Tempers Flared

The Docks
The Docks that arch around the River Nenda look rather unimposing to any visitor to Eldestra, as the Mirtoa thought while his ship navigated the slender canal of the river into the wider body of water where the other ships are moored.

Behind his own larger trade-ship, a few smaller ones followed; most of which laden, not too heavily laden so the ships could take flight if ever threatened, as he did not envision a very safe return from along the coastal ports of the eastern part of the Lands. The dock where his ship is usually moored is always empty and would always be, but this evening, it seems that that very large expanse of watery space is taken up by a small slim vessel with billowing white sails.

A furrow races across Aranvar’s tanned face, a very irritated furrow. Here is he, back from an attempt to regain economic stability in Eldestra, all tired and bothered, sunburnt and with a torn pair of breeches, and a ridiculous small boat is taking up his spot! He grunts and stalks off starboard, heaving himself out of his own ship with one of the loosened ropes and thusly, lands on a rickety outstretch of a pier with a heavy thump.

“Stop that!” The voice of a young female utters in a frustrated growl. For a moment, it might have mistaken for her yelling at the newly arrived captain further upsetting a stack of belongings set out on the dock. Her attention however, is set in a stubborn glare toward a smaller boat and two crewmembers unceremoniously dumping her belongings for her to manage herself. “So help me if I lose anything, you’re going to be sorry!”

With fists clenched toward the men in a threatening manner, they snort at Kaiyri in amusement. Apparently she hadn’t been a very grateful passenger and they certainly weren’t unhappy to see her finally gone.

With large purposeful strides, and a very unpleasant glower on his face, the figure of Aranvar looms unceremoniously behind the young woman, with her belongings, been tossed by the sailors. She is in his way definitely, her luggage and her whole, quite delectable body in his way but the Mirtoa is too ticked off to notice a certain set of curves. He arches his body to an incline slowly and then sets his eyes at the same level as the young woman, and without even noticing who she is, he snaps at her to get out of the way.

Jumping at the sudden male voice, Kaiyri’s temper flares up to match the shade of her hair at the added rudeness since she came back to this city. Shifting her body slightly so that he may pass, he seems a bit too close. There isn’t much she can do about her belongings.

“What IS it with elohai men?! Are you all raised to be so.. so pushy?” Grey eyes finally settle on the man looming near her and she halts momentarily. Her gaze narrows in angered confusion and the temper is noticeably smaller now that she’s trying to figure out why this handsomely tanned man looks so familiar to her.

“I’d be more than happy to get out of your way but as you can see, I have a more pressing problem.” As soon as she finishes the sentence, an item of luggage pops open to scatter several items of clothing and a single shoe across the dock. Fury regains itself and she quickly moves to rescue her wardrobe.

The Mirtoa is just about to ignore the furious face-stabbing retorts from the young woman and launch an infinite whirl of unsavory verbal fire upon the owners of the vessel that is in his lot illegally when that one piece of luggage pops open.

Spilling clothing, a shoe and he is not too certain, items of discrete origins that would be best described behind a closed door; though in his fury, he does not even /try/ to bother to look. And at exasperation at her belongings taking up more space on the dock and that he would have to tip-toe through in order to approach the offensive vessel, he snaps once more; not exactly remembering who she is — after all he was at sea for the good half of a year. “Then you should pick up your things, Miss, and get going.” Aranvar replies very, very coldly, with sufficient glacial edge to his voice enough to twice-freeze the Nenda over.

Without saying a word, Kaiyri snatches up her things one by one and tosses them back where they belong. In order to shut the case however, she turns to sit on the luggage so that she can close it again. All the while shooting daggers at him with her narrowed expression, cheeks flushed from reigning in the tirade that would no doubt embarrass her later if she were to hear gossip later.

Getting the clasps securely back into place after much effort. She stands up, trying to muster up a calm poise, and grabs the luggage with both hands and begins pulling it to the shore. Each tug makes a rhythmic thud as it’s pulled over the slats in the dock. The men aboard the board are leaned against the railing to watch the two below them, engrossed in the added entertainment.

“You are really quite careless, aren’t you?” Aranvar barely and nearly steps onto a piece of clothing hanging onto the edge of the pier, nearly about to drop into the river itself. He flings that piece of unsure female attire towards her, not exactly gentlemanly in that whole approach. Aranvar is angry, when he’s in that, nothing else matters. And now with an infuriated arch to his brows, the Mirtoa faces the offending ship, and those two Elohai sailors upon it; very same ones who dumped the girl upon the dock. He does not yell to them; but his left hand rises in a series of sea-farer’s hand signals. He points to the white vessel, than the very large trade ship floating behind it, and finally a series of absurd wiggles of fingers and thumbs which made the two blanch and pale immediately to move their passenger ship away with alarming speed. /Quite/ and sufficiently satisfied, and anger quelled now that his own ship is slowly driven into the watery lot.

