01-23-2018, 10:01 PM
Hip jutting forward. The leg half-contorted and unbalanced beneath. It was quite the stance to hold. A hand searched the wall for invisible holds. Toes curled around the lip of the cabinet. The other foot braced behind. There was definitely no sword to draw; and the merry reason as to why finally dawned. It was about then Jai realized there were moments in a man's life when he would face insurmountable odds. When a split second decision separated men of action from the indecisive idiots. This was one such moment. An incredible cast of the die where Jai managed to grip a challenge by the throat and choke out the ability to do the hardest thing he ever had to do. He somehow did it.
Sit down. And try to without breaking his neck. For a second, it was close. And he wavered back and forth between whether Araya's suggestion was a good idea at all. The hesitation turned the attempt into more of a backslick, sweaty slide down the wall with a hard thump at the end but once bare feet found their first floorboards, he flipped Araya two animated thumbs up and settled in for what was next.
Kandori winterwood? Huh. Wow. This was definitely the costliest furniture he'd ever sat buckskinned on before. Probably; there was likely some gaudy sea folk isle treasure floating around Daryen's place that'd had much the same pleasure. At least Daryen's places were cleaner. Araya should really get a maid or something.
He looked down. And swirled dusty trail marks along the top surface blankly. Dirty, bloody palms smearing the trail as he did. Kandori Winterwood was fancy stuff. Really expensive. Hard to find. Difficult to export. A beast for the best of furniture makers to market. Araya had fantastic taste. If Araya was concerned about footprints padding up his antiques, he didn't seem too worried about telling blokes to sit on it.
He'd get over it. The cabinet wasn't Kandori winterwood anyway; it was an Altaran walnut knockoff. Complete with a little split on one edge an auctioneer would call character; but the splinter gave it away. Winterwood was a hardy borderlander grain, tight and hewn from broadleaf trees. Walnut was comparable in strength, but burled with knotty complexities beneath the surface missing in winterwood. Both stained gloriously dark though.
Walnut aside, it was still a good piece; a hard, durable wood without being excessively heavy. Would look spectacular cleaned up; especially with this finish. It wasn't everyday decorators came across perfect parallel grains nor studied scrolled feet so intricate. A guy could store a lot of stuff in this baby. Scarves; those were the days. Araya was wearing a scarf, blood-scarlet, disturbing morbid colored one, but it looked plenty soft. Probably felt great against the throat on those bone-chilling days; Jai dully scratched his own sticky growth. Or any day, really. Dulled eyes followed Araya around the room, glued to watching the scarf. For someone with such a problem with clothes, Araya sure had a lot of them. Clothes did come in handy, should probably get some new ones someday. Though Jai was pretty attached to the black. Maybe a good scarf? There was something to be said about a guy skilled in accessorizing.
More than clothes, Araya had an impressive collection of random stuff stockpiled. Probably holing up for the Last Battle. Practical. Tar Valon was the closest city to the borderlands. It was sure to burn to the ground first, after all. Shame, really. It's a great city. Good food, good art. Great tailors. Lamp lit nights, streets always open. Markets never closed up, taverns without end. Run out of Domani sunset peppers spicing up dainty little goblets of drink during some charity gala's after party? Not a problem in Tar Valon. Jingle a bit of change and more appeared straight away.
A guy never wanted for anything in Tar Valon. Not so much as a beggar on these streets. Beautiful people flocked everywhere: not all of them swaying Aes Sedai and gaudy booted warders either. Wonder what happened to that guy? It'd be quite the joke to run into him again. Could ask him where he bloody found those boots; if Jai could remember to pause during the bashing in of his face to let him answer. Ah, Tomdry; Jai shook his head sadly. Creator take his soul. Absolutely didn't deserve to die like that. One cry of furious war and run down a Fade until it hacked off your limbs and left you rolling about at its mercy. Light. But what a way to go. If only everyone could be so lucky.
It was trolloc balls sweaty hot in this light-forsaken flaming room though. Dragon shelter the unlucky bastard kid forced to live here. So Araya had women and kids? What was he going to do when the Last Battle hit? Leave them behind in Tar Valon to fend for themselves with the city melting all around? The guy seemed too chipper for that kind of morbid ending, should probably ask him how he did it someday. That is, if Jai regained the ability to talk.
Araya's airy fabric rippled amazingly slow to the floor. A cornflower bolt of whimsical blue. But a corner of it darkened when it hit. Probably ruined it. A shame, really. Sharan mulberry really was expensive, more so than the commoner, wilder silk variety, and the threading looked like custom stitching too. Tight as skin, actually. Probably a month's worth of devotion to get it in place. Quality stuff. Fortunately, if a guy put his head down, it could probably be picked out in an afternoon.
Other colors swirled from the drawer. Avocado green woven into shiny sheets. Beach yellow. Crimson, plum, strawberry: hard dyes to set just right. Some were spun with thread-of-gold; some plain, others folded with only a hint of their full design showing. But nothing with that certain, dull gleam of silk spun black wool. The softest, freshest fabric to ever graze a man's skin.
