Yes, We Have No Rabbits (Open)

[Yarrin]

9th of Winter 510, Early Morning

It had been with great reluctance that Yarrin had dragged himself out from underneath his warm winter blankets and well-worn bedroll in the Commons to venture out into the snow and cold outside before the sun rose. He desperately felt the need for a brisk walk and some inspiration—something he apparently couldn’t find indoors, no matter how much he loathed the freezing temperatures outside. He had a new bow to test and tweak, however, and the strawberry blond Inarta was never one to sit around and let a project go unfinished. In fact, he'd milled over his design for half the night as it was, tossing and turning while considering each angle and curve of the thing, knowing full well he'd much rather be able to say he'd been kept awake by things more attractive than, say, work.

He took his time dressing and eating and storing his meager things in the bowery, procrastinating over the inevitable need to venture away from the comfortable warmth warranted volcanic living quarters. As if to further defy the cold, he'd chosen to wear bright colors—a cerulean blue scarf one of his sisters had woven, warm and wooly, was wrapped over his messy braids and pulled tight over his mouth and nose against the bitter wind under the hood of his thick, dark katinu. Yarrin felt clumsy in his boots, preferring his sandals or bare feet while indoors. He blamed the snow ... winter was far, far from his favorite season.

Once outside, he'd followed his preferred, familiar path down toward the twin lakes, letting his falcons take to the sky and search out their own meals.

Maybe they'd find something worth sharing before the morning was over.

Maybe they'd just find trouble.

It was hit or miss with those two, after all.

He watched his breath hang in the air as he walked with a deliberate slowness, letting his thoughts begin to wander and trail away, relaxing into the warmth of his katinu and scarf, taking in the harsh winter scenery as he began to almost meditate on the carvings he knew were waiting for him at the bowery.

By the time he’d made it down to the lake, he was so absorbed and lost in his own mind, he wasn’t even paying attention to his pets anymore. They’d know where to find him, anyway.

[Twik]

Twik had gone to bed early the previous evening on the pretext of being sick, but what had seemed like sure head cold had vanished in the nighttime and she awoke early feeling healthy but restless. She lay on her pallet for a time, staring up at the stone ceiling above her, but she could tell with a certainty that she would need to go out. Sometimes an Inarta just had to see the sky, and there was nothing for it no matter how miserable the winter.

Quietly Twik donned her daytime clothing and did minimal things to her hair that gave it the illusion of having not just been slept on, and taking her mandolin went out into the crater. The cold air was like a slap in the face, and although Twik had always seen the admirable drama inherent in face slaps she had not otherwise ever been a fan of them. She made a fine pout, but there was no one to see it and so she went down the slope to the lake to watch the stars fade from the sky as if they were too shy to meet the sun.

Admiring the crystalline beauty of the winter morning, Twik took up her mandolin and began to play, singing in a sweet childlike voice.
I carry the dust of a long road
It cannot be shaken away
I wear it deep inside me
GOOD GOLLY IT IS COLD!

This last she said in a shout, shaking her fingers and whapping them into her thighs to restore feeling to them. It was much too cold to play, so she huddled behind her mandolin pretending it was something warm. Someone was walking towards her and she turned to see who it was. Sadly the figure proved to be a normal person and not some sort of flaming volcano spirit come to embrace her to its fiery bosom. It was still comforting to see someone else about though; if two people did a thing it seemed somewhat more likely to be sensible, even if one of the people was her and she couldn’t see how at the moment.

“Good morning,” she said. “At least it is if your goal is to die and be preserved in a glacier for future scholars to gawk at.”

[Yarrin]

He'd been chewing his lip again, teeth tugging at the glass bauble in the left corner. Yarrin had wandered so far into his own head that if he had heard anything out of the unexpected girl hiding behind her instrument as if it were some fragment of the volcano itself happily deposited in her lap, it was difficult to discern by expression alone. Most of his face being buried under his scarf didn't help, either. 

"Huh?" Pale blue eyes came into focus, thawing away from his thoughts like the twin lakes themselves in spring. The scholars bit was lost on him and as he blinked at Twik, he tried not to focus on the suggestion of being gawked at. 

"Good morning."

The wheels were turning in the moment again, and Yarrin drew a gloveless hand from his cloak to pull at his scarf, all red-nosed and rosey-cheeked behind the ice crystal cloud of his breath, "Though it may still be too early to charm fish into your lap with song."

[Twik]

Twik blew out her cheeks, sending out a cloud of moist breath that momentarily obscured her face.

“Well I certainly hope so, I am not eager for cold wet moony-eyed fish in my lap. Besides, I think there’s only luminous jellyfish in this lake, and they’re not really music lovers. My name is Twik, by the way. I believe I’ve seen you about but I’m afraid I don’t know your name.”

As Twik spoke she realized that it was entirely possible that she did know the speaker and just didn’t recognize the scarf which obscured his features, but she supposed all would be clear in a moment.

“What brings you out on such a cold morning?” She glanced down at his bow. “If you’ve come to give me archery lessons I graciously accept, but I don’t suppose that was your plan, was it?”

Two birds of prey wheeled far overhead in the sky, and almost unconciously they drew Twik's gaze, and in her mind she wished them happy hunting. They would need luck to hunt in the crater where they had so much competition.

[Yarrin]

If Yarrin recognized the girl, he gave no indication. Connecting names and faces was not high on his list of strenghths.

He smirked, sharp features warming into an amused but sarcastic expression, pausing for a moment to consider the possibility for jellyfish to appreciate the arts and quickly dismissing the possibility. He responded simply, with a slightly far away sort of tone as if his thoughts were trying to distract him again already, "I'm Yarrin, and I just needed a walk to, uh, think about carving."

