Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Aug 31, 2008 11:15:58 GMT -5
T’rid shook his head, sighing somberly. “So sorry to burst your bubble, but you’d need to be a Harper to do that.” He made a face then, expressing his lack of enthusiasm for that idea. Poor, stupid, bumbling Harpers: Singing songs and playing the fool for the entertainment of other idiots, while trying to console themselves by saying they were important…how idiotic and stupid and hilarious. “But seriously. Write a song about how greens are better than queens and see how fast Pern eats that up.” The idea amused him greatly; he’d picked up on some of what Corinth and Aonith were talking about.
Trust Corinth to flatter every single female he came across without the thought of actually flirting ever crossing his mind.
T’rid smirked lightly. “Trauma, is it?” His dark hazel eyes were amused despite himself. “Have our healers stuffed you full of numbweed yet, then, or just Aonith? I’m sure that if you had to concentrate to move your limbs, you’d spend a lot less time being worried about Benden.” He wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “Hmm, I like the idea of seeing them beat down and helpless, though.” He sighed, shrugged. “Although I guess it’d be a bit frightening. Terrors of Thread and all that.”
He’ll have to get used to it—only you can’t tell anyone, Corinth pressed. If you do, then he’ll get irritated and not get even a fire lizard—and he prefers fire lizards over kittens and ‘mandyrs. He snickered slightly. He’s quite…odd. I thought humans loved fire lizards and ‘mandyrs and—well, maybe not kittens, but… The bronze shrugged.
He sighed contentedly as the waves lapped over his back and wings. It felt good—not better than flying, but still better than sunning. It was cool, especially on a hot, sultry day such as this, and it gave him a chance to relax, to just lie there and do nothing for a while. Talking, unfortunately, counted as ‘doing something,’ but it was at least entertaining, and Corinth wasn’t about to drive Aonith off for talking to him. That would just be mean. Besides, she amused him—it was nice to talk to her.
“Ugh—just ugh.” T’rid shuddered, grimacing. “People and salt and raw wherry meat…” He sounded as if he was making a list of things that bewildered him. In all fairness, it was partially true. He barely refrained from adding ‘’mandyrs, kittens, and fire lizards’ to the list. What about firestone? I thought you were terrified of firestone, too. Terrified?! Corinth! Weren’t you though?[/b][/color] came the too-sweet reply. No! I just don’t know how you can agreeably chew and swallow ROCK— The bronze interrupted, Haven’t you ever tasted firestone? T’rid paused to consider. Should’ve I? Yes. Next time, you will taste it.
Avoiding Bronzeriders? T’rid flicked from disgusted to bewildered. Why? What about Wingleaders, Wingseconds like himself? She’d have to at least talk to them sometimes, especially if she was uncomfortable with her Threadflying position or—or something. He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Yeah, well, here, the only Bronzerider you have reason to avoid would be A’noan, in my opinion.” He hadn’t really met the man before, other than in his previous Wing Drills when he’d been a simple Wingrider, but the rumors were delighting and horrifying at the same time. “Never appreciates greens as Wingriders, got in a fight with a Greenrider at a gather because he insulted the man’s dragon—not the most affable.” He smirked.
He grinned at her confession. “Well, I’m glad, and I’m sure Corinth’s glad, that you came.” T’rid sighed, rearranging himself onto the grass and digging absently at the dirt with his knife. “If you hadn’t come, I’d probably still be yelling at him for being a stupid idiotic numbwit. As it is, I’m of half a mind to go right back to yelling.” He rolled his eyes.
T’rid winced at the topic change, running one hand through his hair while the other closed more convulsively on his knife hilt, digging it deeper into the ground. “Ahem. Moving on, please and thanks.” This conversation was…well, it was interesting no doubt, but it wasn’t doing his appetite any good. Normally it had to be stifled, but right now what with his anger he wasn’t hungry at all. In a while he’d have to go choke down dinner to make it look like he was healthy, and he was as likely to throw it up as to keep it down right now.
Corinth rumbled softly, an anxious note now entering it. You’re sick? he asked anxiously. No. Just repulsed.
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Post by dragon on Sept 3, 2008 20:35:28 GMT -5
"A song about greens being better than golds in the sky? What are you trying to do? Get me drawn and quartered for blasphemy?" Dorava laughed. "I'm not much of a poet anyway." She shrugged. "I guess we'll just have to hog tie a Harper and jump up and down on him until he spits out something nice and new, huh?" she suggested, though she was quite plainly joking the whole time. There was no way she'd do that to anyone, much less a Harper. Harpers were the ones that could spread nasty tales about a body, if they got offended… and it generally would be hailed as truth, rather than the basic skepticism that the general run of the rumormill gossip received.
"Trauma? Oh, no. I think we managed to slide past that particular ailment." Dorava assured him. "Our minds are quite firmly stuck on the sane side of the barrier. And I don't want to be eating numbweed, what ever the reason." She shuddered all over just at the thought. "The stuff smells distasteful enough that there's no way it could possibly taste very good."
Aonith laughed, almost. I won't tell anyone. I promise! She said. I look forward to hearing all about the events that transpire … I bet he'll either convert, or flip out, one, when he realizes the menagerie you've gotten him. she laughed. Surely no one could resist little creatures permanently! Aonith herself found them fascinating … and a real hoot to watch. They were often times quite entertaining… and she rather wished that hers had been allowed a pet something.
Dorava only smiled at T'rids list of things. She could make a similar list, if she tried … but that was something she pointedly did not do. She rather liked not having a list of things that irritated her. It was all too easy to get mad and stay that way, and over such petty things. No, the real challenge in life was in letting it all go. And she'd been practicing it for some time. Occasionally, things still annoyed or got all over her. But it was nothing like when she was younger. She was much better at reining in her temper.
"A'noan." Dorava repeated, thoughtfully. "The warning is accepted. I'm trying to start anew though … I am trying to change my view on things. As might be somewhat indicated by my being here … and talking to you. I did not have to, but I did. I say that's a big step in favor of my changing my ways… I am glad for it, too. Old canines can still learn new tricks, eh?" She cracked a small grin. Regardless of what people thought of her, for whatever reason, she was still on the path of self-improvement. How she wanted to be, not how they wanted her to be. And there was a little bit more elbow room for that at Selenitas – though not as much as she had thought.
"You have half a mind to go back to yelling?" Dorava asked. "It's a little hard on the vocal chords, you know … makes talking later on a little harder." She offered. "Please warn me ahead of time, so I can move farther away." She gestured up the river vaguely, in a teasing fashion. Poking fun she could do. Easily, in fact. Her only trouble was that many didn't get she was teasing. That little issue had earned her quite a few punishments throughout her life … and sometimes she remembered the lesson to keep her mouth shut. But at other times, she couldn't help herself, or she forgot the lesson, one. And she'd go poking fun again. She looked back over at where he was seated, and grinned.
"Alright. Topic closed." Dorava nodded, seriously. Bronze rider spoke – it was as good as law. That, and she didn't really enjoy making people uncomfortable. So, as he wished, she spoke no more on the topic. Time to find something else to talk about … maybe keep him from his threatening yelling spell. Maybe learn a little more about the area she'd moved into. Problem was … she had no idea where to begin, or even what to ask. How was she to know what would be interesting to know, what she could do without knowing, and what he actually knew? It was a conundrum she really didn't feel like facing at the moment. Her mind was a tired thing, of late. Though it was more at ease now that Aonith was feeling better. The soaking was doing the green a world of good … that and finding someone friendly to talk to.
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 4, 2008 16:15:40 GMT -5
T’rid grinned, shaking his head playfully. “Aw, come on. We at Selenitas are a lot looser than down at friendly old Benden. A song about greens being better than queens—you wait and see how fast the Greenriders are on you like flies, begging you for more.” He looked appreciatively around at Dorava’s suggestion as to forcing a Harper to make a new song. “You know, I like that idea,” he said thoughtfully. “Mm. Fort Weyr probably won’t like it very much if we swooped down on their Harper Hall and snagged one, would they though? Even an apprentice.” He sighed, shrugging negligently. “We’ll manage it somehow.”
He smirked at her reaction to the eating-numbweed idea. Oh, but it was such a good one! Stuffing numbweed down one’s throat was sure to cure any traumatic pain, wasn’t it? “Well, I’m glad,” he offered, lowering his head in a mock salute and feigning the lifting of a flute of wine. “If you weren’t sane, I’m afraid I’d have to request that you not endanger our Weyr, you see?” He grinned tauntingly. “A Holdless dragonrider—I’m sure that’s a first. You could always write a song about how terrible it was, hmm?” I hate you sometimes, the bronze sighed.
Good! Corinth said enthusiastically. And then perhaps we can get him a runner, or a canine or something. Or maybe a tunnelsnake. The bronze snickered. He’ll just love waking up and finding a lovely tunnelsnake wrapped around him, don’t you think? After he finished imagining this amusing scene—leaving off the part where he was yelled at—Corinth added, Aren’t you going to try to get your Rider to Impress a fire lizard or something? There’s a clutch right now, I think. It’ll probably Hatch soon.
T’rid nodded emphatically in response to her repetition of the Bronzer’s name. “Well, go ahead and try, but chat up to the other bronzers before you try to tackle A’noan. Even our sour old Weyrleader’s better company, I think.” He couldn’t honestly say that, since he hadn’t really met Ka’rys personally and talked to him—or if he had, he’d forgotten it—but still. He figured any company would be better than condescending company, but that also might have been partially because he couldn’t stand being looked down upon. In fact, he rather enjoyed looking down upon other people.