Jai's gaze fell to his coat: sharp edges, neat trim, high collar; tapered waist that flared out below. A cut of artwork flopped inside out across a cold lantern now; sheer black lining apparent on the inside and smothering the lamp's rigid shape underneath. Fitting those long flared coats to a man took talent; if the guy wanted to turn a few heads at least. A commission any tailor would be happy to challenge. Jai's had, anyway, though he'd never know the man's excitement to look at the bill. Though demanding, tailors weren't exactly in the pro bono service, forcing him back for appointment after appointment to get the pattern just right.
Araya shook out a cranberry-red sheet. Except, cranberry was a stretch. Inside out bird-flesh pink was closer to the mark. The fabric landed in his lap, which was strewn between uncertain fingers for the next little while. As with everything else he touched, blood smeared it, but the color blended naturally. It eventually went wrapped around his shoulders like an old woman's afghan, and draped down his chest. The tail of it folded across his thighs, but was open down the front for the most part. Plenty of space across the abdomen for a streaking scar and Lennox's blue bootprints to still be seen between the folds. Light, it was hard to breathe. And suddenly hotter than it was before.
Araya moved around a bit, but Jai stopped watching before something was stuffed into his arms. The bowl caught the bloody drool without much laboring around to get into the right position. He was pretty slumped over by that point. It was nice, though. Gave him something to hang onto. The heat snapped away suddenly, and he shivered under the impromptu blanket, chilled back and forth as though riding through a fever now. And he didn't feel so good about then; more than just nausea. He was about ready to find a bed. And a bottle with a straw.
Araya perched himself against the cabinet next to him, muttering. He caught the man's eyes briefly; two of the four ghostly orbs hovering back and forth at least. His eyes weren't sunken under dehydrated cliffs; they was studious and thoughtful. Just as he had been in the few scenes from Arad Doman in which Jai found floating around in hazy memories. Vague recollection saw him speaking with Nythadri once, and his slender shape mingled about the same crowd as had Jai and Daryen at the time. Though far more anonymously. Unless Daryen knew. Surely he knew. Light.
He hugged the bowl a little tighter. Just thinking about Daryen knocked something free in his head. Like equal forces of saidin pounding saidin toward a direction it didn't want to go. With the pressure gonging away at the inside of his eyeballs, Jai considered digging around Araya's stockpile for a drill. Just to carve a tunnel through his own face.
Old, dead questions spiked about then. He had no idea who the guy next to him was. Beyond having a crazy obsession with pigmentation and fine eye for collecting furniture, that was. And preferences for vacationing on the coast. It was focus to suck up enough breath through the nose, but moments later Jai coughed out an extra bolus into the bowl, stringy, spit laden blood, for his tongue to utter a single, muddled question.
"Who-?"
But didn't get the rest of the question out.
Sit down. And try to without breaking his neck. For a second, it was close. And he wavered back and forth between whether Araya's suggestion was a good idea at all. The hesitation turned the attempt into more of a backslick, sweaty slide down the wall with a hard thump at the end but once bare feet found their first floorboards, he flipped Araya two animated thumbs up and settled in for what was next.
Kandori winterwood? Huh. Wow. This was definitely the costliest furniture he'd ever sat buckskinned on before. Probably; there was likely some gaudy sea folk isle treasure floating around Daryen's place that'd had much the same pleasure. At least Daryen's places were cleaner. Araya should really get a maid or something.
He looked down. And swirled dusty trail marks along the top surface blankly. Dirty, bloody palms smearing the trail as he did. Kandori Winterwood was fancy stuff. Really expensive. Hard to find. Difficult to export. A beast for the best of furniture makers to market. Araya had fantastic taste. If Araya was concerned about footprints padding up his antiques, he didn't seem too worried about telling blokes to sit on it.
He'd get over it. The cabinet wasn't Kandori winterwood anyway; it was an Altaran walnut knockoff. Complete with a little split on one edge an auctioneer would call character; but the splinter gave it away. Winterwood was a hardy borderlander grain, tight and hewn from broadleaf trees. Walnut was comparable in strength, but burled with knotty complexities beneath the surface missing in winterwood. Both stained gloriously dark though.
Walnut aside, it was still a good piece; a hard, durable wood without being excessively heavy. Would look spectacular cleaned up; especially with this finish. It wasn't everyday decorators came across perfect parallel grains nor studied scrolled feet so intricate. A guy could store a lot of stuff in this baby. Scarves; those were the days. Araya was wearing a scarf, blood-scarlet, disturbing morbid colored one, but it looked plenty soft. Probably felt great against the throat on those bone-chilling days; Jai dully scratched his own sticky growth. Or any day, really. Dulled eyes followed Araya around the room, glued to watching the scarf. For someone with such a problem with clothes, Araya sure had a lot of them. Clothes did come in handy, should probably get some new ones someday. Though Jai was pretty attached to the black. Maybe a good scarf? There was something to be said about a guy skilled in accessorizing.
