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Post by dragon on Sept 12, 2008 18:58:39 GMT -5
Dorava couldn't help but laugh. "You really are good at dreaming up could-have's and would-have's and shoulda's, aren't you?" she giggled. "I suppose that anything is possible – and yes, with a Pass upon us, being out and about by one's lonesome is a bad thing." But then when he started talking about massacres being fun, she frowned very sternly. "Massacres are not fun. Nor are they amusing. It is a senseless waste of life in a despicable show of imaginary power. The true measure of someone's worth, is in the grace that they are capable of – not in the lives that they are capable of extinguishing." Dorava said, seriously. "You wouldn't think it was so wonderful if you were the one trussed up and forced to watch your dragon die … before they possibly even killed you, too." She shook her head. "That way of life is a horrible thing."
"Oh, no. I can't help if you get caught or don't. I am not in charge of how fast you run!" She laughed. "But I don't intend to get caught, either … getting caught is no fun." Most of the times she'd gotten caught, it was because she was laughing too hard to be considered innocent. And … there were a few times, even, that she had been innocent, but had been too amused by events to not laugh herself to tears. Thus they pinned her as guilty. Which, in all rights, wasn't fair, but what was a girl to do? "Now wait a moment. You're confusing me. Who are we painting? S'rei, or his dragon?" she asked. "Sounds like the man could use a good sleep, fellis won't hurt him any. Just don't give him too much." She thought it would be far more fun to paint the dragon, rather than the rider. Especially since this meant that the dragon would have to be willing … and in no event could that be construed as anything more than playful joking. Even if they were talking about a wingleader, it sounded like fun. "I'll help you paint a dragon, but not the rider." She said, finally. "Painting a dragon just might be fun." She laughed again, at the very idea. A great bronze – a wingleading bronze … flying about as a giant bright green for a week or two? Hilarious! They'd have to mix some vinegar into the paint, to make sure it stuck real good, instead of washing off in the next drizzle.
Aonith's head came up out of the river, and she looked over at the two riders. Who are we painting what, now? she asked, curiously. The tickled sensation coming out of hers was more than just a little curious. It had been ages … turns upon turns … since Aonith had sensed Dorava that lighthearted. It was good, this move to Selenitas. Both for Aonith and for Dorava. We're going to make one of the bronzes green. Dorava told her. Oh. Corinth? Aonith asked, making Dorava double up in giggles. "Aonith thinks we ought to paint Corinth green!" She squeaked.
Aonith considered what Corinth was saying for a few moments, thinking that things were turning to a more serious vein. I don't think she'd go that kind of crazy. Aonith mentioned. At least, she hoped not. If Dorava did go that kind of crazy and started making problems, then there was more wrong with hers than simply being stuck. When I said crazy, I meant something along the lines of maybe a glummy spell, or maybe a yelling fit – at me, of course – or … something benign like that. Not crazy as in … running around thinking every tree in the jungle is out to get her and thus it be time to chop all the trees down and send them over the waterfall. Oh, no. Nothing like that. The green rose up out of the water on all four legs, making the water swirl madly under her in its rush to fill the suddenly empty area. Once the water calmed down, she walked out of the river and settled down on the rocks there. Time for some nice sun … and then later maybe an oiling to replace all that just got washed away during the soaking. Arranging her various and sundry limbs with care, Aonith shoved a few of the larger rocks out of the way as she settled earthward again. Amazing on the hatching grounds. Hm. Maybe. I can't say what I was thinking then. I don't remember. Mine! What was I thinking when I hatched? Aonith asked, curiously.
Dorava looked over at her again, and smiled slightly. You were complaining about how hungry you were.
Oh. Well … I guess I was hungry at the time. Aonith told Corinth, simply. It seemed like a logical thing … to be quite honest, Aonith got hungry quite often… she tended to eat smaller, lighter meals, and as such, ate a little more often. The only exception to that, that she could recall anyway, was right before they had headed out across the ocean. And then Aonith had gorged on several wild beasts before starting on that leg of the journey. Do mine and I fight? No. It takes two to fight. And while either one of us can get rather annoyed … we blow it off any way we have to, using whatever words we have to, and the other just listens. We couldn't be infighting and still survive all the drama that surrounded us. Mine always says that no matter what happens, we must always stay together. Though there have been times mine has been mad at me … I don't remember why … we didn't fight about it. "To be perfectly honest? I prefer honest and candid remarks to ego soothing ones. I like knowing what people think of me. There, at least, I am not guessing at where I stand with people … and if it really needs must, I might be inclined to change how I do things. You can't fix a problem if you are never aware that it is there, you know?" Dorava shrugged, picking up a small stone with her toes and transferring it so to her hand. Gauging the stone's weight for a few moments, she pulled back, and then threw it. It arced through the air, before bouncing with a 'plop' noise off Aonith's shoulder. The green dragon turned her head to look at Dorava, and then down at the pebble that had vanished atop its kin. Dorava looked over as the knife flashed in the light, and one corner of her mouth quirked slightly. "Fidget." She accused, playfully. "I have noticed that." She remarked, simply, to his declaration about healers. "Though I think that anyone of any craft can become one of those with grossly swollen egos. I think the ego problem is rarer among dragonriders simply due to the dragons …" she laughed, before saying her next thought. "Ironically enough, Dragons keep people better grounded. I mean … who else would have such intimate knowledge of your inner workings, and point out when your thoughts are going in a screwy direction?" she asked. "This, of course, is depending on the person being levelheaded when they impressed. Those who start out with large egos tend to keep them … I guess their dragon thinks it's normal?" Healers were too sensible, hm? Well … Dorava wasn't going to comment on that. Sensible, she figured, was a prerequisite to being a healer. After all … one had to have their head screwed on straight to be able to think clearly in an emergency where someone's life was at stake. However, there was a distinct difference between sensible, and stuck up. Distinct. One did not have to be stuck up to be a healer. And truth be told, Dorava wanted to be a healer. And she rather thought she wasn't a stuck up or stuffy type … goodness, she never wanted to be! Don't worry, I won't let you be. Aonith assured her. Hers only smiled at her momentarily in thanks.
Dorava twisted her mouth about. "Killing is done when necessary, yes. And sometimes it, simply put, is necessary. On a basic level … one kills for food. And then one kills to defend self and family. Sometimes fleeing does not keep the home or relatives safe." She said. "Some things must be stood up for. Running forever won't get you much except tired. And then you just die tired. While there is some sense in a strategic retreat, there is also sense in standing up at strategic moments. Back a feline into a corner, and you'll not know a more vicious creature." She pointed out.
"As for C'leon … that … would not be murder." She grinned wickedly. She had no love what so ever for that … that … Dorava refused to put words to what he was. It would bring her down to his level almost. "That would be justice." She said, eventually. "And his dragon would be no great loss, either. That one is highly corrupted by his rider." Though … that idea of dragons sitting on people kept coming back up. Seriously … that had to have happened somewhere along the way to someone, the way it kept getting mentioned about the place. And T'rid wasn't the only one, either. Despite how he'd said that dragons didn't do such things. She'd have to look into that, and find out which dragons it was that were prone to sitting on folk! And then make a point of staying away from those dragons' rumps…
"The other way around?" she asked, before leaning over to read what he scrawled in the dirt. "Safety for freedom?" she asked, before giving him a puzzled expression. "Ok, look. There is no safety in freedom. Not in the traditional sense of the word. That's inherent. In freedom, you are responsible for your own actions, for your own well being. You can shift the blame to no one else at all. You are free … to do as you see fit, to make your own mistakes, and – ultimately – face the consequences of such. Others may help you out, but they are not obligated to. Now, if you give up certain freedoms – or all of them – for perceived safety… so that others will 'keep you safe' from various dangers, you are practically giving your personal power away to others. At which point, you are at their mercy. You are neither safe, nor free." She said, before stopping to think a moment. "In the case of us dragonriders, we are … something of a necessary evil. Not that I am saying that we are evil, mind you." She held up a finger to make the point. "Thread is a real threat, and it has to be met. And as such, the people of Pern all put together to keep the defense up. As in … candidates for the clutches, and then supplies for both the dragons and the riders. Pern counts on riders to meet thread, and keep the ground safe." She didn't bother to elaborate further, as she was well aware she was preaching to the choir on that score. Dragonriders knew what they were there for. Some just took it too far – like Benden – and used that power where it was not allowed for.
Dorava tilted her head slightly. "By the time you both get a flitter, and grow it big enough to move a knife, and also get it trained to do such a thing, I will have had enough time to save up and buy my own knife." She pointed out. "But thanks anyway."
No, fighting straps were not sold in gathers … they generally had to be custom made for each dragon. "Those were the one thing that I did not, and would not have left behind. They were … imperative." She nodded. "Ours are … slightly decorated. They have a simple tooling, nothing more. I haven't bothered to put more effort into them… though nowadays, with less on my agenda and fewer bronzes to duck from, I may put a little effort to fixing them up nicer. Maybe some more tooling, maybe some stitching. I don't know. Deciding what to do is the hardest part … cause most of it can't be undone." She shrugged, and grinned slightly. Yes … she was always careful in deciding what she wanted … making darn sure that was what she actually wanted, when it was such a permanent thing.
"You know … when you treat a knife like that, you're ruining the blade, right? Potentially long term ruining?" Dorava offered, as she watched him dig the poor thing into the ground again. "Curls over the edge, nicks and chips it, the whole works." That was something she had learned to not do, in a real hurry, as a youngster on the cothold territory. Don't poke knives into the ground, and most certainly don't whack at rocks with them. Even the cruder, tougher brush-clearing knives were sensitive to that sort of thing.
"I have seen some candidates who didn't want to be there Impress … and they were like trying to be part of the wall and not get noticed. And more unlikely, but possible, some people who aren't on the sands at all. Which, in my mind, strengthens the point that lurching at a hatchling is not going to endear it to you." Dorava agreed.
"If there develops a plague among humanfolk, than I am afraid I'm going to need a whole lot more than just a blind fold. I'm going to need one heck of an immune system!" Dorava said. "Just so I don't catch it myself." That would be bad. What would I do, then? Aonith interjected. Not much you could do, love, except be nearby. Dorava replied, as she really truly did hope that no one started getting sick on that kind of scale. The weyr really did not need half the population sick and the other half potentially sick – not with Benden breathing down their necks. Oh, no. "Why, thank you! Being astounding is far better than being annoying, methinks." Dorava said, grinning right back. "Carrying out buckets of revile is not torture. I may not enjoy it – you may not enjoy it – but that is not torture, I assure you. Torture … let's not go there, okay? Torture leaves people maimed for life in both the physical and the mental. And I am glad that I have never been subjected to such. And I hope that I never will have to survive such, either. Unpleasant is a better word. And everyone does things that they find unpleasant, in one fashion or another." "The 'just' a greenrider comes from us particular specimens being more common than bugs on a canine's butt. There's nothing special there. Yes … green dragons do make up the majority of the population … but then someone's gotta do it. There is method to the madness … even if sometimes it doesn't seem like it. 'Just' is a figment of man's imagination. In nature, one dragon is as good as the next, I think. Sure, they all have their differing abilities, but they all also have something they're good at. Some niche they fill. Not everyone can be harpers. That would be … boring. Who'd fix the dinners?" she asked. But his point about needing to be presentable at a gather was taken … it was something she had never really thought about before. She'd always had something. Never before in her life had she been so … poor wasn't the right word. But possessed of so few things. "I may borrow a few things." She amended. "I will look into it." "Pounding nails is far more fun than you might think." Dorava grinned. "But each to their own. I am glad to hear that they might let me… I will look into that, also." She wondered what kind of nail driving they would be doing, though, in a weyr that was carved from stone? Or were all the weyrs here stone? She had no idea. As a young girl, she had enjoyed helping to construct the various outbuildings at the cothold… and it would be slightly nostalgic to do something similar yet again, before being swept back into the tide of being a wingrider again. "Provide plenty of wine, eh?" she laughed. "What do you think I am? The master harper?" she giggled. "If I do any such thing, it's liable to be very cheap wine… or free." Though the idea of a bunch of giggly youngsters was funny, it also brought ideas that weren't so funny. What would the hierarchy think, if every time she got involved in something, she incapacitated all the workers? No, not good. Sharing a sip might be alright, but getting them drunk? Oh, no. Not even if she were rich. Now … teaching them weird jokes she just might do. Get them all laughing so hard they wet themselves! "Benden's herds?" Dorava asked, surprised at the question. "They're there. I never paid them any mind. Something sort of a given, you know? The leaders certainly did not allow slacking in the tithes, if you know what I mean. And besides … if they had such an impressive herd, I would not have been so notably impressed by Selenitas' herds to even take notice of them. Benden's herds … are herds. Nothing spectacular. And I am not sure … but I don't think that that weyr runs the herd very … intelligently. I think the riders are concerned with their dragon getting the pick of the lot, the best to eat, rather than the condition of the herd. You know … if all the best of the best are eaten, that leaves the worst to live and breed. And the worst can not produce best. As such, it has always been my opinion, that people ought to guide their dragons in picking which animal to eat… eat the weak, the old, the … culls. That way the best live to thrive and reproduce, until all you really have are great animals, and the diet is all across the board much better." But that was her background speaking again … her father had always been very picky in how the family's herds were allowed to grow and breed. Always the worst were culled out, making for a better, stronger herd. Survival of the fittest, he told her. Man mucks with things, and keeps the weak, feeling sympathy for it. Or thinking it's cute … or breeding for aesthetic value … it ruined the species as a whole. One got weak animals, that way. It was a cold way of thinking … a cold way of acting. But it did garner results, until finally, there were none that needed culling, and all were healthy. For a young girl in love with the babies, it had been a hard thing to learn. At it wasn't until long after she had left her parents' place that the lesson finally sank in and she understood what her father had meant. But that still did not make it easy. Granted … it was gobs easier when one did not know each animal by name and personality. In that sense, it was easier on the heartstrings.
