color.
Araya's slender silhouette retreated, and Jai blinked at the vapory echo of where it'd been. Home. Not the Tower. Tar Valon.
"Blud'n'bluddy-"
The rest of the curse was throaty, frothy frustrations. But he was too tired to do anything about it besides drape his arms across his knees and wait.
Then he looked at his lap. Damn it. His head hung, bowed in defeat, and he started tugging off his boots. A brief check inside, and he found his name. Good. Always important to wear your own boots. They were shoved aside, and moments later Jai risked his odds at standing on his own. So far, so good. Coat slid off first and tossed somewhere. Belt then.. No, he wasn't wearing a belt. Shirt wasn't tucked in either. And half the buttons had been skipped, so it came away pretty fast and went flying through the dusty air. Difficult hobbling got rid of the pants, there was nothing underneath. Then those were kicked aside as well and soon enough sweet relief followed.
Better. He checked out his hand since it seemed to leave a smear of blood on everything it touched. Sure enough, a good jagged cut dug to the tendons. From clutching up the edge of that sword when he'd been reaching for the hilt. Like a steel paper-cut. An unimpressed shrug and he checked out the room then. It was a terrible room. Hot in there, despite the slick of feverish skin; though he knew he wasn't sick. Hadn't been sick since turning Soldier. They should really put that little perk on the flyer, might get more guys lined up when the scouts ride through town: that channelers don't get sick. They lost limbs and blew one another's faces off, but no common colds slowed down their kind.
The windows probably hadn't been opened this Age either. He wandered over to stand beneath the glass: narrow slits a foot overhead streamed in cloudy light. So up a piece of furniture he went and peered out.
The shake of his head flung spit-laden blood from the corner of his lips, which he wiped away with the same hand across which had poured the stomach contents. Not the sliced up one, which was as gritty with mud as it was from what oozed from the gash. With the other hand; the one that looked like he was wearing a red glove; colorful, Araya would appreciate it. But forgetting to be gentle during the swipe, he cringed at the what swung beneath his fingertips. Momentary blindness followed. It wasn't exactly habit to avoid touching your own face, after all.
It was Tar Valon alright. Bloody gleaming roofs and beautiful architecture. Clean and crime-free. With plenty to do at night. Great food, good music, good wine. Theatre, balls, dancing, art. There were worse places to live. "Dammit."
He said to himself just as noise shattered the illusion of safety.
He circled when the door creaked open behind him, hand instinctively going for the ever-present hilt he wasn't wearing. But padded in shock across upon finding only an empty hip.
Kitten-weak, Araya strained and Jai was dragged to his feet. Their first step ticked off a count in the back of his head. Then a second one. Light, kittens were cute. Scared to death of him, though. Last time Jai went to scoop up one of the little fuzz balls, he'd ended up soaking a bloodied up hand in ice water the rest of the night. So fun he hardly cared about claw marks ruining a good black sleeve.
Another step. It bloody well hurt to spit; Dragonmount had an easier time coughing up its insides. But swallowing what was still leaking from the gumline was quickly turning his stomach again. Emptying it the first time was pleasant enough. So more bulbous drooling it was. He probably looked about as awesome as it felt, too. Another step. Three. He swayed, uncertain of what was going on when the next count came to a halt. Forges of a stoking threat descended. So distracting, it'd cook a man alive and he'd only stretch out, grab the salt, and drink the skin-dripping flames faster. So, yeah; the menacing human barbecue of close quarters saidin drew his attention. Human barbecue? That's it, he was going crazy alright. What'd he used to tell himself? You're out of your bloody mind you flaming crazy-. Jai watched the Pattern scorch before his eyes blankly, fist gripping Araya's coat through it. Araya was channeling. What was the guy wearing? Was that a pink scarf? It was a guy, right? Right. Sure; he was channeling. Jai was up to speed now.
