RP:Baby It's Cold Outside
Summary: Aira returns from the Adventurer’s Guild Sharknado excursion hurt, but alive. Unable to walk any further, the huntress decides to rest at the tavern and get a drink. Unbeknownst to her, a certain sabercat had a similar idea that particular evening, and Orikahn’s cat nap is interrupted by his mate’s arrival. Eventually, Aira begrudgingly shares with him how she sustained her injuries.
Frostmaw Tavern
Orikahn has left his armor on its stand by the fire, whereby it may sooner dry after its thorough cleaning. After long days and weeks on tundra and trail, the massive feline has allowed himself a brief respite in town to trade in furs, visit the smith, and enjoy a very rare treat: a hot bath at the springs. Now, at the end of a long day of errands, old Kahn lays curled by the fire, soaking up heat and staring drowsily into the flames. A barmaid passes, takes his empty glass, and sets down a fresh, tall flagon of heady ale. Kahn's tail twitches in warning, letting the ale-wench know that she is permitted to invade his space precisely that much and no further--if the cat is pleased to see that she abides, he does not show it. The fire gives a noisy pop, throwing sparks up the flue, but Orikahn does not jump, nor does he startle when a raucous bout of laughter rattles a nearby table. In a rare moment indeed, the nasty feline seems quite content and at ease.
Aira limps her way into the tavern, heavily favoring her right leg; it seems as if the huntress cannot pick up her booted foot and instead drags it behind her. She shoulders her way into the establishment in a flurry of snow and wind and quickly snaps the door shut to spare the other patrons the chill. Aira shivers as she goes through the arduous process of peeling away the layers. It had been weeks since she’d been in Frostmaw and it felt colder than normal thanks to the fact that she had been out to sea near Rynvale where it was still quite warm. Soon all that remains on the huntress are her boots, leggings, a blue sweater, and a rather nice tan despite her injuries. Her left wrist is splinted and she’s sporting a healing split lip. Step, drag. Step, drag. Aira has tunnel vision and right now her goal is the bar.
Orikahn feels his lids growing heavier. The warm embrace of hearth and drink would soon carry the cat away into the land of half-dreams and visions, could easily whisk him away to peaceful rest, and by all means *should* have borne him away on a carefree catnap, but fickle fate has other plans in store. A blast of frigid air sends the fire sputtering and breaks rest's cozy spell. The great stripy tail flicks. Kahn's ears stand resentfully aright, and his nares flare, hatefully devouring the scent of this unwelcome arrival. Who dares? What unfortunate soul is it now that invites the wrath of Kahn? Why, it sounds and smells like... an injured elf making haste for the bar. "Aira?" His eyes peel blearily open. God's sake. With a great stretch and a wide, wide yawn, the sabercat shakes away the last lingering tendrils of sleep.
Aira halts on her way towards the counter as she hears someone call out her name. Not just any someone but a certain sabercat whom the vixen was still upset with, the one she had pointedly not told that she was leaving for a dangerous mission. She has the decency to look over her shoulder at her lounging mate before breathing out a quiet huff and looking back towards Drargon and dragging her leg towards the bar where, with a wince, she hops up on a vacant bar stool. “Something stronger than ale.”
Orikahn stands, grabs his beer, and glides over to the bar. All the staff and patrons are long used to Kahn's skull-and-loincloth attire by now, and he hardly provokes a stray glance. "Her money's no good her, Drargon." Kahn warns the bartender, stopping the giant before he can start a tally on Aira's bill. Kahn's eyes sweep up and down his mate's battered body. "You look like you fought a cliff and lost."
Aira snorts in annoyance at Orikahn’s words to Drargon about her money, which she had already begun to reach for (with another grimace). She doesn’t initially answer him, waiting for the barkeep to pour her a glass before polishing it off in two gulps and nudging the empty vessel towards him for a refill. “Oh. You care about my wellbeing -now-?” she asks the sabercat finally turning to look up at him with a scowl on her cut lips. “I’m fine.”
Orikahn gives the bartender a look that says "keep pouring" before turning his full attention back to vixen. His lips draw tight, and he gives a look of stern appraisal indeed. "Some condition you're in to be picking trouble." His tail gives another agitated swish, and it's likely no accident that the stripey fluff manages to brush past her bad leg. He climbs onto the stool adjacent and plants his elbows firmly on the bar. "Good to know you're fine, though," he lifts his flagon, then pauses to add right before his sip, "I wouldn't have guessed by looking at you."