"R'non?" Dorava asked, blindsided yet again by another off the wall question. "What are we playing, here, twenty questions?!" She joked. "Or is this a interrogation in disguise?" But she paused to consider the question. "I have heard of him. But that is all. I have never met the man … and can't say as I know a whole terrible lot about him. I know many don't like him, for one reason or another. But gossip and hearsay are hard things to judge a body by. He's not a Benden rider, though. I don't know where he is … or even if he lives… but he's not at Benden. At least … not when I left. He'd been gone awhile." Dorava said. "Why? Is this person important?"
Dorava only laughed, as he picked apart her joke. "Alright. We'll hold the good words until after we have a flying contest, deal?" she jibed, before watching the bronze sink into the water yet again. Golly, but he sure could make himself flat … surely the river wasn't that deep? In any event, he was sure making the water rise up to flow around him… making like a dam and all that in the river. The water upstream of him was by far deeper than that downstream. "I am glad to hear that I have a decent shot at making a home here." She said, honestly. And she was … having a place to call home was a nice feeling indeed.
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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 17, 2008 15:43:56 GMT -5
T’rid shrugged, modestly grinning, but appeased. Some people didn’t appreciate how intelligent one had to be to come up with a reasonable lie, and were so irritated when they realized they’d been lied to. They pretended it was because they honestly cared about the truth, but in reality it was simply because they were angry they’d been tricked. “Mm, thanks,” he said vaguely, deciding not to go into how exactly he’d come upon lying. Actually, it had been a necessary refuge for someone like him during Hold life. He had never belonged—even though he had been less than a few Turns when he’d been brought from the Weyr—and naturally, people picked on him. He got his revenge. They got in trouble, or they were laughed at. And of course he needed an alibi for where he was, when. The easiest way to do that was to lie. It was all but common sense—unfortunately, some people just didn’t appreciate it. Oh, I wonder why, Corinth said sarcastically. There is a such thing as honesty, you realize? T’rid wrinkled his nose. What was the good in honesty? You were deceived, used, when you were honest. Life was so much harder.
He raised one hand to correct her, though, about the massacres. “I said nothing about massacres being fun,” he pointed out. “I said they were interesting. And they are, aren’t they? I’d like to see anyone in the middle of a massacre deciding they were bored. Massacres weren’t fun, no—but interesting they were. Terrifying? Yes, perhaps. Horrible? Yes. Bloody? Yes. But boring? No, no. And besides, if one lived, they got all sorts of new ideas about how to wield a blade better in battle, how to fight, stance—they were learning experiences. Deadly ones, but learning experiences still. “No need to lecture me,” T’rid added frankly, his gaze flicking towards her, his eyes amused.
Getting caught was one thing T’rid was not good at. He usually disliked careful planning, but in the end that was honestly the only sure way to get a prank finished. Therefore, he planned down to the second, and normally he got away without having to do any hard running. Lying? Well, yes, but that was taken for granted. “We’re painting Salenth, but good idea, we can paint S’rei, too,” T’rid suggested innocently, although he had a feeling not even fellis could make someone ignore a hard runner-hair brush being drawn along them, with gooey paint dripping down on all sides. And Salenth, while he might not mind being painted—T’rid doubted he’d find S’rei being painted very funny. I don’t see why not, I think it’s quite hilarious, myself, Corinth said innocently. You want me to paint S’rei? T’rid asked dubiously. No, I want you to be painted. “All right,” T’rid said, choosing to ignore this, “We’ll paint Salenth. I just want S’rei to goggle for a moment or look stupid—so the day before Wing Drills, is what I’m thinking.” He rocked in thought. “Um, hmm. Yeah, I want to see his reaction…”
He looked astounded at the idea of painting Corinth as his bronze gave an indignant snort, his head shooting out of the water. You wouldn’t! T’rid held up his hands, laughing. “No, Corinth, I wouldn’t.” But you’re planning to? “No, we’re talking about Salenth. Hush.” I don’t trust you, Corinth said doubtfully. “Don’t you? You ought to. I am your Rider, aren’t I?” Yes, and? “Corinth,” T’rid said, addressing Dorava, “Thinks that if we paint him green he might have to push us off a cliff.” I didn’t say that, Corinth protested. But you thought it, T’rid amended. I would never say that! Apparently you have no problem with thinking it, though.
The bronze tilted his head to one side. Oh. A glum spell, a yelling fit…these didn’t qualify as ‘madness’ to Corinth. ‘Madness’ was a blabbering old man hunched up in the corner of a room. ‘Madness’ was raw terror at something there was no need to be terrified of. ‘Madness’ was not sane at all. Depression and anger were just everyday emotions that T’rid displayed every once in a while. Madness had yet to be shown to Corinth by T’rid himself and he would just as well pray that that day never came. The bronze rolled over in the water, driving such thoughts from his mind. When he was happy, he was much more open to T’rid, and they shared most of their thoughts even when they were trying to hide them. When T’rid was upset or irritated, he got much more stiff and didn’t open up—Corinth didn’t like not being able to feel T’rid on the other side of their mental link. He probably closed up when he got irritated too, but he didn’t often. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking either, he added consolingly. Ridmine says I have a terrible memory and I have to say I agree. He paused as Aonith contacted Hers. Hungry? All the hatchlings are, aren’t they? the bronze asked. They definitely seemed—not to mention sounded—hungry when they tripped all over the place keeling.
Corinth considered. Didn’t fight? Aonith was had to be one of the first greens who was levelheaded—and stayed that way. Reysalth had been fussy at first and then got more levelheaded as he got more awake, but so far Aonith had been quite sane the entire way through. You don’t fight? He paused again. I don’t see what you did to pass the time when you were irritated at her, then, he said frankly. Mellith and Hers fight only sometimes, when she’s close to Rising, I think, because of how close to Rising Mellith is. Salenth’s was irritated with her at the Wing Drills,[/i][/color] he added meditatively. But normally she isn’t, she’s quite nice. T’rid says arguments are just like exercising your mind—you have to anticipate and counter. I think he enjoys it—bantering, you know. When he wasn’t bantering, though, he actually added insults with a sting to his words—that was what Corinth didn’t like.
T’rid leaned back, his knife still flashing in his hand. It had been effective in keeping the bigger Hold boys away from him, too, he remembered vaguely. They were too cowardly to reckon with someone who showed confidence in the handling of a blade—much too cowardly. He smiled with distinct satisfaction in remembrance. “But they treat you differently,” he pointed out. “If they hate you, they definitely won’t be hugging you and kissing you. If they just like you, they’ll laugh a lot, and smile. And if they don’t care, they’ll be tentative, you understand? You can be observant and still get the messages without having yourself get insulted.” He shrugged. In his opinion, the best way to return a mushy comment was with a mocking one, and vice versa. Corinth quite agreed; it was the reason behind their ‘I hate you; I love you too’ comments. “And. Well, throwing rocks at your dragon doesn’t count as fidgeting?”
Wait, wait. Hold up a bit. She agreed? Most people he dared mention that to, aside from Corinth, would ogle him and then say, ‘What’re you talking about? Healers are lovely, sensible, kind people.’ Yeah, just lovely…perhaps they said that because their life hung in balance when it came to Healers. And hang on again, she thought egos were smaller among dragonmen? And women, Corinth pointed out. Dragonmen and women? He shook his head. “Again, you have not met A’noan. Come to that, what about C’leon? And the other Bendenites? You can’t say their egos aren’t overly swollen. I mean,” he added mischievously, “They think they’re better than me. Seriously, they do.” He shook his head sagely, clicking his tongue. He was just kidding, of course—not that he didn’t think highly of himself—the unmistakable twinkle in his hazel eyes gave that away. “Besides,” he added carelessly, “Corinth’s probably used my thoughts getting ‘screwy’ as you put it. Lots of dragons, Impressed to men, probably do have to, especially if they haven’t been winning any Flights recently.” That was putting it rather bluntly, but it was true. Going without did make a difference.
Oh, he was getting a lecture on battle tactics? T’rid contented himself to listen, although he refrained from pointing out that, as he planned to lead no raids, learning about strategy basically was wasted on him. He made a noncommittal sound in his throat on most of it. “Easier said than done,” he offered quietly when she mentioned standing up for things. After all, someone ought to stand up to C’leon at Benden Weyr. Did they? No, for fear of getting their throats cut on the spot. And to be quite honest, he didn’t blame them. Retreating didn’t do much except help C’leon dominate. Unless an entire group of Riders rebelled against C’leon—unlikely, bordering on microscopic chances of that—C’leon won. As usual. “Back a feline in a corner and you’d better have a knife,” he agreed solemnly. “And no, you’d never meet a more vicious creature after that, because you’d most likely be dead. Unless I’m much mistaken, I don’t think dead people can technically ‘meet’ anyone.”
So C’leon being killed wasn’t murder? “If you wanted to be technical, I do think he’s famous enough to be called assassinated,” he said playfully, and then nodded. “But yeah—I see your point. C’leon is dead, though, and a new Bronzerider takes over Benden. All of them are corrupted, really—I don’t see what difference it really would make. Gives you a new person to hate, though, doesn’t it?” Justice? Well, perhaps, considering all the people C’leon had had murdered in his time. “You’d have to murder—sorry, kill—him a few hundred times for justice to be honestly served, but yes,” he agreed. Corinth had been listening in, his eyes serious as his tongue forked out. Mosrath is hardly a dragon, the bronze said, with a low growl rumbling in his chest. He is simply a wild animal with a better appearance than most.
He listened amiably to most of the lecture, although when she reached the whole Dragonriders are a Necessary Evil idea, T’rid bit his tongue in order to make himself not interrupt. Some Dragonriders are evil, he commented to Corinth, who was also listening intently, head tilted to one side in thought. “Hmm, yes. Well, if Holders would like to come out armed with flamethrowers to take over for the dragons while we stay inside and take a welcome break, by all means let ’em, I say. Or rather,” T’rid corrected himself, “I would say, if that didn’t spell disaster for Pern. But you get my meaning, yes? Honestly, I can see why power went to C’leon’s—and Benden’s—head.” His lip twisted in a wry smile. “To make people obey, all you’ve got to do is threaten not to fly Threadfall during a Pass—it can’t have been that hard once he got the dragonriders convinced.”
“There’s a clutch right now,” he countered adamantly. “Corinth can just tell it what to do, and all I have to do is think about where you are and what you look like, tie a knife to his leg, and send him between. Despite my dislike for the things, I can’t say they’re unintelligent.” T’rid sighed. It would have been much, much easier to go on hating them if they were stupid little things, but unfortunately they seemed to sense intentions and thoughts as well as dragons.
