[Kakyoin snorts, rolling his eyes back where he sits somewhere off to the side of Polnareff, but it's practically audible anyway. So they're both wandering around hoping to run into something without a real plan, if he had to guess— but in his defense, it's not as if he knows how to... be outside the Circle, really. He doesn't even want to think of himself as a stray to be taken in, but mm, that is kind of where they're at, isn't it.]
Was it really the robes that gave me away?
[Like, yes, but the not-quite-ornate but very-much-taller-than-he-is mage staff he snatched on his way out of the Circle probably gets him just as much attention. It's the staff that sits across his lap now, that he lifts to swing over and... can he reach from here... yes, he can: he pokes Polnareff in the side with it, beneath the ribs.
Twice. But like, gently. Was it the robes??]
I wouldn't say no to a pair of trousers. It would be warmer.
[Ha ha, also, don't think about what's under his robes, especially not while he finally concedes to getting up and coming over to squat by this unlit fire.]
Fire isn't my specialty... [But, his little gesture says, he could try?]
[Stop! Poking him! It doesn't hurt, not really, but still: Polnareff huffs, scowling petulantly, very pointedly rubbing his sore ribs. But hey, the perfect distraction:]
Wait, you don't have anything on under there?
[Of course that's the takeaway. But he shuffles over, grinning a little, nodding over at Kakyoin: shoot your shot. There's really no way he can do worse than Polnareff.]
Like, at all?
[It's not like Kakyoin squatting down actually reveals anything, but still: wow.]
[Yeah bud, sorry this robe is floor length and also kind of stuck to his shoes where the hem of it has dragged through damp grass all afternoon, or he definitely wouldn't be squatting helpfully over here. He gives Polnareff a Look and considers his staff again, but close-quarters staff poking is just beating, actually, and he doesn't really feel like knocking Polnareff unconscious until morning.
Very generous of him. He huffs and looks at the damp pile of not-fire.]
If we freeze to death overnight, you'll never know.
[Chew on that while he holds a hand out to attempt a basic fire spell, which! In his defense! Does light up beneath his outstretched palm, but not for longer than a couple seconds. Fuck.]
[The flame lasts only a few seconds, but still: it's neat to see. Magic is neat to see, even if popular thought says it shouldn't be.]
Don't you?
[But ugh, he falls out of the squat onto his knees, just so he can reach over the non-fire and nab his bag. What does he have in there? One spare set of clothes, definitely not burning that. Some spare food. And . . .
And nothing, actually! And nothing at all, his hand shoving whatever-it-definitely-wasn't down deep into his bag.]
Come on, show me what you got.
[Super casually pulling his hand back out of the bag, he is smooth as ice, slick as oil, do not @ him.]
[Kakyoin snorts, looking at him skeptically as he goes to root through his bag. He gestures meaningfully at the log he was sitting on a minute ago, where the sad little drawstring bag he managed to grab during his escape from the Circle sits. It remains, as it has been, pretty much empty.]
You don't know a lot of mages, do you? We don't exactly keep luggage around in the Circle.
[Nowhere to go, so...! He has this pouch, and it has some miscellany in it, but nothing like parchment or a book that would handily burn right this second.
[Well, maybe he grabbed sometimes. That, more or less, is the shape of the upcoming argument, voiced not so much because Polnareff thinks he's right than because he just likes to argue. Maybe Kakyoin grabbed, okay, admittedly probably something very small, but still, some kind of . . . pamphlet, maybe? Whatever, he'll work on it.
Later. Right now . . . Polnareff grimaces as he reluctantly pulls out, ohp, it's a book. A very well-worn book, actually, all cracked spine and soft pages, with a rather faded cover. There's a swordfighter depicted there, some muscled heroic type kneeling up on a rock while a mage girl who assuredly doesn't have pants under that skimpy robe looks up at him adoringly.
