Tag: tes autumn festival

astarill:

For the first time since his former student came up to him, Astarill looked at him directly, meeting the cat’s questioning gaze with a hard, unrelenting stare. Just because they no longer found themselves in a hierarchy where one was above the other, didn’t mean this fumbling excuse for a mage-to-be could suddenly make inquiries of a personal nature.

“I left because my contract came to an end.”

That probably got the message across, and Astarill averted his stare to have a sip of his drink. “But I’ve never agreed with the College’s complacent approach to Thalmor interference.”

J’hasi frowned a little when he looked down to break the unsettling stare, finding that Ghost had stolen what was left of his drink, nickering softly as she prodded his shoulder with her nose.

“I s’pose, if you’re not makin’ enough or if you don’ like the job, that’s fair.” The Khajiit’s brows tensed a little, his jaw tightening before he looked to the side instead, at the falling leaves, the trees gently rustling in the breeze, hearing snatches of laughter and conversation on the wind. His voice dropped to a mutter, still audible to the mer in the conversation, while not so much to the passersby.

“Wish more people weren’t so damn scared to say somethin’ about them being there. Excuse sounds like utter bullshit to me.” he grumbled.

raujel:

vvardenfellcat replied to your post:

The Khajiit grinned, despite the ‘scrawny’ bit. He was a little drunk, too happy to let it ruin his good mood. “Food, booze, whatever looks fun. Might try the archery contest if m’not too drunk by then.”

“Eh…” He shrugged. “Wouldn’t worry about it. Everyone else will be.”

J’hasi beamed before he giggled, holding his tankard closer to himself as not to spill a precious drop of the mead within.

“Maybe all I’d have to do is just hit the target. Or at least not hit someone in the arse.”

shadows-of-almsivi:

He half-formulated a response, a little sympathetic rejoinder about stallions in general and the temperament of the Cheydinhal black, perhaps some anecdote about ill-broken colts and the untrustworthy horse dealers– until his train of thought was broken by the mare’s tickling muzzle. Her lightest nudges buffeted him, making him stagger and giggle. “Ah! Darling, please, how can I keep up a decent conversation like this?” he chuckled, touching his forehead to the bridge of her nose.

Turning back to the Khajiit, he grinned. “My gratitude, sera, for rescuing me from your great beast.” He flicked open the leather cover of his flask with a thumbnail, a well-practiced habit he didn’t need to look down for. “I know what you mean, though, about the sad brevity of good horses. You can never seem to keep the good ones long enough, I find. My grey, Sildayn, I had only fourteen years. But that was, oh… Must have been thirty years before, or so.”

He pulled loose the cork and paused, staring at the Khajiit with vague dismay. “Saints, I must beg your pardon, I haven’t even asked your name,” he muttered. “Rambling on without even so much as an introduction, you must think me completely mannerless.” He reached under the mare’s neck to offer the Khajiit his hand, wincing apologetically. “I do get away from myself sometimes. Indoril Moraelyn Ithren, sera, ‘tis a pleasure to meet you.”

The Khajiit laughed, a cheerful, lighthearted sound that piqued Ghost’s interest, responding by bumping the Khajiit’s jaw with her nose, huffing a gust of air into his fur as he reached out to give the stranger’s hand a shake.

“<J’hasi, and a pleasure to meet you as well! This is Ghost, Ghost, Moraelyn.>” he said with a grin, gesturing to the mare and the mer as if introducing them to each other. Ghost looked at the Dunmer but a moment before she snorted, seeming a little annoyed that there were no treats for her. Well, there were, but she was unfairly kept from them. She whisked her tail impatiently behind her before taking a step forward, attempting to lip at J’hasi’s drink. The Khajiit giggled, putting a hand out to hold her at bay as he picked up his tankard to take another drink, attention back to Moraelyn.