“I’ll warn you,” he agreed. “Along with the rest of the Weyr. We don’t need any Drudges dropping dead of shock when they hear how many beautiful words I know, do we?” He wasn’t exaggerating on the whole idea of beautiful words, though: It was surprising how many curses he had stored in his memory as opposed to the number of phrases like, ‘I could never have done as well as you did,’ and other things that flattered other people. “Vocal chords never really bothered me,” he added with a smirk. “Only Harpers care about how hoarse they sound—unless you want to try out to be in some honorary song or something, go right ahead screeching. Nobody seems to think it’s out of the norm here.” He rolled his eyes. Poop plastered on the Weyr walls, arguments roused every so often, delightful rumors and new swears circulating the place—no, a bit of screaming was just fine.
The bronzerider sighed in obvious relief. Thank Faranth the topic had changed. “I’m sure Corinth thanks you,” he said with a grimace. “He wouldn’t take it very well if I wouldn’t eat at mealtimes. Probably he’d put it down to stress or something.” He rolled his eyes affectionately at the bronze, who fanned one wing airily, as if dismissing such a notion. Silly. Ha, ha. Yeah, right, T’rid snickered at him. Well, humph. “So, you’ve been assigned to a wing?” he added curiously. “You know when you’re flying Wing Drills?”
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Post by dragon on Sept 6, 2008 14:51:37 GMT -5
"Really? You think so? Okay … I'll write it up, and you can present it to the world at large. And I'll sit back and watch while they jump up and down on you. Okay?" Dorava laughed, playfully. While they might or might not accept such a song topic, they certainly WOULD hop on him just to make him shut up. Her skills at writing original material were horrible, and anyone would how like Aonith. But since he seemed to have a sadistic fascination, maybe he wouldn't mind her joking with him the brunt of it. "Fort? You'll have to go get 'im, if you want one that badly." She laughed. "Aonith isn't going to be airborne for some time yet."
Dorava got a good solid laugh out of T'rid's miming a toast. That looked so hilarious. Regardless of what the topic was. After laughing herself out of air and then some, she managed to get a grip and suck in some air before she passed out or fell off the rock, one. Either one would be rather embarrassing. Wiping her eyes out with the back of one hand, she gave him a strange look as her brain started kicking back into gear again. "Holdless Dragonrider? What brought that up?" she queried, curiously.
Canine. Aonith voted, giggling with her head under the water. The effect was a little strange from the surface side of the water, the liquid jumping and dropping all around her head, where it wasn't actually bubbles. The runner would be terrified of you and that wouldn't be any fun. But a canine would jump on and chase a feline, and maybe the flitters and mandyr's would join in the fun. Aonith said, lifting her head out of the water again to drag in a hasty breath. Some of her giddiness was coming from Dorava's having loosened up enough to laugh as hard as she had … and some of it from her own conversation. But on a more serious note she continued: I wouldn't let a tunnel snake anywhere near mine. Would I mine? Aonith asked, the last line directed at Dorava.
Having no clue what Aonith was talking about, Dorava merely nodded. "Sure thing, love." She grinned. And she might never find out what the topic was, either. But that didn't bother her. Aonith would take care of her, just as the green always had. And Dorava would – to the best of her ability – take care of Aonith.
Mine was never allowed a flitter. Aonith continued, to Corinth. But I have already asked her to try to get one of those little 'mandyr things. They look so interesting. I have no idea if she is going to do so or not. I imagine she will … mine likes little critters, and those are so interesting.
Dorava only nodded, too. "I think I'll be taking it slow on meeting Bronze riders. I don't need people thinking I'm sucking up or anything … that'd get me on a watch list REAL quick, wouldn't it? That and a phobic is a hard thing to kick in one standing." She said. "If I run into one … I'll try to talk to them. I noticed a lot of people around here are real quick to get edgy and grumpy." She mused. "Sour old weyrleader? Sour might be a word for it I suppose … I hope I don't have to talk to him again any time soon." She nodded. "I wasn't sure what he was going to do … but I'm glad I got off with what I did."
"You must have a really robust throat." She said, rubbing her own unconsciously from the very idea of lots of screaming. "Mine gets to hurting fairly quick, under that kind of abuse." She mentioned. "Too much talking occasionally gets me, too … and then I can't talk at all for a day. And that's not good … especially when ranking people ask me a question they want answered. Kinda awkward when all I can do is croak at them, you know?"
"I have been assigned a wing, yes. I am part of Cylcone Wing." Dorava said, scratching at the back of her head thoughtfully. "I am to attend the drills, but we're not allowed to fly – at all – until Kalierre deems Aonith suited to it. So … yeah. We're grounded. Makes hunting interesting, I tell you. I kind of think Aonith enjoys chasing after the herdbeasts on foot. I have never seen her have so much fun getting a meal." Dorava shrugged nonchalantly. "We'll be flying again soon. Kalierre is a very skilled healer … it's amazing how well that rip is mending, despite how it's been attempted at twice before. That particular suturing failed twice, at Benden."
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 6, 2008 16:30:13 GMT -5
T’rid wrinkled his nose at the thought of being pounced upon by a hoard of Greenriders. Actually, it wasn’t the ‘Green’ part that put him off—any mass of people jumping on him did not usually elicit a pleasant response. “Oh, but we wouldn’t want little me getting any of the credit when you did the work, would we? No.” He paused significantly, and then declared, “I think you should write and sing it! Then if they love it, they’ll adore you. And if they don’t, it won’t be me in the line of flying furniture and knives.” He snickered lightly at the idea of swooping down on Harper Hall and grabbing a Journeyman to sing. “I’m in no hurry. I’ll wait,” he assured Dorava.
The Bronzerider waited, a small smile on his face, as Dorava laughed herself out. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t say anything but simply patiently and expectantly let herself laugh. Perhaps you aren’t so clueless, after all, Corinth suggested. “Holdless dragonrider—you know. An exiled dragonrider without a Weyr.” He shrugged. “It was just a thought…I wonder how they’d fare in Threadfall?” he added musingly. Without firestone, badly, Corinth said, wincing mentally at the idea. Even if dragon deaths were occurring more and more often, death by Thread due to exile was not a good way to go.
Corinth considered. Yes, well. Inserting even more chaos into T’rid’s Weyr doesn’t seem a particularly good idea. There’s enough mess in them as it is. The bronze rolled his eyes emphatically as he lowered his head into the water too, tilting it and eyeing a blurred Aonith in amusement as he snorted out a stream of bubbles. He raised his head and his tongue forked out, catching a droplet of water as it slid off his hide. There’s hardly room for even him to walk in there, much less me or a canine, feline, or any other creature. That was hardly an exaggeration. Drudges made little or no headway when they came to clean; rather, they’d given up and just took care picking their way through the assorted papers, scrolls, discarded clothing, and knives on the ground. Ridmine might actually like a tunnelsnake, the bronze added, snorting. Seeing how he hates the things most people adore…
He paused, considering as he watched Dorava. Well, she was very accepting wasn’t she? Just ‘sure thing’ even if she had no idea what the two dragons were discussing. For all she knew, they could be discussing her death. Why would a dragon discuss the death of their Rider? T’rid asked, staring strangely at Corinth. I might yours, Corinth offered. Other than you.
Anyway, Corinth added, going back to Aonith. Yes, ‘mandyrs are fun. Very…personable. You know with flitters some of them are kind of dull and dependable, but I have yet to meet a ‘mandyr like that. He shrugged, unfurling one wing to study the cuts and bruises. I suppose you could take that either as a bad or as a good thing, but a dull creature as a pet would be no fun.
T’rid paused and then snickered. “Well, lots of greens already suck up to the bronzes. I have yet to see an actual Rider sucking up, but I’m sure it’d be taken for granted.” Calistoth, for example. She had wasted no time situating herself between Corinth and Salenth during Wing Drills. Of course, Corinth’s entire lack of interest had amused him to no end. “Wait, you have a phobia of Bronzeriders?” The idea was hilarious. “Just because our mindmates happen to be bronzes?” He jerked his head towards Aonith and Corinth. “Aonith doesn’t seem to have any trouble around bronzes. Ka’rys—you’ve talked to him?” T’rid raised one eyebrow, amused by the idea. “I’m surprised you didn’t turn around and head right back to Benden.”
He paused, clearly startled by the thought, and raised one hand, mimicking Dorava unconsciously, to consider his neck. “I—I guess,” T’rid answered, his brow furrowing slightly. He’d never thought of it as odd that he could yell for hours on end—possibly because he had spent much of his childhood screaming in brawls and things like that…but he had also known how to be quiet then. It wasn’t good to start screaming when you were hiding from someone who was trying to hunt you down because you’d pulled one prank too many. He snickered. “I’m sure they’d understand if you had a sore throat,” he offered solemnly. “There’s no need to hurt yourself answering them—us.”
Cyclone Wing…that would be the wing led by…oh, of course. N’tia. The Wingleader was just about T’rid’s age, his dragon about as old as Corinth as well. Seconded by W’liam. Both youngish. (But then, he was ‘youngish,’ too.) “I hope you get better in time to Drill—seeing as both N’tia and W’liam are not exactly the Weyr’s most experienced Wingleader and Second,” he sighed, stretching absently. We aren’t exactly ‘experienced’ either, Corinth pointed out as his Rider began to toy with his knife again, swinging it by forefinger and thumb holding the tip of the blade. No, but S’rei is. “You could probably memorize the Wing structure and stuff like that while you’re grounded,” he added. “As for me, I have to memorize the structure and fly the pattern. Count yourself lucky.”
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Post by dragon on Sept 7, 2008 16:15:58 GMT -5
Dorava smiled slightly. "It's not the credit I'm trying to dodge." She replied, simply, not bothering to elaborate. She wasn't stupid enough to risk doing anything that would get her frowned on. T'rid snickering was a certainly amusing thing to see, but at the same time it seemed decidedly … she didn't know what. Not good, in any event. The fellow seemed to have a personality slightly on the darker side. Which really wasn't unusual for dragonriders in this day and age. Bronze riders especially. But even still … maybe she ought not goad him down paths of converse that involved people getting hurt. He seemed to delight in the idea a little too much for her comfort.