How would you expect Aonith’s to fly Threadfall—and thereby be accepted into the Weyr—without straps? Corinth queried, as Dorava explained. Well, considering she threw away some of her clothes, and it seems, doesn’t it, that clothes are all important to some women…? The bronze rumbled indulgently. Apparently not all, though. T’rid’s eyes flicked to the bronze. Apparently. “You could take them to Gather and see what the Journeymen there could do,” he suggested absently to Dorava. The Weavers were always willing to do work when fairly paid—and of course, if by chance a young idiot was working there, the offer of a ride a-dragonback always seemed to count more than marks did. Sullenly, Corinth said, They suffer under the delusion that we are common runners. Nonsense, they love you.
T’rid looked down at his hand, honestly surprised that he was doing anything with it. “Oh, hmm. Sorry. Right.” He rubbed it horizontally on the grass before sheathing it again. “Can’t help it.” He grinned crookedly. “I’m sure I’ve got enough knives, though.” Which reminded him…he’d been wanting to add a wrist dagger, but had never gotten the chance to do so. Now, he took sheath and dagger from his belt and fitted it against his arm, tugging the sleeve of his tunic over it to conceal it. Of course he’d need something holding it there…he practiced ease of draw and found it relatively easy, albeit an odd twist. “I’d be polite and ask where you learned about knives, but I’m guessing that all Benden and Fort Riders have to, yes?” he added wryly, pulling the dagger out of his sleeve and reattaching it to his belt.
“Odd, they are—probably just shy.” He dismissed them with a flick of his hand. “They’d better learn not to be shy if they want to be a full Rider,” T’rid added. Green Risings were exceedingly common, after all, and intimacy was a part of the Weyr’s entire organization. How was anybody going to get around if everyone was a shy, blushing idiot when it came to so much as being watched? I suppose you never were shy, were you? Corinth asked doubtfully. No, not much. T’rid grinned at the bronze. Why? You think I need a Weyrmate or something? Corinth rumbled. I know as well as you do your ideas about Weyrmates, Ridmine, he said gently. Actually, T’rid had considered getting a Weyrmate simply because larger, double Weyrs had a much more spacious living area, not to mention Corinth seemed to get along rather well with most female dragons anyway—but he’d never met anyone he cared to share a Weyr with. “Yes, I’ve seen unplanned Impressions,” he added. “Cause a lot of trouble, don’t they, especially if the new Weyrling was supposed to be, say, Lord Holder or something?”
T’rid waved away the idea of sickness. “Dragonmen and women,” he added to satisfy Corinth, “are usually pretty hearty. Hard to get ’em sick. Maybe it’s the thin air, or the between exercises—but not many dragonriders get sick all that often—haven’t you noticed? Holders get sick on a monthly basis and I can’t recall the last time I was sick, myself. Can you?” That wasn’t to be taken literally, but he was just explaining his point as frankly as possible. “It’d be the Weyrfolk—the ’brats and Drudges—that would be sick. I’m not saying that’s good, but it’s preferable to the dragonriders themselves getting sick, isn’t it?”
Astounding—did she take that as a good thing? T’rid grinned sympathetically. “Wasn’t saying that as a compliment. Sorry.” She didn’t think grabbing at vomit was torture? “Maybe it won’t wound you physically, but it would injure my pride and mentality,” T’rid said, wincing. Dorava, apparently, was very literal…he hadn’t meant it as such and taking it as such obviously did not have a good outcome. “You don’t need to take everything I say so literally—didn’t you say you liked people to tell you where you could improve? Here’s one. I joke, I brag, I tease and generally make light of things like torture and massacre.” He grinned wryly. “Lots of people joke when they can’t do anything else, to make things seem better—that’s all.”
He winced at her rather blunt statement. “Have you ever counted the bugs on a canine’s butt?” he asked sardonically. “I mean, I’m sure the canine wouldn’t approve.” T’rid considered her words. Wise words, yes. Poor greens, they always got the brunt of things, didn’t they? First time I ever heard you feel bad for anything, Corinth said in amusement, catching the flow of his thoughts. Oh, um, I’m terribly sorry? he asked. The bronze snorted. I actually think that’s a good thing. “Hmm. Queens lay eggs, bronzes Fly them and lead a wing, browns…um. Well, browns…” He paused, grinning dryly. “Well, I’m sure we’ll find something. Blues and greens play the agile ones in Threadfall and do all the tight twists and turns. Browns…?” They sometimes Second for a wing? Corinth suggested. Not here, apparently. All the wings I can think of have bronze Seconds. Ours included,[/b] T’rid frowned. “What are browns particularly good at?”
T’rid sighed. Had she truly just realized that she’d have to Gather to buy those things, and had nothing to go to Gather in? Oh, dear. “Hmm. Well, I’d suggest stalking down S’rei about it. Ka’rys might be irritated that you’re bothering him and I don’t think Shmee’s in such a fine state right now. In fact,” he amended, “Perhaps a Drudge would be better.” Hadn’t Laurie said S’rei was tired and stressed? Troubling him about something like this probably wouldn’t do much to ease such stress, as little as it was. Aren’t you going to think ‘Poor Rei’? Corinth asked curiously. T’rid considered. Hmm, no. He couldn’t feel sorry for the Wingleader—not that his trouble amused T’rid—but quite honestly he thought of him more impersonally. He was a Wingleader—it was easier not to get involved in every little thing and just be his Wingsecond.
“Pounding nails…just what every kid wants to do,” T’rid commented, rolling his eyes. Ugh…building the foundations for a Weyr, for the Wherhandlers…not the top of his list of ‘Things I Like to Do.’ Although far from the bottom. Even participating in some massacre—that he lived through, obviously—was higher up than boring, manual labor. Hey, he might as well get some thrills if there was to be a massacre anyway, no? “Again, avoid Ka’rys. I’d talk to the Weyrlingmaster. I’mny and F’rah, I think they are…I’mny’s a Bluerider and F’rah’s a Brownrider. Or you could just figure out when they’ve got construction scheduled and pop up—I doubt the Weyrlings for one are going to deny extra help.” He personally wouldn’t either. But you, Ridmine…you are a very special person. He hated it sometimes when Corinth read his thoughts so easily. Um, gee. Thanks so much. Anytime. “Sure, wine. I’m sure you could get some from the Lower Caverns. And the Weyrlings would all love you…of course, I doubt I’mny and F’rah would approve, but if you were sneaky about it…” He trailed off, grinning widely in amusement. “Does wine that a Rider gets drunk on affect the dragon?” he added impulsively, his forehead creasing in thought. “Because, I mean, perhaps it won’t be such a good idea if the Weyrlings’ dragons get giggly and storm someone.”
I take it you approve of the newcomer’s loyalty status? Corinth asked sardonically, his sarcasm rivaling T’rid’s at its best. Of course. “Well, even at Selenitas the dragons choose the better, fatter ones over the skinny ones…more tender, I’m told,” he added, grimacing at Corinth, who gave a low croon of amusement. “And some dragons prefer males over females, etc. As you said, each to their own. Overall, the herd keeps fairly well rounded out, and most people do stop their dragons from attacking the pregnant herdbeasts.” He clicked his tongue. “I think Corinth did get a pregnant one once…only he didn’t know it was pregnant. But after he found the baby, I believe he felt so incredibly guilty that he asked me if it was possible to resurrect a herdbeast.” He rolled his eyes. I was very sorry…it was about big enough to be born, I think, Corinth said, his voice guilty. He’d forgotten until T’rid had inadvertently though of and sent him an image of the time…“But yeah. Our Holds tithe pretty well, too. Grateful we haven’t turned Benden on them, probably.”
At the mention of R’non, T’rid’s eyes narrowed calculatingly and he shrugged. “Interrogation, if you like.” Didn’t Ka’rys already give her an interrogation, when she first arrived? He savored the knowledge and shrugged absently. With the absence of his knife in his hand, T’rid began to tug at the grass, pulling it up and ripping it, letting the stalks drift away towards…well, towards nothing in particular. Towards me, Corinth said irritably, huffing away a stray stalk. “R’non? Hmm. Pretty important. Yeah. He’s the Junior Weyrleader, although he is Ka’rys’s senior in years.” He grimaced. “He was a Benden Rider all along, of course, supplying information to Benden through someone else…” He rolled his eyes. “And then his Rath went and Caught Millieth during her Flight. And of course he decided that Kaegan wasn’t supposed to be hurt, and obviously C’leon couldn’t care less about Kaegan’s well-being. So, he went and tried to kill Kaegan and Shmee, after doping all of the dragons giggly…started a huge fight. Then Rath, who wasn’t drugged, came out and challenged Mosrath, and R’non and C’leon fought, too…in the end C’leon was sent off, but I doubt Kaegan and Millieth were very perky about what happened to them.” He grimaced. “Don’t worry about it. More likely than not we’ll have a new Junior Weyrleader after Millieth’s next Flight. Can’t have been too pleased…”
“Done.” T’rid’s eyes brightened at the idea of a challenge…like the Games. The Games…he had never seen Games, let alone participated in them; they probably fell apart at the War. But still, it was an interesting thought. “Warning, though—Corinth is hardly a bulky flier in the air. Maybe you haven’t seen him, but…” He glanced at the all-but-flat bronze. “He’s probably the smallest bronze at Selenitas and agile with it. Along with a large wingspan. So. Winning won’t be easy, even for a green.” Reysalth hadn’t won, had she? He nodded, though, at her words. “Yeah, well. Lots of people apparently think Selenitas is some sort of save haven for everyone…don’t see that it is, with Benden and Fort at each other’s throats and High Reaches stealing all the Candidates…Weyrlings…” He clicked his tongue, and then glanced at Dorava. “Oh—you don’t know about High Reaches, do you?” It was rather a secret—or it had been intended to be. Most people said that Fort and Benden didn’t know about it, but if R’non could successfully pass information, who knew what else the other warring Weyrs knew that they thought was a complete secret? Stupid Sharding spies.[/size]
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Post by dragon on Sept 17, 2008 23:03:42 GMT -5
Dorava smiled, genuinely. "You're welcome."
"Alright. Point taken. Interesting, then. I suppose … in a twisted sort of way. If it didn't get your attention, you'd be dead in a hurry, huh?" Dorava said, in his explanation of his take on massacres. The split there had not occurred to her. Which was a little strange, since she tended to draw lines between similar and assumed words, herself. Oh well … learn something knew every day!
"We're painting Salenth. Alrighty. That we can do." Dorava agreed. Though she was still debating in her mind whether or not he was serious in this endeavor. What was she getting herself into, if he was? She wished she could truly bet that he wasn't … but with what she'd seen of him already, just in this chat? There was a strong possibility that he was dead serious about painting his Wingleader's dragon green! In any event … whatever happened … this would certainly be interesting! Seeing S'rei's reaction would indeed be lovely … but Dorava suspected she was not going to be anywhere near him when he woke up to notice… Aonith giggled dragon-style at Corinth's reaction to the idea of him being painted green. The color would look good on you. Flattering! She teased, nodding her head a few times as if the bolts that held it on were a tad loose and her head might actually fall off. She only ever did that kind of expression when she truly was relaxed and having fun… and seeing it made Dorava smile, happily – regardless of the conversation topic, even as she listened to the hilarious half of the conversation between T'rid and Corinth that she could hear. "Off a cliff, aye? We'd surely have to learn to fly quickly on our own, wouldn't we?" she giggled. All the hatchlings I have ever seen have acted like they were starving, yes. Regardless of what kind of creature they were. Aonith mentioned. And at that, she was amazed that she could remember well enough to make that kind of statement. Maybe there was hope for her yet. But then … in her turns, she had witnessed a lot of hatchings. Of a many and myriad of species.
No, mine and I do not fight. Not that I can recall, anyway. At Benden, there was no need to find something to do to pass the time. If you had lived there, as a green, you would know that every waking moment is spent dodging for one's own hide … and that for yours, as well. We did not have idle moments to worry with. The slower pace of things here has been good for mine … and I imagine, for me as well. the green admitted, finally. It was certainly no secret that she was healing a lot better, now that she had come here. A way to exercise the mind? There are other ways to do that … that aren't so hard on mine's mental state. I don't know what she'd do, if I turned on her, too … she takes a lot more abuse than she ought to … even from her own self. She's convinced she must always be better than she already is. "Some people are good at faces, and at acting." Dorava pointed out simply. "I don't like having to guess." She admitted. Throwing rocks at her dragon didn't count as fidgeting? "I never said that." She grinned. "I never even implied I wasn't. It takes one to know one, after all." Dorava teased.
