Why do we brush so often? (No, Seriously)

J’vani had walked alone for quite a while.

So long, in fact, that the idea of walking together with someone did not particularly raise her spirits in the least bit. Recently, so many things had happened to her that the typical day seemed to drag and it interrupted her practice. She would be swinging her sword, but her mind wandered incessantly. She would sit upon the rock she’d more or less claimed for her own personal perch, but not see the beauty of the forested northern Valenwood rolling into Elsweyr’s long-stretching sands.

Earlier she had asked Atrabi, “Are you there?” and Atrabi had admitted to J’vani that she had not been paying close attention, but had been off in her own world.

So J’vani stopped before she got to the top of the stairs in the Clan’s house and asked herself, mentally, “J’vani?” Of course, she mouthed it so that she would wake nobody.

“Yes?”

What a silly story. What a silly practice. It still worked. She tried to really see what existed around her, really feel the things that she felt.

J’vani took the rest of the stairs easily and found herself at the top of them, looking at a nearly-asleep, patchy-furred khajiit laying upon the pillows. Immediately she wondered if he always slept thus, when no clients called upon him. He had said so, before, but J’vani couldn’t help but feel some apprehension about that. Could a person sleep only upon cushions? Of course she had slept upon much worse but of all khajiit, Ma’zura seemed the least likely to do this.

“Ma’zura.” J’vani tried to be quiet. Bare-footed, she paced into his area, and with a firm grip slid the divider a little further around the boundary to shade their exchange. “This one has come, yes? And she has brought what she said she would. Are you awake?”

Ma'zura slept easily, curled loosely on a large rectangular cushion, a smaller cylinder tucked between his head and arm. The pale calico's chest rose and fell peacefully as he slept. He stirred softly as his voice was called, a soft twitch danced across his features. His ears flicked gently, making his earrings cast darting reflections in the dim light suitable only for Khajiiti eyes.

His back arched as he slowly pushed the smaller cushion away, arching his back and rolling his shoulders as his eyes opened. "Yes. Ma'zura is awake." he murmured, his tail lashing and twitching. He clicked his tongue gently and smiled to J'vani, warmth in his voice, his posture relaxed and welcoming.

((Hey is it alright with you two if, I jump in on Qa'iit after you have progressed a little further?))

[ I don’t particularly mind if Ma’zura doesn’t. ]

J’vani took one of the cushions for herself, kneeling on it. She had not brought her armor, though she had only divested herself of it an hour earlier. It felt like a second coat of fur to her, nothing like the loose-tied trousers and the leather jack she usually wore beneath it. Not being encased in metal bothered her, made her feel strangely uncomfortable, but not enough to wear it to something like this. Nor was she armed with her long-sword, the blue steeled curtana which lacked a point at the end, but ended squarely. Though it often felt like its own appendage, and she sometimes felt the lack more keenly, she could never truly be disarmed. Such was her training.

But tonight, she did not expect to fight anyone. Earlier, she had promised Ma’zura she would come by – the return of a favor. And something to take her mind off the recent troubles and woes.

Setting down the small, plain box, she turned it towards herself and undid the latch.

Inside it were the six brushes she had picked out, with some prodding and advice from Ma’zura, at the Rawl’ka market. Compared to his set, which embodied the full cycles of the Moons, these were plain and unadorned. They represented the sum total of her self-care, now, along with two very fine files which had come along with the set. J’vani could only be pushed so far away from her habits and one of those happened to be a lack of ostentation.

It was partly why this felt so embarrassing. Gamely, she folded her hands on her lap and smiled at him, trying not to look too nervous.

“Very-sorry for waking him. Had Ma’zura been dreaming?”

[It's J'vani's thread. If you want to interrupt her evening it's not my place to say. XD ]

Stretching slowly, the young calico rolled his arms in lanky stretch. He casually smoothed the fur on his shoulders and arms, drawing deep smooth breaths as he cleared the cotton of sleep from his mind.

"This one expected to be woken. Or rather, he did not expect to fall asleep so readily." Rubbing the back of his neck, he considered. "He does not recall, now. If he was they have fled from him."

His golden eyes studied J'vani in the candle-light as he crossed his legs and settled upright on his cushion. "You are worried? Should we retire someplace more private? The house is asleep at this hour and if we pull the screens around, we should not catch anyone's eye even if they are awake." His banded tail curled neatly into his lap. Even as he spoke, he gathered the wooden box appraisingly. "If you wish to travel more lightly, a leather folio will be easier to carry."