"I've never been a holdless dragonrider." Dorava said. "Unless you count the few days between fleeing Benden and being accepted here." After a moment of thought, she nodded slightly and shrugged. "I suppose that does count slightly. I was certainly nervous enough. As for thread? Probably not very well. One dragon can't take on thread and expect to survive it. And that's even with a couple of sacks of stone. But if they've no stone? It would be wiser to hole up somewhere out of the way and wait it out. Not much else they could do, do you think?" She asked, glancing upwards for a moment when she noticed the bronze wincing visibly. "Is your dragon alright?"
Aw, where's your sense of adventure? Used it all up in flight, today? Aonith teased. Mine is always neat. Scrupulously so. She says she didn't want to give anyone a reason to chew her out, but I sometimes suspect that she's almost a neat freak. Everything has it's place. But then… mine doesn't have a lot of things, either. Not much to have messy when you don't have anything. Aonith supposed. When they had fled Benden, Dorava had packed nothing, leaving no traces that the two had planned on leaving. Partly it was to make people think they had simply vanished between, partly because they had a long journey over the ocean and Aonith really didn't need additional weight to carry. So the only things that Dorava owned were the clothes on her back – which she had to wash every night and set out to dry overnight while she slept. The items were sure to wear out soon, at that rate. Dorava had promised Aonith to work hard and earn some marks so she could buy some old clothes from someone. Streaking really was not one of Dorava's favorite pass times, and as a result the action upset Aonith slightly too. Now seeing others wandering around so bothered the dragon not at all. But hers was special… and must have clothes. Aonith watched Corinth play in the water for a moment, and wondered what sort of things the bronze did for fun … other than blow bubbles. If there's no room for yours in there, much less any of the smaller creatures, how are you going to fit all those in there? Much less a runner? Those are big. They take up lots of space just by standing there. And mine says it hurts when they stand on her.
"Not a phobia, per se." Dorava corrected. "But there isn't a better word that I can think of at the moment. Let's just say that the Bronzeriders I have met have not been the most … savory … of folk. So I avoid them when I can. Yes, I have to interact with them from time to time. And I do, when I have to. But if I don't have to? I won't. Leaving them well enough alone is fine by me. And I realize that the defining characteristic of them is the color of their dragon, who just happened to pick them. And pre-impression, I imagine they were just like any other kid. But … afterward, having this automatic rank thrust upon them … just like goldriders, they kinda start to identify with it. It changes who they are." Dorava tried to explain. It may or may not make any sense to T'rid, but … she tried. "Rankers have got it stuck in their head that they're better than everyone else. Never mind they have that rank just cause of what color their lifemate just happens to be." She looked over at Aonith, and then Corinth. "Aonith is green." She said, simply. "She doesn't remember a whole lot. Just enough to know to be wary. And when that wariness is dispelled, she's just a playful, easy-to-get-along-with green."
Ah, Ka'rys. "Yes, I've spoken to him. Unfortunately, that wasn't what he wanted. He preferred to do the talking, I think … never mind he asked. Apparently we speak different languages, he and I. I am going to have to learn his language, I am afraid. But even as harsh as he was trying to be, it was far better – by leaps any bounds – than even the nicest talk I had with any of the bronzeriders in Benden. I assure you." She wasn't even going to mention the weyrleader … he was the worst of the lot! And then she almost smirked. "Besides – though he probably didn't know it, the man gave me what I've been wanting for turns, all the while thinking it was a punishment he was doling out. I was happy. I got a new home, and I also got an assignment I am very glad to have been given."
Seeing T'rid's action clued Dorava in that she was holding her own throat, and consciously put it back in her lap. "Most of the time." She admitted. Even the harshest of people did have some understanding in them some of the time. She tilted her head slightly to one side, considering him. "I bet you've got a good set of lungs on you. Have you ever tried playing one of those wind instruments that some people carry in their pockets?" she asked. She'd never had one … never really wanted one, either. While they sounded pretty and all that, they did take some serious air. She'd always preferred playing around with one of those pocket-sized thumb-boxes. They sounded pretty, too. But again – she'd never owned one. "Oh, I fully intend to do any and everything I can to learn what I need to know. Starting from scratch and not knowing anyone or anything doesn't help much. Not to mention not being familiar with the way things are done here." She shrugged. "I'll be studying hard. I don't know if we'll we healed in time for flying. And on top of that … if Kalierre decides we're healed enough for it. But to be totally honest … I'd really rather miss a few drills to be sure her wing is healed up securely, rather than rush it and chance it coming apart again. It's done that before. So far, so good." Dorava nodded, appreciatively. "We'll take it easy. Don't you already know your formation?" She asked. "You're a wing second, aren't you?"
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 7, 2008 17:04:45 GMT -5
T’rid started to raise his eyebrow in a question and then stopped himself. Not the credit she was dodging. Oh, no. It was probably the headaches, the pain, the mobs, generally the darker side of fame. Or, rather, at this time, the darker side of fame would probably end in death. C’leon wouldn’t like his limelight to be occupied by anyone else, now, would he? And it was much easier to simply kill than to divert attention. T’rid had killed before. It wasn’t too hard, as long as you didn’t let your conscience get the better of you. His conscience had long ago ceased to exit—that was the price you paid if you wanted to have a little fun or get revenge on others in Selenitas Hold. They never expected a thing until it happened—or the ones T’rid picked out hadn’t. Enough of the memories, you’re going to make me sick, Corinth protested. How so? T’rid asked vaguely. There had been that one time when—Don’t get sentimental about killing and pulling pranks. Those shouldn’t mix, Corinth warned him.
“Any length of time counts, if you have no Weyr to call your home,” T’rid pointed out. He thought he could have survived had Thread not been imminent. As Dorava had said, to think of one dragon and Rider pair trying to avoid Thread while keeping it from raining on the ground—it would be a complete mess. One dragon could not cover much ground, and without someone to back them, they’d be hit with Thread in seconds. No. Perhaps a Holdless trader might survive, using the stone ledges and caves to avoid the Thread, but a dragon—no. At her question, T’rid glanced up at Corinth, who, startled at being noticed, blinked back. “Him? Oh, Corinth’s all right.” He waved a dismissive hand at the bronze. “He was just contemplating a dragon’s odds against fighting Thread alone.” Which won’t happen, he added consolingly. That doesn’t mean the idea can’t scare me, Corinth grumbled..
The bronze exhaled in soft amusement, mentally comparing a neat Weyr to T’rid’s. Instead of leaving the walls their lime-white color, T’rid had opted for a brighter color of bronze, which only seemed to make the room more cluttered. Of course, the mess littering the floor didn’t much help either. The only thing that had its own place were Corinth’s riding harness and T’rid’s riding gear, including his much-hated helmet. He sent Aonith a picture of it: One tunic draped over the edge of a rumpled bed, furs half-spilled onto the ground, and a helpless muddle on the ground, including one unsheathed dagger leaning in a diagonal point on the wall. A few more knives, in varying states of being sheathed, lay strewn across the ground, half-buried in papers and other clothes. I would prefer a neat freak, the bronze said, after finishing the image, Even the Drudges avoid cleaning T’rid’s Weyr if at all possible. It’s a death trap.
Corinth considered the question as he tilted his head to one side to steer a stream of water away from one idly whirling eye. Well, fire lizards and ‘mandyrs can ride on Ridmine. Or they could stay out on the Weyr ledge—the runner would have to be stabled, and I think Ridmine would prefer that anyway. He wouldn’t want to share his Weyr with a smelly runner. He rumbled in amusement at the idea of being stepped on by a runner. So I would imagine, but they come in all sizes, he offered. A very small one would still hurt, but not as much. Maybe Yours needs to get a small runner if they keep stepping on her. Or she could take lessons in how to properly walk next to a runner.
It was odd to listen quietly to Dorava all but trash the arrogance of Bronzeriders when he himself would connive using his rank whenever possible, but T’rid managed to keep himself quiet. After all, if she did come from Benden, she would be lucky to escape unscarred—both emotionally and physically—from the tricks of the Benden Bronzeriders. “Well, gee, I’m glad to see you so profoundly appreciate our abilities,” he commented dryly, after she was finished. “I think you’re partially wrong there,” he added. “I mean, when I was a Holder and I was Searched, I’m sure they all celebrated when I left.” It was bending the truth a little, but T’rid was personally delighted at the fact that he’d made an impression on the Hold. An endless barrage of pranks, with no hint, only unproven suspicions, as to who had caused the pranks, did that to a Hold. Unfortunately, the pranks had mysteriously ceased after T’rid’s departure, so that left little evidence to be wanted. He jerked his head towards Corinth. “Corinth thinks she’s quite easy to get along with.” A wry grin twisted his lip. “Of course, he could probably buddy up to a watch-wher if he wanted…”
Ka’rys…ah, the silly sour old Weyrleader. T’rid felt a grin flicker onto his face. Yes, the mean one with possibly the nicest dragon in the Weyr. Funny how personalities got matched up sometimes. Well, you’re arrogant and kind of senseless sometimes. I balance you out. Maybe it’s the same, Corinth offered. Um, I don’t know if that’s a statement of fact or an insult, so I’m going to ignore that. He heard the bronze snicker before falling silent again. “Wait, wait,” he said quickly, holding one hand up. “I mean, I know Ka’rys maybe isn’t the brightest glow in the handful, but still. You escape from Benden. You obviously want a home here. How can he not see that letting you stay isn’t a punishment? And come to that, an assignment—that just says that he completely accepts you, doesn’t it?” Wow. Maybe Ka’rys was a far shot less intelligent than T’rid had assumed.