Aira cannot resist the bait that Kahn dangles in front of her, whether intentional or not, and flicks her gaze back towards him as his tail brushes against her injured leg. “I’m not afraid of you,” she counters, the vulpine ears atop her head flattening as she huffs. “Fine,” she says, downing the next glass of liquor before swiveling to face her mate more fully. However, she moves too quickly and a quiet whimper of pain escapes her lips as she grabs her leg. “The Adventurer’s Guild was asked to sail to Twister Island off of Rynvale where we had to defeat a rogue mage who bewitched tornados to contain sharks which terrorized the inhabitants. Happy now?”
Orikahn drinks and listens. Not afraid of him? The cat's brows raise, and Aira can *feel* the scoff that Kahn never utters. He swallows his beer and wipes his grinning muzzle on his arm. "I'm sure I could eat you alive and you wouldn't even whimper. You'd just scowl all the way down. Now..." His face contracts, and he blinks once, twice, trying to wrap his head around what she's just said. It could hardly be called an explanation--more like a summary, a nexus at the center of a nebula of questions. Drargon slides Aira another timely double of rum. "I was with you up through Rynvale, yes," Orikahn nods to indicate Aira ought to go on, "then I'm sure I misheard." Kahn makes an exaggerated show of working one finger in his ear, as if to clean it.
Aira feels the ghost of a smirk twinge on the corner of her lips when Orikahn says she would simply scowl on the way down should he eat her up (he’s not wrong) but she’s quick to dispel her amusement with a cough. “Yes, a small island near Rynvale with a rogue mage who conjured up tornados filled with sharks to torment the inhabitants,” Aira explains all of this again in a nonchalant tone as if this was a totally normal reason for her injured appearance. And then, to perhaps humiliate Kahn who believes he is the alpha in this relationship, the vixen grabs hold of her knee and shifts her leg with a grimace and extends it across the sabercat’s lap.
Orikahn listens more carefully this time. "Alright that's what I heard..." he watches as Aira takes the time to painstakingly lay her leg across him, "...the first time." Dryly, he slides his feline gaze slowly up her leg, then up the rest of her, until he can meet Aira's eyes. "So I take it," another sip, "this is what happens when you try to fight a tornado full of sharks?" If he looks utterly unsurprised, Aira can probably guess why. "Somehow, you were the second-to-lone survivor, and someone barely managed to get you out in time? Sorry, this was your story," he makes a rolling gesture with his hand, "go on, please."
Aira || If Orikahn were paying attention, he might notice that the laces on her right boot were loosened as much as possible to accommodate her obviously swollen ankle. She leans her elbow on the counter to keep her balance and takes up her glass once more, opting to sip from it this time. “There were plenty of survivors,” she corrects Kahn with a furrow of her brow, her vulpine tail giving an idle twitch of contentment at her nearness to her mate, clearly betraying Aira’s projected countenance. “I’m the navigator in the Adventurer’s Guild,” she explains. “So it was my job to plot and sail a fleet of ships towards the island. And Lana did not want the sharks to be injured if we could help it,” she adds with a shrug. “I didn’t want the healers fussing over me and then I walked all the way back here.” On a busted ankle, obviously, that was probably broken now even if it wasn’t to start with. “Fractured my wrist when some elementals overcame us on the ship and I was trying to prevent us from capsizing.”
Orikahn makes some attempt to pretend not to notice the laces, though if Aira is keen she might catch him sneaking at peek at her condition. "Navigator?" Again, if Aira is watching her mate closely, she might catch Kahn looking impressed for a moment, though he catches himself and hides it. "Going easy on sharks. Turning away medicine! Tsk tsk tsk," the old cat clicks his tongue and shakes his head and looks to the bottles behind the bar, "you're worse for it, that much is plain. Now who do I suppose will get to fuss over you now, hm?" He leaves the question to hang between them.
Aira is trying her best not to pay attention to her mate for, in her mind, this is still a battle of wills with the vixen attempting to maintain her aloof demeanor towards Orikahn. So his glances towards her loose laces and his proud expression at her title are completely lost on her. “Who -will- fuss over me?” she asks and then makes a dramatic show of glancing around the tavern. Her metallic eyes land on handsome warrior seated nearby who happens to be looking their way. The vixen turns on the charm and offers him a rare smile and wiggles her fingers in his direction. “That nice gentleman over there looks like he’ll be happy to take care of me,” she mutters to Kahn out of the corner of her mouth as the man grins boyishly towards the huntress in return.
Orikahn can't *help* but spot the smile, rare as it is, and there's an instant where it melts the frozen sinew of his stone-cold heart. The moment is brief. It takes no time for Kahn's attention to follow his mate's gaze to the warrior galoot a few tables over. The hackles on his neck raise, and he turns frigidly forward again. "I'll be happy to take care of both of you," he mutters, though perhaps with more fire than ice. His grip on the flagon's handle visibly tightens. If the man were lucky, he'd have some friend to smack him on the back of the head. Quite unfortunately for him, however, he's a stranger in Frostmaw with no one to warn him who he's flirting with...