“Where shall she travel to, then?” J’vani kept her voice low and tempered as she watched Ma’zura and the case. “Not so very far anymore, she thinks.”

She, too, curled her tail, though mostly to keep it from curling of its own accord. J’vani often found she did not appreciate her business being aired in public – after all, it was her business, wasn’t it?

“No, this one is not worried. It is not as though we’re fully naked and tumbling around, hm?” She murred a bit, amused, and partially to dispel her own nervousness. “Here will be fine for her. When-ever you are ready, of course, J’vani will try to do this thing you have taught her. Maybe other things. She is not very good, no? But perhaps if one’s muscles hurt too much she can try to ease them.”

Chuckling softly, Ma'zura took the box. "Not now, but soon enough we may be, yes? The old warehouse across the square is rarely visited during the day, and almost never at night. But it is not as comfortable. Ma'zura must find some spare rugs and cushions to bring over."

He drew the broadest, coarsest brush out and ran his thumb over it, gold-painted claws gleaming in the dimness. "Ah, did you feel like brushing this one? It feels like it would be unfair to ask you to teach students, keep the clan safe, and also brush his patches," he teased, "Perhaps Ma'zura will teach in your stead if you are the one that brushes?"

In the stillness of the house the quiet deliberately subtle sound of the latch of the door could be heard. Its opening was slow as the body perpetrating such an act knew the dwellers of the house were dormant and acted accordingly, with slow calculated movements. The body could be heard patrolling the lower level with each groan of the floorboards betraying its position. Eventually the sound came to the steps, in an arduous manner it scaled them at a gradual pace. The boards of the stairs creaked under the awful weight it bore, each one as if crying out for mercy from the burden it strained to uphold. Eventually the figure committing such actions was revealed as it approached the top of the stairs, with the familiar sight of the jet black fur, brilliant eyes, and imposing stature.

He approached the two in without a word, his expression was the same un-moving stalwart expression it usually was, though the subtle moments of his eyes as they ran over the scene conveyed that he had not expected to find anyone awake at this hour.

“Yes.”

J’vani unsettled, taking her brushes and sliding them over, nearer to the recumbent male as she shifted around and began wordlessly to slip Ma’zura’s vest from his shoulders. He had the course brush, but judging from the state of his plumage, she would not need to use it on him. Immaculate would not appropriately describe Ma’zura.

Although she had promised to try and relax him, it would be difficult to separate just who benefitted most from this act of kind charity. J’vani, with three students and the unexpected trust and mandate of the Clan Leader, now found herself wishing for a task that did not feel solemn and, at least in the wee hours, for company she could be foolish and indulgent around.

Earlier that day, Qa’han had returned, and Ja’Amore had died, and J’vani strongly suspected she’d found another wanderer who could be family – an impossibility. The resemblance to her family tree, however, had been striking. Further, Ri’sari had not seen her, anymore, since the evening she had watched him ferret himself down the well to burn the skooma lab, and J’vani strongly suspected a war would be inevitable. It seemed like everything happened at once, and J’vani need to slow it down, to breathe for a while.

Halfway through disrobing the pliant Ma’zura, however, she heard the footsteps. At first she gave them no thought, dismissing them. The clan was large, now, many moved about. When they got to the stairs and she heard them protest, though, it came as no real surprise that the large, dark-furred warrior Qa’iit soon filled the small space she had left between the divider and the edge of the balcony.

By that time, she had come behind Ma’zura, and had been preparing to start. Faced with either setting the brush down or not, J’vani decided the situation called for… nothing in particular.

She began to groom at the shoulders, and waited for Qa’iit or for Ma’zura to speak first.

Ma'zura smiled, melting under J'vani's forthrightness. His narrow shoulders rolled gently to help the vest fall free, sliding with a soft hiss from his fine-furred pelt. From the look of the fur beneath, it looked like it might only need a pass with the finishing brush to right again, though a few loose furs stuck out here and there among the hills and valleys of his slender back and narrow waist. He was a Khajiit like any other, and his pelt shed its fur like any other.

A soft purr rose from him even as J'vani hesitated, her more finely-honed ears detecting Qa'iit before Ma'zura's. He looked up curiously when heavily-armored feet appeared in his vision, his eyes rising up the gleaming wall of armor with dark-furred khajiit inside. "Ah, hello," he offered, his voice muted, soft before turning back into quiet purring enjoyment of J'vani's touch.

"Greetings." He said in a harsh whisper, complimented with a salutatory nod of his head, and a respectful wink to J'vani.

