[ closed ] turkish i mean tevene oil wrestling

[aenseidhe]

WHO: Iorveth + Thor + Gwenaëlle + Resa + Thranduil + Loki yelling from a window
WHAT: Wrestling!!!! + Catch all for other things that happened in this eventful day that left Iorveth very sore
WHEN: Early Harvestmere
WHERE: Gallows training grounds
NOTES: Gratuitous shirtless boys touching each other a bunch (FOR WRESTLING, GOD) + NSFW things in another thread that will prob be moved to an inbox idk im sleepy

[ "If you two are going to fight, it's no magic, no weapons, wrestling only, and you have to take your shirts off."

Leave it to Gwenaëlle Baudin to actually get two grown ass men to agree to this nonsense. At least, by the time they decide to start up, Thor and Iorveth have made some kind of temporary peace. While they're still at odds over Tevinter's view on elves, they're discussing it more than simply threatening bloodshed. So, let's be real. This is basically because they both think Gwenaëlle is pretty. Aaaaand, a little, a pissing contest still.

So, no shirts she said. Iorveth wears about 4 to 6 layers of gear at any given time, so it takes him a little bit to strip down from shirtless. First, the cloth belt, the leather belts holding his quiver, bow and swords in place, with the badges of slain special forces commanders decorating it, his gloves, and the leather chest guard are all unbuckled and set aside. Then, the chainmail shift. Then, the loose, brown tunic beneath, and lastly, the larger green tunic, and the plain linen undershirt beneath. When he's finally clear of all that junk, the tattoo that usually only peeks through the top of his collar, branches and leaves weaving up his shoulder and neck, is in full and complete view, and it's much, much larger.

The design stretches from his shoulder, partway down his upper arm, down his chest on his left side, until it reaches his ribs, and wraps around his side there. In full, the tattoo forms a tree - the art of it gnarled and old, twisted and mystic in nature, roots stretching out as far as the branches do. all through it, in the grain of the wood and tangle of the roots and branches, new designs are formed. Some foreign symbols, like runes and sigils, some animal faces or bodies. one could easily guess it's religious in nature, because it is. That taken care of, he'll leave the headscarf on, and he's ready to go. Pacing over to Gwenaëlle, Iorveth stands with hands on his hips as he tilts an amused smile towards her. ]

Any other requests, Elaine Ard Rhena?

Comments

[thorndergod]

[The world is always his runway.

He gives the bag a considering look, but for all his amusement this is still a match. Slipping and sliding turns it into a joke.]

No oil.

[Thor runs through stretches briefly, giving Resa time to arrive.]

You have warmed up?

[He prefers fair fights. Challenges. Even if he wants to put Iorveth on bed rest for a week and tell the one voice on the crystals that they may acquire the elf's skull soon if they were still in need of it, Thor does not want his victory to be tarnished by anything cheap.

Which is why Loki was absolutely not invited here.]

[elegiaque]

No oil, ( she sighs—

but she had been pressing her luck. the fact they're actually doing this by her rules in the first place, considering what her rules are, is in itself delightful and not to be sniffed at. )

Very well.

[aenseidhe]

[ Gwenaelle gets a smirk flashed to her. Later, maybe. With Thranduil. She can oil them up then and have her fun. just not during his pissing contest, it's important and he needs some stress relief right now that doesn't involve slipping around on thor's half naked muscles.

right, about that. thor. ]

I have.

[ he'd had time waiting to get read. still, he moves restlessly, tapping the ball of a foot against the ground, rolling a shoulder. he's far from scrawny himself, though he's lithe as all aen seidhe are. a century of archery, sword fighting, running through forests and scaling trees and cliffs have left him toned and strong. though, of course, not nearly to the extent Thor is.

but he isn't worried about that. he's felled men and monsters much larger. ]

Rules? [ because they aren't, actually, going to be removing spines or skulls. ]

[thorndergod]

[He watches the elf move now with a lot more attention than he'd given even during the pursuit weeks earlier. There's a form there that he hasn't seen in any native elves, one that suggests Iorveth might be able to hold his ground here.

This could be fun.]

Try not to die.

[There's a hint of a smile as he makes the suggestion.]

We stop when someone says 'stop' or someone falls unconscious?

[The question is mostly directed at Gwenaelle. She's the referee here, and even though it looks like she's better acquainted with the elf than himself he'll trust her to be fair.]

[summerfae]

Short and to the point, huh? Not even anything about hair pulling?

[ Resa is here, now. Like a sailor lured with the siren call of shirtless men, she just kind of appears in the training yard, wearing large sunglasses and an even larger grin. It’s hard to tell where she’s looking specifically, but the way she swaggers up to them with that cheeky grin leaves a few clues. ]

Yo. Did I get here in time to catch you guys oiling up?

[ They are pretty obviously unoiled. It would be suspicious, if Resa weren’t completely innocent and had never done anything wrong in her life. ]

[elegiaque]

You stop when one of you yields, or,

( graciously taking the opening resa has teed up for her, )

whoever squeals about having his hair pulled is considered to have automatically yielded.

( and henceforth shall be known as a little bitch. )

[aenseidhe]

Shall I make this even, then?

[ Iorveth grips the front of his headscarf, and tugs it free, down over the front of his face, letting his shaggy hair fall in wild disarray, save for a few small braid that hold at least the bangs over his one good eye back.

and, by the way, that. the empty, burned out, carved out socket where a right eye ought to be, that leads down into the nasty, red scar that runs jagged and violent in a curve down that side of his face, as if you can see the path the heated blade took around contoured features and bunched skin, until it bisects his upper lip.

pull his hair to see if it makes him cry. he dares you. the sharp, feral grin he flashes Thor says about as much.

looking to gwenaelle, he tosses her the bandana, as it's the one she stitched for him, and he doesn't want it touching the ground with the rest of his gear - he likes it too much. and, for Resa, he tosses out - ]

We passed on the oiling. Perhaps another time.