"No, I have not met A'noan." She agreed. "The way you keep going on about that man, I am beginning to hope I never do." And there were probably a few other people she might meet and wish she hadn't, too. But one never knew these things, until after it was past. "When I was talking about dragon riders, I did say rarer, not rare. This is all in perspective, here, not in totalitarian outright statements. And C'leon …" she heaved a slow sigh. "There are exceptions to every rule, and I truly think that Benden as a whole is one massive exception to the functionality of the world. Otherwise known as … whassis? Tumor? I dunno. I'm not a healer. Anyway… There are a lot of people there, that all have ego issues. Most of the rankers, to be actual." She couldn't help but laugh at his statement of them thinking they were better than him. "Better than you at … what … exactly?" she teased, not really expecting an answer to that one. "But … after all that is said and done, it is entirely possible for a person's pre-established ego to completely warp and twist a dragon that impresses to them."
"A lot of things are easier said than done … not much anyone can do about that." Dorava shrugged, picking up another stone with her toes and transferring it to her hand. She turned it over a few times, considering. "No … dead people only tend to meet other dead people in the ground… or in between." She agreed, before chunking the pebble at Aonith. Seeing Dorava's arm flash, Aonith looked over just in time to get beaned on the snout, rather than the shoulder. The green dragon blinked, and looked down, where the rock had landed. It hadn't hurt her at all, but it had surprised her.
"Assassinated. Now there's an idea." Dorava mused. "However, on top of someone else taking his place, his successor would probably pain him as a martyr, and that wouldn't help us at all, would it?" after a speculative moment, she shrugged. "Unfortunately, people can only die once. However… you might be amazed what a body can live through." She gave him a wink that had a particularly evil-looking twinkle in it.
"Holders with flame throwers aren't very good at that, no … which is why it's our job. But with that power being handed off to us, in some instances that power does get abused horribly. And of late … more than just some instances." She sighed, sadly.
"How old would that young thing have to be, before it was big enough to carry a knife between?" Dorava asked, when he insisted that he could have a flitter do that pretty quick. "Baby flitters, much like baby dragons, shouldn't be going between. And then they have to be a certain ratio of mass to any given object they'll be moving in such a fashion. Don't ask me what it is … I don't know the numbers. Nor have I had the privilege of playing around with a flitter of my own to find out…" Not to mention tying a knife to a flitter's leg was something that might be comical to see … given that some knives were bigger than flitters' bodies. Much less trying to do so to a young flitter.
Dorava shook her head at his suggestion of taking her straps to a weaver to have work done on them. "One of the things you learn pretty quick, is never trust anyone else with your straps. They're all too easy to sabotage and have go unnoticed. And then in a critical moment, they can break, and leave you falling. And while in most cases, a dragon can catch their rider … it is not a guaranteed thing." She said. No – she'd take care of her own straps. Being decorated was no big deal, anyway. It just simply was not that important to her.
Dorava watched with interest as he applied the sheathed knife to his forearm, and from his actions easily deduced what he was thinking about doing. "I can show you how to rig that up, and then retrieve it." She offered, quietly … just in case he already knew, she didn't want to be offending his … masculinity. Where did she learn about knives? Well… that started a lot earlier in her life than Benden … Benden just took it farther. "Ah … I was a cotholder's daughter. And in a rural area like that, knives are a right handy tool to have at all times. They are useful for a lot … making things out of handy saplings, cutting fibers, mending fences, clearing new pastureland, and on the more rare occasions, slaughtering a critter for the larder. I learned at a very young age to handle a knife as a tool. I never needed it as a weapon, until I reached Benden. At which point, training in knives as weapons was more or less … mandatory." She explained. And her respect for a knife's treatment stemmed more from her youth than from Benden … one just didn't treat their tools like that. They weren't so easily replaced. Which meant, even in Benden, she'd had some of the best cared-for knives in her possession, even if they hadn't been the best quality knives. Currently, her priority was just to get one… later on she'd save up and buy the best knife she could find. They tended to hold their edges better. Dorava tilted one eyebrow with interest at his clarification and point of emphasizing dragonmen and women. This truly was a fellow of a mental standing that differed from what she was used to in the north. Did women really have that kind of … acknowledgment, here? That would be nice … especially since she herself harbored a sense of self that was very hard to contain. "I … can't think of … the last time I was sick, no. It was so mild that I didn't really notice it." She admitted, conceding his point. But … even among the support staff, a plague would be a bad thing. "It is a good thing that riders are … more prevalent against such attacks – if they did get sick so easily, we'd lose far more dragons than we could stand to."
Well, darn. So much for that compliment … not compliment. Oh well … astounding people tended to get noticed, anyway … and it rather went against Dorava's trained in grain to get herself noticed. Being invisible to other people was far more preferable a way to live. "Joking and teasing is all right … I simply … well. Since I've come here, everyone I've met has been quite literal to the point of pain. So … apologies. I was … attempting to adapt."
Had she ever counted the bugs on a canine's butt? She had tried, once, as a young girl. But … best not mention that. The canine hadn't liked that very much, and neither had the bugs. "Browns? They sometimes fly Queens, too. And other than that, they're somewhere between bronzes and blues in stamina and agility. They're better in the agility department than most bronzes, and they can fly longer than most blues." She offered. "A general all around middle dragon."
"I don't intend to bother Ka'rys, no." Dorava agreed. "Why would I bother your wingleader for clothing? I'd better be occupied hunting up the Headwoman, wouldn't I?" she asked. Riders – especially ranking riders – had far more important things to tend to than making sure some idiot transferred greenrider had clothing.
She nodded to his suggestions at how to approach a building gathering. If they were actually pounding nails into wood, it would be rather nostalgic for her … though her nail driving muscle clusters might abuse her for the mistreatment. It had been a long time since she'd pounded anything into anything. "I don't think I'd wine them. But a basket of pasties might go over well." She suggested.
Aonith cracked a huge yawn, and rested her head on her own flank, blinking sleepily at Corinth. She was warming up enough on the bank after the cool soak in the river that it was trying very hard to put her to sleep… which – despite how friendly Corinth had been – was something Aonith did not want to do. Not and leave Dorava unattended!
"Fatter beasts are tastier." Dorava agreed. "Which is why most herds are so poorly run." She pointed out. "Even people think so." A raw brisket that was well marbled with fat made for excellent eating once it was well cooked … it came out flavorful and tender too.
"Aw. Nuts. I was hoping I'd gotten past the interrogation part of my life." Dorava said, dropping a closed fist on her knee. Despite the show of aggravation at the revelation, it was obvious it was just a show, and she was just teasing. She grinned slightly, as she noticed he was starting to pretend his hands were a grazer's mouth … cropping the grass so short. He really was a fidget budget! Can't hold still for nothing. Not that she was any better … best to always be doing something.
R'non was at Selenitas? She might have guessed as much. A lot of people seemed to come here, apparently. "Ah." She said, noncommittally. "I wondered who was on this end orchestrating things … and then it fell apart at a moment's whim. I never was privy to those sorts of things. After all … I was 'just' a greenrider." She said, poking fun with the statement smack in the middle of a rather serious sentence. Oh, yes. She could do both!
"You hear that, Aonith? T'rid here just accepted a challenge to contest his bronze against you!" Dorava called out to her green. That's nice. Aonith replied, sleepily. What kind of contest that was would determine entirely which dragon would win, of course… something on agility and it would be hands down Aonith. Not only was she green, she was Benden trained in aerial combat. A flat out race across the skies, however, while at first she might take the lead, in the end Corinth would win out on sheer stamina and weight. Though he was a smaller bronze, he was still considerably larger than Aonith was. "High Reaches?" Dorava asked, her interest piqued. "High Reaches is a habitated Weyr again?" She queried, amazed. "I bet that's only cause they're closer to Fort rather than Benden … " she mused. Oh, yes. C'leon would have made darn sure to either absorb another fledgling weyr in his domain – or kill them outright. No two ways about it. They would not have stayed an independent weyr after having been discovered. "Who pulled that off? Was it folks from here?" Even if Benden or Fort leadership had known … Dorava plainly had not. Either from the weyrs simply not knowing, or from the typical being out of the loop.
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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 18, 2008 23:46:02 GMT -5
I’m very sorry to say it, but I think you’re both crazy, Corinth said, sounding resigned. Lying is in no way a good thing, and yet you persist… T’rid wrinkled his nose, cutting off the bronze. It helps, though. Alibis and all that. Corinth fell silent, obviously realizing he was going to get nowhere with that topic. T’rid nodded absently at Dorava, not knowing quite what else to say. He was welcome. Okay. That was nice. Now what? He supposed that was the end to that topic—a pity really, because quite honestly it was nice to have someone who agreed with him—lying was good. It was just an escape route, like leaving the back door of a Weyr open when you expected the front door to be locked, or something.
“Mm. Pretty soon, unless you were on the side doing the massacring?” he suggested. “Because then, what with your antagonists all huddled up in fear, you could stand and gawp for a while without anything happening.” Unless you were trying to massacre Selenitas. They seemed to always put up a nice fight whenever Benden threatened them, didn’t they now? High Reaches, too…perhaps not so much, as some of their Candidates and Weyrlings still had been taken, but not all of them had. He counted that as quite good.
T’rid nodded, a broad grin splitting his face as he studied her intently. “You do realize that I’m not kidding, yes?” he asked. People did that; they’d agree to something, but when the time came around, they backed out by saying, “I didn’t know you were serious. That’s silly.” Painting Salenth…should be much fun, yes. If he could get other people to help, it’d be done quicker, but if they did dose S’rei with fellis, it shouldn’t be a problem…hopefully the Wingleader’s dragon wouldn’t mind leaving S’rei’s Weyr and coming to an empty one instead. It might be rather suspicious if two people snuck into the room of a Wingleader carrying brushes and paint.
Corinth all but pouted at the idea of being painted green. I am not pretty enough already? he asked in mock-plaintive tones. I’ll get a chance to see what Salenth looks like painted green, and then I can choose whether or not to take the style myself, yes? I like that idea much better than being painted green myself, first. Or perhaps, he added with a gleam of mischief in his idly whirling eyes, We could paint you bronze? Or gold, if you prefer? A gold green. Ooh, that would be interesting! It would be especially amusing to watch the reactions of the bronzes in the Weyr. Perhaps they would all come to flirt with Aonith for being, suddenly, gold?
“Fly? On our own?” T’rid considered and then snickered. “Of course we don’t! We’ll just have Aonith or some other dragon wait at the bottom as a landing mat. Pretty soft, dragons are,” he added with a wink at Corinth, who huffed irritably. I still have not forgotten how you thought it was amusing to jump on me at random, he said warningly. When we weren’t supposed to fly yet, he added even more meaningfully, and T’rid shrugged. Falling doesn’t count as flying. The bronze huffed again. You were shouting ‘I can fly’ if I remember correctly. T’rid grinned at the memory. “Eh, yeah. Corinth apparently recalls the time”—he couldn’t believe the bronze was thinking about it often enough to remember—“when we were Weyrlings, when I used to jump off a tree and land on him or something.” He rolled his eyes. “Scared the Shards out of him,” he explained cheerfully. It had been extremely fun.
The bronze dragon nodded thoughtfully. They do, don’t they? I would’ve thought that they’d something to eat inside of their egg—or else they would starve before they Hatched, yes? Perhaps it just ran out, and that’s why they Hatch… He stopped, slightly bewildered himself. He’d never taken it to his mind to ask a hatchling what it was like in their egg. Dark, probably, and cramped. Not very comfortable, but none of them had looked particularly pleased, to Corinth, to emerge from their dark, cramped, uncomfortable eggs into the much more comfortable world. Perhaps they just needed to adapt first. Or something.