"This one did not think there were still those that lingered in the darkness."

He took a moment to watch the strokes of J'vani's brush. His mind drifted off for a moment thinking of such a simple thing as a embrace. Not in the sexual lustful ways of so many others, but in the meaning of allowing another to be so intimately close, to have another see oneself at such a vulnerable point. He hauled his mind back to the task at hand, he was tired he thought.

"This one hates to interrupt your grooming Ma'zura. Perhaps when you are done, you might aid this one with something. J'vani, here, said you might be keen on helping this one with."

Qa'iit let his eyes focus on the task of grooming J'vani had set upon. It was soothing, he though as the rhythmic cycles of J'vani's brush ran through Ma'zura's pristine pelt. The dim light of the nearby candles giving the area of pillows that the two Khaj'iit sat in a warm inviting appearance. He took his eyes off the two for a moment looking vigilantly into the corners of the darkened room. 'What things lurk in those dark places', he thought to himself. His mind formulating a response automatically and without conscious effort 'You do.'

J’vani looked up a few times as she worked. No, ‘work’ did not suit this. She… groomed? Brushed? Cared.

Not that Ma’zura’s coat needed much caring for, but as an exercise, J’vani did find it calming. The silence. The gentle resistance his coat gave as she moved the brush. And it certainly was true that the act was intimate in a way beyond words or carnal banality.

Qa’iit’s words were quiet, and respectful; J’vani automatically found herself ready to answer him, as she often answered those who came to her for advice or for some other thing, and almost did – it took her a moment to realize she wasn’t being spoken to, or asked to do anything other than what she already did. She had expected it, and it had not come. But that did not mean it would not mar, somewhat, the evening she had planned. Ma’zura, she felt, needed the time more than she did. The cumulative sorrow of his clients had worn him very thin.

Khajiit were funny like that, sometimes; one could hold the weight of a clan, or a temple, or a war-band. Another could break down and cry under the weight of a single job, a single tasking that other khajiit would consider easy or without stress. If one looked too far into it, one could become lost, and J’vani preferred to treat all khajiit as equally important, or at least most of them. As far as she had been taught, all khajiit were equal – because all khajiit were connected through ja’Ka-jay. Ri’Datta had been most explicit on that point.

J’vani had found it hard to understand until she had begun to practice, many years ago, and then her understanding had been implicit. Brushing Ma’zura, she brushed herself, unselfishly. It helped that she liked him. Tonight, she wasn't a client; J'vani came as a friend, would stay as a friend, so that at least one evening somebody would do something for Ma'zura without asking anything for it in return.

But if Qa’iit wanted brushed, tonight, J'vani would not decide – Ma’zura would, or not, and she'd accept it.

In the meantime, she only brushed him in perfect silence.

Ma'zura's half-lidded eyes opened a little more as Qa'iit spoke, drawing his attention away from the sensation of being groomed. He was, indeed, completely vulnerable - not that the young khajiit ever was as closely guarded, physically or emotionally, as either of the two that he sat with.

"What is it that you require of Ma'zura?," he smiled, apologetic tones in his soft words, "His entire night may belong to J'vani."

His fur passed under the brush with a soft swishing noise that was nearly lost between the returning rising purr from the pale calico. His golden eyes closed gently again, his breath a steady rise and fall of his shoulders. His ears remained perked, waiting for Qa'iit's answer, his body rocking gently under the touch of the brush across his multi-colored patches.

"If your night is belonged to another, this one will not keep you. This one was told by J'vani that you might be so kind as to help this one take off his armor. It is not possible by Qa'iit alone. This one will pay you for your service."

His mind drifted to his armor, it was mostly common for armor this heavy to require more than one individual to equip and unequipe it. He thought back to the time spent on that boat on their journey over to this place, none had questioned him as to the reason of his great unease. It was this reason, the reason that he needed others to remove his armor that he was so on-edge. Hand he even slipped over the side or the boat sunk, he would have been dragged to the endless black abyss of the sea. He imagined looking up to the fading light as he was brought down through the murky depths. The thought unnerved him. He thought of the blackness of his youth, the thick void of darkness that occupied his earliest memories. It was from there his mind stemmed the response 'You do'.

"Perhaps this one should go. It is already apparent that you two are occupied, this one should take up no more of your time."

J’vani paused in her brushing, and looked up to Qa’iit.