What was it with Greenriders and looking at him like that lately? Like he was a piece of wood, and they were trying to decide if he’d look better carved up for the mantel or as part of a door or something? First Juliya, then Laurie—You were proud of me, Corinth reminded him—and now Dorava too? T’rid resisted the temptation to make a particularly terrible face, but he made a face at her suggestion anyway. Not the terrible one, but a rather disgusted one. “Nah. I’d leave that stuff to the Harpers.” He shrugged absently. “Yeah, I’d rather stick with Riding. No time for fiddling around and making pretty noises.” Even so, he might have to take that into consideration. Surely he could find some high, shrill noise that could scare Corinth half to death when he was sleeping…I hate you, Corinth hissed.
Not healed in time for flying? That would be a disaster, truly. T’rid shuddered. To have to fly a Threadfall under an inexperienced Wingleader and Wingsecond, and not have any previous knowledge of the pattern? Ugh. A nightmare. Luckily, Corinth could still fly accurately; the numbweed, along with other herbs mixed into some type of salve, had closed his scraps and cuts sufficiently for him to fly without much pain. “Yeah, well. Good luck in Threadfall…” He twirled the knife in his fingers absently, his other hand going to his pocket to unfold the Wing Drill formations that S’rei had given him during their first Drills. He unfolded it and waved it at Dorava. “I’m a Wingsecond, yes. I know my position in relevance to the others, but I don’t particularly care to memorize all of theirs. Corinth knows it, but Rei—Oh, Shards, I mean, S’rei—” Gah. If only Laurie hadn’t mentioned that nickname to him. He had startled considering S’rei as ‘Rei’ in his mind several times. But only now had it slipped out. “Well, anyway. He thinks I should learn the pattern too.” He shrugged.
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Post by dragon on Sept 7, 2008 23:07:06 GMT -5
"I suppose so." Dorava conceded. "It was a frightening thought, to be sure. I was willing to go find an old weyr to hide out in … but only as a last resort to avoid going back to Benden." She nodded, slightly. "You don't want to do that, trust me. Even with no thread about. It's scary." Dorava grew very quiet and pensive, as she reflected on the terror that had gripped her guts that week. It was amazing they had gotten anywhere. It had only been sheer determination mixed with an unhealthy amount of terror of Benden that had kept her going. She nodded absently at T'rid's explanation of Corinth's movements. It was something to certainly consider.
Amused by the heap-pile that T'rid called a home, Aonith piled both front feet over her snout to hide the very plain draconic grin there. But even so, her whirling eyes gave her away. I wouldn't want to sleep next to that! I'd be afraid of tunnel snakes. If I wasn't a dragon, that is. Other than not having much meat to speak of, they taste pretty good. Just … don't eat the head. That part with turn your face inside out it tastes so bad. the green mused. It was a potent enough memory that it had stuck. She'd spent the next two days slavering all over herself trying to spit out the taste. Very seriously, though, she was glad that she had a memory that was sticking around. They were few and far between … but just enough of them for her to realize that there was a lot she wasn't remembering. For being eight turns old, she thought she ought to have a heck of a lot more memories than she had.
But maybe she ought to stop talking about eating things … she was making herself hungry already. And then she'd have to walk all the way to the feeding grounds, and then promptly chase down something to eat. Which was something she wasn't inclined to do, just yet. The water was still feeling very good. Tucking her wings in close to her sides, she rolled over in place, turning completely upside down. With all four feet sticking up out of the water, she looked rather silly, but she felt good. Curling her neck so her nose stayed out of the water was a trick, though. Everything looks different from down here. she noted.
"Aonith, what in all shards are you doing?" Dorava demaned, after watching her dragon roll over completely. "Don't you dare drown like that." She ordered, sternly, completely forgetting that T'rid was there for the moment. But if feels So good… Dorava shook her head, and picked at the soul of her boot. "Dragons…"
Rolling back over, Aonith shook her head to berid it of the water running off it. Ride him? I don't think he's the type to like that much… Aonith turned her head to look T'rid over speculatively. No … he didn't seem to like little things at all. In fact … never mind. She didn't want to go there. Mine grew up with runners. So she says. And she says every great now and again, they just … step on her … while she's dressing them. Rude beasts. I like getting dressed. Flying is fun. She sighed wistfully … flying … something she wasn't going to get to do for a long time yet. But it would be worth it if her wing healed up nicely. Scars were preferable to a permanent rip, that was for sure. Realizing belatedly that she was talking to a bronzerider about bronzeriders, Dorava blushed ever so slightly. It was a good thing that she generally did not say anything particularly nasty about anyone. "Ah, well …" she shrugged. "There are always exceptions to every rule. And I come from a … strange … place. The north." She picked up a small stone, and started scratching encrusted dirt out of her boot's seams. "I am hoping that this place is a LOT different from where I come from." She really couldn’t say a whole lot, anyway. She herself could have been arrogant, too, had she been allowed it growing up. But being stomped on all the time all her life had thoroughly trashed that. Now she just did her best to avoid getting stomped on. "I never said he was stupid … or dim." Dorava pointed out for the record. "I never said that. I never implied it, either." It would be bad if a rumor like THAT got back to Ka'rys!! "Yes, he was gracious in allowing me and mine to stay. It was the being assigned to the healers that he was doling out as punishment. But I've always wanted to learn some of that craft. So … on my end, it's not really a punishment. It's a dream realized." She smiled crookedly again, one corner quirking upward higher than the other. "I am very glad to have been accepted. And I am also very glad to have something to do." Dorava shrugged at his frowning at little musics. So he could be that way. There had to be some, or the rest would just be normal, usual. That was something she'd have to look into getting … one of those thumb boxes… But only after she had bought herself some more clothes… that was by far more important. And she most assuredly was not going to go bumming for some … not while still being identified as the new northern rider who was idiot enough to get her dragon wounded. Oh, no. She'd pull her own wagon herself.
"I surely hope to get to know everyone as well as I can manage, and watch the wings in flight. Learn where everyone goes, where I go. Aonith can be a truly good flier… when she's flying that is. I hope to be able to slide right in when the time comes." Dorava said, looking with interest at his parchment. "May I?" she asked, holding one hand out for the thing. She fully realized it wasn't her wing, but still. The forms and placements would give her a clue as to how things were done at Selenitas. Maybe. If the wingleaders weren't erratic in preferences. "Who is S'rei?" she asked, curiously. "Your wingleader?" she guessed … since the fellow was in a position to be ordering T'rid about, yet wasn't the weyrleader.
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 8, 2008 11:00:53 GMT -5
T’rid couldn’t imagine why he’d want to leave Selenitas to begin with, but didn’t point that out. Ever since he’d Impressed Corinth five Turns back, he’d been at Selenitas—he had no desire to change such things now. He nodded slightly, trying to imagine the terror of a night alone, but was unable to do so. Like so many Weyrbrats who thought Impressing a dragon was all fun and games, T’rid figured spending a night with Corinth alone would be quite nice. “There’s not much a dragon can’t scare away,” he remarked absently, “If it comes to that. Didn’t you have a fire?” he added, frowning slightly. If a fire didn’t scare away the felines, tunnel snakes, wherries—then a dragon certainly would.
Corinth himself was amused by again seeing how messy his Rider was. It was a whole lot different from seeing it in person; much more chaotic in memory, it seemed. He paused. A tunnel-snake, in Ridmine’s Weyr? That was a…new idea. The idea of eating a tunnel-snake was rather odd as well. Well, when we get a fire lizard, the tunnel-snake danger will be all but gone, he said smugly. I usually stay on the Weyr ledge and poke my head in sometimes, so that would scare the snakes away too. But even the bolder ones shouldn’t be able to stand up to a raging fire lizard… He wasn’t exactly sure how to tell Aonith that tunnel-snakes shouldn’t be eaten. Well…thanks for the warning, he replied, I don’t really like eating tunnel-snakes myself. I usually prefer the herdbeasts over in the Feeding Grounds—you’ve seen them?
He tilted his head slightly to follow her rolling motion, amusement lacing the pleasure in his eyes even more. He had long ago decided he preferred the company of greens, blues, and browns to bronzes and queens. There was nothing wrong with bronzes and queens, per se—Corinth just found it a lot looser when one was around a dragon who was of lower rank, who knew it, and was still perfectly comfortable—as Aonith seemed to be. A tightly-strung green, though, would not be very enjoyable company. Besides, queens tended to burst your eardrums if you did the slightest thing wrong, and that was hardly fun. Well, you are upside down, he pointed out with a low rumble. And underwater, too.
T’rid turned his head sharply to look at Corinth when Dorava uttered Aonith’s name. Thankfully, both dragons’ noses (he couldn’t say the same for both of their heads) were above water. I hate how you befriend greens so easily, he muttered, irritated. Meaning what? protested Corinth. Meaning when you get that friendly with a green, I know that when she Rises you’ll be the first one in the sky after her. Not true! Oh, yeah? Name one situation where you haven’t Chased a green you’ve talked to and liked. Corinth fell silent, but it was more a thoughtful silence then a sulky one.
Ridmine grew up at Selenitas Hold, the bronze offered. They had stables, too—I’m sure he rode some. Not because he liked the runners, mind…I think because he liked to imagine them as dragons. The bronze huffed. As if we would ever look like chubby, fur-coated things with hooves…but that was before he was Searched and Impressed to me. I haven’t seen him ride, ever, but he says he has. The bronze shrugged negligently. Truly, it didn’t bother him—no runner could ever compare with him, after all, and he liked to share T’rid. Fire lizard, feline, runner, all were welcome. T’rid didn’t seem to like sharing himself, and sometimes even protested at being partially Corinth’s, but that was fine.
