His eyes narrow at her, far too stubborn to suggest she might be right. But she might be. He doesn't actually know.
Would it hurt to make sure? Probably not.
"Chh. I'll look into it," He says. One thing's certain and that's that his earlier brief lift in mood has met its end. "Either way, this is going to have to do for now." He lifts the knife up, letting it turn over in his fingers before lowering it back down.
Which gets him to notice the holes in his sleeves left from her blade. He's not concerned about the cuts themselves, but rather the marks of color showing through. He tries to tug the small holes back together and smear some of the open cuts to cover. He'll have to change this.
He says he'll look into it, and that's all it takes for her to back off again. It doesn't particularly matter to her if this guy gets back the things that he wants--but it seems silly for him to arbitrarily decide that something's not going to work.
And maybe there's a part of her that wouldn't mind facing off against another swordsman for once.
He starts fussing with his clothing, and it's only then that she notices the colored bits of skin peeking out from the cuts in his clothes. She tilts her head at that, confused and curious in equal parts.
"...What's that? On your skin?" She'd thought that he'd be entirely white from head to toe... but apparently not.
The first thing he does is stiffen and still. Then, quickly, he tries to recover himself.
"Blood?" He says, being deliberately obtuse and not looking up at her. He kids fidgeting and fussing where he is. Maybe she'll believe it and he'll have thrown her off the literal scent. Or maybe she just won't want to bother with him. That's two thirds a chance isn't it?
"That's not blood." She's not exactly sure what it is, but it's too colorful to be blood. It almost looks like it is his skin--which would mean...
"Is that... some kind of drawing?" She tilts her head the other way, trying to catch a different scent angle. He's being defensive about it, but she really doesn't understand why. "Why are you trying to hide it?"
He sighs. The dubious "jig" is up. He stops with his fussing and pushes a sleeve up. He reveals a colorful collage of images, wrapped around and interlocked all around his arm but for one waving black stripe that works it's way down. The images don't seem to stop where his sleeve does.
"They're tattoos. And not supposed to be there. The world I came from gave them to me. And no, far as I am aware, I was not in a gang." But he still doesn't really know.
She sniffs fervently at his exposed arm, and while she just barely bites back any exclamations of how cool those tattoos are, the impression is clear on her face. They are, indeed, cool as fuck.
The mention of gangs gets him a small look--What would gangs have to do with any of that? But it's easily brushed aside. "Man, lucky you. All I got from my world is a bunch of lousy scars." Among other things...
"You still didn't mention why you were hiding it. If I had arms like that, I'd rip the sleeves off every shirt I own and charge people money to stare." She comes a little closer, trying to get a better sniff, then pauses a moment.
"Can I lick it? Or do you want to just pretend I didn't ask that?"
She seems to love the tattoos and the more she expresses as much the more his frown deepens. It is clear they are on a very, very different page. But he can at least answer her. Just one thing to get out of the way first.
"We're going to pretend very hard you didn't just ask that," He says with a wry, bracing grin. He starts tugging his sleeve down.
"I'd rather scars than this," He says, honestly. "For one, they make me look like a street thug, and a tool at that. For two..." He hesitates, debating on saying it when it might just get him even more questions. Finally, he goes on, "I don't like what some of them represent. They're not things I'd get tattoos of even if I were that kind of person."
He takes it well, but she's clearly not allowed to partake of the decadent buffet stretched across his biceps... Spoil sport. She shrugs a little at his wry grin, as if to say 'your loss'... even if it's not.
"Well, I can promise that you don't smell like a tool, so you're good there," she informs him, trying to keep things somewhat light. She's a little more curious about that second part, though. So, just as casually, she adds another question: "What sort of things do they represent?"
His mouth presses to a line. This is the real reason he wouldn't get tattoos like this. Questions. Assumptions. Looking too close at what it all means.
But he can't pretend he hasn't looked.
"It's a bunch of metaphors," He says. "Things I've said. Things I had and lost. Little reminders about the crappier parts of what I am." A pause. "A few markings I had already. I think, whoever or whatever was in control of the world I came from, they wanted some way to highlight who and what I am, even while trying to force me into their new story." He frowns. "If you're that curious, I'll tell you a few at a time, but I don't really want to go into all of them and definitely not at once."
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pythianjudgment) wrote2013-11-02 10:30 pm
no subject
Would it hurt to make sure? Probably not.
"Chh. I'll look into it," He says. One thing's certain and that's that his earlier brief lift in mood has met its end. "Either way, this is going to have to do for now." He lifts the knife up, letting it turn over in his fingers before lowering it back down.
Which gets him to notice the holes in his sleeves left from her blade. He's not concerned about the cuts themselves, but rather the marks of color showing through. He tries to tug the small holes back together and smear some of the open cuts to cover. He'll have to change this.
no subject
And maybe there's a part of her that wouldn't mind facing off against another swordsman for once.
He starts fussing with his clothing, and it's only then that she notices the colored bits of skin peeking out from the cuts in his clothes. She tilts her head at that, confused and curious in equal parts.
"...What's that? On your skin?" She'd thought that he'd be entirely white from head to toe... but apparently not.
no subject
"Blood?" He says, being deliberately obtuse and not looking up at her. He kids fidgeting and fussing where he is. Maybe she'll believe it and he'll have thrown her off the literal scent. Or maybe she just won't want to bother with him. That's two thirds a chance isn't it?
no subject
"Is that... some kind of drawing?" She tilts her head the other way, trying to catch a different scent angle. He's being defensive about it, but she really doesn't understand why. "Why are you trying to hide it?"
no subject
"They're tattoos. And not supposed to be there. The world I came from gave them to me. And no, far as I am aware, I was not in a gang." But he still doesn't really know.
no subject
The mention of gangs gets him a small look--What would gangs have to do with any of that? But it's easily brushed aside. "Man, lucky you. All I got from my world is a bunch of lousy scars." Among other things...
"You still didn't mention why you were hiding it. If I had arms like that, I'd rip the sleeves off every shirt I own and charge people money to stare." She comes a little closer, trying to get a better sniff, then pauses a moment.
"Can I lick it? Or do you want to just pretend I didn't ask that?"
no subject
"We're going to pretend very hard you didn't just ask that," He says with a wry, bracing grin. He starts tugging his sleeve down.
"I'd rather scars than this," He says, honestly. "For one, they make me look like a street thug, and a tool at that. For two..." He hesitates, debating on saying it when it might just get him even more questions. Finally, he goes on, "I don't like what some of them represent. They're not things I'd get tattoos of even if I were that kind of person."
no subject
"Well, I can promise that you don't smell like a tool, so you're good there," she informs him, trying to keep things somewhat light. She's a little more curious about that second part, though. So, just as casually, she adds another question: "What sort of things do they represent?"
no subject
But he can't pretend he hasn't looked.
"It's a bunch of metaphors," He says. "Things I've said. Things I had and lost. Little reminders about the crappier parts of what I am." A pause. "A few markings I had already. I think, whoever or whatever was in control of the world I came from, they wanted some way to highlight who and what I am, even while trying to force me into their new story." He frowns. "If you're that curious, I'll tell you a few at a time, but I don't really want to go into all of them and definitely not at once."