The style of armor he wore; she had asked him to give her a similar style, once, but she had only worn it for a few days before secretly becoming frustrated with the restriction it placed on her free movement. In truth, most khajiit ‘plate’ warriors wore half-plate, or banded mail, with boiled leather beneath. Qa’iit was the only one she knew who wore such bulky, complete full-plate.

It glinted in the candle-lighting, a gold and silver curiass, with interlocking plates riveted together in masterful style. She could not recall the proper names – mostly they were Nordic – for all the little bits and pieces. There were too many of them for memory. It struck her as beautiful, but she could see the difficulty.

The Dancer gently touched the back of Ma’zura’s neck with her palm.

“This one owns no-one’s time. She doesn't mind.”

Ma'zura considered quietly. Deeply within his quiet mind, an uncommon ember of frustration lit. It was not fair to ask him to choose. This was not the first time that he wished he could have split himself into two khajiit by some obscure magic, or taken away from the many times he had been called upon by no-one to give to the too-many.

He drew in a breath and smiled. The ember faded. Instinctively, his back rose to press into J'vani's touch.

"Very well. Ma'zura will help Qa'iit and return most-swiftly," he decided, then turned in place to rub J'vani's cheek with his own before he rose.

"No payment will be necessary for this," he replied, his tone warm again as he looked up into Qa'iit's eyes, "Did you wish to sit? It would be easier for this one to reach the bindings if you did."

"The process should not be so noisy as to stir everyone in the house, we could do it here if you wish. If this one sits, Ma'zura, how are to to unbind his leggings?"

Qa'iit flicked his head to either side in controlled fluid motion, the abrupt twisting to his neck caused several sickening pops. He did it out of habit to stretch the muscles of his neck that they might not grow stiff.

"This one insists on payment. He does not need charity. He is a man who pays his debts."

His armor sat as many plates of metal bound together via a myriad of leathers straps and buckles, all draped over his brawny figure in a series of rounded sheets. The shoulder-mounts keeping the large layered plate atop each arm in place was clasped near his shoulder-blades and collar bone. In order to undo those straps one first had to loosen the breastplate which was held together by straps running up his sides. He thought this because he knew it, this armor was of his design of his own will. He thought briefly about wearing a lighter set of armor, but he liked the strength that came with this set. It was all encompassing and rigid. Like an sturdy virtue in one's heart it would endure the corrosion of other's attempts to change it. Its requirement for others to remove it stood as a promise, as long as he worn the armor he was bound to protect those that would adorn him with it. A promise of both mind and body that he would uphold the commitment that the armor made to him, and that he made to those that adorned him with it, protect.

Ma'zura nodded softly. "It is hard for this one to work the bindings of the shoulders and back if you stand. But it is your choice; if you not mind, he will find something to stand on? Ah, we will see at the time comes."

Smiling, he stood, gracefully unfolding onto his feet. He sized up Qa'iit's armor, his tail curling as he studied the clasps and bindings. "This is, as things go, a very small task," he opined, "The payment would be very small."

The young calico moved beside the larger man, half-kneeling to get a better view of the bindings before putting his manicured claws to them, nimble fingers gently tugging to explore them.

Qa'iit took a moment to observe the weary J'vani. It seemed her body gained an un-proper slackness to its posture, as if without the simple duty of the brush she no longer maintained the will to stress the rigidity of her structure. He payed it little mind and it did nothing to tarnish his views of J'vani's strength of both virtue and form. The late hour of the night, didn't permit many the desire to linger in the dark. Qa'iit, however, was a different man. He had made his living torturing his body to endure the late hour that those he desired to would maintain their safety. The torture dulled with every night, he thought, now it was nothing more than a passing bitterness, a momentary irritant. He had never admitted his hate of the dark to anyone, few knew the discomfort it brought him always rattled him to his core. That secret would have to remain with him, as who follows a champion who is afraid of something as petty as the dark. He was lost in thought, what was he doing?

"Yes, forgive this one, he forgets his own stature."

He said in the Khaj'iit accent. Thought something never appeared right in the way that he stated the words. He spoke in third person but the tone of lacked that quality of a true khaj'iit. It seemed mimicked forced even the way in which to copied the phrases. For such a prideful Cathay-raht you would think he had long ago learned the lesson of an individual the lesson of 'I'. Yet there he stood, apparently deliberately twisting his own words that he might be a familiar voice to those that spoke to him. It was almost caring the way he did it, like a father lowering himself down to the level of his child that they might speak, he too took a knee that he might equate himself more readily to whom he spoke to, by speaking in such a manner.

"Name a number, and this one will gladly pay it."