As he addresses the two men who started her mess to begin with, Kaiyri sputters at his remark that it was her who was careless. She was beginning to doubt her decision to relocate to Eldestra now that her first experience had become so dreadful but it pleased her to see the men leave so quickly after his strange hand gesturing.

Stray red locks frame her face, having come loose from their bindings, as she continues to pull and tug her things to the shore so she might find a wagon or carriage to load them onto. Taking purposeful strides back down the dock, she grabs up the last smaller box and the loop of ribbon that had been tosses moments ago.

“You know, a little kindness would have gotten you far. You never know how you might have been rewarded.” Kaiyri gives him a meaningful glare, her words laced with suggestion before turning and offering him her backside as she saunters off, still muttering under her breath.

Now that he has some time to ruminate and ponder why is the young woman so familiar, Aranvar rubs the side of his hips absently with fingers curled into a fist. At the Blushing Rose? Or the Bashful Siren? Or was that some other port they called at and this one just happened to come along on another ship to work, wait.. work? He looks slightly harassed as the redhead offers him a bit of her sharp tongue and before the tanned fellow could retort, he is shut off by the sight of a perfectly poised derriere moving off towards the direction of the City. He isn’t really trying to be rude; Aranvar could not help losing himself when it comes to attempting to manage his terrible temper. “Wait.” A semblance of recognizance lights his storm-grey eyes now he is quite certain he remembers who she is, and Aranvar calls after her: “Kaiyri?”

The female stops immediately, her back going rigid at hearing her own name. Her full name at that, which was usually only used by her adopted parents. On board, she’d also been known as that redheaded witch or a bad omen.

“You must have an amazing memory.” Without turning completely, Kaiyri glances back over her shoulder, box still in hand, and one eyebrow cocked at him as if waiting for an elaboration on how they knew each other.

Ignoring the yells onboard his ship as his men slipped down ropes and tied fastenings to posts, and how that stash of expensive melons down in the hull need to be removed before they rotted, the tanned fellow hastens his feet, boots clanking on the pier’s salt-crusted planks to pull himself up by the red-haired girl’s side. “We met a half year ago.” His hand, darkened to a burnished tan, lifts to point in the direction of where the bridge at Lake Kielstrom is.

“There, on a bridge, at Kielstrom.” He lamely elaborates, feeling suddenly defeated, and then another patchy memory appears in his mind — something about promising to write to her; and bringing her a present. That’s such a bad habit, he growled at himself, always promising and never delivering. “Well, uh.” Aranvar opens his mouth again, and shuts it tight, into one very awkward thin line.

Recognition crosses her features as the two differing images of him now come together. A begrudging grin quirks her lip, almost as if mocking his sudden discomfort as those promises are also remembered by her. She didn’t truly expect him to keep a promise to a joking request.

“Ah right. Aranvar who isn’t a cleric.” Her eyes rake over him briefly as if appraising him. “Don’t worry, I won’t hold your lack of letters against you. I still don’t have any bait.” Unless you consider the few undergarments now floating into the deep water beneath the docks, she thinks.

“I am not really looking for bait anymore. Um, let me buy you a drink. There’s a good tavern just down the road to the left.” Aranvar suggests a little too brightly, holding out his hand in a gesture of invitation, like some sort of poor attempt to smooth things over; a peace-offering of alcohol or something akin to that. His men have finally realized that it was of no avail to continue to yell for their captain to come resolve the whole unloading process, and the First Mate wearily takes charge, shaking his dark head in despair. Aranvar rather avoids the whole proposition about letters and present, knowing he had not done any of which, and waits in overt anticipation at the redhead’s reply.

The grin now spreads to both corners as Kaiyri, instead of taking his hand in acceptance, holds out the box she holds instead. He might not be bothered with his own things, but hers were still settled on the shore with only herself to tend to them.

“Perhaps I can get my belongings taken care of first?” She suggests as if that should have been obvious right from the start. As she watches his mood obviously brighten, she marvels at the change in his overall appearance because of it. Scowling man to almost charmingly attentive and she found herself silently wondering which one she preferred.

Gamely, the tanned fellow actually grasps the box that the red haired girl is holding out, into his own bigger hand; and without even caring if she protests or not, he picks up another piece of her luggage, the heavier one he approximates and Aranvar begins to take one step towards Eldestra before he alarmingly checks himself and looks back over one shoulder at her.

“Uh, I don’t think I know where you live.” Lived, or well, where her actual address is. “Maybe I can call a porter at the Carriages for you to help?” In case she thinks he’s attempting to be a stalker; getting a porter from one of those transport hovels around Eldestra to help her get back home would be a /safer/ option then he following her.

Two eyebrows furrow together for a moment as she watches him gather up her things. The gesture immediately settles her preference and she stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do now that he’s taken away her reason for disliking him. Shaking her head to snap out of it, she smiles at him gratefully and nods her head in acceptance. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Moods having improved greatly since their arrival, Kaiyri comes forward to retrieve the remaining things and begins to follow behind Aranvar with far less skill in handling them than he demonstrates.

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