Post by Itanecrio on Apr 13, 2010 18:33:13 GMT -5
Digging into the crumbling clay of the terrain the elmag1 wheels of the rider groan and crackle in a storm of grit and tongues of statel2. The dust swirls about the young woman's shape. Brows pinching over a fine nose and the shadow of eyes that bore into the distance. Phyllo drags the back of her arm over her brow. Briefly disengaging the face-piece of the re-breather she drinks heavily from her canteen, lifting the hair that has stuck to the nape of her neck, enjoying the movement of the air over the sweat, powering the rider to a standy-by idle with a spare hand she re-situates the re-breather with the other. Then waits. The breakneck speeds and leaps astride the motor-rider, only a moment earlier seemingly forgotten but for the shift of breath beneath sun-tanned breasts crushed into cleavage by the re-breather vest. Phyllo works the straps that bind her split skirts to her legs and digs a blouse out of her bag, shrugging into it.
Domicile-vehicles, two minutes. The dry automated voice of the motor-rider's comms break the intense quiet.
Perhaps fashioned after the buffaloes of earth, the steel-gray domicles3 work laboriously uphill, following the lay of the land. As if they were going to pass her by, the Domicles only halt when the last of them pulls beside Phyllo, a towering figure of a man leaning out from the ledge of the rear-door.
His visage skewed by his face-mask Micitayno grins openly, binoculars hanging from his spare hand. "Phyllo! Why the blouse?"
Phyllo dismounts effortlessly and takes Micitayno's helping hand stepping up onto the Domicle. Inside she disengages the face-piece and shrugs out of the blouse for good measure. Grinning at her openly from time to time the brawny and charismatic Micitayno works at the stove, sitting himself opposite Phyllo at the tiny square of the table, lifting her hand to kiss it before he presses the searing cup of coffee into it. Phyllo sips, nodding at the beverage. "The converters are going to cost more this time Mici'."
The trader nods, brows flickering behind the rim of his coffee cup. "Do you think I travel all this way to seek a better price? I come for you."
Phyllo smiles, but her eyes do not gleam. They shadow with understanding. But carefully Phyllo does not insult Micitayno with pity. "Mici' don't ask me again. Don't ask me until I find out what will come of this avatar-initiative."
The hulking trader shrugs, not wanting to voice as much as he thinks. "I say leave the Na'vi in peace Phyllo. What do they need from us? Nothing. We stay out of their way... it's their planet. We are house-guests. Why do you think our forbears were to stay when all others were driven out? It is an oath. Dare you try to weasel your way out of it?"
Phyllo sets down her empty cup. "You see only black and white Mici. The colours are going to have to set in eventually."
"I think not." Micitayno's expression turns stony. Something tired and haggard showing through the charisma for a brief moment. "You think we are exempt from Eywa's idea of the balance? We are not. It is not the Na'vi you must seduce in your avatars. It is Eywa. And how do you propose to seduce her?"
"We've spoken over this." Phyllo stands, allowing Micitayno to kiss her hand again. For a moment she feels a wavering sensation of doubt, looking at Micitayno's young but already scarred and weathered body, whose life has never enjoyed any form of shelter.
Micitayno remains seated, allowing the fullness of his desire to show, for but a moment. "When you have decided, you come find me, if it is your wish. I will no longer trouble you with my desires and councils." He smiles bravely.
Phyllo kisses his beaten and workman-like hand now. "Come Mici'. Don't turn formal on me."
The trader draws his lips tight in a strained smile. "Hike up that skirt, and perhaps I might cheer up a little. Good bye Phyllo. The credits will be sent."
1Electro-magnetic
2Static-electricity
3domicile-vehicles. Caravans.
Domicile-vehicles, two minutes. The dry automated voice of the motor-rider's comms break the intense quiet.
Perhaps fashioned after the buffaloes of earth, the steel-gray domicles3 work laboriously uphill, following the lay of the land. As if they were going to pass her by, the Domicles only halt when the last of them pulls beside Phyllo, a towering figure of a man leaning out from the ledge of the rear-door.
His visage skewed by his face-mask Micitayno grins openly, binoculars hanging from his spare hand. "Phyllo! Why the blouse?"
Phyllo dismounts effortlessly and takes Micitayno's helping hand stepping up onto the Domicle. Inside she disengages the face-piece and shrugs out of the blouse for good measure. Grinning at her openly from time to time the brawny and charismatic Micitayno works at the stove, sitting himself opposite Phyllo at the tiny square of the table, lifting her hand to kiss it before he presses the searing cup of coffee into it. Phyllo sips, nodding at the beverage. "The converters are going to cost more this time Mici'."
The trader nods, brows flickering behind the rim of his coffee cup. "Do you think I travel all this way to seek a better price? I come for you."
Phyllo smiles, but her eyes do not gleam. They shadow with understanding. But carefully Phyllo does not insult Micitayno with pity. "Mici' don't ask me again. Don't ask me until I find out what will come of this avatar-initiative."
The hulking trader shrugs, not wanting to voice as much as he thinks. "I say leave the Na'vi in peace Phyllo. What do they need from us? Nothing. We stay out of their way... it's their planet. We are house-guests. Why do you think our forbears were to stay when all others were driven out? It is an oath. Dare you try to weasel your way out of it?"
Phyllo sets down her empty cup. "You see only black and white Mici. The colours are going to have to set in eventually."
"I think not." Micitayno's expression turns stony. Something tired and haggard showing through the charisma for a brief moment. "You think we are exempt from Eywa's idea of the balance? We are not. It is not the Na'vi you must seduce in your avatars. It is Eywa. And how do you propose to seduce her?"
"We've spoken over this." Phyllo stands, allowing Micitayno to kiss her hand again. For a moment she feels a wavering sensation of doubt, looking at Micitayno's young but already scarred and weathered body, whose life has never enjoyed any form of shelter.
Micitayno remains seated, allowing the fullness of his desire to show, for but a moment. "When you have decided, you come find me, if it is your wish. I will no longer trouble you with my desires and councils." He smiles bravely.
Phyllo kisses his beaten and workman-like hand now. "Come Mici'. Don't turn formal on me."
The trader draws his lips tight in a strained smile. "Hike up that skirt, and perhaps I might cheer up a little. Good bye Phyllo. The credits will be sent."
1Electro-magnetic
2Static-electricity
3domicile-vehicles. Caravans.