Qa'iit extended his hands to either side, lifting each of his arms to the level of his shoulder. The bindings now sat with as much exposure as they were allowed without the removing of pieces of the armor. The bindings at hand lined the sides of his abdomen. These would have to be loosened before one's hand was spared enough room to slip under the breast plate's back and front to free the clasps that held the pauldrons tightly in place.

J’vani watched.

It seemed like the appropriate thing to do.

Though, the thought did occur to her that Ma’zura may have trouble with the large warrior’s heavier bits of plate, J’vani considered it might be a little insulting to help, if not to Ma’zura, then to Qa’iit. So, she did not move, although J’vani had not known Ma’zura to be particularly strong – or perhaps he had simply been humoring her, and not giving a great amount of resistance. A very pliant young khajiit, Ma’zura.

Folding her hands in her lap, unconsciously sitting ‘seiza’, she pondered the two men. A starker contrast could hardly be arranged, even on purpose. The one; cute, soft, malleable like unfired clay. The other; steely-tinted and glossy, black as evening and rocklike.

J’vani usually fancied herself a good guar for lies. Normally, they stank like mushrooms, easily read on people’s faces – just as she could tell another Two-Moons Dancer, J’vani could tell other things about a person by the way they moved, the way they carried themselves, the way they spoke. Beyond accents. Beyond faces. Deep within the eyes, she read things most people couldn’t ever see, sometimes even within themselves. Some people might claim her prescient, but that compliment regrettably wasn’t true; people, and khajiit in particular, had to learn to hide and hide well. The methods of their attempts to hide bespoke their character. That was all.

Qa’iit she had read, easily, the first time she had seen him in front of people. He was a poor liar. Not as poor a liar as Poor-Liar, but still very poor. It was not because he lied poorly, but because he wouldn't suffer himself to speak lies at all; J'vani always listened for what he refused to say, and that usually led her directly to the heart of his concerns. He was fervent; though so far as J’vani could tell, he served no khajiit god or goddess. She guessed he had Imperial background, with the legions, based upon his actions - but, she could not prove it.

She had read Ma’zura as well, though it had taken her a little longer. He was a socialite, and could guard his thoughts and words expertly, but when J’vani had gauged him, she had found him refreshingly simple. Simple? No. That could not be a good description. Ma’zura was humble and she liked him for it. It settled her. Whether the calm he imparted had been a byproduct of his job, or his upbringing, or his outlook, J'vani could not rightly say - only that she liked it.

Perhaps it explained why she liked both of them, why they demanded certain parts of her admiration. Even now, Qa'iit refused to relax. Even here, among friends. And Ma'zura, so selfless, trying his hardest to help, even though tonight it was he who would be comforted.

“Acts of compassion freely given,” she stated quietly, a response she hoped Ma’zura would not be bothered by. “This one believes there is a sort of peace in them. They do seem to do a great deal for those who accomplish them, as much as those receiving. No?”

Ma'zura studied the bindings quietly before putting his nimble fingers to work, gently tugging at the clasps and knots until he sussed the way to properly loosen them.
"This one agrees," he replied as he worked, moving systematically from top to bottom, his attention focused, only briefly glancing back at J'vani, "But if it would ease Qa'iit's mind, a single coin will do."
The young khajiit peeked out from under the large guard's arm to smile briefly before returning to disengage the last binding, circling quietly behind him to start on the other side.

"Is that all it is worth to you, One coin? I...This one would have gladly pay more then that. This one has always operated under the notion that one should give money to those things he appreciates in life. Reward them with his effort he has earned. Effort now crystallized in gold and silver able to be stored and..."

Qa'iit stopped himself, he was rambling. He could tell by the way his voice slowly lifted, an action taken without foresight to his surrounding. It seemed in the climax of his years, having finally found the word to describe his thoughts he had to keep from spouting them out, like a dike breaking from the pressure of a single strike.

Qa'iit felt the bindings of his sides completely undone by the slender calico, at the moment the final clasp of his side was undone he took a large breath, filling his lungs to their utmost of capacity. This breath caused his breastplate and the plate of his back separate at the gullet following the movement of his chest as the breath entered and left him.

The towering structure turned his attention to the idle figure watching. He stood like a light house tall, sturdy, and rounded, with his eyes being the beacons of light that stared off into the darkness warning and protecting others of and from danger. His amber eyes now directed their vigilant gaze to J'vani. They remained pleasantly open looking at her like the glass panes to the lantern in the light-room. Qa'iit's eyes seemed to take in the faint flicker of the nearby illuminating candle, taking in its like and making it his own by reflecting the light off the kind windows of his soul.

