"The base assumption is already so high the silks probably aren't that much of a factor," he laughs. "You don't see people assuming every roegadyn walking around in practically nothing is a whore. Maybe we are hornier on average than, say, hyur, but it's still silly of them to assume my ass is for sale along with my hands. And annoying to have to stab people who don't think 'I'm not in the mood' is possible for miqo'te."

He will not say the stabbing thing is kind of hot because, uh, he has any tact, but: it's kinda hot. Also, relatable.

"Did you manage to catch a glimpse of my chakrams last night?"

He blinks, thinking back, and nods, "Thavnairian dancing, right? They looked decorative on first glance, but..."

"Well, they certainly are that. If I'm just dancing I mostly hold onto them and sometimes do acrobatics, but..." And while he was saying this, he reached into one of the easier-access bags attached to his chocobo's saddle, and once he's found what he was looking for he shows it to Mikh. In particular, he tilts it so the razor-thin edges glint in the sun. "These are voidsent-grade or better."

"Ooh," he nudges Camylle closer so he can get a better look, "D'you mind if I-?" He holds a hand out, curious.

He offers the chakram to Mikh, handle-first lest he lose a finger. "I'll warn you, I still have the other one so if you steal this one from me I'll have to cut you," he says, cheerfully.

"Me, steal something?" He says mock-indignantly, and the he grins, taking the chakram in hand, "D'you promise?"

"I would never say something like this and not mean it."

He smirks, but pauses to give the chakram his attention for a moment.

"Somehow heavier than I was expecting," he comments, weighing it in his palm. He slips it down on his wrist, attempting a couple careful spins, before catching it again. "Can't say I know much about chakram balance, but it's a beautiful weapon."

"It's also enchanted to return to me if thrown. Perhaps we will run into some aggressive fauna and I will get the chance to show off for you."

"Chances are," he nods, "Particularly if we have to go off-road at any point. For now, though..."

Thoughtfully, he swings the chakram to rest against the back of his wrist. He glances back over at T'shhim, smirks, and presses his knees into Camylle's sides.

She takes off down the road with a WARK!

He had an inkling something like this would happen.

"HYAH!" he cries as he gets his own chocobo to sprint after the other one with a cheerful "Kweeeh~".

Mikh's laughter trails behind him as they go. Camylle isn't exactly built for speed, more for the kind of endurance useful on long trips, and the agility needed to make her way through the Shroud without breaking an ankle. She's still a strong, healthy bird, though, and with Mikh flattening himself against her neck to provide less drag, even her saddlebags don't weigh her down so much she can't make a good showing.

With the bridge over soot creek visible up ahead, he's not even worried about wearing her out; he can focus on the thrill of the chase with a clear conscience!

Well, he'll need to play it smart. His chocobo isn't a racing chocobo either and just running after each other until they get tired would be very boring.

Instead, what he does is grab his other chakram and some rope, helpfully available in the easier-to-reach bags. He doesn't want to hurt Mikh, but as he said his chakrams are enchanted to return to him so if he ties the rope to it he can probably time a throw—

-yes, yes he can. Mikh has just enough time, on seeing the chakram and rope go flying by him, to sit up, squint after it, and then work out what he's planning with the maneuver, but not enough time to stop himself from getting caught around the middle and yanked out of Camylle's saddle with a yelp.

He manages to twist to roll, somehow, but when he comes out of it he's even more tangled up, and so when T'shhim catches up to him he finds Mikh engaged in daring battle with a rope. Given he hasn't even taken the sharp edge of the chakram to it, instead dropping it during the roll, the rope appears to be winning.

Leea slows down to a canter and then to a standstill, clearly used to this kind of thing already; Shhim has hunted on chocoboback, before, and taught her how to do it. She kwehs happily once he vaults off the saddle and pats her on the neck appreciatively, still holding onto the rope.

He walks over to Mikh looking like—well, the expression "cat that caught the canary" might be nearly apt, here. Mikh is even blond. "That was a foolish decision," he declares, with the kind of casual tube tone of voice a villain from a play would use if they were assured of their victory. He keeps an eye out for Camylle in case she tries to rescue Mikh, and steps over to the chakram he "stole" to recover it from the dirt.

He stops struggling with the rope to watch T'shhim go by, pushing himself up to lean on his hands, "I've been known to make those on occasion," he admits with a grin, "I can't resist a good bait, even when I know it's a trap. Maybe especially when it looks like a trap."

Camylle does circle back around to Mikh's side, leaning down to beak at him. He lifts his properly free arm to pat her head, letting her know he's fine, but he keeps his eyes on the hunting Seeker.

Once the Seeker's sure he's not about to be tackled by a protective bird and has properly recovered his weapons he takes slow, lazy steps towards Mikh and then crouches down to eye level, pulling his veil down with a finger to show his whole face. "At times like this I wish I had the canines," he says. "They would flash nicely. But I suppose we can't have everything." His tail is lashing animatedly in predatory anticipation, and his ears are up and attentive. "What I can have is my little careless prey, though."

Mikh leans back on his elbows, eyes flicking between T'shhim's face and the weapons in his hands, his flattened ears and wide eyes at odds with the excited flicking of his tail, "You wouldn't hurt a poor little kitten, would you?"

The small smirk still pulling at his lips detracts from the image a little.

Kitten, huh? Mentally marking Mikh as one of those miqo'te without the irrational hatred for the comparison.

"I'm not sure the poor little kitten has a say on whether he gets hurt, right this second. He did go through all the trouble of getting caught." His slitted eyes flash (which is on purpose, Shhim has long since mastered the art of finding the best angle to tilt his head at for this effect depending on local lighting) as his tail slows down and stops into attention. He reaches a hand over to Mikh, resting it behind Mikh's head and grabbing his hair not quite hard enough to hurt. "The question is just how to hurt the kitten."

He very purposely tilts his head just a little, eyes going half-mast at the tug, "This kitten is pretty sure that's up to the hunter," he says, hopefully a clear enough statement, though he does add, "So long as I can still ride when we're done."

"No promises," he says, then leans forward and pulls Mikh in for a kiss.

He may not have the Keeper fangs but he's not being particularly gentle with his teeth either.

Bitey kisses are some of Mikh's favourite things! He does have the fangs, though he's careful with them, avoiding any nibbles of his own. He licks the little nicks on his lips and hums happily into T'shhim's own, pushing up on his hands again to press in closer, eager and a little impatient.

(Cami gives a little kweh and backs off to join T'leea at a greater distance.)

Shhim laughs and pulls away a bit. "Someone sounds eager. I feel like rutting in the desert right here for everyone to see is—well, hot, but I want to ask if you really thought this through."

"I did not think this through very much," Mikh agrees with a laugh (and a small, aborted impatient wiggle), "I suppose the heat of the day will be coming on soon..."