Aira had no intention, of course, of allowing the random man to keep her company let alone tend to her and her injuries. She just wanted to force a reaction from her mate. And seeing it, his raised hackles, the tightening grip on the handle of his flagon, and his steely demeanor, makes the huntress feel like she’s won the battle. “Are you -jealous-?” she prods her mate some more, in a sing-song voice, unable to resist the tease. “Quit yer poutin’,” Drargon interrupts, affixing his single eye on Orikhan. “She’s just messin’ with ya because ya left and didn’t tell her and she was worried.” Aira, quite offended by the barkeep’s interjection, scowls in his direction. “Traitor!” Thankfully, the warrior seems to have broken out of his flirtatious stupor and comprehends that perhaps trying to gain favor with this particular vixen is a bad idea. Throwing a few coins on the table, he is quick to take his leave and save his skin from those sharp fangs and claws that the sabercat possesses.
Orikahn manages to ignore Aira's gloating, but Dragon grabs him. The cat meets the bartender's eye, then looks down to his own reflection in his beer. He takes a drink. As the warrior takes his (wise) leave, Kahn looks back up to his wounded mate and sighs. Lots of unsaid things pass behind his expression, and he searches a moment for what exactly he ought to put into words.
Orikahn said to Aira, "Maybe we should go home after this one."
Aira is seething at Drargon and he knows it for if looks could kill, the barkeep would be dead behind the counter. The huntress had spent many a night at the tavern during Kahn’s absence and though she didn’t recall ever speaking her concerns to him, perhaps her continued presence without the prime hunter (or a slip of the tongue when she had imbibed a little too much) told him all he needed to know. She tries not to look at Kahn, her fingers drumming agitatedly against the bar top, but it seems unavoidable and she catches him looking her way. At his suggestion that they head home when they’re done, she merely shrugs and tips her head back to drain her glass for the third time. “I guess that’s alright.”
Orikahn waits for his mate, silently wondering what all this liquor will do for her wounds, then finishes his drink likewise. There's a musical ringing of gold, much more than enough for their drinks, and perhaps Aira now sees why Drargon choose his loyalties as he did. When the vixen is ready to get up, Kahn will be there to help her, first with the leg in his lap. "A waterspout with sharks in it," Kahn mutters, and he makes himself grin in muttering it, "and you tumble into my lap like this." Shaking his head, Kahn makes sure Aira is steady before going and fastening himself back into his armor. The tavern's energies are beginning to dwindle, and other patrons are soon gathering their own things. When Kahn and Aira do finally make their way to the door, the place is nearly vacant. "We could rent a room here, you know," Kahn mentions, looking to Aira's leg again, "if you're not feeling up to the trek."
Aira || A small, pained grunt vibrates in the base of Aira’s throat as Orikahn shifts her leg off of his lap, the slightest pressure to her ankle causing her body tense with pain. Still, she eases off of the stool and makes a point to ignore Drargon completely as coin is exchanged before literally dragging herself back towards the door in favor of pulling on her layers. She merely shrugs her shoulders at Kahn’s amused, if not disbelieving comment about the sharknado. “The mage was creative,” she mutters in response before clasping her cloak at her throat. At the sabercat’s suggestion of renting a room the huntress arches a brow. “Oh, I was under the impression that you were carrying me home,” Aira says matter-of-factly. “Unless you want me to find Mister What’s-His-Name to do it instead?” This time the smile on her lips is revered for her mate and no one else.
Orikahn is about to push the door open once more, but the elf's snide commentary catches him where he stands. "You were under the impression?" He echoes, though perhaps sounding more astonished than matter-of-fact. Aira is, of course, bold enough to put the brazen icing on that particular cake by bringing her flirtatious gambit into the spotlight. "The lady gets," Kahn stoops to pick Aira up, "what the lady wants." Grabbing her round the middle, Orikahn slings Aira over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Holding her by the legs and letting her top half dangle down his back, he straightens, grunts, and centers his weight. Drargon gets a wink in farewell before the feline shoulders his way out the door and into the frozen night.
Aira, was of course, imagining a more…eloquent way of travel back to the lodge. Granted she didn’t exactly -specify- how she intended to be carried home, but being slung over Orikhan’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes was not one of them. The huntress squeals in surprise as she hangs upside down along the sabercat’s back, her platinum hair obscuring her face from view. “Kahn!” she whines, hitting his back with her fist (albeit, with no real force behind it). “Not like this! Kaaaaaahn,” she continues as he slips out into the snowy evening. Only once they were halfway to the lodge would the vixen give in and quit her fighting, slumping against him with a defeated sigh. Despite the humiliating hold the feline had her in, Aira was stubborn in her belief that she was still the clear winner here tonight.