In contrast there was his fur which melded with the darkness, fused the edge of the towering figure with the shadows, as if the shadows aspired to extend their grasp and snuff out the light of Qa'iit's eyes. It was like the darkness claimed his body, but his eyes, his soul would not stand the tyranny of the blackness; so, they would stay open and not recede in their conflict with the dark, standing with their clash of color, amber against black. It was so akin to the struggle of moral verses immoral. There he stood with the features of a brute, a beast, a monster all contained withing his unusual height and merciless strength, conflicting with his kind, hopeful eyes. Many in the clan already had their opinion of Qa'iit, so many counted his mind to have already lost the struggle against the dark, that his person was controlled by the brute that was the sum of his physical features. Precious few held out the hope that the look in his eyes was more than just a product of appearance, that the child in his eyes was still fought.

(Mind if I joined in? )

[Hey! Butt you, you Aussie bastard! XD I don't mind. Except, however, didn't J'vani leave S'ren-ja before Kade showed up? Temporal paradox...?]

Ma'zura considered as he undid the second set of straps; he worked more quickly on these than he did their brothers on Qa'iit's other flank, having learned quickly. "Five hundred gold is this one's price for a night, yes?" he replied as the heavy armor slowly slackened, his manicured claws darting in and out to unweave the bindings that bound to the body beneath. "This does not take the night. It takes but a few moments."

The lissome Suthay stood, examining his work and taking a step back to survey where the next fittings would need to be undone. Qa'iit was tricky; he was one, in Ma'zura's opinion, who was in much need of comfort, but would not accept it given freely. That balance - to give without seeming to give, was a most-tricky knot to brush out. His golden eyes gleamed as he considered. The big Khajiit would not want a lie, however sweet, and Ma'zura was not a good liar. It would have been better to name a reasonable price, he considered, rather than trying to request some lame token payment - why did he do that anyway? It seemed like the right thing to protect the honor of the Cathay-raht while still expressing... expressing what? He could smell the truth of matters, water at the bottom of a deep well, but the words still remained just as distant, and the moment was starting to draw out for far too long -

"Besides, if you paid Ma'zura for the night, he might feel like he owed you more than just his clever fingers, yes?" he teased, smiling, trying to keep the spirit of the room brighter than the cozy darkness that shrouded it. The reflexive flirting also allowed a few more moments for his words to gel into a presentable form. He circled behind Qa'iit, bare feet falling lightly on the boards, silent as a stalker as he moved to the next set of straps.

When his spoke again, his voice was a soft purr, earnest and warm with an elucidated honesty drawn up from deep within his core.
"This one is most-honored that you would trust him with removing your armor. That means more to him than any amount of gold in his purse."

[ No temporal paradoxes. Apologies, Kade. ]

J’vani did not continue her consideration of Qa’iit very much longer.

Instead, she looked down to her brush and allowed herself a slow and inaudible sigh. This felt remarkably like work, to her; the need to be there, poised and perfect and wise, loomed over her like the shadow of the great Cathay.

The warm, comfortable smells and the ever-present musk of the many furred bodies lodged here no longer seemed particularly welcoming or inviting. It soaked into her nose in a way that she found she disliked. And further, she felt sorry, suddenly, for Ma’zura.

In a roundabout way, it felt as though she had, herself, interrupted his leisure time. Hadn’t he told her, tonight he wouldn’t take any work? And she had promised not to bring any, herself. Now, here they were.

Gently turning her brush in her hands, she looked back up at the two of them and inhaled, just as slow as her sigh. Nothing to be done about it, now. And in truth, she didn’t necessarily dislike watching the two of them.

((This is J'vani's thread, I'll abide by that ruling, though I would hate to discourage you from the forums Kade. I'll be reading your journal.))

"This one would find himself advising Ma'zura otherwise. If Ma’zura were to give away all his work for nothing, who then would feed him? Ma'zura, take payment, if not for this, then a gift for your levelheadedness. This one will pay one-hundred coins for the time he takes. No more, no less."