“<S’not entirely your fault, anyway, I got so caught up with talking with you I forgot my own manners. I suppose that’s a good thing, though, giving your name to someone who may actually remember it. Or remembers to give it back.>” he teased, tail curling at the tip before taking a swig.

boarchasers:

Trond’s face softened from suspicion at Ghost’s antics to pride, puffing out his chest. It wasn’t the sort of information he usually chose to share, for fear that somebody with a grudge against guardsmen might use it to their advantage, but with the festive atmosphere there didn’t seem any harm in admitting the connection.

‘Aye, that’s her. Joldi’s her name. You won’t find a better baker in Skyrim, if I do say so myself.’ In a rare bout of magnanimity, and with the taste of J’hasi’s shared mead still on his tongue, he added, ‘Tell her I sent you. Might give you a discount.’

The Khajiit giggled, both from drink and Ghost’s breath puffing on his ear.

“Alright, I will. Hopefully she has more of those uh… I forgot what they were called…” J’hasi paused, trying to remember before shrugging it off. He’d know what they looked like. Or how they smelled. Or tasted… Something. Ghost huffed dejectedly, certain that any hope of possible treats had dashed away. The Khajiit patted her neck, smiling up at the mare.

“Ah well. M’sure that most of what she’s got is good, if your guardsmanship skills are required. Proper security for the quality of goods and all that.”

boarchasers:

‘Off-duty? Ha!’

Trond assumed his most pained expression, marred somewhat by the need to back off a few more steps when Ghost leaned towards J’hasi’s tankard. Once certain she was not getting any closer, he shook his head and sighed heavily enough

‘No overtime, thank the Divines, but my wife’s running a stall, so I’ll be guarding that next.’ He paused, cupping his hands around his own tankard thoughtfully. ‘It is a bakery stall, mind. Can’t say I object too much to guarding pastries. Can’t say it’s a terrible chore. Never know when those pastries might need a bit of extra, one-on-one guarding.’

The Khajiit grinned, Ghost resting her chin on top of his head and snorting out a puff of air.

“May have to test your guardsman skills, then. If she’s who I think she is, then I’ll have to stop by and get a bite. She’s the baker in Whiterun, right?” He wasn’t sure if he was mistaken, but it was still possible. Especially with how much he’d been drinking since the festival began.

boarchasers:

That was one step further than Trond was prepared to go. He took a firm step backwards, holding his tankard more tightly and running a hand over his short crop of hair. Memories of visits to the Whiterun Stable in his youth, always ending in disaster, rose unbidden to his mind.

‘No thanks. I know horses. Sneaky beasts.’ He eyed Ghost warily and shook his head. ‘Entering her in the races?’

J’hasi shrugged, Ghost lipping at his mane and ears when she smelled no treats for her on the Khajiit.

“Not sure. If I’m sober enough maybe. To be honest, I’m not sure she’s much a racer. Now if I had my old horse, he’d be worth a try.” He smiled, remembering Windviper’s constant, impatient energy.

“Good speed, terrible temperament. Sadly passed a while back.” He gave the pale mare a good scratch just behind her jaw as she nosed into his empty tankard.

“Considering doing anything once you’re off-duty, or does your commander got you working overtime?”

shadows-of-almsivi:

“Oh! Thank you, sera.” He chuckled as he smoothed a hand over the short stubble at the sides of his head, taking the apple slice before the mare could snatch it. “I haven’t so much hair to spare her as you, I’d think.”

The mare towered over him up close, as tall at the withers as Moraelyn himself (if he cheated and included the length of his ears, as he often did; in truth, the horse dwarfed him completely). He held his palm flat to let the mare take her treat, sighing lovingly at the bristle and velvet of her great muzzle against his palm. She snaffled up the little piece of fruit and mouthed his fingers for more, snorting her disappointment when it was gone; Moraelyn laughed, her snout tickling him as she made a determined inspection of his sleeves for hidden treats. “Ah, sweet girl, sweet girl…”  

He scratched gently behind her ears, letting her nose at the folds of his robe near his shoulder; she could probably smell the maple-sugar candies in one of his pockets, good for dissolving under his tongue to ward off the travel-sickness. “I had a mare patterned just like her, once,” he murmured, stroking her neck with obvious contentment, as though he were petting an unusually large kitten; how soft and warm she was! “Nowhere near her size, of course, much more slender in the bones. A little Nibenese palfrey, wonderful beast. Smoothest gait you’ve ever felt.”

