23.Aug.13, 09:01 PM
Z'jan laughed, a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. The ones on his face. "I suppose it was something of a tanned ass" he concluded, having not made the connection before. "As for tan lines, well..." he tried to give a suggestive grin, but it was no use. He was a terrible liar. Instead his expression broke into a much more earnest, if not a bit sheepish, smile "Honestly? I'm like a striped feline." He laughed. "Except my ass," he concluded, with a decisive point at O'wain as he struck out in the opposite direction to gather firewood. And fruit. If he could find any. Were there poisonous kinds? He didn't know. Certainly wasn't going to stop him picking any even if he did find them.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) he found plenty of branches but nothing edible. At least nothing he recognized as edible. Having left his shirt back with Ghalath, or, somewhere (he wasn't quite sure) he was left to contend with a growing armful of branches and no clever way to carry them. Except, well, in his arms.
When he emerged from the woods and back into the clearing, he looked like he'd brought half the jungle back with him. Some of the branches still had leaves, suggesting he'd pulled them straight off the trees. Also suggesting he had no idea of how to make a fire. From behind the massive armload, he fought for a line of sight, leaves swaying and whacking him in the face as he walked.
"Fucking--branches--got-ouch--goddamnthorns--ithink" before dropping the haul at O'wain's feet. Glancing down at his chest, his front was grazed with tiny scratches a few pinpricks. A few small blood droplets were welling up in beads from where the bigger thorns had speared him. He stared down at his chest for a moment, then looked up at O'wain with an expression of half amusement, half 'well that's pretty pathetic, huh.'
"Well, now we've got more wood. Couldn't find any fruit. Though I can probably manage the stones."
After all, he'd proven himself exceedingly not useful so far.
Unfortunately (or fortunately) he found plenty of branches but nothing edible. At least nothing he recognized as edible. Having left his shirt back with Ghalath, or, somewhere (he wasn't quite sure) he was left to contend with a growing armful of branches and no clever way to carry them. Except, well, in his arms.
When he emerged from the woods and back into the clearing, he looked like he'd brought half the jungle back with him. Some of the branches still had leaves, suggesting he'd pulled them straight off the trees. Also suggesting he had no idea of how to make a fire. From behind the massive armload, he fought for a line of sight, leaves swaying and whacking him in the face as he walked.
"Fucking--branches--got-ouch--goddamnthorns--ithink" before dropping the haul at O'wain's feet. Glancing down at his chest, his front was grazed with tiny scratches a few pinpricks. A few small blood droplets were welling up in beads from where the bigger thorns had speared him. He stared down at his chest for a moment, then looked up at O'wain with an expression of half amusement, half 'well that's pretty pathetic, huh.'
"Well, now we've got more wood. Couldn't find any fruit. Though I can probably manage the stones."
After all, he'd proven himself exceedingly not useful so far.