J'vani, Qa'it thought was always a capable willful khaj'iit. She was a beacon of what it meant to be a child of the moon. Upholding that culture with a religious fervor and doing so well. She had once told him that she was and adviser to a Clan Mother, that she held the responsibility for directing one is such a supposedly honorable position, how about to carry herself and the teachings of the moons. J'vani was very wise in those teaching; as such she was quite the oracle. She could always enlighten with a relevant phrase she had been taught. Few other khaj'iit had been so open about their beliefs, and there were fewer that had heard so much of what Qa'iit though of their religion. He thought if his statements devalued him in her eyes, as her beliefs did little to tear value that Qa'iit saw in her ability. Further there was few who held so dearly to the Khaj'iit culture that would be seen in heavy armor. Usually the cat men and women would be wearing cloth and leather, but neither her, nor Qa'iit held true to that notion. He had wondered what had come of the armor he crafted for her, he though that idea of another heavily armored khaj'iit would bring him some peace, some sense of community. It did not, he felt more and more each day that those he had sworn to protect, those that rested their safety in his hand and the hands of those who would head his call, did not respect...no not respect...did not recognize the reason to his actions, and how they were necessary for the safety of the whole. How could he protect something that would fathom the course of action needed to protect itself? Qa'iit felt more and more that he was a father calling to a child, trying desperately to convince it to step away from the edge of a soaring cliff. The choice was not his to make.

Then there was the Calico that so kindly accepted the offer to help him despite the looming darkness. Ma'zura seemed so keen on giving away his effort for nothing, which was so contrary to how Qa'iit led his way through life. Qa'iit had thought everything a business deal. Everything was a give and take in coin, joy, and pleasure. Yet here the calico purred giving him honor and wishing to give away his honeyed words and expert hand away for nothing but the joy of it. Though he was right, Qa'iit too was guilty of giving his work away for nothing in return. No...Not nothing, he would never do that give his work for nothing, but there was more than just coin one could pay him with. He had accepted jobs simply because he wanted to do them. He had risked his life because he would not stand by and watch as the ability of others was taken away by oppressors. Perhaps Ma'zura sees it the same way. That he would rather offer his service for free than see Qa'iit sleep in his armor. He cannot say it is the grandest way to view the world, but it is respectable.

"I errr...This one has made a mistake, should you not accept payment, this one will not force it."

Once Ma'zura had reached up and unclasped the burdensome plates of armor of his shoulder, and lifted the breastplate over his head he would have to loosen the straps of his back tightly holding the layer of scale mail that was covering his torso, hidden by plate. The gauntlets would have to be taken off first if one were to remove the scale mail, as it would need to be shimmied off of his arms that the final layer of chain mail fused with leather padding were to be revealed. For the padding to be removed one would have to remove the thick belt that aided in holding his cuisses. Most of the straps holding the cuisses in place were either attached at the belt or wrapped around to the back of the leg.

Ma'zura's worked on the straps and listened, his ears twitching gently as he did. The nimble untying and unbuckling was easy for the small Khajiit, but he had to expend some effort to lift off the heavy armor pieces. Without compliant he did, however, setting the shoulders and breastplate respectfully aside, one at a time.

"This one will take whatever payment you wish you offer him," he replied, cheerily as his mind returned to the task at hand, back at port from the brief voyage into the wine-dark sea of introspection. He knelt at Qa'iit's right hand, unlacing the gauntlet, "The clan has been most-generous with gold, food and lodgings for this one. He will not starve or go cold for lack of your coin."

Narrow shoulders rolled, slender arms drawing forward and back as he lifted to gently side the heavy gauntlet off. "When this one started learning his trade, the ones who taught him, they told him that there were two reasons seek payment for affection. One is that that a walker must have gold to buy food, shelter and nice things. The other is that you ask for the client's gold so it is clear you are not asking for their heart."

He set the gauntlet down between his knees and squeezed Qu'aiit's now-bare hand between both of his, the small calico's spread fingers barely meeting around the sides of the Cathay's palm. "This one asks for neither from you. He merely expresses his gratitude for your work to keep him, and the rest of the clan safe. You force him to do nothing."

Golden eyes twinkled on a patchwork face that smiled warmly up to Qa'iit's, holding the moment just long enough before chuckling and breaking away to glance back at J'vani, checking on the one he had promised this night to.

J’vani knelt, the brush in her hands, and she had not moved.

Ma’zura’s words brought her into doldrums she preferred to steer clear of. Ma'zura had been well taken care of by the clan, but the clan, while the Clan-Mother was missing, truly could not exist. Wealthy, and perhaps welcoming, but it would come to sorrow eventually. Ri’sari could not hold it all upon his shoulders, alone. The resulting body resembled more of an Aldmeri company to her – as it had been before. J’vani could do many things for it, but not all things. A monk, J’vani regretted she could not be a priest.