T’rid smirked, dark hazel eyes flickering over Dorava’s face as he caught the blush. “Yeah, well. Hopefully most Selenitas bronzeriders are your ‘exceptions,’ hmm?” The North, to T’rid, was not exactly a ‘strange’ place. It was just a place where people couldn’t accept that conniving and intelligence ranked higher than brute strength and the color of a dragon’s hide. A mistake easily made among the Weyrbrats…apparently, nobody had managed to inform this particular set of Weyrbrats that one dragon was as good as the next, and that raw intelligence was always superior to strength. He didn’t bother pointing this out to Dorava, though—people probably wouldn’t understand. As it was, Corinth was the only one who did.
So she hadn’t thought Ka’rys was dim? Well, T’rid didn’t really either. The Weyrleader had come from Fort, and that was North. If you were dim, you didn’t live. But really, she didn’t have to take him so seriously. “Mm, well, most of the time if people give you a reward while they think you’re being punished…” he commented dryly, leaving the sentence to finish itself. She was going with the Healers? Oh, Healers. They were possibly, in T’rid’s opinion, some of the most outspoken people the Weyr had. They were quite aware of the fact that if they wanted their revenge, all they had to do was refuse to treat a patient. What a deadly threat indeed. “Well, then…you’re not afraid of other people’s blood, are you?” he asked, almost amused. “I doubt the Healers would have very much patience if you were.”
He nodded diplomatically at her comment. “Most greens are good fliers,” he agreed. With their lither bodies and wingspans, they could easily out-fly any queen. Even Corinth, who was small for a bronze with a larger wingspan, could be potentially left behind. Only in Flights could the bronze keep up with a green who was trying to out-fly him. I just don’t want to waste energy, the bronze said haughtily. Yeah, right. That’s why you actually fly off the Weyr ledge instead of dropping off of it, right? I only do that because you call me lazy if I don’t, the bronze pointed out. T’rid shrugged silently, passing Dorava the sheet. [See the Blizzard Wing Drills thread for the formation] T’rid raised one eyebrow, amused. Didn’t she know S’rei?
“Wingleader,” he agreed. “Yes. He is also…” He paused, arranging S’rei in his mind before he began to speak of them. “Ex-Weyrleader; brother to Laurie, whose dragon is Reysalth, which is the one that Corinth just Flew; considered Weyrleader by many people, as he does share a Weyr with Shmee…oh, yes. And his nickname’s Rei.” T’rid tilted his head at her. “Need I go on?”
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Post by dragon on Sept 8, 2008 22:39:38 GMT -5
"It's not the critters in the night that is scary." Dorava clarified. "That's the least of one's concerns when stuck between weyrs, with no guarantee of a home. What gets to you is the knowing that you have no home. That you have no wing. That you're completely and totally alone in the world, barring your dragon. And when Thread is regularly lashing the world, that is a scary thing." She said, knocking some dirt off her digging-rock. "The night bears no horrors to match that."
Herdbeasts are tastier, yes. And far more meaty. Much more worth the effort. Aonith agreed. I have seen the feeding grounds … but only once. I think. I don't remember. Maybe two days ago? Right after I got here. I think…
Aonith almost commented: Runners taste funny., but then realized that was yet another food oriented comment. And Corinth was surely by now going to start thinking she'd eaten one of every critter on Pern. Which wasn't true at all … was it? She didn't remember. Anyway … she didn't say it, very carefully. Maybe she was hungry, after all … maybe it was time to talk Dorava into a walk down to the grounds. It was possible all this healing was making her hungry.
Dorava really did try to not offend anyone … regardless of who they were or how badly she really thought of them. She tried her best to not say anything bad about anyone or anything to anyone … always trying to temper her comments to at least neutral. She really harbored no nice feelings for the north. Both the horrible Bendens were there, as well as Fort … the ones that had wounded Aonith. 'Strange' wasn't what she truly felt about the north, but she wasn't going to say what she truly felt.
"We can hope." She said, referring to the Bronze riders. "It would certainly be nice." Dorava shook her head slightly, and chunked the rock into the river to see it plop into the water. "Blood doesn't bother me. Whether it's animal, dragon, or human blood." She said, before smiling crookedly at him. "I eat my meat red in the middle, remember?" but she didn't stay on that joke long. "No … seriously. The only thing that really bothers me is sticking my hands in vomit that's still warm. If you know what I mean." She grimaced. "No, no need to go on. I know who you're talking about, now. At least … I have heard the name. Don't know anything else about him." She admitted, looking at the chart with a little interest. "Thank you." She smiled momentarily, as she gave the sheet back to him. "I appreciate that."
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 9, 2008 11:16:40 GMT -5
T’rid stared thoughtfully at Aonith as Dorava spoke. The green seemed like fun to be around—at least, Corinth was quite happy in her company—and he was sure that if Dorava was that worried, the green would deign to come up with something to take her mind off of such worries for a few careless moments. Corinth would him, and T’rid was sure he wouldn’t cling to worries. Worrying achieved few things, after all, and life was nothing without a little risk. “Huh,” he admitted. “Well. If worst came to worst, you could always go back to Benden with an elaborate lie about how you thought you saw a Selenitas spy, and so…” He interlaced his fingers, propping his chin on them. “So, in order not to let him get away, you and your dragon bravely ventured after him and followed him all the way to Selenitas, but unfortunately, he was soon enveloped by the other dragons and a bronze by the name of, say, Corinth”—the bronze’s head turned, startled, at the mention of his name—“drove you back and you came back. I’m sure you could think of something.” That was just how naturally lying came to him—all he had to do was tell himself to invent a lie, and a fairly believable yarn could come out.
Corinth’s head had swiveled back to Aonith by now. His and Aonith’s were just having some strange human conversation. He nodded. Herdbeasts were his preferred choice of delicacy, although he wouldn’t say no to a chubby fat runner if it came to that. T’rid preferred the bronze didn’t snack on runners, as they were valuable to people, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t if he saw a particularly tasty-looking one. They tasted slightly off, but that was probably a diet of grain in comparison to a herdbeast’s diet of mostly grasses. Selenitas herdbeasts are the fattest of all, the bronze said proudly, And the most plentiful. Of course he really didn’t know, as he’d never seen how fat or many Benden’s or Fort’s herdbeasts were. You could eat every day and still there would be herdbeasts to spare come Threadfall.
His Ridmine was considering Dorava curiously, his hazel eyes bright and amused. “Yeah, well. So far you’ve met two, haven’t you? Ka’rys, and me. What do you think so far? Anyone try to attack you? Kill you? Don’t count in A’noan’s arrogance, nor Ka’rys’s feeble attempts at punishment—just the basics, such as how many people you’ve seen murdered, attacked, exiled…” He clicked his tongue after each word. “Oh, yes,” T’rid added, realizing he was still twirling his own knife between his fingers. “And don’t count how we all carry knives, either.” His eyes flickered over her. “Don’t you?” he added, almost contemptuous. A Benden transfer, and she didn’t have a knife? No wonder she’d fared so poorly as to want to transfer. He might have to transfer too, if he was a Benden Rider and didn’t carry a blade—Bronzerider or not.
Blood. T’rid grinned, almost bloodthirsty in his own way, eyes glittering in amusement. “Yes, well. Apart from the fact that I don’t eat blood, I’m fine with it as well.” His chin tilted up slightly. “The mauling at the Hatching is particularly enjoyable, no?” You are a bloodthirsty, evil creature, Corinth said in pained tones. Oh, really. So you were drunk when you Impressed to me, were you, Cor? The bronze forked out his tongue in irritation. I’m starting to hope I was. I can’t have been that stupid, even as a hatchling. But—ugh. Why would anyone stick their hands in vomit at all? Warm or cold, T’rid was sure it’d be a warm day between before he’d willingly dunk any part of him in someone else’s…recycled dinner. He pulled a face. “Um, yes. Hopefully nobody will be that sick, but if they are, I’d suggest paying a Drudge to do it for you. A few marks can go a long way.”
So she knew S’rei? Or at least, who he was? Or his name. Well, a name was fine too. “Rider of Salenth,” he added, realizing he’d forgotten to add the dragon’s name to S’rei’s title. “Obsessed about having perfect Wing Drills. Average Wingleader.” He shrugged absently, leaning forward to receive the Wing Drill pattern and folding it to stick it back into his pocket. “No problem…” T’rid blinked at her. “I don’t see how it helps you though, frankly,” he said. “I mean, it’s not our flight pattern that you’ll need to help you when you and Aonith do get to fly again. Unless you’re putting in an appeal to transfer wings? Poor little Rei was irritated enough to have to stick a new Bluerider in—he might throw a fit if he had to fix you into our pattern too.” He snickered, pleased by the idea.
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Post by dragon on Sept 9, 2008 18:24:45 GMT -5
Dorava listened to his yarn spin, and couldn't help but grin. "You're assuming that when I was sent packing with my hope in tatters that I would know Corinth's name." She pointed out. "Which I wouldn't have." But that was being too realistic in a pretend timeline … even if it was tricky balancing act, she had managed to get a home. "Do you spin yarns often?" she asked. "You're good at it. Me … I'm no good at it. Trying would get me hurt."
Eat every day? Aonith asked doubtfully, the very idea making her stomach hurt. I could eat now … but I don't think I'd ever want to eat every day. she commented. Though she did understand the point he was making. That was a lot of herd beasts! At least they weren't going to go hungry. That was for sure.