To his credit: Polnareff does, at least, seem vaguely aware of why someone might not be in awe of this feat of literature. He scowls.]
It's good. It's the only thing I have to entertain me on the road, we're not burning it.
[Ah yes, the Circle's well-known literature to encourage young apostates to come and join! Those pamphlets. Kakyoin did not grab any of those on his way out, no.
In any case: Kakyoin is, actually, in awe of this literature as soon as he clues into what it is, although definitely not for the reason one might, ah... hope? Hope is a strong word for showing someone your dirty novels, but oh, boy. His mouth curls into the most shit-eating sneer possible and he reaches for it— or makes a swipe for it, since he doubts Polnareff is going to just hand it over politely.]
Let me see. I won't burn it.
[Give! Him! The smut!]
Leave it to a non-mage to pen some fantasy about underdressed mage girls... [There are probably some implications, ethically or morally or otherwise, here? But also: it's funny, and that's all Kakyoin is ready to think about at this time.] Sorry to disappoint, but the women don't really wear robes like that.
[Kakyoin's not stronger, but he is faster; it's ridiculously easy for him to swipe the book right out of Polnareff's hand. And okay, sure, he could absolutely grab him and yank it back, but he'll let him look. For now. So long as there's no burning talk, anyway.]
You don't wear pants. It's not that inaccurate.
[Just saying! But potential mutual interest wins out against grudging offense, and Polnareff scoots in closer, so they can both look.
There is, honestly, a semblance of a plot. It's very swords-and-magic, brave warrior rescues some very appreciate young women who don't seem to ever wear a whole lot of clothes. There's bits about heroics, and valor, and honor; there's a whole plot about an evil king who has to be deposed. But there are also a lot of young ladies throwing themselves at the hero, so. It's smut, but it's classy smut, or something like that.]
Look, see? It's about a hero. And what, you know every lady in existence? Plenty of women wear robes like that. Plenty wear less than that.
[Gleefully making fun of Polnareff's smut is, without a doubt, the most fun thing they've done so far. This is the most lively Kakyoin has been since he broke a man's nose in a tavern three days ago, so feel free to unpack that at any time. He snorts, throwing Polnareff a Look.]
She's hardly wearing robes at all.
[But hey, if they're talking about legs that go all the way up under robes-or-maybe-not-robes, he's got those. Sedate Circle outfits cannot conceal how leggy he is.
...The same way the women in this book cannot conceal their unbridled passions, as he flips through the pages...]
"He gripped the hilt of his sword, laying it tenderly between her quivering turrets as he prepared to mount a siege"— How many metaphors in one is that? Is this illustrated?
[He is poised and ready to twist out of the way the mere second Polnareff tries to rescue this book from him, which is definitely written all over his face. This goofy hero smut needs reading.]
[Shockingly, his attempt at a feint did not work? And Kakyoin's limbs are so long; it's nice when it's his legs, but less so when it's his stupid gangly arms, keeping the book just out of reach. Which doesn't stop Polnareff in the least from sort of attaching himself forcibly to him, leaning all up in his space, groping for the book.]
At least pick a better sex scene, don't judge it off the romantic-y one!
[More metaphors = more romance, everyone knows this.]
[Ah, that's a whole lot of Polnareff getting up in his business. Not that this stops Kakyoin from playing a very mature game of keep away with the book, far from it; there's something to be said for being suddenly aware of how cold you really are when someone else crashes their own pitiful body heat into you, that's all.
Where are the metaphors about that in this book, huh. Where are they.]
You knew which scene I was reading from just that line?
[Incredible... let him blindly feel around for dog-eared pages, now that he must hold the book so far away. He will find the Good Smut, assuming he doesn't fall over from the effort first.]
There's a lot of— stop using your arms against me— there's a lot of time on the road, Kakyoin!
