Intermission:

Whist ran his fingers through his hair, twisting the ends of the newly-shortened patch. He sighed, and scowled down at Blink, who was panting happily, his only thoughts on the recent victory. Whist smiled. For as smart as his dog was, for as deeply connected as they were, Blink still possessed that beautiful, animal simplicity that put Whist at ease. A boy and his dog, that was how things should be.

Which brought his attention back to Li'ain. She had been watching him approach with a look that was likely speeding up global warming worse than a fleet of Hummers—if Whist had known anything about that sort of thing. She said nothing when he stopped before her, stood like a marble statue as the crowd around her dispersed; offering Whist congratulations and shoulder-pats, which he took amiably, smiling and thanking them all, his sly charm hiding just how awkward the attention made him feel. When they had all gone, she was standing there, stone-still, and Whist (being already out of sorts) felt an uneasy smile form on his face.

"Care to give me a trim?" he asked, rubbing a hand through his hair again.

"Is that all you have to say?" Her mouth moved, and that was it. Her arms were still firmly folded, and her eyes still like glass.

"Er, yeah…it is…well, please, I guess." He would normally have never said it, but he assumed that was what she wanted and didn't feel like pissing her off twice.

There were five seconds of excruciating tension before she finally unfolded, shifting her weight and dropping her hands to her hips with a deep sigh.

"Sure." She said, and then headed into a near-by kitchen store to buy some scissors.

- - -

They sat in one of the small boats that floated down the water-way, as Whist started binding the few wounds he had received and Li'ain snipped away at his hair. They sat in silence; it was something they had gotten used to while traveling together. At first they had bickered constantly, for the sake of filling the air that would have otherwise been filled with horribly embarrassing uncertainty. After all, he had killed her father…but, then again, she was glad he had.

After a while, they had come to accept that they would need to learn how to deal with the silence that would come when the banter grew stale and there was nothing left to discuss. Whist was used to extended silences, being ever happy to be with no-one but Blink, and they had no need for words, and Li'ain has spent a lot of her child-hood in her own head. They knew how to accept silence, but their separate silences seemed to conflict and create their own sort of noise when allowed to occupy so near a space. So they learned to ignore each other. And after some time that feigned ignorance became acknowledged too, and they slowly learned to weave the strands of silence together so it was a sort of conversational quiet.

They conversed now, in the whispers of the last round's aftermath. As the people on the walk-ways talked back and forth of gossip and strategies, their boat was filled with nothing but the click of scissors and tying of bandages. They floated into one of the under-ground tunnels, and the other noises become nothing but a slight echo, and their wordless discussion became thicker, filling the entire space around them. The snap of the scissors was in sharp, quick motions, Li'ain held his hair tight in her fingers, pulled it so he would move as she pleased without being told, and every-time he winced from the motions a small sense of satisfaction went into the next cut. As the satisfaction seeped into Whist's pores with an obnoxiously justified attitude he would scowl and wrap a bandage slightly tighter, his teeth grinding subtly behind his lips. He was not upset that she was mad, but rather because she had every right to be. He had crossed a line, he knew that, but at the same time his natural demeanor did not allow him to blame himself entirely. After all, after however many months they had been together she should have known he didn't mean hardly any of the words he said. She shouldn't have taken it so badly to heart. It wasn't his fault, really, when you thought about it.

Unless you really thought about it. Unless he thought back to the day he had chucked one of his razor-disks straight into her father's face. A feat only possible because she and a couple do-gooders were holding him at bay. And what was the last thing she had said to that father of hers?

I hate you.

With all the pain and trauma bringing a conviction to her voice that had rattled Whist's core. He didn't admit it. He would never admit it. But he had killed King Macaan that day, taken that un-characteristically risky jump out into the frontlines of battle not just for the greater good, but for her good. Because damned if he didn't pity her in that moment, if he didn't for one second of his god-forsaken life care about someone besides himself and think they deserved better.

But he didn't think that far back. His thoughts lingered on the way she had just scratched his ear with her finger nail. Completely unnecessary, that. He tied off his last bandage and momentarily unclenched his teeth.

"You done yet?" he asked.

She didn't reply. She made a few more quick cuts and then dropped the scissors on the boat floor as they came out to the open again. They stepped off the boat into the excited clamor of spectators and contestants and started walking back to the main area, walking together out of habit, but looking everywhere but at the other person. She was too hurt and still tender about her past, and he was too much of an ass to think himself at fault.

"I'm going to stop in here and get a drink." Li'ain murmured, so quietly he didn't pick it up until she had already turned away and stepped inside a tea shop.

He turned to watch her through the window, considered following her and then realized how very bad an idea that was. With a sigh, heavier than the earlier one, he looked up at his reflection. His hair was now a fluffy sort of short, with long bits hanging around his forehead and cheeks. The absurd coloring didn't flow quite as nicely, and it reminded him a little of his old pal Ryushi. After a few seconds he didn't want to look at his reflection anymore, even though it was a very nice haircut.

Yeah, yeah I know I should be writing my next fight scene but I started this bit and realized it would take too long to just be a quick intro. So, here you go; intermission number one. I may have a few. Hope you enjoy. (and since Whist is so obnoxiously un-known this may help you know his character a bit more. Although he's usually not so emo)