RP:Don't Be Tame, Hunt Tall Game

Summary: Having finished their winter preparations early, Orikahn and Aira decide to have a day off at the tavern. Orikahn tries to enjoy himself, but his mood fails unexpectedly, leaving Aira (who was otherwise content) concerned and inquisitive. Aira doesn't have to pry very hard before Orikahn acknowledges that there's something missing from their relationship. A big something.

Frostmaw Tavern

Orikahn laughs over his beer, foam still clinging to his wiskers. It's still morning, the regulars haven't wandered in yet, and the hunters have the bar to themselves. Kahn is in good spirits. They're only fresh past the equinox, and the cabin larder is already stuffed with caribou and wild game. There's enough jerky and pemmican alone to last them, and that's not even counting the fresh brisket, aging steaks, smoked salmon, blood sausage, head cheese, and plenty more. What had once been a life of hardship and brutal, frozen adversity has turned into a life of ease and excess. "...and this fool yeti," Kahn goes on with his story, "thinks he can get his mitts on me." He leans over the bar and makes a show of groping around blindly for effect, "and next thing he knows," the old cat wheezes with laughter, "WHOP, my knife lops his hand clean off, and you hear him," Kahn clutches his arm and leans back on his barstool, "just HOWLING." The barstool teeters, and the feline's adrenaline gives a wee spike as his body takes over and auto-corrects his balance. There's a tense second of silence, then his laughter resumes and he tips back another mouthful of ale. Drargon listens with half an ear as he polishes the bar, nodding along. Every so often, the giant barkeep glances to the door but, alas, there's no one there to save him from Kahn's hunting stories.

Aira is seated in one of the armchairs curled up with a book a welcome change from this time last year as she had been panicking about the upcoming winter. Orikahn had gone off knowing gods know where which left the preparations completely up to her. This time, however, the sabercat was not only present but active in prepping the lodge with food and repairs so they had opted to take a well deserved morning off. While Kahn entertains the other hunters with his tale with the yeti, the foxkin peers over her shoulder at the bar where an annoyed Drargon catches her eye. She gives him a small mischievous grin and lifts her left shoulder in a singular shrug before turning her attention back to the book in her hand. Aira had a governess growing up and had been quite educated during her upbringing in Rynvale, and while she strived to shed that previous life from her current one, her love of books was something she would keep forever. She didn't spend much time reading for leisure (unless she was teaching literacy to her mate), so this was a welcome reprieve. Aira signs contently and almost genuinely -smiles- as she sips from her mug of hot cider and turns the page of her book.

Orikahn finishes his beer, stands, and rubs at the fuzz of his face. Beneath his cloak, the cat is extra fluffy; he's recently bathed, perhaps in anticipation of their trip into town. His coat looks about double volume, and it stirs ticklishly with every little breeze. Kahn itches his nose, forgetting where he'd left off in the story. "Anyway, that was good, savage time," he sighs in fond recollection, then taps his empty mug on the bar. "One more, and I'll slow down." Kahn's made the same promise three beers in a row now. If Kahn weren't a 300 pound monster, Drargon might be tempted to point out the time of day, but he supposes the sabertooth has somewhere to put it. They aren't giant-sized flagons after all. There's a jingle of coins, a merry trickle of ale. The tap squeaks shut, Kahn takes his beer, and spins on his stool to survey the (mostly) empty bar. Even discounting his thick coat, Kahn may have actually put on a pound or two in the last month. Perhaps an innate part of him knows winter is coming. Aira can feel him watching her over the lip of his mug as he takes a slow sip. Perhaps he's getting comfortable in life. In an instant, Kahn turns thoughtful. Like a beer gone suddenly flat, the capricious old cat isn't quite so bubbly now, is he?