He ruffled her forelock affectionately, nodding towards J’hasi’s tankard. “And a fondness for any drink you dared to look away from.” He reached into his robe– Ghost’s ears perked, redoubling her investigative snuffling– and retrieved a leather flask. The reddish moon painted on the lid-cover marked it as fortified wine, a sweet, sugared port from a Khajiiti caravan he’d chanced on somewhere east of Ivarstead; he smiled at the Khajiit, a little self-deprecating, and held his hand by Ghost’s cheek to compare their shades. “Maybe it comes with the colour, hm?”

Ghost took the chance to bury her nose in the stranger’s robes at the shoulder again after determining that the flask wasn’t of foodlike interest, giving J’hasi a chance to see the pattern. He offered them a smile, a touch sad at the mer’s loss.

“<Maybe there’s something to the color. Truth be told, she’s far more behaved than my last horse. Black gelding, or so I was told. He wasn’t gelded, and was the biggest troublemaker I’ve ever ridden. Fast, though. His name roughly translated to ‘Windviper’, which could give you an idea of how riding him was like.>” He gave Ghost’s flank a pat, the mare nickering in response, huffing hot breath into the Dunmer’s ear, lips slowly straying towards their hair.

“Hey! Don’t chew, it’s impolite!” The pale horse snorted, giving the Khajiit a look before gently poking the mer with her nose, begging quietly for more treats. J’hasi took a drink of mead, licking his whiskers clean afterwards.

“<Your horse sounds wonderful. I wish horses lived a little longer than their normal span of years. Seems like I just start to get to know them before they’re gone.>” Ghost nickered, lipping at the Dunmer’s collar.

“<Glad you have something to remember her by at least.>” J’hasi smiled, tail curling behind him, giving the mare’s shoulder a scratch, fingers tangling in her mane before working on cutting another slice of apple.

askdusty:

Dust has somehow gotten ahold of a lute. She isn’t entirely sure how, honestly, but with the bonfire roaring behind her, sparks crackling and the air so crisp and clear, it hardly seems to matter. She strums and sings merrily, happy to welcome any listeners with a little wink.

“Somewhere in a hidden memory
Images float before my eyes
Of fragrant nights of straw and of bonfires
And dancing till the next sunrise…”  

J’hasi was drawn in by the singing and the calming strums of a lute, sitting down in front of who he recognized as Dust. He beamed at her, drunk, but knowing enough to keep quiet during a performance. He rocked a little in place, occasionally taking drinks of his spiced pumpkin mead. He couldn’t help half-humming along, trying to be quiet but the music pulling at him to sing too.

Ghost settled down behind him with a huff, the Khajiit leaning back into her pale side with a happy smile spreading over his face. She was a soft warmth at his back, while the bonfire warmed his front, helping against the oncoming chill of dusk, cinders trailing up into the darkening skies… His whiskers fanned out with a purr, tail tip tapping along to the rhythm.

boarchasers:

‘Smart.’

Almost too smart. The sort of smartness which came from personal experience, of being the disappointed thief once too often. Trond narrowed his eyes over his drink, but in the end he shook his head and took another mouthful of mead. There were more important things to worry about on a festival day.

He swallowed and gave a small, satisfied sigh, before waving the tankard towards the horse. A creature that size usually earned extreme caution from the guard, but in the crowds, with the music and the colours and the smell of spices and sugar, Trond was prepared to overlook that, too.

‘Yours?’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t look like one of Skulvar’s.’

J’hasi smiled, giving her neck a good scratch.

“Yeah, she is. Name’s Ghost. She found me somewhere along the coast in Winterhold and hasn’t left me alone since.” As if to retort she blew a gust of hot air in his face. The Khajiit beamed, stroking her nose.

“She’s real friendly, you can pet her if you want. Just mind that she doesn’t try to make a snack out of your hair. Though that might not be a problem since yours is so short. Or it might, maybe she likes a challenge.”

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