They didn’t fight. They didn’t fight! The words repeated themselves to the bewildered bronze. All dragon and Rider pairs fought occasionally, didn’t they? About Flights, about food, about wing patterns—about something. And yet Aonith and Dorava had never fought? Benden does sound very different, he mused. I suppose it just depends on what your Rider is like, then…if Ridmine felt terrible, I wouldn’t argue with him either, but he rarely does. He turned an affectionately whirling eye on T’rid. Most of the time he’s being sarcastic. He likes it, so he’s happy when he’s doing that. That’s when I argue with him. To prick his ego, when it’s getting too large…you know.
“Hmm.” Guessing was rather fun, wasn’t it? But then, it was her choice. Personally T’rid found guessing extremely entertaining. One could do all sorts of things with guessing…invent crazy lies, make up things to do. “Your choice,” he murmured dubiously, echoing his thoughts. “I guess—sorry—it’s something that you grow into or out of?” he asked reflectively, glancing at Dorava for confirmation. He’d seen lots of people whose childhoods influenced them far too much. He had been born at a Weyr and grew up in a Hold, and Impressed at a Weyr. He couldn’t care less what had happened in the past. Now was today, a new day. “At least you own up to fidgeting,” he commented wryly, smirking slightly. Most of the time people thought fidgeting was bad, didn’t they?
“You hope correctly,” T’rid murmured, a grin quirking the corner of his mouth. “My old Wingleader before the wings got switched,” he explained absently. “I think he’s just a Wingrider now…perhaps a Wingsecond.” The Bronzerider snorted, shaking his head. “Not too good at writing out wing patterns if you ask me.” He thought he recalled that all of the greens were on one side of the drill, and all of the blues on the other. That was just silly. Greens and blues should be freely intermixed, after all, yes? What if all the greens tired? Then an entire half of the pattern would be gone. Just like that. Because of bad planning. Perhaps it was a good thing he and J’fer had gotten into an argument…He shrugged slightly at the Benden comments. “Yeah, well. I guess they think that being exceptions are good.” T’rid wrinkled his nose, playing along. “Better than me at everything. Can’t believe how wrong they are, of course…”
T’rid watched the arc of flight as the stone left Dorava’s hand…and hit her dragon squarely on the snout. Corinth rumbled in surprise. At least you don’t do that, he commented dryly. I could start if you like, T’rid offered, generosity itself. Corinth threw him a sharp glance. I’d rather you didn’t, thank you very, very much. Ah well. Such was life. Arguments and bantering around every corner. “Well…if you could meet people between, I’m sure it’d be crowded fit to burst already,” he said, a slight grin stretching across his face at the thought.
He shrugged absently at her suggestion of a successor being bad. In his opinion, a successor was good. Someone smug and overconfident with his powers would be easier to kill than someone already hardened and completely confident about who wanted to kill him and who to trust. Surprise was a good element to hold, was it not? “I thought you didn’t like torture?” T’rid asked, a wry smile twisting his lip. “But, eh, if you can catch C’leon and hold him down, I’ll happily beat him upside the head with a club or something. That’s only if we can get past his guards, his dragon, his knives, Benden Weyr. If we get there without being shot down. If we manage to get to him before he gets to us. Other than that, it’ll be so easy we’ll be laughing the entire way.” Oh, dear. He really did like sarcasm today didn’t he?
“Yeah, well…Benden can’t last that long. What with half of their dragon/rider pairs deserting and heading over here, along with a good portion of Fort’s, and Threadfall coming…they haven’t had any raids of late. I count that as quite good, don’t you?” He grinned slightly. “We even have a runaway Queenrider of theirs and they didn’t get her back, did they? They’re falling. Slowly, to be sure. But they’re toppling.” Millieth and Kaegan—he was quite surprised that they were still at Selenitas. A queen dragon and her Rider was not exactly just your run-of-the-mill deserter; shouldn’t she have been treated better? C’leon had apparently thought not. That was one point in Selenitas’s favor.
He waved his hand impatiently. “Fire lizards go between when they go wild, don’t they? Some hatchlings go wild. It’ll be okay.” And if it wasn’t, he would be fine with that, too, but T’rid decided against mentioning such a fact. “If not, I can always get Corinth to help. Or, if need be, I’ll recruit other fire lizards with the promise they can ride Corinth or something afterwards.” I do like your assumption that I will allow myself to be ridden upon, Corinth sniffed. Don’t be silly, Corinth, you love fire lizards. You’ll be like, having hysterics of delight. He got a sulky response of Will not, but at least Corinth didn’t argue anymore than that. “If you get your own knife first, then that’s fine too.” He shrugged.
Why would a Weaver sabotage riding straps? T’rid quirked his brow in amusement. He’d been Riding Corinth for five years. Every single one of his riding straps and fighting straps had been worked on by a Weaver or someone who could carve designs in the leather. Nobody had ever tried to kill him (and frankly, he could think of many reasons why someone would want to kill him). “Maybe at Benden Weyr, but as far as I know nobody’s had their straps sabotaged here,” he said dryly. “You could always go back and kill whoever sabotaged your straps, you know? And most people don’t even know how straps work. They just go in and decorate them all over and hope it works. Besides, if you check your straps regularly and oil them and stuff, it shouldn’t happen.” He grimaced expressively. Corinth had made him oil their straps over and over and over again before Wing Drills…ouch. That had not been much fun.
“Huh?” T’rid glanced up at Dorava, almost startled. “Oh, yeah. That’d be nice.” A belt-knife was nice, of course, but it seemed to T’rid a bit obvious. A wrist-blade could come in handy if one’s arms were pinned or something of the like, after all. His trousers were rather loose without his belt, unfortunately, so he’d have to improvise. Could you get me one of those vines, Cor? The bronze’s head turned and he glanced at the nearby trees, leaned over, and delicately bit off one of them, before spitting, tongue forking out in disgust. I really don’t see how you stand these things, he said, flicking the vine at T’rid. It was a bit long…I am NOT going to bite another of those disgusting things, Corinth warned him, as T’rid listened to Dorava speaking while coiling the length of vine in his hand. “Benden does that to you, doesn’t it?” he asked wryly. “Along with Fort.”
T’rid caught her raised eyebrow and felt the need to explain. He grimaced and said, “Corinth’s picky about how women are treated.” Then his mouth curved into a smirk. “Except when he looses a Flight and I end up with a Flightmoth. Then the only thing he wants for me to do is get out and oil him.” Corinth huffed. You want to, too you know. You think Flightmoths are desperate and— —in need of a major readjustment. I know. I’m kidding, Cor. “Yeah…I suppose. Even plagues didn’t much affect dragonmen, did the—oh, sorry,” he cut himself off, “Dragonmen and women. Happy, Corinth?” The bronze rumbled an assent, eyes whirling in slight amusement. “But there’s a lot of Hatchings going on,” he added, “I don’t know about High Reaches or Benden or Fort, but here for sure. Fire lizards and those little things”—‘Mandyrs are not things! Yes they are, don’t interrupt—“and dragons.”
He grinned slightly. “There’s no need to apologize, although if you’re up for worship I could take that.” T’rid paused, considering. “Can’t think of too many literal people here, truth be told,” he added. “Ka’rys, perhaps, is, but others…most of them can take a joke.” Laurie had been good about it at first, but the mention of her brothers had soured her. S’rei was overly serious, but again he figured the man could take a joke, especially if what Laurie had said about his past was true. Ka’rys was probably literal, Shmee…T’rid didn’t hold the woman in the highest esteem and didn’t care to find out whether or not she was literal. “Adapting might be good at Benden, but here at Selenitas, it’s good to stick out so you don’t get the brunt end of things when it comes to cleaning chamberpots, copying records, and those chores. Plus, your Wingleader knows where best to place you.”
“Not much the best at anything, are they?” T’rid murmured thoughtfully in reference to the browns. To be good all around is perhaps better than to be good at just one thing? suggested Corinth. Is it really? I think you’re good at everything, T’rid said doubtfully. I don’t clutch, thank Faranth, and I also don’t have the agility of a green or a blue. Or the moodiness of a queen or green. The man grimaced. I don’t count clutching. And you are agile. And…frankly, I’m rather glad you don’t act like a moody female. Okay? To Dorava, he said, “Queens…they really aren’t much in the air, are they? They’re just queens because they’re big and clutch.” That was hardly fair, was it? Corinth was small, and yet he was still a bronze—a ‘king?’—and of higher rank than a brown, even if they were bigger…oh, but he was too used to the hierarchy system to try to fight it now.
“‘My’ Wingleader happens to be pretty much the Weyrleader,” T’rid reminded Dorava wryly. “Ka’rys knows that, too. And I’m pretty sure S’rei does.” He considered. “The Headwoman…is likely to set you about fifty chores. And then she’d give you your clothing, and a free lecture to boot. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works with the Candidates.” He grinned teasingly. “Perhaps she’d let you off easy since you’re only asking for two sets of clothing, and only give you twenty-five chores, but I wouldn’t count on it.” The Headwoman…in reality, probably a very nice woman, but in T’rid’s opinion she was far too eager to foist off her duties onto other people. You like to do that, too, Corinth reminded him.
T’rid wrinkled his nose. Dorava was far too kind. He didn’t see how she’d lasted up North…not only did she want to assist the Weyrlings, she wanted to feed them? “You do that and they’ll all get fat and lazy,” he offered cheerfully. “You don’t understand—they probably can’t wait for someone to offer to help. They’ll give you all the nice hard jobs and sit around and gossip while pretending they’re working. You give ‘em pastries and they’ll be following you like a fair of fire lizards.” Well, that was what he would do, at any rate, and if the Weyrlings had any sense they’d do it, too. “The Senior Weyrlings are all but graduating—they’re doing wing formations and flying already, I think, so it’ll be the younger ones pinned with the most time to do chores. So. You’re better off with the Senior Weyrlings, as they won’t have enough time to look for you to do their chores for ‘em.”
On the topic of food again. Oh, dear. “Mm-hmm,” he agreed, deciding that he was going to keep his mouth firmly closed while on this topic. He didn’t mind if he had to make Corinth pass the information through Aonith, either—the bronze was quite firm about talking to nobody but T’rid, unless the person was an HAD—as long as he didn’t gag or something equally embarrassing and irritating. I won’t. What? Why not?[/i] Corinth’s eyes were serene and amused. Because you mentioned my trying to resurrect a herdbeast. I do not find that amusing. Therefore, you must suffer.
“Sorry, but not just yet.” T’rid’s eyes sparkled in amusement. “We have to find out whether or not you’re planning on killing everyone first, don’t we?” His voice held an almost belligerent challenge, at the same time lightly taunting. “You normally get interrogated? I mean, at Benden Weyr?” Curious, that. She was just a Greenrider and yet was interrogated? Oh well. Paranoid people tended to do that a lot, didn’t they? Asked a bunch of questions like, “Do you have poison or dope?” “Have you killed before?” and on and on. Perhaps everyone at Benden Weyr was just extremely paranoid or something. They had to be, what with traitors lurking around every corner.
T’rid snorted. He was hardly impressed by R’non and Rath. It was because of them that for awhile, every dragon in Selenitas had been doped and giggly. Was I? Corinth asked. You? You told me to be a ‘good little green’ and go down to the Hatching Sands ‘like a voice in your head said to’. And then you burst out into raucous giggles. Yeah, I’d say you were doped pretty well. Corinth blinked, scandalized. Oh. But it amused T’rid slightly at the same time. “You should’ve heard Corinth…going on about how bubbles popped and turned gray, and how trees liked to eat wherries at breakfast time, but not at midnight. Because, did you know, that at midnight, wherries are poisonous?” The bronze raised one wing in a halfhearted attempt to hide himself.
Corinth’s head snapped around at the idea of a contest. Like the Games? he queried excitedly. Of sorts…I don’t know. Just races and weaving through things and stuff, I suppose. Corinth huffed critically. But it’s quite obvious who’s going to win, isn’t it? T’rid grinned. You’ll win, I know, but please don’t be too egotistical. The bronze sniffed haughtily. Not what I meant. “Corinth thinks it’s a good idea…is Aonith willing? Or does she think she’ll get beaten?” T’rid’s eyes were delighted. Challenges were a chance to show off, to flaunt superiority. Oh, yes, he adored challenges.