[Oh my god, no one has ever suffered like he suffers. It's a lost cause, truly; Kakyoin's arms are simply longer, he's not getting it back. Like, he could probably just wrestle him to the ground or whatever, but also, that's effort? And he's not that assed about it. So he just sort of settles there, pressed up against him, his chin sort of resting on Kakyoin's bony shoulder.]
Look, go to one of the later ones, anyway, those are the best ones. Yeah, back there.
[Polnareff leans in a little, squinting at the book. But ah, he's read it so many times he practically knows it by heart. And all right, Kakyoin's ear is right there, so excuse him if he murmurs more than shouts.]
Read that one. One slender leg rose up, sliding along his waist before wrapping tight around his hips. Her milky white thighs, don't start, her thighs were tight around him, gripping him like a vise, the heat of her rutting up against him— c'mon, that's pretty good, right?
[He sure is pushed up close, huh. Kakyoin doesn't complain- well, he mumbles something about Polnareff's hair messing up his hair, but they've been on the road for days and neither of them have perfect hair at the moment, anyway- and anyway, it's only for the sake of saying he's done it. The warmth he doesn't mind at all, as they have still failed to start a fire, and the proximity is...
Well, never mind whatever he was going to think about that, because it goes out the window completely when Polnareff starts reading about thighs and heat and rutting right into his ear. He can feel the low vibration of Polnareff's voice against his shoulder, and that really adds to the, ah, performance.]
I'm still not sure, [he says, and after a moment, as he turns the page once, twice as aloofly as he can with Polnareff basically stuck to him,] How about this part? His hands met the arch of her back as if in prayer— Is this templar erotica?—
[No, focus!! The smut!!!] —as if in prayer, her kiss hot against his throat. Once again she lifted her hips— [fwip, page turn] Oh, I've found the illustration.
[Given its purpose, it's a good illustration. That is to say: its intent is to excite and intrigue, and it definitely does that. Someone had drawn this with the intent of giving everyone an eyeful of bouncing tits and long, lean legs wrapped tight around someone's hips, and on that note, it absolutely succeeds. He's very fond of that picture. His mouth
It's not particularly anatomically accurate, mind, but again: is that the point? It is not.]
So keep reading.
[He shifts a little, settling in more. They are real close together, but honestly, it's fine. It's cold tonight and body heat is absolutely a thing. They're reading porn together, but hey, he'll move if, uh, things start to become a little inconvenient. In the meantime: he huffs out petulantly.]
Come on, you can't just stop in the middle of a sentence. If I wanted to just look at stuff, I'd go back to Kirkwall and hang out by the red light district.
Nobody's stopping you from looking at the other page.
[Judgmental side glance... The words are right there, buddy, the creatively drawn tits will be there even after Polnareff battles through the rest of this metaphor all by himself. Kakyoin holds the book up higher, pointedly, like they are earnestly both reading these words together for their literary merit and not their relative ridiculousness. Behold.
He hums after, which for a second seems like the only answer he's going to give with regards to the templar erotica question, but alright:] Templars wouldn't read a book this long. And they'd include more pictures.
[Ignoring the unfortunate implications of templar erotica if the mage lady remains a mage lady: templars are all meatheads who can't string more than a sentence together at a time, as far as Kakyoin is concerned. Their titty drawings aren't nearly as competent.
Still, and unrelated-sort-of to the smut, he can't help but recall that, oh yeah, they were supposed to be lighting a fire. Polnareff is, like— a living heater, it's almost weird, but there is another issue besides the source of warmth:]
If you can't get a fire going, how am I going to finish this book tonight?
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no subject
Was it really the robes that gave me away?
[Like, yes, but the not-quite-ornate but very-much-taller-than-he-is mage staff he snatched on his way out of the Circle probably gets him just as much attention. It's the staff that sits across his lap now, that he lifts to swing over and... can he reach from here... yes, he can: he pokes Polnareff in the side with it, beneath the ribs.
Twice. But like, gently. Was it the robes??]
I wouldn't say no to a pair of trousers. It would be warmer.
