(no subject)

He was just a broken nose this side of too pretty, smiling a little blankly but still more interesting to watch than the thin-lipped older man and the kid with a face innocent as the lakeshore wave-washed clean. 'Men from away' Halling had called them, and my friend wasn't kidding - I eyed their weapons for wraith-curled lines as the dark-haired one took some headdress from his head and vainly tried to smooth down his wind blown hair.

"Ah, it's, uh - it's nice to meet you," and he tried the kind of smile that looked polished around the edges from use and practice.

"I am Teyla Emmagan," I told him, trying to speak gently - pretty as the guy was, I was fairly sure that he might as well have had a sign saying 'please speak slowly' attached to his forehead.



*

*snickers quietly*

As inevitable as it kind of is that I will someday write something noirish, it really won't be this. It's just the idea of Teyla having a noir-style narration in her head all the time; it's pleasing, no?