tiir rumibul; oo7

[contemptibility]

Who: The two racists blah.
When: idk jae when is this
Where: Some street in Vatheon.
Style: [oaky]
Status: Closed LIKE THEIR HEARTS—I mean.

[So Tiir just walking down the street because whatever.

Except then someone tugs on his sleeve (and he would be lying if he said that there wasn't the instinct to kill the offender because yeah ingrained responses BUT THAT'S NOT THE POINT HERE) and so Tiir stops and turns around.]

Ah?

[Oh. It's some stallkeeper... holding out a fish to him? What looks to be a not-quite dead fish either, uh. And then something about how he should take the fish and isn't it lovely and it'll be the most delicious fish he's ever had—and okay, Tiir is interrupting him.]

I'm not the expert on human customs... but if you intend to sell that as food, shouldn't you ensure that it's dead first?

[But it's mostly dead!! ):

Anyhow, the stallkeeper keeps trying to push the fish into Tiir's hands, except Tiir is just trying to back away because no, he doesn't want your fish, local—

And somehow more fish gets into the local's hands and what is even going on anymore and now he's waving the fish at Tiir and whoops one of them goes flying—]

Comments

[contemptibility]

[Well, at least speed is Tiir's forte, so he manages to jump out of the way, landing on top of the stall roof where it meets one of the supports.

He's really getting the feeling that he should just leave, unless the Embryon feel like mostly-dead fish. Glancing at Walter!]

[asea]

[Walter watches the scene from his spot among the fish. He's a good two arms' distance from the stallkeeper, who, in a last desperate attempt at getting his fish "sold" to even just one foreigner, rolls his shoulder back, hand behind him—

What is this fool doing—

—then hurls the half-live, half-dead fish at Tiir.

At this point, Walter steps away from the mass of fish to a clearing where he might be able to make a quiet exit.]

[contemptibility]

[adlasdasd what

welp he'll be catching that fish, except now he has a half-dead fish in his hands. This would be gross, except being a cannibal, Tiir has held worse, so.

And no, Walter.]

Using me as your decoy, now?

[He'll just be throwing the fish back at the local's face. Sorry, fish...]

[asea]

[For the most part, he moves around the fish, but for the sake of speediness and an easy path, he lightly kicks some aside. His back to Tiir at this angle, he nevertheless pipes up:]

If you don't want to stick around, leave.

[The stallkeeper is scavenging for more fish to throw as the fish that hit his face bounces off and loses itself in the pile . . . ]

[contemptibility]

Fair enough.

[... And yeah, he'd rather not have more fish thrown at him, so before the stallkeeper can find another fish to throw, Tiir will just be moving to jump onto a building roof—]

1/2

[asea]

[One last fish smacks the bottom of the roof (the stallkeeper has poor aim after the initial lucky throw), and Tiir is free from this burden. As is Walter.]

[asea]

[—at the lake in the forest, Walter crouches to cup a handful of water. Bringing his hands up, he washes his face thoroughly in an effort to remove the residual texture (and odor) of fish.

Excess water drips through the space between his fingers as he stares into the lake's surface.]

[contemptibility]

[Tiir arrives a bit later, not immediately minding the stench—as someone who's been drenched in blood and gore before, it's hardly a big deal.

Still, he might as well wash his hands before returning to the base, and so off to the lake he goes.]

... Ah. Of course you'd be here.

[asea]

[The water has diluted the smell somewhat. That's not the main problem anymore, as Walter recognizes Tiir's voice and turns, straightening.

Of course. What of it?]

[contemptibility]

[He tilts his head. HE CAN'T READ YOUR MIND, WALTER.]

You're not angry about earlier, are you?

[asea]

[LEARN.]

That didn't mean anything to me.

[contemptibility]

Well, that's good. It was partly my fault that things ended up that way, after all.

[Moving over to the lake now, yep.]

[asea]

[As Tiir does, Walter stands. He's done washing his face. It's a bit wet, but that's not a big deal.]

I don't care.

[Whether it's the stallkeeper or Tiir's fault, he doesn't care.]

[contemptibility]

[Welp, crouching down to wash his hands now.]

If you say so.

[asea]

[He turns away from Tiir, his shoulder pointed toward the lake, as water gathers at his chin. He wipes it away with the fabric of his blue sleeve.

He has no further business here, but he's, for once, not in a haste to move about for the time being.]

[contemptibility]

[Tiir lets the silence remain for a few moments, before he thinks about what just happened.

... All things considered—]

Aha...

[He starts to laugh, because looking back at it now, that was pretty silly.]

[asea]

[ . . .

Walter glances at Tiir. Then, almost accusatorily:]

Why are you laughing?

[contemptibility]

You had a fish thrown in your face.

[Pffffff.]

And I threw a fish in someone else's face. Now that that human is gone, it's rather amusing.

[asea]

[He knows he had a fish thrown in his face—]

. . . It was just a fish.

[contemptibility]

[He's just repeating the facts, okay.]

Ah, you lack a sense of humour.

[asea]

. . . That's not necessary.

[It's a sense of humor.]

[contemptibility]

... Certainly, it's not necessary, but you'd likely be happier with one.

[asea]

[He doesn't respond to that.

—his idea of happiness is different.]

[contemptibility]

[A shrug, and idly—]

What would you do if Shirley made a joke?

[asea]

[Shirley.

The Merines—make a joke? Such a thing is . . .

He looks aside, his thoughts trailing.]