[Ha ha, also, don't think about what's under his robes, especially not while he finally concedes to getting up and coming over to squat by this unlit fire.]
Fire isn't my specialty... [But, his little gesture says, he could try?]
no subject
Wait, you don't have anything on under there?
[Of course that's the takeaway. But he shuffles over, grinning a little, nodding over at Kakyoin: shoot your shot. There's really no way he can do worse than Polnareff.]
Like, at all?
[It's not like Kakyoin squatting down actually reveals anything, but still: wow.]
no subject
Very generous of him. He huffs and looks at the damp pile of not-fire.]
If we freeze to death overnight, you'll never know.
[Chew on that while he holds a hand out to attempt a basic fire spell, which! In his defense! Does light up beneath his outstretched palm, but not for longer than a couple seconds. Fuck.]
You don't have anything dry?
no subject
Don't you?
[But ugh, he falls out of the squat onto his knees, just so he can reach over the non-fire and nab his bag. What does he have in there? One spare set of clothes, definitely not burning that. Some spare food. And . . .
And nothing, actually! And nothing at all, his hand shoving whatever-it-definitely-wasn't down deep into his bag.]
Come on, show me what you got.
[Super casually pulling his hand back out of the bag, he is smooth as ice, slick as oil, do not @ him.]
no subject
You don't know a lot of mages, do you? We don't exactly keep luggage around in the Circle.
[Nowhere to go, so...! He has this pouch, and it has some miscellany in it, but nothing like parchment or a book that would handily burn right this second.
Anyway. He's gonna @ him.]
What are you hiding in there?
no subject
Later. Right now . . . Polnareff grimaces as he reluctantly pulls out, ohp, it's a book. A very well-worn book, actually, all cracked spine and soft pages, with a rather faded cover. There's a swordfighter depicted there, some muscled heroic type kneeling up on a rock while a mage girl who assuredly doesn't have pants under that skimpy robe looks up at him adoringly.
To his credit: Polnareff does, at least, seem vaguely aware of why someone might not be in awe of this feat of literature. He scowls.]
It's good. It's the only thing I have to entertain me on the road, we're not burning it.
no subject
In any case: Kakyoin is, actually, in awe of this literature as soon as he clues into what it is, although definitely not for the reason one might, ah... hope? Hope is a strong word for showing someone your dirty novels, but oh, boy. His mouth curls into the most shit-eating sneer possible and he reaches for it— or makes a swipe for it, since he doubts Polnareff is going to just hand it over politely.]
Let me see. I won't burn it.
[Give! Him! The smut!]
Leave it to a non-mage to pen some fantasy about underdressed mage girls... [There are probably some implications, ethically or morally or otherwise, here? But also: it's funny, and that's all Kakyoin is ready to think about at this time.] Sorry to disappoint, but the women don't really wear robes like that.
no subject
You don't wear pants. It's not that inaccurate.
[Just saying! But potential mutual interest wins out against grudging offense, and Polnareff scoots in closer, so they can both look.
There is, honestly, a semblance of a plot. It's very swords-and-magic, brave warrior rescues some very appreciate young women who don't seem to ever wear a whole lot of clothes. There's bits about heroics, and valor, and honor; there's a whole plot about an evil king who has to be deposed. But there are also a lot of young ladies throwing themselves at the hero, so. It's smut, but it's classy smut, or something like that.]
Look, see? It's about a hero. And what, you know every lady in existence? Plenty of women wear robes like that. Plenty wear less than that.
no subject
She's hardly wearing robes at all.
[But hey, if they're talking about legs that go all the way up under robes-or-maybe-not-robes, he's got those. Sedate Circle outfits cannot conceal how leggy he is.
...The same way the women in this book cannot conceal their unbridled passions, as he flips through the pages...]
"He gripped the hilt of his sword, laying it tenderly between her quivering turrets as he prepared to mount a siege"— How many metaphors in one is that? Is this illustrated?