“Oh yeah.” T’rid nodded, drawing his thoughts out of his challenges. “Umm, I think it was a bunch of Fort riders who deserted…and then came over here, telling the Candidates and Weyrlings it was safe over there and lured them away. Quite obviously, Shmee and S’rei didn’t approve of that—he was Weyrleader at the time,” he added explanatorily, “and ordered them away, but a little too late, as they’d already convinced a bunch of people to come. Damned Weyrlings,” he added in a mumble. “Hmm, yeah…Benden and Fort don’t know about them, which is why they were claiming to be ‘safe.’” He shrugged, although clearly he enjoyed being the bringer of news. [/size]
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Post by dragon on Sept 24, 2008 13:14:16 GMT -5
Dorava didn't so much care for lying, and really tried to not do any of it, herself, but she did admire the ability that T'rid had to think up all sorts of alternate timelines to things that might have happened, and then what if? It was a brilliant way to be ready for such circumstances, when they actually did happen later on … one had already thought about it, so there was no need to stop and wonder what to do. That … and it made for really entertaining talk. Almost as good as listening to a Harper spin a completely fabricated yarn just for the fun of it … not a shred of truth to it, but lots of possible realism. A look at a life that was so exciting to be fun to look at – but make one very glad that they were not living it! Yes, please. Let's not live those interesting lives anymore.Aonith commented sleepily to Dorava's wandering thoughts.
Dorava chewed on her lip for a moment, as T'rid's tale spinning what-if took a decidedly bloody turn yet again. How to answer? She'd already expressed that she didn't like massacres, and wouldn't have anything to do with perpetuating one … "If I were the one in that position, there wouldn't be a massacre." She decided. "After all … me being in control, and all that." She grinned slightly, and shrugged. "Means I'm in control. And not getting stuck while gawping is always a nice thing." She had to laugh at that idea.
"Not kidding?" Dorava asked, after a moment, her suspicions dashed. "Not kidding. Alright … I guess." Ah well. It might be fun. Shards that. It would be fun! It had been a long time since she'd gotten a nervous adrenaline rush from something other than danger. "Okay. We can do that. Do you have the paint, or where are you going to get it? If you just go get some … people will definitely know it was you that painted him." She snickered. "Who else, after all? Oh, I know. We can pilfer it from a construction crew?" she suggested. "I doubt they'd miss a pail of paint…"
Me? Bronze?Aonith asked, slowly making herself come back to the world of the waking. After having nearly been asleep, it was a very hard thing to do. But the idea of her being bronze was such a hilarious one… She downright giggled. Though, being a dragon, that sound came out of her sounding far different from the typical human giggle. In fact, it sounded like she'd just inhaled a flitter and it was fluttering around in her gullet with the windows open. That could be really funny. All the other dragons would certainly notice me then, huh? she giggled again. Alright! You get painted green, and I'll get painted bronze, and we'll take the weyr by storm!!! She said, pushing to her feet and lifting her folded wings slightly, doing a cross between a prance and a stately stride as she walked in a circle around the two riders.
Dorava just watched her dragon strut, and couldn't help but laugh, too entertained to yet wonder what had gotten into her green. But it looked really funny.
"If the dragons were the ones that chucked us off the cliff, do you really think they'd be overly concerned with catching us at the bottom?" Dorava asked, seriously. "Barring the fact that if they didn't, they'd die too?" The whole idea was funny. But at the same time … she couldn't resist poking holes while playing so-serious at T'rid's games. This young man was funny. And wide open for getting poked at!
Aonith paused mid-stride and looked over at Corinth. We shall have to endeavor to remember to ask the next hatchlings what they were eating in there. Can you remember? She asked, all to aware of her feeble memory. And it really was something she was curious to know. She couldn't remember her own time in a shell … in fact, she couldn't figure out how she had ever fit into something that small. It was … funny.
Pick his ego! The silly green said, leaning over T'rid ominously, even thought she was just playing around while talking to Corinth. Ours' do need that sometimes, don't they? Too big, and it gets too heavy to carry! "Why wouldn't I own up to fidgeting?" Dorava laughed. "It's not like I can hide it, now can I?" she asked. "Besides … keeps a body from being entirely bored. Small things to do. And in some instances, can really be a good exercise… for instance … chunking stones." She held one up. "The varying sizes, and the varying distances … teaches your muscles how much force is required to make what stone go how far and where. Did you know you could kill someone by throwing a pebble at them? It's all in where you hit them with it, of course, and how hard." She dropped the pebble. "It's far easier to just knock them out, though."
Dorava couldn't help but laugh some more at his obviously teasing and yet still oh so serious comments about Benden thinking they were better than T'rid at things. It was just too funny. So she just laughed … and laughed some more, shaking her head. "Oh, how wrong they are…" she giggled.
"I imagine between would be crowded." Dorava mused. "But that is a realm that we really can't explore very well, is it? Not unless we're dead … and probably not even then."
She had to shake her head at T'rid's idea of torture. "No … beating him upside the head with a club would have him dead in moments. If you really want to make him suffer awhile … start with the finger nails, and pull them off slowly. And then skin the fingers. Once the hand is thus removed of skin, you start pulling the fingers off, one joint at a time. You can skin his arms, but don't pull joints off above the wrist … he'd bleed out. And most of the wounds have to be cauterized as you work, or he'll bleed out anyway. If he passes out, just wait until he comes around again. And start over with the toes … same way." She had witnessed plenty of tortures … never had she enjoyed such things, but she had a vivid memory. And - sometimes unfortunately – a very strong stomach. She'd never gotten to flee the scene by fainting or something like that … but then again, by keeping her wits about her, she'd never had to endure the permanent ridicule that went with it. "If you really want the ultimate torture, though, what you do is you merely cut their eyelids off, and turn the man loose out in a desert. It will be sheer unending torture for three days, and then he'll die. Believe it or not… just the eyelids." She waved a finger next to her head. "Between the crazy making and the pain, he simply won't survive." "I noticed that a lot of dragon pairs are vanishing without a trace. Which on one hand is good. But on the other it's not, really. See, all the ones that had some scrap of morality, some scrap of sense in their head … they're leaving. Leaving Benden all the more unrestrained. There's no tempering voices. Do you understand? And they have new clutches hatching, new riders being trained up … there are more dragons being born than there are defectors. It would be nice if C'leon lost all his army that way, but … it doesn't look to be happening."
Dorava smiled at T'rid. "Okay. I'll take your word for it. I haven't had much in the way of experience handling a firelizard. In fact … I have never had one of my own." She shrugged. "Maybe some day. And thank you for the offer of a knife. Most generous."
"Key words, there. At Benden Weyr. Some habits are engrained … I may never get over them. But being cagey about one's safety gear … that I am going to have a hard time getting past." Dorava admitted. "Checking straps can only cover so much ground. There are lots of places they can be weakened where it is totally impossible for you to see the place. It's a lot like a runner's saddle. Lots of places where everything is layered, and you simply can't see all the leather. I prefer to not take the chance. I've seen what happens when straps break … either from sabotage, or from simple neglect. It isn't pretty."
"Yeah, I suppose." Dorava agreed, taking the vine and contemplating it. She then slid T'rid's knife out of his sheath, and started using it on the vine. She quartered it, to make it more pliable. "This is only to demonstrate, mind you. This material won't work for very long at all." She then made some even smaller long slivers out of a chunk of the vine, making it almost like leather thongs for threading and tying. Then she set about attaching parts of the quartered vines to the sheath, sometimes holding bits of vine in her teeth as she worked with both hands. Her knees acted as a table, as she threaded bits of vine thong through vine quarters, working almost as if the vine were leather itself. Once she was done, she had a rather interesting looking contraption that she then was able to fasten onto T'rid's forearm. She slid the knife back into the sheath, fastening the strap in place to keep it in. "Wrist sheaths are pretty useless for single handed drawing. But, with two of them, you can draw from the other arm. Most folks are less cagey about people reaching for their own hands, rather then the obvious threat of reaching for a belt knife. It would give you an element of surprise, but … you aren't going to be able to get that knife out with the hand it's attached to … not without dropping it. And there goes all your surprise." She gestured at it loosely, as she say back on the stone she had been sitting on before. "But that's how you do it. Should you decide to try it." It was obviously crudely vine, yet it wasn't as crude as merely trying to tie it on with a chunk of vine would have been.
Dorava grinned, realizing just how much sway Corinth seemed to have over even how T'rid talked. "Corinth is picky … and you're not?" She teased, knowing that the dragon had to have gotten it from somewhere. And the most likely location was T'rid himself … even if he wouldn't admit it.
She shook her head, grinning. "As much as I might pretend some times … I really am no good at the worshiping trick." She admitted. "Point taken … I will endeavor to not be quite so literal. It does take all the fun out of life. Sticking out will be difficult, but …" she looked over at where Aonith was fooling around again, and shook her head. "Might not be terribly impossible."
"I don't normally get interrogated, no. But to be totally honest, interrogations are not uncommon. And my being from Benden … and in such interesting times … I fully expected to be, yes. It hasn't really happened. It hasn't all been peaches and cream either, mind you, but … not as bad as it could have been." She admitted. "I don't want to be interrogated, mind you, now."
"Wherries are poisonous at midnight?" Dorava asked, amused, looking up at the bronze with a quirky grin as he tried to hide himself. "You have a funny dragon." She informed T'rid.
Games? What Games? I can fly really good. Aonith said, even as she eyed Corinth. There was no way she could out fly a bronze, though … even had she been in a completely healed state. Right now she couldn't fly at all. But … flying would be fun, regardless. Games! Dorava propped her chin on a fist, contemplating. "She would love to fly, when she can … though I think we all know that in a distance race, Corinth would win, hands down. Won't stop her from trying, though." She grinned slightly.
"Interesting." Dorava mused a little bit … but not too much. She didn't want to seem like she was storing information away to return to Benden. Oh, no. She was no spy, and did not intend to come off as one at all. But … finding out a snippet of news like that was interesting. She had no idea at all if C'leon knew that, or not … it was the kind of news that she wouldn't have heard, regardless. Too low on the pecking order. First Selenitas thumbing their noses at Benden, and now High Reaches was thumbing theirs at Fort? What was Pern coming to? Out right revolution? This looked to be fast becoming a four-sided war, not just a two-sided one.
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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 25, 2008 11:05:23 GMT -5
A faintly bloodthirsty grin crossed the young man’s mouth as he took in Dorava’s words. In control of the massacre? Oh, no, no. Not in control. He had been thinking of a more ‘you will kill them all or I will kill you’ position. “Nah—I meant more like, if Benden Weyr decided to storm Selenitas while you were on their side or something. You wouldn’t have much of a choice, would you? Not,” he added arrogantly, “That most of Benden would come out alive anyway.” An amused grin flicked across his face. “Our Weyrlings overpowered that idiot Brownrider in the Weyrling Massacre…it might actually be quite welcome if they did storm us. At least we’d all know the outcome and it’d be over with.” What he was thinking, simply, was that lives would be lost in the War anyway—the longer it was drawn out, the more lives. Therefore, if one short battle could finish it all, perhaps some lives would be lost, but not as many as would be in the long run. It seemed quite reasonable. The Weyrling Massacre was probably not the best idea of that, though, he decided after he’d mulled it over some. After all, they had lost Paryal and her queen dragon, along with several other Weyrlings…some were probably traumatized now…but the Brownrider had failed and all was good.
T’rid smirked at Dorava. Had she thought he was kidding? He never joked when plotting a prank. S’rei could probably humiliate himself very well, but he wouldn’t get the same feeling of satisfaction just watching his Wingleader get hurt! He ran his hand through his hair as he considered. Paint. You could renovate your Weyr while you’re at it, Corinth suggested. I don’t like the shade of bronze on the walls anyway. I blend in. I think green walls would look good. Green walls…? And you say you’re ‘responsible,’ T’rid snorted, amused. Where did people think he got all these ideas? Certainly he didn’t dream them all up by himself. “I’ll repaint my Weyr,” he said vaguely. “I mean, yeah. Corinth doesn’t like the shade of bronze I have on there anyway. I’ll paint it green, and then we can just use the leftover paint…and claim that we used it all. Or something. Oh, yes, and we’ll need alibis. You get to be mine, as I doubt S’rei would trust what Corinth says, since he’d obviously protect me. But that’s only if he does suspect it’s me…probably will, though,” he added contemplatively. He had mentioned something of the sort to Laurie…and no doubt if Salenth turned up green, she’d tell him.