It was dusty where they went. With terrible lighting. And the furniture was half-rotted. What wasn't covered by sheets at the least. Araya tossed him in a chair. Out of which he bloody nearly fell, but eventually came around to rolling his head back to the cushion, bloody ready to pass out again. Unfortunately, he didn't stay there long. Throat clogging drainage seeped backward; blood from the toothless crypt in his gumline pouring down the wrong direction. Jai groaned something about eating a steak and ended up leaning forward, forehead in his hands and letting gravity do the work.
Wait. Tar Valon? He looked up as Araya was taking off his clothes, no.. just a coat. Right, not a woman. Just a guy; Asha'man probably; one not fond of black. Odd, really. He'd look pretty good in it. Then again, a good clean black uniform dappered up the ugliest of mugs. Just for proof, Jai looked down at himself. His coat hung completely open. The shirt beneath barely buttoned together. The fine fibers of both collars were soggy with blood, spit, and vomit. Half of which stuck like dry scabs to the spikes across his unshaven throat. The sweet aroma of strong drink almost covered the faint fragrance of urine. Yeah. Black could dapper up a trolloc face.
So. Probably Asha'man. Given that Araya could- Do stuff. Like channel gateways. It was a good thing he wasn't a lady. Other than the disturbing wonder of a lady channeling saidin, Jai wasn't particularly at the top of his game just then if she'd had something in mind. Though, actually. He probably could- No. Maybe not. Turned out, Araya only cast a spoiled coat to a cabinet revealing a not-pink shirt beneath. Scarlet scarf, green coat, and whatever color shirt that was. He must have a sporadic love of color-palettes. The shirt was more orange than pink Jai wagered, staring at it, trying to decide. Actually, it was kind of a good looking color.
Araya's slender silhouette retreated, and Jai blinked at the vapory echo of where it'd been. Home. Not the Tower. Tar Valon.
"Blud'n'bluddy-"
The rest of the curse was throaty, frothy frustrations. But he was too tired to do anything about it besides drape his arms across his knees and wait.
Then he looked at his lap. Damn it. His head hung, bowed in defeat, and he started tugging off his boots. A brief check inside, and he found his name. Good. Always important to wear your own boots. They were shoved aside, and moments later Jai risked his odds at standing on his own. So far, so good. Coat slid off first and tossed somewhere. Belt then.. No, he wasn't wearing a belt. Shirt wasn't tucked in either. And half the buttons had been skipped, so it came away pretty fast and went flying through the dusty air. Difficult hobbling got rid of the pants, there was nothing underneath. Then those were kicked aside as well and soon enough sweet relief followed.
Better. He checked out his hand since it seemed to leave a smear of blood on everything it touched. Sure enough, a good jagged cut dug to the tendons. From clutching up the edge of that sword when he'd been reaching for the hilt. Like a steel paper-cut. An unimpressed shrug and he checked out the room then. It was a terrible room. Hot in there, despite the slick of feverish skin; though he knew he wasn't sick. Hadn't been sick since turning Soldier. They should really put that little perk on the flyer, might get more guys lined up when the scouts ride through town: that channelers don't get sick. They lost limbs and blew one another's faces off, but no common colds slowed down their kind.
The windows probably hadn't been opened this Age either. He wandered over to stand beneath the glass: narrow slits a foot overhead streamed in cloudy light. So up a piece of furniture he went and peered out.
The shake of his head flung spit-laden blood from the corner of his lips, which he wiped away with the same hand across which had poured the stomach contents. Not the sliced up one, which was as gritty with mud as it was from what oozed from the gash. With the other hand; the one that looked like he was wearing a red glove; colorful, Araya would appreciate it. But forgetting to be gentle during the swipe, he cringed at the what swung beneath his fingertips. Momentary blindness followed. It wasn't exactly habit to avoid touching your own face, after all.
It was Tar Valon alright. Bloody gleaming roofs and beautiful architecture. Clean and crime-free. With plenty to do at night. Great food, good music, good wine. Theatre, balls, dancing, art. There were worse places to live. "Dammit."
He said to himself just as noise shattered the illusion of safety.
He circled when the door creaked open behind him, hand instinctively going for the ever-present hilt he wasn't wearing. But padded in shock across upon finding only an empty hip.
Only darkness shows you the light.