#pod!gerain

Apacea with her new leggings.

There were fewer dancing now, the music becoming less cheerful and more introspective as the night drew on and the musicians found their audiences lagging. One creative sprout had decided the night absolutely needed to hear her new composition involving Asuran atonal chording and the industrial rhythms of the Charr foundries, and it was almost as much this that Pyrif was wincing at as the scene before him as he knelt before Toloma, her bare foot in her massaging hands.

“I’m so sorry about your foot.”

In return she smiled, and managed a laugh despite the drawn look of pain on her face.

“It’s not your fault! It’s happened before, and it’ll happen again. So many seem to prefer those heavy leather boots to feeling the air on their skin…” A look was directed at the heavy Norn style boots Pyrif himself was wearing, but it didn’t linger long enough to prompt anything more than the faintest of embarrassed glows from the flautist. “Vespertine just wasn’t watching where he was going.”

Near them a spike-headed Sylvari shrugged apologetically, his ornate clothes a distinctly Human style in silks and wool, as he whirled on by.

“That’s pretty standard.” The tenor voice was soft but musical, humming with some faint amusement as a grey barked hand reached out towards them, beckoning the pair over to its comfortable corner. “Come and sit over with us - you’ll be out of the way of his clumsy feet here.”

It was the pair of male Sylvari they had noted before, still snuggled in against one another, but now they had been joined by a woman wearing a thick lens apparatus who chatted with bright animation to the blue barked one of the pair.

Again the grey man beckoned, shifting closer to his partner to make room for them on their tuffet, and smiled in welcome as the Pyrif helped the limping Toloma to the right spot.

“Ugh,” The grey man lowered a knee and reached to prop the injured extremity upon it, tracing a gentle hand over the rapidly bruising skin. “Pepp, remind me to steal Vespertine’s boots at the next meeting, please?” he commented over his shoulder to his lover.

“Sure, Nutmeg.” came the reply, but there was a moment of silence as the blue tree rubbed his forehead, shaking his head in what may have been mirth or in exasperation before he returned his attention to the yellow woman.

It was always amazing to note, Pyrif reflected, just how in tune with one another the pair were. Nikyri - “Pepper” as his lifemate called him - had been deep in conversation with the woman Pyrif was trying very hard not to look at, but he was always aware of Gerain, and the opposite was always true. It must have been nice to share a Dream, he thought, that touch of sadness heavy in his chest once again as he took a careful seat next to the mushroom capped Toloma.

“Do you always go barefoot?” Gerain was asking now, lightly massaging the sore appendage as Toloma wriggled her pale blue toes at him.

“Do you always wear boots?” she countered.

“Yes - Pepper doesn’t like me hiding my throwing knives in my underleaves.” He laughed as he was jostled from behind by a loving elbow. “But seriously, I wear them when I’m out, but stay barefoot at home.”

Pyrif would have sworn he heard a soft, “And bare everything else,” but as neither Gerain nor his Pepp seemed to react, Pyrif didn’t either.

“Well, you’re not using elemental magic, and it works better for me to not be all tangled up. And I like the feel of dirt and air on my skin.” She winced as she flexed her toes a little too far. “Well, usually.” Retrieving her foot from the unresisting Gerain’s grasp and curling it into her lap, she began massaging the vines beneath the bruised flesh. “How’s Ranuncla?” Toloma nodded at the yellow flower chatting with Nikyri even as she looked towards the ceiling, distracting herself from the discomfort playing across her features.

“She’s fine.” Gerain chuckled. “I can only understand about half of what they’re talking about, though, so I’m glad you two came along.”

“You’re not that slow!” Another soft jostle came from behind, but this time Gerain replied with a gentle elbow of his own.

“You know Ranuncla, don’t you, Pyrif?” Toloma said, her voice lifting over the top of the imminent wrestling match, only properly looking at the birch when he began to glow.

“Oh, yes. Hello, Ranuncla!” The tone was just a shade too bright; he knew it even as the words were spilling from his mouth, but he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t help it; she was one of the most interesting people he’d ever met, and the last time they had met in the Garden of Dusk things had not been optimal…

She gave no sign of having remembered, however; her own little wave and cheery smile as she turned those lens magnified eyes on him for a moment was just as friendly as ever.

“Hi, Py!”

Toloma looked quickly between the two, Ranuncla turning back to her conversation about flame throwers (why did you need those when there were elementalists who could do it without wasting the fuel?) or whatever it was the two engineers had been talking about and fixed her gaze on Pyrif, who was seemingly attempting to hide beneath his own long head branches.

“Pyrif,” she said, coming to a quick decision borne of instinct and her knowledge of fire. “I think it's time for me to call it an evening, and I’m not sure I’ll get to my bower without help.”

“Of course.” It was good to have something else to focus on, that much was evident in the speed with which he was on his feet and holding out his arms to her.

“I can help as well.” Gerain supported the woman from his sitting position as she got to her feet, but she waved him back down even as she bounced experimentally on the injured foot.

“No, Pyrif should be enough, thanks. You stay here and play with your beloved.” She smiled. “Have a good night, you three.”

“Good night.” Pyrif murmured as he wrapped his arm about Toloma’s waist, bowing so she might wrap her own about his shoulders, and slowly, carefully, they made their ways out into the night.

“They left fast,” Nikyri observed, leaving off his playful shoving to look in the direction the pair had gone. “Was everything alright?”

“Her foot was sore, that much was certain.” Gerain mused.  “Pyrif wasn’t his usual self, though. I wonder…?”