I’m glad you find that amusing, Corinth said, rumbling in low amusement. You can be painted bronze, but Salenth is the only bronze in this Weyr getting painted green, if I have any say in it. You and Salenth can storm the Weyr. I’m just an innocent bystander. That was his position in most of T’rid’s missions/pranks: The innocent bystander with no control whatsoever over what was happening. It saved him much trouble, plus that way, (especially if he was asleep) he could truthfully say he had no idea how it had happened. Whatever ‘it’ was. He watched as she gave a little strutting kind of prance around the two Riders, another amused rumble rising in his throat. You seem delighted at the thought of being bronze, he commented dryly. Why not gold? At least you won’t be supposed to flirt with queens if you’re gold, like you’ll be expected to if you’re bronze. T’rid blinked eloquently at the dragons. “Eh…any reason why she’s suddenly turned into a dancing Harper?” he asked, raising one eyebrow at Corinth. The bronze blinked back innocently.
Another smirk crossed the Bronzerider’s face—a very common expression. “Well, like you said. If they didn’t, they’d die. Even dragons have some sense of self-preservation, scarce as it might seem at times.” I think that was a compliment. But I’m not sure, Corinth considered dubiously. A compliment? The bronze blinked. Well, kind of…? I don’t know. It depends how you see it. “Plus, I’d just threaten to come back to life and strangle Corinth before he died if he didn’t catch me. It can’t be good to die twice, can it?” Corinth snickered in amusement. As if I’d give you any reason to kill me. —says the bronze that is intent on making me Impress a fire lizard and a feline, and possibly a ‘mandyr. No reason to kill you? Don’t be stupid.
Corinth rumbled in soft assent. I can get Ridmine to remember for me, even if he doesn’t want to. We won’t have to wait too long, either. Golden Millieth is close to Rising, I believe. Did Hatchlings know what they were eating? Or were they just eating at whatever they could lay their claws on? If they were in a tiny, enclosed space, he could see where that might be necessary, after all…right? By the same token, he would eat even vegetables if that was what he could get his claws on and he had no other way of getting food, although vegetables did rank last on his list of edibles. He’d frankly rather eat a human than vegetables. T’rid caught a wisp of the thought and cringed. Here’s to hoping nobody ever catches you when you’re hungry, then. Corinth snorted at him. Or I could just think of it every two days or so, so I’ll remember it three more days, and on and on, until a clutch Hatches…
T’rid blinked at Aonith as she loomed over him rather ominously, feeling rather as if he were a spiced wherry in front of some gigantic, starved person. “Is there any particular reason Aonith looks like she wants to eat me?” he asked Dorava dryly, raising his eyebrows. “Or is she like that to everyone?” A small grin twitched at the corner of his jaw. Eh, who knew? Perhaps that was her way of expressing affection, but if that was so, he’d rather she hated him. Corinth, meanwhile, rumbled in amusement. Some need it occasionally, perhaps, but Ridmine needs it /constantly/, hence the reason why we argue so much. The bronze rolled his eyes. He enjoys mouthing off to people who could easily hurt him, too, unfortunately.[/i] So far he’d lucked out and nobody had yet stabbed, mauled, or otherwise crippled him, but it was only so long.
“Fidgets are exactly usually amazing people to be around,” T’rid commented dryly. “Most people won’t own up to fidgeting. They’ll say, ‘Oh, no. I was just trimming the grass,’ or something.” He snorted at her comment about throwing stones being good exercise. “You’ll end up giving Aonith a bruise if you keep practicing your aim with her as a target.” Don’t get any ideas or I /will/ sit on you, Corinth warned. While I may protest sitting on other people I have absolutely no problem doing so to /you/. The Bronzerider wrinkled his nose, rolling his eyes. “Corinth says not to give me any ideas if you don’t want me to end up flat because a bronze forgot how much he weighed.”
T’rid smirked slightly at her laughter. “Yeah, well. I guess the next time they come over for a tea party we can show ‘em just how wrong they are.” Frankly, he didn’t think much of Benden. They relied on plain power, after all. Throw in a little brains and perhaps they might be something to be feared, but brute strength? Honestly. It would be so easy to cripple them if need be, but no—nobody had the courage to do so. Hadn’t Fort won so many battles against Benden out of tactical planning? Yes. And Benden still hadn’t figured out that they were loosing because they were a couple of leaves short of a numbweed plant whereas Fort was completely whole. (Not that he was biased in any way, of course.)
“If you’re dead, you won’t be exploring anywhere, much less between.” T’rid smirked. “Of course you could probably poke around while you’re alive, but then you wouldn’t be alive for much longer…unless, of course, you figured out a way to survive in absolute cold where nothing is or will ever be. No food, no water…although there is a conspicuous presence of something we can breathe.” That was curious, truth be told—although he was grateful for the presence of it, as without it they’d be dead before they came out of between if they hadn’t gotten sufficient breath going in. No dragon would be that irresponsible, Corinth said firmly. Except the Weyrling dragons, T’rid corrected absently. Probably they’d be too excited to think straight.
He winced as Dorava decided to lecture him on the great ways of how to torture a man. Well, that was just fine and peppy, wasn’t it? Your skill at sarcasm is unequaled by any mortal, Corinth informed him. Ignoring the bronze, T’rid raised his eyebrows. “Thank you for those lovely images.” Easy as it might be just to stab someone and let them die quickly, it was undoubtedly a lot harder to torture them. Perhaps you’d hate them—T’rid didn’t hate C’leon, now that he thought of it; he had nothing personal against the man and had come into very little contact with him at all; he just disliked him and wished him dead—but seeing any human being writhe around in pain was…well. It gave you time to think about what might remain of your morals. “Besides, C’leon’s not stupid. I’m not either—if I knew my enemies were going to torture me, whenever they got the knife near my wrist or throat or something, I’d just use it to kill myself. Lot quicker.”
A smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth again. “Dragon pairs vanishing—I wonder where,” he commented, with mock confusion. “Couldn’t be to Selenitas, could it? We’ve got a runaway Weyrwoman from Benden—junior, but still a Queenrider—and multiple others. I think I prefer them coming here to staying there. They wouldn’t live very long over there anyways.” He shrugged. “Besides, if C’leon wants to stay Weyrleader, he can’t be being very kind to the other Bronzers…if they’ve got a spark of sense, they’ll soon come over here. And if they don’t, we don’t need ‘em anyway.” He grinned equably.
He left the conversation at that for the fire lizards. Talking about them only reminded him that he had to Impress one, which was not high on his list of Things to Do. Corinth was delighted by the prospect of a ‘little one’ to share their Weyr, but T’rid would much rather share it with a Weyrmate than with a fire lizard. At least you could get a decent argument or conversation out of a Weyrmate. Whichever was preferred…arguments were much more spirited, of course…and fire lizards. Ugh. They were—they loved you. How do you argue with someone that loves you without any restraint at all? It was impossible. You manage to argue with me, Corinth pointed out. Only because we clash. You can’t clash with something that only squeaks and chirps.
T’rid shrugged as she mentioned that at Benden Weyr, straps were sabotaged. Well, that was unfortunate, but nobody cared to sabotage straps here. He might weaken one side of someone’s for a prank…so that they were left dangling off their dragon’s side or something…but certainly not enough to make anyone entirely fall off. Besides, dragons could between without their Riders and chances were good they wouldn’t just let their Riders splat onto the ground without a struggle. “Yeah, well, maybe. Sooner or later, though, you’ll end up having to get new straps made and…” He snorted. “Unless your best friend works with leather or something, you’ll end up having to take that risk.” He shrugged. “The North sounds like a lovely, cheerful place to be,” T’rid added, a sarcastic grin twisting his lip.
He watched silently as she worked with the vine, twisting and cutting at it. Who knows? Perhaps it might work, Corinth proffered, sensing his wry doubtfulness. And it did work. He experimentally drew it with his free hand, and then tried to twist his wrist in order to manage it with the other. Hmm. If the knife were a very short knife, it might be possible, but only just. And Shards, it was an awkward twist. “Mm. Thanks. I’ll see what I can do about getting leather straps at the Gather.” T’rid was fairly certain there was a Gather scheduled at Blossom Hold sometime in the next few months…or so. You didn’t go to the last Gather at Selenitas Hold, said Corinth disapprovingly. I didn’t need anything. And I didn’t know you liked Gathers, anyway. Hmm. Might get new boots while I’m at it… Ah, the perks of being a Wingsecond included a raised fee, thank Faranth.
T’rid deigned to act hurt at Dorava’s query. “I’m horrified that you’d consider that!” he said, his eyes widening in fake surprise. “Very hurtful, aren’t you?” He blinked as if keeping back tears, shaking his head slowly, sorrow written on his face. “And here I was thinking you might be a nice friend, too.” Good acting skills were amazing when put into use, weren’t they? T’rid was smugly pleased with himself, although he refused to let it show on his face. His hazel eyes were still wide as he slid his hands into his pockets, tucking his chin against his chest broodingly. I think you’re overdoing it, Corinth said shrewdly. Only because you know I’m joking, dimglow.
“Aren’t you?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow in amusement. No good at worshipping? Oh, but everyone was good at worshipping. “It’s quite simple,” T’rid said solemnly. “All you have to do is get down on your knees and bow and call whoever it is things like, ‘O Golden One,’ and things like that.” Now he smirked. “Worshipping does get you out of a lot of tight spots. Especially if whoever you’re worshipping has a very low self-esteem that needs to be boosted big time.” Whereas people like /you/ will just say, ‘Yeah, I know I’m amazing,’ and move on with life? Corinth asked in amusement. I don’t like that emphasis on ‘you,’ but yeah. Trust Corinth to manage to insult him sweetly…
He shook his head, clicking his tongue, at the idea of arriving, throwing oneself down on someone else’s mercy, and being…interrogated. That wouldn’t be very nice of a welcome now, would it be? T’rid shrugged. “Sure, no more interviews. Seems fair.” At least, it would seem fair until he had a question that he needed to be answered—then he would conveniently forget about such a promise and start right on in again. If you ask the right people, you’d have the absolute worst memory on Pern, Corinth said wearily.
Corinth glanced at His. I don’t know why I put up with you. I really do think someone spilled wine on my egg or something just before I Hatched. T’rid blinked eloquently at the bronze. “Um, thanks. You mean you think you were drunk when you Impressed to me. Thanks. Thanks so much.” He rolled his eyes. No offense or anything. “Yeah, none taken…you just told me that you thought only a drunk dragon would Impress to me and you expect me not to take offense. That shouldn’t be a problem.” He grinned at Dorava. “I’m glad you think so, as most people think that Corinth’s the most polite, sweet little bronze ever Shelled. Which is not true.”
T’rid raised his eyebrows at Corinth. “I told you you’d win.” You didn’t say it would be a distance race. The bronze rumbled in protest. “If need be, we can always weight Corinth down…” Now the dragon actually bugled in protest. Now /that/ is unfair. Innocently widening his eyes, T’rid swiveled to glance at Corinth. It is not! After all, you are so much bigger and stronger…and Aonith needs to heal, too.[/i] “When will Aonith heal, anyway? As a rough estimate?” he added questioningly. No doubt Kalierre would give the green slightly a longer time than necessary, just to make sure—just like a dragon hatchling could probably fly at birth like a fire lizard could, but weren’t allowed to. Same as going between policies.
Interesting? That was the extent of her interest? Oh dear. Well, then…T’rid raised one eyebrow in a wry questioning, and then shrugged absently. Well, if she didn’t want to be filled in, that was her problem, not his. Right? What bothered T’rid was the lack of communication between High Reaches and Selenitas Weyr. Anything could have happened to it…Benden took over…plague…or perhaps they were simply plotting against Selenitas, like Benden and Fort? That was not good…[/size]
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Post by dragon on Sept 26, 2008 0:16:14 GMT -5
"I hate to say this, but apparently, you and I are not communicating so well." Dorava said, waving a finger between the two of them. "You say one thing, I get X meaning out of it, while you meant Y. I say one thing, meaning X, and you get Y. Are we speaking the same language here?" she asked, more than just a little amused. It was not at all a derogatory accusation, just an acknowledgement of something that was – thankfully – for the time being just funny. It was a good thing they were not both emissaries trying to make talks for two differing weyrs. Things would go, simply put, badly. But as it was, it was just funny. Two people sitting next to a river and holding two separate conversations as if it were one.