Aira had shucked cloak upon entering the establishment but had kept it on her person to drape across her lap like a blanket once she had settled in the armchair. The fire danced happily in the hearth, the golden glow reflecting in the russet fur of the huntress's vulpine ears and the copper hue of her eyes. It was cozy in the tavern, and for the first time in a long while, Aira was content. She continues her reading, Kahn's voice and the jeers of the other patrons who are enjoying his story, a welcome soundtrack in the background. Her concentration is broken firstly by Orikahn's silence, but it's not until she feels his gaze upon her that she slips the strap of leather she was using as a bookmark between the pages and closes the tome before shifting in her seat to turn to meet the sabercat's eyes. She cants her head to the side slightly and peers back at him curiously. "What?" she eventually asks.

Orikahn doesn't excuse himself from the company at the bar. There's a very brief interim of muttering behind him as he stands to cross the tavern, then jolly rukus-making resumes among the other hunters, just as though they'd forgotten the sabertooth and his story alike. Somber old Kahn follows his eyes, wandering over to his mate. He first sits, then curls cozily upon the wide hearth, bending into a tidy circle under his cloak so he can rest his head upon himself... and stare at Aira. He looks at her hands, her book, her chair, her ears, her hair, her face. Her eyes. "You're happy, I can tell." His voice is quiet and husky. The floof of his tail stirs and coils like a snake disturbed.

Aira watches Orikahn with that unblinking gaze of hers as he eventually stands from his stool, leaving the other hunters to their own antics at the bar to join her over by the hearth. She continues to stalk him with her eyes as he settles on the ground, first in a seated position before eventually curling up on the ground. She studies the way the fire light dances across his coffee colored fur before arching a brow down at him when he finally speaks. The huntress releases a bark of laughter, surprised by her mate's words before shaking her head and moving to open her book once more. "I am," she finally answers, shooting him a rare smile. "You're being weird," she adds.

Orikahn hums and breaks his gaze away to look into the hearth instead, studying the heart of the flames. By his solemn look, one might guess that doesn't quite share Aira's mood. There's yearning in his stare, and a doubt. "I'm glad," he lies. "We've made a good home for ourselves, and the winter will be easy. If didn't know better," his brows raise, "I'd say we've tamed our patch of the wild." Is it even an exaggeration? Their trails are marked, game is steady, and they've had nary a foul beast since their trouble with a werebear. All the woods are their palace. Kahn's ears droop.

Aira barely opens her book back up when Kahn's words cause her vulpine ears to twitch and something just doesn't seem right. Closing her tome with a bit of finality this time, she places it on the cushion beside her and sits up a bit straighter. "Hey," she says a bit bluntly, clearly calling for Orikahn's attention. "You and I are never going to be tame," she tells him emphatically. Aira's smile falters as she continues to look down at her mate, noting the drooping of his ears. She doesn't like the way he said 'tamed'. She knows he's a great hunter and not used to being 'tied down'. Perhaps the life they had built for themselves was not the life he had envisioned for -himself-. Aira gnaws on the inside of her cheek, biting down hard enough that the copper taste that fills her mouth indicates she's drawn blood. "You aren't happy." It's not posed question as a question but rather a statement.

Orikahn clicks his eyes and ears up to Aira when she calls for them. Something about hearing Aira reassure him so directly, well, it makes it a lot harder to deny his misgivings. "I should be enjoying the fruits of our labors." No lie there. "I ought to be happy." His brow furrows in self-reproach. What's got his mojo out of whack, anyway? Up and around, Kahn's tail bends to brush his head thoughtfully. Being a man of instinct was very convenient most of the time, and it is rare that Kahn should endure the pain and effort of introspection. He is not well-practiced in it. "I'm not happy," the saber cat eventually concedes, but it's no less baffling to him now than before. "Hmph," he bites his tail in his mouth, then spits it back out and whisks it back under the cloak. "I've let the ale get to me, is all." Nares flare. Lips part as he suddenly samples the air. His nose floats toward Aira's face. "Is that blood on your breath?" Kahn's more curious than concerned.