"What do I think? I don't want to meet Ka'rys again, if I can help it. He gets too much enjoyment out of punishing folk. And I suspect he'll take another gander at me, if I give him half a chance. But I think that once you calm down … you might be someone worth talking to." She smiled slightly, aware that he was most likely one of those on guard for a reputation, and thus didn't say 'a nice person'. Though she did think that Corinth was a nice dragon … he had to be, otherwise Aonith would not have stayed in the river with him. "To be perfectly honest, the healers are the ones that have assaulted me the most … not the bronzers. And that wasn't so bad, either. So far, I'm ok. Willing to work with it." She shrugged. "Thankfully I haven't witnessed any murders. If I had … I would not have stayed. I left Benden to get away from that… well … as much as a body can get away from that…"
"A knife? Me? I used to. But I left it behind … I stripped of anything that was extra weight for the journey here. I didn't want us to drown in the ocean, you know … I plan on getting one or three, as soon as I have some marks to my name. That and some clothes…" she nodded slightly. "I left all that behind. I needed to … I still have not a thing that I owned beforehand … and I had some nice things, too …" Dorava shrugged. "I have owned a knife ever since I was six. My father gave me my first one … and I've always worn one ever since. Right up until this past week or so. I feel kinda exposed without it." "Mauling at the hatching? No … that was not enjoyable." Dorava said. "People can get killed, like that … and once a body is dead, they're dead. There's no fixing that." She laughed at his expression over the idea of vomit, and then shook her head. "If the healer tells me to do it, I'll do it. That … and … I have no marks to my name. Yet." Dorava really did hope that no one was going to be that sick … she didn't want to have to do that. But she would … only if she had to… ICK
"No … I am not going to try anything at the moment. Much less a wing transfer. I imagine I've already put everyone out more than I ought to have, just by showing up alive. What with Aonith needing healed, a place for us to stay … needing fed … and then a slot in a wing …" she shrugged. "I am going to play it cool for a bit. If you know what I mean. Try to earn my keep." She gestured at the parchment. "I was just curious how it was being done here. Everyone has their own ideas on how it ought to be done. Some are better than others … but anyway … I was curious."
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 10, 2008 11:33:56 GMT -5
Corinth rumbled in protest. If a green came with her wings too torn to safely fly, would I truly have regarded her a threat, Ridmine? the bronze asked indignantly. Work with me. It’s a waterproof lie, isn’t it? T’rid responded, a smug smile on his mouth now. I could poke holes in it, Corinth began, but T’rid cut him off. Yes, because it’s not true. But who at Benden Weyr could know that? The bronze conceded, and T’rid said, aloud, “Well, it didn’t have to be Corinth’s name, it could be Ciceroth—Ka’rys’s bronze, you know—or Salenth, S’rei’s bronze.” He shrugged. “Or just ‘a bronze.’ I doubt you’d be expected to know specifics.” Did he lie often? T’rid tilted his head, a mischievous light entering his eyes. “I’ve Impressed Corinth five Turns ago,” he stated quietly. “I’m not that far out of Weyrlinghood, and I remember my Hold life. If you didn’t learn to lie and still wanted your fair revenge when pranks turned sour, you learned to lie.”
He paused, and then said, “Oh, which reminds me. You good at pulling pranks at all?” His eyes narrowed as he considered Dorava intently. He needed a fair partner-in-crime, especially if he planned to pull a prank on S’rei. The Wingleader’s dragon, Salenth, might not protest to being painted green, as his prank dictated he would be, but a whole bronze took time to oil, let alone paint. “And would you dare pull a prank on a Wingleader?” he added, carefully studying her reaction. A good prankster who shied away from powerful people would do no good in his book at all.
Corinth rumbled in amusement. I doubt any dragon would want to eat every day, but that’s beside the point, he said gently. I couldn’t eat every day either…I can’t imagine how Ridmine manages it. Normally he all but inhales his food in three seconds, and then he’s back out of the Main Hall again. The bronze shook his head doubtfully. It can’t be healthy for him. Does Yours bolt her food, or does she take her time eating? he added curiously. So far from what he’d seen, most Weyrlings bolted their food, along with most male Riders. Some female Riders didn’t gobble as soon as look, but perhaps that was just unique to those Riders.
T’rid grinned equably, amused. Getting to know Dorava’s point of view was certainly…interesting. Ka’rys, liked punishment? Their short, rather elderly, Weyrleader? Well, perhaps they would just have to pull a nice little prank on him too, later on. He was worth talking to, was he? “Well, thank you, I think.” He tilted his head, his grin slightly teasing now. “I’m glad to say I can return that compliment.” Some Greenriders—Laurie for one—were a lot less levelheaded than Dorava seemed to be, and that was no fun. “Healers always assault you,” he added, making a face. “I mean, they think they’re the only ones who can heal you when you’re sick, so they can mouth off to you and you can’t do anything about it—or they’ll let you rot when you get sick.” He shrugged carelessly. “That’s what they say, anyway, but I doubt they’d make Journeyman or whatever if they refused to heal someone out of personal spite.” Although refusing to heal the Benden Weyrleader he could see. Then he grinned, almost bloodthirsty again, and his eyes hardened. “Well, I’d advise you to stay well out of the way when Benden hosts their next attack, because,” he touched his knife, “I’m hoping I’ll be able to show ‘em that Selenitas isn’t half as weak as they put as down to be.” Was he saying that he wanted to kill? Yes, he was.
Ah, so she had had to leave behind all her things. Even a knife? T’rid shook his head sagely. “Well, I’m not advising you to go around knife-less or anything, but quite honestly you’d better get one as soon as you can. I could lend you one if you’d like. I have a lot scattered around my Weyr, although it’ll take searching to find them.” A small smirk entered his eyes, and he quirked his eyebrows in amusement. “Yeah, some clothes couldn’t go astray or anything.” He paused, and then said, “Did you not bring any fighting straps? Thread-fighting’s going to be a heck of a lot harder if you don’t have anything holding you on top of your dragon.” We wouldn’t let Ours fall, Corinth said with quiet reassurance. Yeah, maybe, but it’d be hard to avoid Thread and stay rocklike at the same time, T’rid answered dryly. We could go between and catch you, Corinth assured him.
Again the rather bloodthirsty grin. This was exactly what had startled Liassa, when he’d met the Greenweyrling here not long ago—how he had fought the mauling enjoyable. Honestly, some people were odd about that kind of stuff—after all, a newly-Hatched dragonet with an oversized head, wobbly legs, and dripping in egg goop, was not the hardest thing on Pern to dodge, and yet at every Hatching people insisted upon being rammed into, in the futile hope that the dragon charging at them with death in its eyes was destined to be their lifemate. “Don’t you? Well,” and he spread his hands in an innocent gesture, “If the dragons don’t find them acceptable, who will?” That was probably pushing it, but still. He pressed, “A Hatching’s not a Hatching if some arrogant half-wit doesn’t insist on trying to pet a dragon, and you can’t blame the dragon if that happens, you know.”
He shuddered at the vomit idea. Ugh, that was just…“You listen to healers too much,” he grunted. “If you’re willing to do that with your bare hands.” Actually, he wouldn’t want to waste a good pair of gloves doing that either, but it was better than feeling the liquid and chunks…ugh. “You’ll have marks soon enough—Wingriders have a set fee, you know.” He shrugged affably. “Besides, if you’re not too scared Ka’rys will give you punishment for a month, if you asked him to borrow something to wear, there’s always the clothes they issue to Candidates.” He tilted his head, considering. “Unless they don’t do that at Benden…?” he asked curiously. Three sets of clothes—Gather finery, Candidates’ robes, and one for everyday wear—it wasn’t much.
T’rid shrugged. “I won’t worry about it much. There are lots of empty and half-built Weyrs yet—Construction is a Weyrling chore. Might be Candidate, too, but personally I wouldn’t trust a Candidate building my Weyr.” He jerked his head in the direction of the Feeding Grounds. “Did you see those herdbeasts out there? We’re up to our necks in food. Nah, you don’t need to worry about that. Besides, it’s having to find a likely pattern with a new dragon in a wing that irritates Wingleaders, the more dragons the better.” He grinned widely. “If I were a new transfer instead of having stayed at Selenitas since Impressing, I would muck around a bit just to see what wing I got along with best.”
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Post by dragon on Sept 11, 2008 21:26:28 GMT -5
"No … you're right. I doubt they'd even blink an eye at my not knowing who ran me off. But they would be rather annoyed that I 'attempted' such a thing, without telling anyone or raising an alarm." Dorava said. "Which would put me on a spot. But this is all assuming that we'd be willing to go back. We worked really hard to get out of there." And then she shrugged. "I am glad that it did not come to that. I like the way things turned out. In fact… it's far better than I realistically expected."
Pranks? He had Dorava's attention at that. "Er … I've done my share, when I was younger. Enjoyed it, too … but they didn't go over so well at the weyr. So … I'm a little out of practice, if you know what I mean…" She grinned slightly. "I wasn't a master at them, no. Just … a hobby type thing. Got caught half the time." Dorava laughed, not at all embarrassed to admit it. "A wingleader? Now wait just a minute. I just got here, and you're asking me to prank a wingleader?" she asked, mocking horrified. After a moment's thought, though, she asked: "Which one?" It might be fun, depending on the depth of the prank… she wasn't into getting people hurt. Not to mention a prank of that caliber would likely be interpreted as a hostile attack, coming from a recently ex-bendenite like herself.
But on the other hand, she did doubt he was serious. He seemed so good at spinning tales and thinking up evil things to do to people… he might not even mean it literally at all. And thinking up things one would like to do to people was sometimes far more fun than actually doing them.