That might have sounded strange, given the ridiculous cold and bland landscape of winter. But, well, that's just how it was sometimes. Muses were fickle and rare. 

Blue eyes slid away from the girl's face briefly to Twik's mandolin in much the same manner as she had regarded his bow and his smirk became a grin, "I don't know if you're suitably armed for lessons, and I've got a few more bows to be made this season before I can take new orders."

Yarrin might have exaggerated a bit; he might have been teasing. It wasn't like he ever needed an excuse to show off. 

"I hope you haven't been out here all morning in anticipation," the Avora chuckled, arching a pierced eyebrow in curiosity from underneath the warmth of his hood, "unless you possess a curious sort of self discipline for archery."

[Twik]

“Oh,” said Twik easily, “If I possess any self-discipline you can be sure it is of a curious sort. And I suppose I am waiting in eager anticipation, but I’m really not sure what for. The sunrise, perhaps? I assume it would happen without me but one never likes to take chances.”

She picked up a small flat stone and threw it out over the lake, where it skipped three times and then sank below the surface.

“I thought I would think out here as well, and perhaps write a song. I shall call it ‘Why am I freezin’ without a good reason?’ How many words rhyme with ‘cold?’ Quite a few I would guess. Anyway I am glad you haven’t come out to have a duel, which is what I was afraid of. Bows at sunrise and all that. By the way if I’m talking to much and you came for silence you should make a signal like this so that I know.”

She made a complicated gesture with her hand that would be very difficult to remember and repeat. Twik was a firm believer that she should only be quiet in emergencies, but liked to give the impression that it was possible to shut her up.

[Yarrin]

“Hmm—“ Yarrin attempted to follow the younger Inarta (both her words and now her overly difficult hand motions), but was very sure he’d never actually be fully capable of keeping up. He blinked,

“How about I just say, ‘Sssh.’ instead?”

This was not an immediate order, given his tone, but it was an implication that the bowyer was a bit less complicated than Twik may have been. Or maybe just slower. Not to say he didn’t feel dexterous enough. He was a bowyer and an archer of decent enough talent. An Avora at that. Truly, he thought quite highly of his hands and all he could do with them, but, well, it was his brain that was confident its connections just weren’t made to follow the girl along all of her mental journeys.

They seemed to be fast and, well, different, for lack of a better word.

“Um, and as for dueling and song writing ... I’m not sure this is the most agreeable of temperatures.” Yarrin smiled a little, cautiously though. Did she really want archery lessons? Was Twik just making conversation? Could he ever be sure?

He stood there, awkwardly, with a slow exhale of frosted breath. He’d run out of things to say, really. He was supposed to be thinking, planning, and he was sure that he wasn’t going to get any of that accomplished now. Which was fine, honestly. He had the rest of the winter to do such things, considering how slim hunting was this time of year.

“So—"

The bowyer hung there, expectant, a door that could swing in either direction.

[Twik]

Twik’s face formed an almost comically dubious expression.

“I see that you are a traditionalist, but I’m not sure that ‘ssshhh’ properly indicates the monumental task that you would be undertaking. One doesn’t chase down dragons with a butter knife after all. Still, if it were an emergency I suppose you might try that.”

She paused to pick up another flat stone, but the act of hurling stones had not proven energetic enough to create much warmth and so she just held it as she hugged herself.

“I dare say that you are right about the disagreeableness of the cold, but then fighting a duel wouldn’t be that agreeable in any case. One would hate to waste a beautiful day on grim business.”

Steeling herself, she drew her arm back and threw her stone, but the cold ruined her form and it plopped into the water without a skip. Twik stuck her tongue out at the place it had gone under, then turned away from it.

“So what are you planning to carve? Or would be if I weren’t disturbing you? You may carve my likeness if you want.” Twik struck a brave attitude, arm held aloft as if she were holding a sword up in triumph.

[Yarrin]

“A bow.”

Yarrin answered simply, looking away from the ripples Twik had created in the lake’s surface to watch the younger Inarta strike as statuesque a pose as possible. He smiled, noting the position of her fingers and the curve of her wrist, literally cataloging them away for future inspiration.

One of these days, he told himself, he should probably start carrying around a sketchbook.

Eventually.

The bowyer shrugged and he reached up to mess with a few of his strawberry blond braids, adjusting a glass bauble or two as he spoke, “It’s a little more decorative than I’m used to—some intricate little animal carvings are involved—but the whole thing is still supposed to be functional.”

“I’ve just been stuck.” He watched his words fade in their little frozen clouds. It was somewhat nice to have a possible diversion, "Maybe I just need to think about other things for a while."

[Twik]

When Yarrin said that he would be carving a bow, Twik readjusted her pose to be more vertical, standing on her toes and making only the slightest dramatic curve with her arm her other arm draped down across her body. Then she made a face and blew a jet of air from her mouth to lift the hair of her forehead.

“I suppose if you were to carve a woman you’d probably select one with a figure. My mother claims that I shall have mine any day now, but then she has to be optimistic out of family loyalty. On the other hand if you want a woman who fits nicely on a bow I’m your model.” She looked despondently downward at herself.

She began to bounce up and down on her toes to keep herself warm, but her eyes were drawn to the bow Yarrin held. “May I see it? I’m sure I couldn’t afford work like that, but it is nice to be able to see people’s art. You should definitely do something dynamic for a bow, or at least that is my opinion. I mean, it’s a weapon, right?”