Aira continues to study Orikahn curiously, her eyes boring into him as if holding that eye contact will somehow grant her access to the truth of his thoughts and feelings, thus allowing her to navigate them more properly. How frustrating that staring just doesn't do that. She listens to him silently, not uttering a word until he asks about the blood on her breath. The huntress swallows thickly and reaches for her now luke warm cider and takes a long pull from it. "Just bit my cheek," she answers dismissively. "And I don't believe it's the ale, I think it's something that's been on your mind for a while." The vixen sighs, finally breaking her gaze in favor of resting her head back against the cushion and closing her eyes. Aira didn't exactly crave stability and order--her life back in Rynvale was strictly regimented. However, she never felt peace there, never felt at home like she did at the lodge. She knows Orikahn is of island descent, was he craving his old life? "What would make you happy?" she asks after a beat.

Orikahn is indulging his senses, and he's almost touched his nose to Aira's lips before she interrupts him with a sip of cider. She dispels his tangent with ease and is right back on his trail. The ale was a perfectly good excuse, Kahn thinks, but he can tell the vixen would rather sink her teeth into the matter. What would make him happy? Kahn's face withdraws from hers, and he sets his head down on the hearth. His claws flex so he can drag them against the stone, the sound of which INSTANTLY earns an angry shout from Drargon. "I told you, Orikahn," he nearly startles Kahn onto the floor, "claws off! None o'that in here!" Orikahn shoots him a dirty look and brandishes said claws before obediently retracting them. Paw still raised, he remembers himself, double takes at his mate, then clears his throat with a rumble. "Right," he looks at his mitts, flexes his fingers, studies the smoothly gleaming claws within. "Irksome ferret," he chides her fondly. He knows what he wants; she's dug it out of him. "Maybe," his voice lowers beneath the buzz of the tavern, "we ought to, you know." The cat licks over his saber fangs, "get you started on *tall* game some time." He turns his hand, extending his index and middle finger downward. Like a biped. "You know the kind."

Aira lifts her hand to her face and, under the guise of wiping her lips, she hopefully hides her smirk of amusement as Drargon rages at Orikahn for sharpening his claws against the stone floor, masking her chuckle as a cough when the latter grumbles at the barkeep. Once she has tempered her expression, the huntress clears her throat and inhales through her nose as the conversation turns semi-serious once more. At his playful chide, Aira wrinkles her nose at him before reaching out to swat at his tail in retaliation. With his voice lowered slightly, the vixen leans forward to make sure she catches the prime hunter's words and she raises her brows in surprise. "Didn't I, uh, already hunt that type of game? When we took our...beach...vacation?" Sure she didn't actually delivery any killing blows herself in the mess that resulted in the death of her ex-betrothed and brother, but she had assisted right?

Orikahn completes the image by "walking" his biped hand between them. Did she? No, Kahn shakes his head. He would have remembered. A laugh sticks in his throat, and he leans back just enough to pick up his neglected beer. "This. This is it for sure." He sips, swallows. "Aira, I love you, but this will come between us if we..." Orikahn freezes, caught red handed. "That's to say," flustered, he hurriedly takes another sip, nose wrinkling, eyes suddenly on the floor, then on the ceiling. Greedily, he guzzles, buying himself time. "Vexing," he eventually growls into his cup, "rrrr-vixen!" The hunter's voice is a perturbed whisper. "It's high time you started a belt of your own. Hmph!" Snappishly, he looks back into the fire, obviously ruffled.