Aonith seemed to purr, her amused rumble was so light compared to the bronze's. I don't know about three seconds… but when mine has been working hard, she can put away a lot of food pretty quickly. She's very … time conscious, and hates to waste it. She does chew, which I am glad for… everything is done in a hurry. Done well, but quickly. I have to remind her to take a break now and again. How she got so time-sensitive, I may never find out. But she was like that when I hatched. Quick. My being grounded has done wonders for her. No going quick anywhere, and we spend a lot of time just waiting for my wing to heal. I think it's good for mine. Even if she thinks she's going to go crazy from it. Dorava smiled slightly, and rested her foot back on the ground again, picking up her other foot and propping it up on her knee to scrape at it. She preferred soft soled, tall boots. Unfortunately, the thin soles tended to collect grit that would chafe at the stitching. "I am glad you think so. It is a relief to find someone to talk to who doesn't find me annoying." She said, honestly, before deciding that she'd had enough of the boots, and promptly started stripping them both off. She preferred going barefoot anyway … and once she had the shoes off, her feet revealed as much. They were both tanned dark, and bore a tough looking full-sole callous. She had practically grown her own shoe from wandering around barefoot so much. Setting the boots aside, she diddled her toes in the river pebbles around the rock she was sitting on.
Much better.
"I don't like to make healers irritated at me. As you say … when they get their back up, they surely can make life miserable should you start needing their expertise. But just like with other people … sometimes I just can't help myself." She laughed lightly. "Such is life." Part of why she wanted to learn healercrafting was to avoid depending on other so heavily. And part of it was to take the minor burdens off those overworked individuals. And part of it was it just fascinated her. To be able to make someone's hurt go away… it just might make up for all the hurt she had caused. "Actually, if Benden comes here looking for trouble? I fully intend to be in the thick of it, helping out everyone else here. I may not like killing, or causing harm, but I far more disapprove of people starting those sorts of things. Some things just have to be defended. Home, family, friends. Freedom. There are things worth fighting for, things worth killing for to keep intact. There is a distinct difference between killing and murder. I don't need a knife to kill … but it does make the act a whole lot easier." She admitted. "If they come here, I will defend this place. I suppose I should say – when they come here. The way things have been going, it's pretty much given that it's going to happen, sooner or later. Those who would give up their freedom for safety deserve neither."
"I'd much appreciate that, thank you." Dorava said, gratefully, when he offered to loan her a knife. She wouldn't have asked a loan of anything from anyone … it just wasn't her way. On top of that, this was a new place she was trying to fit into. But … any help was appreciated greatly. "I did bring me fighting straps. Aonith and I were wearing them when we made the journey here. But that was it. It was more of a safety thing … we didn't know what we would encounter on our way here, and while achieving the distance was a big goal, it wouldn't have counted for much had I gotten swept away for whatever reason." She looked over at Aonith, and unconsciously made a slight gesture at her. "We're not allowed to fly, so the straps are currently stashed in our weyr, where they've been ever since we arrived. Not much use for them if we're not flying, you know?" Dorava just watched T'rid grin like a death's head again. He sure liked that expression. What was it with him? Did he really enjoy people getting hurt? She didn't want to find out. He must have one weird mind wrapped in that thick noggin of his. Though he did have a point. "Some people evidently find it a disgrace if they don't impress, and they become … aggressive … about it. Desperate for one of those eggs to hatch theirs. Which I do find rather … absurd. Arrogant. Stupid. Pick one. Either your dragon is out there, or they're not. As I see it, it is no disgrace to not impress. It just means that your dragon wasn't there yet. And maybe for some, there IS no dragon for them. Lifemates are lifemates, and there's no changing it. Diving at a dragon that just hatched and bonded to another is a sharding foolish thing to do. But yes … I have seen it happen myself. More often than it should. It most certainly is not the dragon's fault. As they see it, I imagine, they're being attacked by said candidate." "I wouldn’t be happy about it, no." Dorava said. "And even if I was using a towel or a glove or … whatever. The imagination is a powerful thing and I might as well be barehanded …" she shuddered, as well. YUCK!
"Marks … well … when I get them … I have more important things to do first. Like my own knife, new sets of clothing, a few such things. And then I might find the luxury of paying a drudge to do something for me. But … I doubt they find it any more enjoyable than I do." She commented. "Passing the burden on is … underhanded."
"I don't intend to ask anyone to borrow anything." Dorava said. "I'll be alright. It's not as if I am a high ranking official of state that has to wear fineries and attend functions. I'm just a greenrider." She shrugged. "What I have got will do me until I have marks in my pockets." It was no big deal. She did like to be clean, but one's things being a little worn did not bother her. It only showed that a body used things, rather then kept them for show. However, on the thought of clothing … and the mention of gathers… she did think that should she ever get rich enough, she would like to buy a nice dress after everything else was taken care of. Something in dark blue … While it wasn't overly practical, just like most females she did enjoy occasionally dressing up. She just hid that little bit really well. Most people who ran across her thought she was a masculine female to the core, and … humorously … did not recognize her at all when she did dress up. She could completely change how she looked, when she bothered – simply because she bothered so rarely.
"Benden is an old weyr … very old. I don't even know how old. There wasn't a heck of a lot of construction going on there that I ever saw." Dorava shrugged. "I might join in the construction, just to experience it once or twice … do you think they'd let me?" she asked.
"I have seen the herds. It is impressive, to say the least, to have so many animals." She nodded. And it was, too. There were enough animals out there, she figured, that they wouldn't need any coming in on the tithe trains … they could breed enough for it to not be a problem. Not that she had actually bothered to sit there and count them all and then do the math after counting every dragon in the weyr. She could do the math to figure it out … she knew how … she just didn't bother. Mostly because it was such a boring thing to do, and she was easily distracted … she'd lose her count in a hurry. Especially since both beasts and dragons alike didn’t hold still very well for the counting.
"Muck about in the wings, huh?" Dorava grinned crookedly. "I dunno. I don't know anyone at all, how each wing operates, or anything. And Ka'rys seemed pretty upset with me. So I'll stay put where he assigned me. I don't want to make my integration here any harder than it has to be. I may, however, start poking about once I am well situated here and have gotten to know a few people. Are you going to put in a good word for me, oh Wingsecond?" she teased, lightheartedly, daring to poke fun.
Maybe it would go over well.
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Avu
Weyrleader Ce'thian Rider A'emi Handler Sena Harper Matteo Weyrbrat Riaren
Posts: 2,439
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Post by Avu on Sept 12, 2008 12:32:38 GMT -5
T’rid considered. “You could always make up some false information to keep them satisfied,” he said. “They can’t pick on you if you succeeded, can they?” Knowing Benden, they would and they could, though. His eyes widened slightly, amused. “I mean, I’d much rather be part of Benden Weyr than have no Weyr, especially with a Pass coming up, and war raging on all sides. If you’re a loner, you’re as likely to get killed by one Weyr as another—at least when you’re part of a Weyr you have some sort of a safe haven between massacres.” He paused, and then added, “Not that massacres wouldn’t be interesting, of course, but they do wear one out eventually.” Fighting for fun was something that T’rid enjoyed very much. It wasn’t unlike him to lure someone out to some isolated location just to pick a fight out of them and then claim that it was ‘self-defense.’ But that was only on days when he was particularly irritable.
The Bronzerider mused over Dorava’s words, his hazel eyes narrowed in a mixture of condescension and amusement. She got caught? That wasn’t good…she can’t have been that good of a prankster…but then, everyone got caught once in a while, although T’rid had been quite good at avoiding such. “As long as you don’t get me caught…” he murmured, half to himself. You aren’t planning to hurt S’rei, are you? Corinth asked desperately. What? Me, harm dear little old Rei? You must be out of your mind, T’rid responded innocently. “Yeah, a Wingleader…” He paused, tilting his head to one side and grinning. “My Wingleader, obviously. S’rei. We’re going to paint him green during the night…” He wrinkled his nose in thought. “Might have to drug poor sleepy Rei with some fellis, though…Laurie said he hadn’t been sleeping well. Or implied it, anyway.” Or…he thought she had. “If he woke up while we were painting Salenth, it’d be borderline chaos…but I’m sure Salenth could think up some excuse why he’s in an abandoned Weyr with Rei’s Wingsecond and a Benden rider, getting painted green…maybe.” His whole idea was basically resting on the fact that Salenth wanted to cheer up S’rei, or at least startle him into doing something more interesting than being serious all day long.
Riders all seem to scarf down their food, don’t they? Corinth said, amused, as he scooped at the water with one wing, spilling the cool liquid over his body. I hope she doesn’t go crazy, though, he added after a pause. That wouldn’t be very good and from what T’rid’s sending me—albeit inadvertently—she doesn’t need Ciceroth’s on her case any more. Which he will be if she starts doing crazy things. Not that he really blamed Ciceroth’s—which was what he thought of Ka’rys as, nothing more or less than just an item that belonged to Ciceroth—someone doing crazy things could not be good for the Weyr, and as Weyrleader, Ciceroth’s did have a responsibility of sorts. It seems so odd that they can seem so amazing on the Hatching Sands, he added meditatively. Sometimes I wonder if I was drugged into Impressing to Ridmine? He’s not exactly all fun and games. But I don’t think I mind. Ridmine and I get along well most of the time… Corinth tilted his head, whirling eyes fixed on Aonith. Do you and Yours ever fight?
