The first shy rays of the sunrise found Kieran dutifully, with half lidded eyes, at work. The mud in his hands was cool to the touch as he rather haphazardly worked over the subject of his labor. After all, there was no real finesse required when it came to painting a wyvern with a fresh coat of mud. Or at least that's he had woken up believing.
The half-conscious mercenary jerked back just in time as Tiaramut’s sharp set of jaws snapped shut within kissing distance of where his face had just been. “Oi, we're having none of that,” he dispassionately chastised his disgruntled partner, far too tired to put all that much effort into it. Kieran didn’t even have to look at his wyvern to see how displeased she was with this oh-so-terrible treatment, as she somehow had found a way to radiate the feeling. Honestly, he would have been amazed by the phenomena if it weren’t for the fact that it was all directed squarely at him.
“Look,” the redhead muttered in exasperation, scooping another handful of mud as he did so, “You don’t like this, I sure don’t like this, but we’re just going to have to put up with it until those Nuniel envoys clear out.” Without breaking eye contact with the wyvern, Kieran unceremoniously glomped said handful onto her hide, further diluting her usual red luster to a drab brownish red.
In Kieran’s head, the logic certainly checked out. A red haired wyvern rider wasn’t that uncommon. Likewise, a red wyvern was somewhat rare, but far from being unheard of in the world. But combine the two and even a self-absorbed Nuniel envoy may start asking questions that Kieran had no interest in answering. So here he was, risking his appendages to obscure Tiaramut’s true color.
With a final plop of mud hitting wyvern hide, Kieran dusted off his hands and looked over his shoddy work. “There, all done Mutt.” While he was almost positive that Tiaramut couldn’t understand a lick of the human tongue, the way she always bristled at his pet name for her never failed to cause him to wonder. “Huh, this might actually be a good look for you girl. Maybe we should splash some color on you more often.”
A rumbling growl was the only response Kieran got, which once again got him questioning just how much the oversized lizard really understood. Or maybe he was just naturally offensive, regardless of language? That little thought caused a wry grin to spread across his expression as he shuffled back to his tent.
Kieran was once more unsuccessful at stifling the umpteenth yawn of the day as he strolled lazily through the Red Branch’s encampment. While he would have rather kept his head low until well after the envoys were far away, there was far too much to do around the camp for a newbie to the company like Kieran to be allowed to take it too easy. It had only been a few weeks since he and Cael had signed on with the outfit, creating an atmosphere that pretty all but explicitly told them that they had to prove their worth. Regardless of the fact that to do so they were being dragged straight into the very conflict that they had sworn they wouldn’t get involved in.
Thankfully, the wyvern rider was ripped from that unwelcome train of thought as, coincidentally, his attention was drawn to the sound of ripping canvas.
Turning the corner, Kieran found a fresh looking set of tears in the innocent tent’s exterior. And it only took the briefest of glances to find the offending party, one red eyed fighter with a scourge wrapped around her vambrace. Despite how new he was and the fact that they had never really spoken before, it was hardly difficult for him to pick out who the figure before him was with that iconic scar of hers. Amber eyes flicked from the scourge at her wrist back to the newly ventilated tent, his face betraying none of his thoughts on the matter.
Dramatically, Kieran swiftly raised his hand, as if to cut off whatever excuse Fenne may have thought to offer. “No, no, I’m with you on this one. This tent definitely had it coming for all of its grave sins against humanity,” he stated dryly, but he wore an amiable smile as he turned his attention back to the culprit. "The world is in your debt for showing it the error of its ways."