[He is poised and ready to twist out of the way the mere second Polnareff tries to rescue this book from him, which is definitely written all over his face. This goofy hero smut needs reading.]
no subject
[Shockingly, his attempt at a feint did not work? And Kakyoin's limbs are so long; it's nice when it's his legs, but less so when it's his stupid gangly arms, keeping the book just out of reach. Which doesn't stop Polnareff in the least from sort of attaching himself forcibly to him, leaning all up in his space, groping for the book.]
At least pick a better sex scene, don't judge it off the romantic-y one!
[More metaphors = more romance, everyone knows this.]
no subject
Where are the metaphors about that in this book, huh. Where are they.]
You knew which scene I was reading from just that line?
[Incredible... let him blindly feel around for dog-eared pages, now that he must hold the book so far away. He will find the Good Smut, assuming he doesn't fall over from the effort first.]
no subject
[Oh my god, no one has ever suffered like he suffers. It's a lost cause, truly; Kakyoin's arms are simply longer, he's not getting it back. Like, he could probably just wrestle him to the ground or whatever, but also, that's effort? And he's not that assed about it. So he just sort of settles there, pressed up against him, his chin sort of resting on Kakyoin's bony shoulder.]
Look, go to one of the later ones, anyway, those are the best ones. Yeah, back there.
[Polnareff leans in a little, squinting at the book. But ah, he's read it so many times he practically knows it by heart. And all right, Kakyoin's ear is right there, so excuse him if he murmurs more than shouts.]
Read that one. One slender leg rose up, sliding along his waist before wrapping tight around his hips. Her milky white thighs, don't start, her thighs were tight around him, gripping him like a vise, the heat of her rutting up against him— c'mon, that's pretty good, right?
no subject
Well, never mind whatever he was going to think about that, because it goes out the window completely when Polnareff starts reading about thighs and heat and rutting right into his ear. He can feel the low vibration of Polnareff's voice against his shoulder, and that really adds to the, ah, performance.]
I'm still not sure, [he says, and after a moment, as he turns the page once, twice as aloofly as he can with Polnareff basically stuck to him,] How about this part? His hands met the arch of her back as if in prayer— Is this templar erotica?—
[No, focus!! The smut!!!] —as if in prayer, her kiss hot against his throat. Once again she lifted her hips— [fwip, page turn] Oh, I've found the illustration.
no subject
It's not particularly anatomically accurate, mind, but again: is that the point? It is not.]
So keep reading.
[He shifts a little, settling in more. They are real close together, but honestly, it's fine. It's cold tonight and body heat is absolutely a thing. They're reading porn together, but hey, he'll move if, uh, things start to become a little inconvenient. In the meantime: he huffs out petulantly.]
Come on, you can't just stop in the middle of a sentence. If I wanted to just look at stuff, I'd go back to Kirkwall and hang out by the red light district.
[. . . actually:]
Wait, have you read templar erotica?
no subject
[Judgmental side glance... The words are right there, buddy, the creatively drawn tits will be there even after Polnareff battles through the rest of this metaphor all by himself. Kakyoin holds the book up higher, pointedly, like they are earnestly both reading these words together for their literary merit and not their relative ridiculousness. Behold.
He hums after, which for a second seems like the only answer he's going to give with regards to the templar erotica question, but alright:] Templars wouldn't read a book this long. And they'd include more pictures.
[Ignoring the unfortunate implications of templar erotica if the mage lady remains a mage lady: templars are all meatheads who can't string more than a sentence together at a time, as far as Kakyoin is concerned. Their titty drawings aren't nearly as competent.
Still, and unrelated-sort-of to the smut, he can't help but recall that, oh yeah, they were supposed to be lighting a fire. Polnareff is, like— a living heater, it's almost weird, but there is another issue besides the source of warmth:]
If you can't get a fire going, how am I going to finish this book tonight?