[PRP] Pretend I know what I’m doing (Iskernyk/Brenley)

[Prism Shine]

Shard it, shaffit -- “Sir, come back here with that!”

Western Weyr was rapidly becoming almost as familiar to Iskernyk almost like a home, which was why he didn’t have much trouble winding through the hallways of the Weyr. Yet the stares and head turns as he chased down his firelizard that the man swore was cackling in that sharp chitter of his was embarrassing, ducking his head as he continued to chase down the little brown firelizard. It wasn’t like he had chosen the name, but rather had started responding to it, unfortunately. Oh, why couldn’t he have tried with a new name.

“Siiiir, come on, come back.” A chitter was his only response, the little brown flying so close to his hands. The stolen ring clutched in his tiny hands so tauntingly close, and if Iskernyk didn’t take his chance, he might lose it forever to one of the random nooks and crannies of the Weyr forever to his firelizard’s nesting habits. “Gotcha!” Hands grabbing firmly at the firelizard, the little vest in his fingers, he didn’t account for stopping -- or the person in his way that the harper absolutely crashed into.

“Oh -- oh Faranth, I’m so--” Sir was instantly gone from his hands, disappearing Between and reappearing in the space above them. It took Iskernyk all his control to not swear and keep his gaze trained on the person he’d just mowed down. “I’m so, very sorry. Are you okay?” He recognized the candidate’s knots on their shoulder, but nothing else. “The little brat loves a game of keep-away, and I hadn’t been watching where I was going and--” Oh, he was going to get kicked out.

Smerdle

:v Oops

 

[Smerdle]

Over the past year and a half, Brenley had adjusted to his day-to-day at Western better than any past version of himself could have predicted. Where his life had once been ruled by the whims of his fanciful mother, now he had a schedule and expectations that lent him stability, even when his mind wandered off.

Like it was doing right now.

Kitchen chores were some of his favorites, due to their regularity. Carrying linens to and fro only required him to be vaguely conscious of his surroundings, leaving his thoughts free to mingle in new and interesting ways. Today, he was contemplating approaching a Harper-Candidate or two—the storytelling ones, not the singers—and asking them if they had any made up countries in their heads that needed maps. Drafting some up for them would be an interesting exercise in—

The small sound of pained surprise that squeaked from Bren's throat was lost in the older man's apology, and he clutched the clean towels closer to his chest with one hand as he rubbed at the spot where Iskernyk's elbow had met his cheek with the other.

"I... Don't worry about it. I'm fine. Truly." He stopped rubbing just to emphasize his point, even though his face still kind of stung. Bren glanced up at the brown flit, his brows dipping in confusion. "Is that... a vest?"

Prism Shine

 

[Prism Shine]

Ever the energetic man, his hands failed at doing something. Reaching out to steady Brenley, but also not wanting to cause any more of a mess, but also not wanting things to exacerbate because he didn't do something -- ever the dilemma as he struggled to find words. Oh, he'd made a right mess of things, and even the reassurance did little to erase the worried look written all over Iskernyk's face.

"If.. if you're sure." Harper accidentally assaults candidate, is all that's flashing across his mind in that moment, and is a bit blindsided when the younger man asks about.. his firelizard? Blinking a bit dumbly, he nods. "Uh, yeah -- I made them myself." The brown in question hovered closer to the candidate, near at the edge of the stack of towels, peering curiously. A ring still clutched in a tiny paw.

Sensing Iskernyk's distress, it doesn't take long before another snap of a firelizard appearing close by -- this one a green. In a similar vest, with bracer accouterments, Madam takes a glance around before chirping and chiding after Sir. The brown goes fleeing into the crook of Iskernyk's arm, and the ring is finally able to be plucked away safely. "I'm a harper, and I wanted to try and teach them to sing -- y'know, like the old tales about Menolly?" Iskernyk's hand pats the hiding firelizard a touch awkwardly. Saying it out loud always seemed rather lame, but.. "I wanted to get them to perform with me! Got them to like the little clothes, but uh. No dice on the singing bit, sadly."

Smerdle

 

[Smerdle]

Bren looked at Iskernyk, then back up at Sir, a very small smile lighting his eyes. He had conjured up a harper—the wrong sort, but it was still a rather impressive feat.

"It's really all right. I promise." It felt odd to play at being staunchly reassuring, but this man seemed like he could use it. "I've been more severely startled tripping over my own two feet." He continued watching the flit as he spoke, huffing out a brief, airy chuckle as Madam joined the fray, "The outfits really are something. The singing will be too, once you get there. I was considering a firelizard of my own. How accurate are you trying to get with the Menolly comparison? The trader I was speaking to probably has seven eggs." Bren conversed at a calm, almost monotonous pace, and as such, it was difficult to hear the amusement he was feeling. He stayed silent for a breath or two, his faint smile spreading across his face.

"How would you say it is keeping firelizards? When they're not stealing your rings."

Prism Shine

 

[Prism Shine]

There’s still a nervous crackle of energy still lighting the harper up, but Iskernyk nods -- a little too long, but he settles back mostly on his feet. Sliding the ring back on his finger--a snug fit and vowing to perhaps try a pouch or a pocket next time he washed his hands, dear Faranth--Isk looked a bit more relaxed by the Westerner’s reassurances. “Thank you! I did them myself, and I’m certainly no weaver -- but when I tried to have them tailored, neither of them would sit still for anyone.” They were a pair of brats, certainly; but they were his brats.

“Oh, shells, I can only hope they might sing for me. I’d even take the occasional chirp in time to a song or two, honestly.” Dreams of having them hum and sing were something of a wherflight dream, but one he clung to stubbornly. But keeping them? “Hmm… Honestly, they’re a treat. I spend a lot of time out on roads, and they keep me company when it gets a bit lonely. I recommend it, if you can get an egg for yourself.” But a trader with seven eggs, sounds like Brenley might be able to get himself one.

“They can be a handful, but a rewarding handful. And probably best to keep small, stealable things where little claws can’t get ahold of something as soon as your back is turned.”
But if he had a chance to get a third? Maybe.

With Sir taking to hiding in Iskernyk’s arm, Madam peered at Bren curiously. Her slim wings backwinging to keep her in place, and its only when Isk raised a hand for her to land did she do so. But her small paws clung to his fingers, leaning down to peek, chirping softly.

Smerdle