Aira wasn't exactly an innocent party. While she hadn't -actually- hunted those men in Rynvale, she didn't exactly pray for leniency either. There was even a part of her that found -enjoyment- in their deaths. She had always assumed that it was because of the torture they had inflicted on her all those years, that their deaths had been payback for the abuse she had suffered at their hands, that the night had given her closure and the ability to reconcile with her past. But was it something more than that? Had she become so untamed herself that the hunting of 'her kind' didn't even faze her? Aira is so lost in her thoughts she almost misses Orikahn's confession. Almost. He loved her?! If his actions were any indication, of course she new this already, but their relationship hadn't ever revolved around emotional conversations. The vixen's eyes widen slightly as she tries to navigate the conversation. She loved him too, of course, and she should probably tell him such, but it's the words he -doesn't- say that Aira latches onto. "If we what?" she asks her mate curiously, prompting him to continue his thought process. He wanted her to start her own belt of skulls, her own trophies. "This is important to you, isn't it?"

Orikahn wipes the foam from his muzzle on the crook of his arm. Suddenly too warm (it must be the hearth), the cat pops the clasp on his cloak shrugs it off, quickly wadding it into a bundle and kicking it under Aira's chair. The skulls at his waist are in plain view, now, hollow sockets pointing this way at that as they hang in a haphazard bundle. His fresh-washed, extra fuzzy coat is even more obvious now that's he's sitting in naught but a loincloth and bangles, though the dark stain of beer down his chin and muzzle does a bit to spoil the effect. Sitting indian-legged, the big cat puts his hands on his knees and nods with conviction. "Big juju." He repeats himself. "Big juju, Aira. We will share it. It's the right way. We've waited too long, already." Kahn's ears perk up, and he scratches his chin. "You will, yes?" It's a hopeful question, inasmuch as it's actually a question. A part of Kahn has already sensed something in the huntress, seems to grasp her lack of apprehension. "This will be good. Good for you." The cat's hand balls into a fist so he can give his chest a good thump. "Good, big juju. You will understand."

Aira is not well versed in the specifics of juju, at least. not as much as Orikahn is, but she knows the whole concept is important to him. She watches as he wipes the foam from his muzzle and unclasps the cloak at his throat before tossing the garment under her chair. "Big juju," she echoes his words, a contemplative expression on her face as she weighs this new development. She's not completely turned off to the idea, but she wonders if some exceptions could be made. Like she can hunt more nefarious folks at least to start the process and help her adjust to the new type of game. His hopeful question forces her focus back to him and she cannot help but crack a smile. Her own fluffy tail gives a flick before she dips her head in a nod. "I'll do it," the vixen agrees. "For big juju. For us."

Orikahn doesn't notice he'd been waiting for her answer with held breath. She's smiling! His wiskers perk. His eyes widen. At her confirmation, Orikahn's own face breaks into a Cheshire smile. Kahn knows he has to contain his glee, but there's electricity under his skin, in his very bones! He has to do something or he'll simply burst. "Drargon!" Seeing as they're in a bar, there's at least one conventional way he can celebrate. He stands and holds his purse over his head. "Rum! Rum around the house!" The tavern patrons look around in surprise, then break out in a cheer. Drargon shakes his head, looks at the ceiling, and pulls a bottle down. Kahn grabs Aira by the hand, and (if she'll allow it) drags her to the bar just as the shotglasses jingle out in a tidy row. It's ten in the morning, guys. Drargon sighs and pours. Sven's sake.

Aira's surprised, yet delighted by Orikahn's joy at her answer and she feels her own happiness swell once more at his jubilation. The huntress startles slightly when he suddenly bellows out for Drargon to grab the rum, the prime hunter jingling his coin purse above his head. He must -really- be happy with her decision! Aira laughs in surprise as Kahn grabs her hand and tugs her along towards the bar, her book left on the cushion long forgotten and her cloak fluttering to the ground to join her mate's under the chair. The vixen doesn't care how early it is, there was always time for rum. As Drargon rolls his eye at the crowd gathering around for a free drink and the patrons jeer nosily, Aira tilts her head towards Kahn's, dropping her voice so only he can hear. "I love you, too, Kitty." The shots are poured and the vixen clinks her glass against her mate's before shooting the liquor down in one gulp.