“Annoying?” T’rid blinked, looking half-amused and half-astonished. Dorava wasn’t, perhaps, the best possible company on Pern—that was Corinth—but she was far from annoying. Then he snickered. “Well, um, you can’t say whoever told you that wasn’t straightforward about it, yes? At least they didn’t lie, right?” That was being a little blunt, though, even for Benden riders. Such impudence here, to anybody, would get them in trouble…Benden, though, T’rid reminded himself lazily, was controlled fully by Bronzers. It was not a good thing to aggravate someone who, in the next senior Queenflight, might become Weyrleader. So of course the Bronzers were never punished. If you focused on only that, Benden didn’t sound like such a bad place. After adding in all the massacre, bloodshed, scorn, degrading comments, sexism…well. It didn’t sound so perky after that. As she scraped the mud off of her boots, T’rid amused himself by twirling his dagger absently, a quick movement that let the light flash off of the blade and something that he found hastened haggling in the Gather very nicely. He would’ve liked very much to learn how to throw it up and catch it, but Corinth had strictly prohibited that under the terms that he would slice his hand off or his fingers open or something, and that wasn’t good.
Obviously.
“Healers get irritated more quickly, as a whole, than any other group of person,” was T’rid’s declaration; he nodded decisively. “Quite simply, I think they have grossly swollen egos, and most of them aren’t riding dragons at all.” T’rid shrugged. “I mean, any idiot”—perhaps ‘idiot’ was a bit strong—“can learn the Healercraft if they really wanted to, but it takes someone special—not in a bad way, mind—to Impress a dragon and ride in a fighting wing.” He rubbed absently at the blade of the knife, removing a smudge or two. “And they’re far too sensible,” he added critically. To T’rid, sensible was a hindrance to any potential fun; sensible was irritating and stuffy and pompous. Insensible was fun, havoc, chaos, excitement, adventure: Life to its fullest.
Oh, so Dorava would be fighting, would she? T’rid eyed her with new approval. “Very good.” Murder and killing, different? He’d never looked at it that way before. A slow smile spread across his face. “Hmm, well, quite honestly I don’t think I have a problem with either. Murder would be killing where it can be avoided, yes? And killing would be say, self-defense. Well, killing C’leon is much preferable to negotiating with him, but it’s still not unavoidable. If he tries to kill you and you stab him in self-defense—well, that’s certainly avoidable too. You could…” He pondered mentally for a second. “Jump out a window, get your dragon to sit on him briefly while you make good your escape, or of course just knock him out with a wine flask. There’s bound to be some around.” He snickered. “But yes, I get your point.” Just to tease, he added, “You say if you give up freedom for safety, you deserve neither—what about the other way around?” He drew it out in the dirt with the tip of his dagger in bold letters: “SAFETY FOR FREEDOM?”
He nodded affably at her thanks, although his reaction would have been much warmer had ‘O Great One’ been tacked on to the end or something. You are an idiot, Corinth said feelingly. I can’t think why I love you so much. T’rid wrinkled his nose at the bronze. Getting a little sentimental, aren’t we, Cor? The response was immediate and brusque: Thanks, dimglow. “Whenever I get a fire lizard, I’ll have the little thing drop it off for you. Sheath included,” he added. T’rid’s mind automatically brushed against the memory of his and Corinth’s fighting straps, stowed away safely, the browned leather, the intricate red stitching, the smoothness of it—all positively glowing with oil. Corinth had insisted that shiny straps would set a good example during Wing Drills, and perhaps that was true, but it still didn’t make T’rid’s arm hurt any less from oiling the dratted things five hundred times within a single candlemark. “Fighting straps aren’t generally sold in Gathers,” he commented wryly, “So you’re lucky you did bring those. It’d be expensive to replace with one that exactly fit Aonith, you realize?” She must have, or else she would have discarded them, of course, along with everything else when she’d been coming, but it was still nice to be able to drive a point home. “Besides, aren’t they decorated? Mine and Corinth’s are, and it’d be a heck of a lot more expensive if I wanted to get the stitches duplicated.”
He nodded, contemplatively digging the blade of his knife into the ground again, flicking up pieces of grass and dirt, as he said, “Mm. But still…I find it incredibly odd that every single Candidate thinks he or she is the exception to the fact that a dragon charging at you means nothing good. I mean, if it was supposed to be your lifemate, it’d end up next to you whether or not it bowled you over and bled you half to death first, yes? So why stay in the way like a dummy with your strings cut when you can be safely somewhere else?” He shook his head, clicking his tongue. “Such is life,” he said, mimicking Dorava’s previous comment on healers. And such was life, too. Every Hatching, whatever pent-up bloodlust T’rid had, was safely dispersed by the time the Hatching Feast occurred. Watching murderous Hatchlings take out Candidates faster than Benden Weyr could Selenitas Riders was quite interesting. Although I believe you, Corinth, don’t in particular like mauling? he added in dry amusement. Corinth had to be the only bronze that didn’t come out of the shell ready to murder. I do not see why it is necessary, said the bronze calmly. It sure would’ve made me more eager to run right up to you and save you a lot of trouble, T’rid answered, amused. Corinth had been nearly the last of his clutch to Hatch, and by then T’rid, then Terid, had all but scoffed at the ‘feminine’ bronze when, although weak with hunger, he hadn’t done much but wobble around for a few minutes before heading towards him.
The Bronzerider grimaced, his lip pulling back into an irritated expression. “Yeah, well. Since the fire lizard disease has just left”—Corinth huffed in anxiety despite himself—“here’s to hoping no human plague will follow suit, hmm? If so, I’d advise a blindfold.” His reasoning was simple—if she couldn’t see exactly what she was touching, she would be too engrossed in trying to figure out what it was to actually figure it out. Which would be a lot more desirable as opposed to knowing exactly what she was touching. As for T’rid, he’d rather lie down in the spot where Corinth killed and ate a herdbeast for a half-day, letting himself get bloody, than roll around in vomit. At least Corinth was reasonably neat when eating…and, too, blood at least had some purpose.
He rolled his eyes and grinned. “You astound me, as people commonly do,” T’rid commented, and his voice was not congratulatory. “Why would you go through torture when someone else is perfectly capable of doing the chore that you want to avoid, and all you’ve got to do is slip them a mark or two? Underhand, maybe, but it gets the job done and I doubt the healers care about who does it, so long it’s done.” Perhaps some people, Ridmine, appreciate hard work, Corinth said in a poisonously sweet tone. I do my work, don’t I? I oil you, make sure you feed, memorize records that I need to, and I don’t kill anyone. I could that as pretty good, T’rid said sourly. So many people are tempting me badly to hurt them. I resist the temptation.
The Bronzerider grimaced at her suggestion. “Greenriders do make up most of the fighting wing,” he pointed out, “As well as perhaps half of the entire dragon population? ‘Just’ a Greenrider? No.” He shook his head. “Besides, you wouldn’t be borrowing any more than the Candidates. They get clothes when they come, you know. Gather finery, everyday stuff, a Candidates’ robe. I doubt you’d need the robe, of course, but a tunic and trousers and something to wear on Gathers can’t go wrong. You’ll need to go to Gather to buy your things and we can’t have you dressed in rags and dishonoring the Weyr, can we?” He wasn’t speaking spitefully or maliciously, just frankly stating the truth as he saw it. To go to Gather, in rags? That was the ultimate embarrassment, especially if one was a Dragonrider. Where was her dignity? Her pride? The Holders would be choking on their laughter behind her backs and it would be odd if a mysterious assassin killed every Holder who saw a Rider.
“Huh.” T’rid grunted noncommittally. “Don’t see why you’d want to go and pound nails, but since the Weyrlings and Candidates are far from active in Chores, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind having a few extra hands aboard.” A wry grin twisted his lip. “They aren’t about to deny you just because you’re not a Weyrling, if that’s what your thinking. Be a good example when you’re there, can’t you?” he suggested. “Bring a few bottles of wine or something. Corrupting Weyrlings is probably a lot more enjoyable than pounding in nails all day. Not,” he added broodingly, “That most of them don’t drink already…” Silly Weyrlings, getting drunk every fortnight no doubt, just for the fun and excitement of it. Pssht, they could be spending their time much more efficiently…burning records, for one, seemed a much better way to spend the night than getting giggly and wobbly and having a hangover the next day.
He nodded agreeably again as she admitted that the herds were impressive. A spark of challenge flickered into his eyes; he tipped his head to one side, his chin lifting in curious defiance. “How about Benden Weyr, huh? How many herdbeasts do they have that aren’t savaged by their dragons daily for bloodlust?” What are you doing? Corinth asked in surprise. You aren’t supposed to be driving her off. T’rid considered his dragon’s words, although his eyes were solemn. Think of it this way, Cor. I’m trying to figure out if she still has any pride left in her old Weyr…or if she’s truly adopted Selenitas. Not that I would care either way, of course, but it’d be nice to know. Seeing as our Junior Weyrleader was a Benden traitor, he added broodingly. He rebelled, Corinth corrected gently. Against Selenitas? Yes. Against Benden? Yep. Traitor, didn’t I say? Didn’t seem to do so well sticking with either one Weyr or the other, did he? T’rid’s mental tones were scathing and, realizing it showed on his face, his eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t, would you, know about a Benden Bronzerider by the name of R’non?” He was, of course, a Selenitas Rider now, but he had had his fingers in all sorts of tarts and who knew?
T’rid reacted with light amusement. “We wouldn’t want to upset dear old Ka’rys, would we now?” he drawled. If you dare try to hurt Ciceroth’s, I will hurt you, bondage be damned, the bronze said firmly. The Bronzerider eyed the bronze with surprised amusement, “Language, dear. Language,” he said reprovingly, momentarily forgetting Dorava’s presence in his surprise. That had to be the first time he’d caught Corinth swearing, although no doubt the bronze had picked it up straight from him. Corinth gave him a stern look, and then sank back underwater. “Well, anyway. I don’t know about a good word—I haven’t seen you fly, have I?—but at least you can be sure I won’t be saying bad things about you.” He was no rumor-spreader. That was despicable. “Don’t worry about staying, though—lots of people have transferred from Benden and Fort. Most of them are all right. Little trauma maybe, nothing big.”
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