More than clothes, Araya had an impressive collection of random stuff stockpiled. Probably holing up for the Last Battle. Practical. Tar Valon was the closest city to the borderlands. It was sure to burn to the ground first, after all. Shame, really. It's a great city. Good food, good art. Great tailors. Lamp lit nights, streets always open. Markets never closed up, taverns without end. Run out of Domani sunset peppers spicing up dainty little goblets of drink during some charity gala's after party? Not a problem in Tar Valon. Jingle a bit of change and more appeared straight away.
A guy never wanted for anything in Tar Valon. Not so much as a beggar on these streets. Beautiful people flocked everywhere: not all of them swaying Aes Sedai and gaudy booted warders either. Wonder what happened to that guy? It'd be quite the joke to run into him again. Could ask him where he bloody found those boots; if Jai could remember to pause during the bashing in of his face to let him answer. Ah, Tomdry; Jai shook his head sadly. Creator take his soul. Absolutely didn't deserve to die like that. One cry of furious war and run down a Fade until it hacked off your limbs and left you rolling about at its mercy. Light. But what a way to go. If only everyone could be so lucky.
It was trolloc balls sweaty hot in this light-forsaken flaming room though. Dragon shelter the unlucky bastard kid forced to live here. So Araya had women and kids? What was he going to do when the Last Battle hit? Leave them behind in Tar Valon to fend for themselves with the city melting all around? The guy seemed too chipper for that kind of morbid ending, should probably ask him how he did it someday. That is, if Jai regained the ability to talk.
Araya's airy fabric rippled amazingly slow to the floor. A cornflower bolt of whimsical blue. But a corner of it darkened when it hit. Probably ruined it. A shame, really. Sharan mulberry really was expensive, more so than the commoner, wilder silk variety, and the threading looked like custom stitching too. Tight as skin, actually. Probably a month's worth of devotion to get it in place. Quality stuff. Fortunately, if a guy put his head down, it could probably be picked out in an afternoon.
Other colors swirled from the drawer. Avocado green woven into shiny sheets. Beach yellow. Crimson, plum, strawberry: hard dyes to set just right. Some were spun with thread-of-gold; some plain, others folded with only a hint of their full design showing. But nothing with that certain, dull gleam of silk spun black wool. The softest, freshest fabric to ever graze a man's skin.
Jai's gaze fell to his coat: sharp edges, neat trim, high collar; tapered waist that flared out below. A cut of artwork flopped inside out across a cold lantern now; sheer black lining apparent on the inside and smothering the lamp's rigid shape underneath. Fitting those long flared coats to a man took talent; if the guy wanted to turn a few heads at least. A commission any tailor would be happy to challenge. Jai's had, anyway, though he'd never know the man's excitement to look at the bill. Though demanding, tailors weren't exactly in the pro bono service, forcing him back for appointment after appointment to get the pattern just right.
Araya shook out a cranberry-red sheet. Except, cranberry was a stretch. Inside out bird-flesh pink was closer to the mark. The fabric landed in his lap, which was strewn between uncertain fingers for the next little while. As with everything else he touched, blood smeared it, but the color blended naturally. It eventually went wrapped around his shoulders like an old woman's afghan, and draped down his chest. The tail of it folded across his thighs, but was open down the front for the most part. Plenty of space across the abdomen for a streaking scar and Lennox's blue bootprints to still be seen between the folds. Light, it was hard to breathe. And suddenly hotter than it was before.
Araya moved around a bit, but Jai stopped watching before something was stuffed into his arms. The bowl caught the bloody drool without much laboring around to get into the right position. He was pretty slumped over by that point. It was nice, though. Gave him something to hang onto. The heat snapped away suddenly, and he shivered under the impromptu blanket, chilled back and forth as though riding through a fever now. And he didn't feel so good about then; more than just nausea. He was about ready to find a bed. And a bottle with a straw.
Araya perched himself against the cabinet next to him, muttering. He caught the man's eyes briefly; two of the four ghostly orbs hovering back and forth at least. His eyes weren't sunken under dehydrated cliffs; they was studious and thoughtful. Just as he had been in the few scenes from Arad Doman in which Jai found floating around in hazy memories. Vague recollection saw him speaking with Nythadri once, and his slender shape mingled about the same crowd as had Jai and Daryen at the time. Though far more anonymously. Unless Daryen knew. Surely he knew. Light.
He hugged the bowl a little tighter. Just thinking about Daryen knocked something free in his head. Like equal forces of saidin pounding saidin toward a direction it didn't want to go. With the pressure gonging away at the inside of his eyeballs, Jai considered digging around Araya's stockpile for a drill. Just to carve a tunnel through his own face.
Old, dead questions spiked about then. He had no idea who the guy next to him was. Beyond having a crazy obsession with pigmentation and fine eye for collecting furniture, that was. And preferences for vacationing on the coast. It was focus to suck up enough breath through the nose, but moments later Jai coughed out an extra bolus into the bowl, stringy, spit laden blood, for his tongue to utter a single, muddled question.
"Who-?"
But didn't get the rest of the question out.
Only darkness shows you the light.