Sooner or later, she would have to leave. She met Ma’zura’s gaze as he knelt together with Qa’iit, actors out of a fine mer play; the light hit them just right, casting them into shadows of ephemeral divinity. Truly, were they there?

She gave Ma’zura a small smile, and then looked back to Qa’iit, the erstwhile mercenary captain. Now, as he was, he seemed an island unto himself. What a serious khajiit.

“Ma’zura has a good way of living, and as you see, a most gifted tongue.”

"Ma'zura is very cleaver indeed. Few can dance around in the pools of conversation as he does."

Qa'iit's paw was hardened and unpleasant. The skin of his hand was calloused through the years. His fingers hung with an permanent grievous curl curl to them, as if he perpetually grasped at the handle of a weapon. His Khaj'iiti claws were chipped off and crudely filed into decrepit nubs. His forearms was covered in various scarred patches. Some of which showed themselves as inflexible lumps shifting under the skin. One of the fresher scars still had a lingering scab, which had hairs growing into the hardened layer. Due to the some of the misshapen unsightly scars the hair even grew into the skin, in a continuous improper growth pattern that left the hair piercing into the skin.

Qa'iit looked at Ma'zura's frisky movements with a sort of distressed coldness. The distress coming form an obvious attempt to fracture the scornful serious expression he always bore. His features seemed to clash with each-other fighting their own natural tendency to sink into a scornful shape. He put little thought into the form of his face. He simply tried to maintain a respectful, courteous composure, but found himself uncertain of what expression would embody that notion given the circumstances.

"Ah, but Qa'iit has never actually experienced the pleasures of this one's nimble tongue, yes?" he grinned playfully back to J'vani, unable to resist the innuendo, leaping after it like a kitten chasing a butterfly. His eyes twinkling, he looked back to Qa'iit. The compliment made him smile earnestly and he bowed his head, squeezing the big Cathay's hand again. If he had any sort of judgement of the big man's physical state - the scars and wear - he did not voice it, nor did his expression betray it.

The tone of Qa'iit's gaze, however, did draw a response. He let the hand fall away took the gauntlet in both hands to rest it by the rest of the armor. He kneeled again to take care of its brother, moving with swift, assured care. "Do not let this one make you uncomfortable," he purred in the most-soothing tone he could muster, "He aims for the opposite. Correct his course if he strays from that path."

Qa’iit’s state surprised J’vani. She did not show it strongly, but it felt to her as if her eyebrows must have moved just slightly, and she found herself correcting her ear posture.

He had struck J’vani as a fastidious khajiit. She was, for instance, as aware of her own body as any khajiit could be; her claws, in specific, had been ground to fine points through her training, and she never sheathed them in gauntlets or gloves. They were weapons, as sure as her sword. It seemed that, by contrast, Qa'iit wore armor not only to protect from outside threats, but perhaps he also wore a layer of armor between his mind and his body. That seemed strange, and fascinating.

“This one wonders,” J’vani began, smiling gently to reassure the larger Cathay. “How it is that Qa’iit came by his armor? If she does not overstep her boundaries, of course.”

Qa'iit tensed his hand curling his fingers up into a balled fist in the absence of Ma'zura's hands. His claws did not seem keen on retracting themselves as he did this motion. He looked down to his hand with a type of forlorn disgust at his own being. Though there were some that would view their scars as a mark of strength or something to be proud of. This was not how Qa'iit saw them. They were badges of debts paid and grievous mistakes. Like frozen lessons written in flesh, bone, and hair they clung to the black jaguar.

"This one believes he has already heard you kind words, Ma'zura. And is wholly confident you lack the ability to make this one uncomfortable."

Qa'iit turned to look at his armor, and occasional glimmer bouncing off or it from the nearby flickering candle light. He said in a cold flat tone.

"This one in particular, J'vani. It was a gift from someone long ago. I have a few sets or armor but none so dear to me as this set. Through the years it has had to have bits replaced and modified, but it stands mostly as it did all those years ago. The one who gifted it to Qa'iit said the heavy plates did this one justice for his size and ability to carry burden, but mostly they gave it to this one to protect him."

Ma'zura smiled and let the conversation flow around him, a smooth stone in the brook. His hands skillfully unlaced the other gauntlet, undoing fasteners methodically until the piece fell away from Qa'iit's paw. With utmost care he set it by it's partner. The small calico's hands moved back to smooth down the fur of the big Cathay-raht's forearm, feeling the scars there as he sought to give some small measure of soothing comfort to the big man before moving on to the next heavy plate garment.