"Repaint your weyr. Sounds like a lot of work … messy work. But okay. Could be interesting, too. Are you any good at murals? Even crummy murals can make a place look really different." Dorava mused. "I might paint my weyr, too … it's just plain grey at the moment. Rather … drab. I don't think I'd make it green, though … Aonith puts plenty of green in the environment…" she grinned slightly. "I get to be your alibis. Okay. What, exactly, are we going to be 'doing'?" she asked, giving him a suspicious look. She hoped he wasn't going to come up with anything too far fetched that they were supposedly up to that would create permanent rumors about them.
Amusing? Sure. Little me, all bronze? I'd look sillier than you do! I don't think I'd like hanging out with Salenth, though … he's … let's just say he's a bronze I don't know yet. Aonith said. If I were to be painted gold, however, the Queens might take special offense at the very idea that I was presumptious enough to even try it. Being Bronze would only be seen as a joke … maybe even a bad joke, but a joke nonetheless. she pointed out. "I think she's getting funny ideas in her head as to what might be fun … from you, of course!" Dorava said, in answer to T'rid's question. "Sure is a change from her sleepy demeanor just a bit ago."
Then get Ridyours to remember for you … and after you find out, then you tell me. I would love to know![/I Not that she would remember it for very long, but who knew? Maybe she would. In any event, it was something she was pretty sure she hadn't wondered at before. If she had, hers surely would have said so earlier on, right?
Dorava watched with a giant grin pasted to her face as she watched Aonith shadow over T'rid. Apparently even T'rid could be phased by some things … she never would have guessed that having a green lean over him while his bronze was so near might have been one of them. If Aonith truly would have had malicious intent, Dorava was pretty sure that Corinth wouldn't have let the green gal that close to T'rid. "She's teasing Corinth, I think, and using you as bait. I'm not really sure. She's not normally that relaxed around other riders, no. I would guess that maybe she thinks you're okay?" She guessed. Aonith only looked over at Do, and then huffed a few times as if laughing before retreating and splashing into the water upstream of where Corinth was lounging. Mine mouths off when she gets mad. That's when her real streak of will comes out to show, and all the meek play vanishes. But it generally only gets her into worse trouble. I try to keep her from doing that … I don't want anyone to gut her. She's mine, not theirs.
"Amazing, huh? Never heard it put that way before." Dorava mused. "Fidgeting is a horrible habit to have if you're going to hunt tree leapers." She pointed out with a laugh. "I don't see why people won't own up to things about themselves that are obvious. And, yes … I suppose if I did it often enough and my aim was that good I might give Aoni a bruise. But I'm not that good, and she moves … and I really don't do that terribly often." Fortunately Aonith remarked. Do only smiled up at her for a moment. "I would never hurt her deliberately." She looked at T'rid again. "My giving you ideas will get you squished? How novel! Let's try that out!" She teased, laughing. "If you're dead, you won't be exploring anywhere." Do agreed. "Anywhere." She rubbed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "One can only do that once, and I aim to put that experience off just as long as I can. Cause once you have that one, all the other experiences are way out of reach … so … " she shrugged, and then grinned at him. "Yes, a curious thought. Air between." She agreed, yet again. "Maybe there is something there after all? Or maybe we just haven't used up all the air in our own lungs by the time we leave there again. People don't tend to breathe with their full capacity, you know." "You're welcome for the lovely images." She replied, just as sarcastically. Maybe he hadn't realized there was a difference between simply killing a person with blunt devices and actual torture? Oh well. It merely meant that a) he had never been exposed to such – which was good, or b) he just simply wasn't the sadistic type that would do such things. Which was also good, in her opinion. "When you're hog tied, there's not a terrible lot you can do about ending your own life. But yes … dying quickly is vastly preferable to being tortured to death." She agreed, seriously.
"I wonder where. Actually, I never did. I was too busy covering my own rear to be bothered with wondering where others were vanishing off to. As far as I was concerned, it might well have only been Fort trying to pick us off one by one by toxins or something … which of course led me to be really wary of what I put in my mouth. I tell you … having to think of everything and then be cautious about it wears on a body. It's so nice to not have to be under the constant stress of watching out for people who want you dead … directly or indirectly. It is so nice here." She nodded. "So nice."
"Sooner or later. Preferably later. And by then, I may have lost some of my cagey habits regarding my safety gear." Dorava acknowledged. "We shall see." She picked up a small tiny stone, and lobbed it at T'rid. It didn't hit him, though – deliberately. She didn't want it to hit him. Just see what he might do as it went 'ploop' in the water beyond him. "The north is such a wonderful place, indeed." She responded, her own voice dripping in sarcasm. "It's why I like it here so much!"
"You're welcome." Do shrugged, as T'rid tried out the rigging on his arm. Dorava had never had rigging like that to call her own, but she had actually used it a few times. Mostly in training, sometimes with borrowed gear. She'd always hated it, for the short times she'd worn them. They itched like mad on her forearms, and she always felt like her sleeves were either not quite big enough to hide the shape, or were too big and let everyone see they were there. Rather uncomfortable problem that. But then … men's clothing was sewn slightly different from women's. And that might make all the difference in the world whether or not the thing was concealed. Dorava just looked at T'rid like he was crazy for a moment, trying to figure out just what, exactly, she'd said that had elicited that kind of response from him. Him. T'rid. The one who professed to not be so serious and such. Which did give her a slight clue, prompting her next thought. She asked Aonith about it, who peeked at Corinth to see what was going on. She noted that the bronze was in no way upset over T'rid's actions. That didn't mean much though … who knew? Maybe he was just letting his be taken down a notch or two without the bronze's effort? Not sure what to reply, Aonith returned with a guess … T'rid wasn't really upset. Believing Aonith, and not knowing that she was guessing, Dorava decided to play along. Never knowing that Aonith was correct. But she did trust the dragon to look out for her. "Then I guess you were just wrong, then, huh?" she poked.
Dorava laughed at his description of worship. That, was what she called pretending to worship. True worship, in her own mind, was a state of mind… which in turn led to those actions. But just miming the actions? Not worship. But, just for kicks, she gave it a half hearted attempt. Still seated on her chosen stone, she started waving her arms up and down as she slowly flexed her torso. "Oh, great and mighty gold thing!" She intoned deeply, just dripping with mockery. However, she was doubling up on it … she was 'worshiping' Corinth, not T'rid. Just to see what kind of squeaks that might elicit from the young man. Listening to the ensuing one sided conversation from T'rid to Corinth, Dorava counldn't help but laugh heartily. "So I take it that Corinth is just as good at acting as you are?" Dorava asked. "Aoni will heal in time. That's all I know to tell you. Kalierre wasn't exactly explicitly clear on a time frame. The only rule of thumb I have to go by is 'until she says so' that Aonith can fly. So … we're grounded until Kalierre says so. That may be a week. It might be a turn. I don't know." Dorava shrugged. "Aoni seems to be happy enough just strolling around for now. I just hope she doesn't take the notion to rise while her wings are stitched to hides in such a way." "What … what does High Reaches intend to do?" Dorava asked, after a bit. "Are they going to try to become a whole other faction in this mess, or are they merely trying to get away from it all as permanently as they can manage? Do you know why they chose that weyr to rehabitate? It seems like an awfully harsh environment to choose."
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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 26, 2008 13:05:20 GMT -5
Not communicating well? T’rid blinked, frankly surprised that she thought of it that way. Well, hmm. “Don’t worry,” he replied cheerfully. “It’s probably not you—it’s me. Nobody understands me unless I want them to, and sometimes not even then. Corinth has problems with me sometimes too.” He waved one hand in a vague gesture at the bronze, who blinked one eye apologetically. It wasn’t his fault that T’rid could be so confusing sometimes. He tried to stop him from doing it, but the young man seemed to enjoy confusing people. Which, frankly, was rather confusing in itself. “Of course,” he went on, “Who knows? Maybe different words mean different things at Benden and Selenitas Weyrs.”
Dorava received a rather eloquent blink from T’rid, clearly expressing his surprise at her statement. Repainting it was just an excuse—did she honestly think he cared how it turned out? Murals—no. He might, come to that, just get Corinth to dip his wing into the paint and plaster it to the wall of his weyr. “Honestly, I think my weyr’s crowded enough without a painting on the wall,” he replied. Alibis. Ah-ha, now this was the part of pranks that he adored. Making up a story that was believable…“Look, perhaps it’d be better if only I paint Salenth? If he reports to S’rei that we were both there, whatever stories you make up won’t help me at all. S’rei already probably knows I’ll be in it. But. While I’m doing that, you get to go down to the kitchens. There’re always some Drudges there—but at night there’ll only be a few. I’ll throw in some marks, you bribe them to make them say we were in here all night drinking klah and looking over records to see if there was any herb that might help Aonith’s wing heal faster. Simple.” There. An alibi. Wasn’t hard, but it worked.
Corinth blinked in amused surprise. Do I look silly now? he asked, sounding more happy than hurt. Don’t worry about Salenth—he’s nice, he wouldn’t hurt you. The bronze shifted, unfurling one wing to get the full sunlight. I think Salenth’s is sterner than he is, himself. But S’rei was nice too. Well, at least he had been nice to T’rid, although his second really hadn’t deserved it, when they’d first showed up as new Seconds for the wing. Being gold wouldn’t offend the queens. I think it’d be funny. It wouldn’t hurt if they loosened up a little. He snorted lightly. Queens were too big, most of them, and he hadn’t directly spoken to either Aslath or Hepaticath, only Millieth, but if she was anything to go by, the queens of Selenitas were quite nice when nicely spoken to, too. T’rid blinked at the green and then turned his attention to Corinth. “What did you say?” he asked, in a rather resigned tone. I think Aonith would look good painted bronze or gold, came the innocent reply. T’rid elected to save his dignity and remain silent.
The bronze nodded at Aonith. All right… He flicked easily to T’rid, continuing in the same breath. T’rid, when Millieth Rises and her clutch Hatches, remind me to ask the Hatchlings what they ate in shell, yes? His reply was a long stare of utter astonishment. Why the hell do you care about what they ate? T’rid presently demanded. Aonith and I think it would be nice to know, Corinth replied. You will remember. Dumbly, T’rid nodded. I will remember. Pleased, Corinth huffed. He says he will remember, he reported to Aonith proudly, flicking his tail.
T’rid was not exactly pleased by the grin on Dorava’s face as she let Aonith tower over him, but he didn’t protest. Are you going to tell me why Aonith persists in making me feel like a roast wherry? he queried of Corinth. Completely unfazed, the bronze shook his head, amusement glittering in the shades of blue in his eyes. Did you think I would? Not particularly. One can hope. Bait? Wait, he was being bait? “Aren’t you going to save me, Cor?” he called over to the bronze. A loud snort of amusement was the only reply. Save him? As if. “Thank you, Corinth,” T’rid muttered, rolling his eyes. “Teasing Corinth…I don’t think it’s working. He doesn’t really care.” So Aonith liked him? A bit? “Thanks for the compliment, Aonith. I think.” Corinth crooned softly at Aonith, sympathetically. He felt bad for her, her wings too torn to fly and a life at Benden Weyr. She couldn’t help where she’d Shelled, after all. Here, if you’re snarky, you’ll probably just get yelled at. Possibly punched or kicked. Ridmine has yet to be hurt for it, aside from a few dirty stares and the like. It’s much looser at Selenitas, but not to the point of chaos.
“Amazing…? Sure, they do all sorts of crazy stuff. I stab the ground, you throw rocks, some people bite their lips, some people pace, some people even try to trim their nails with knives and end up trimming their fingers.” A grin flashed over his face; he was clearly amused by the last one. “I would hurt Corinth on purpose,” he offered, now teasing; a smirk had formed on his mouth as his hazel eyes flicked to Corinth. “Considering how he goes out of his way to annoy me sometimes, I would gladly try to strangle him at times.” He wouldn’t really strangle him, of course…he wouldn’t go that far! Besides, Corinth was big enough that his arm didn’t go all the way around his neck, so he could only kind of hug the bronze neck—hardly threatening. “Hmm…? Oh, yes. Corinth says that if I throw a rock at him, he will sit on me. That’s only if I don’t knock him out first, though.” He grinned cheerfully. “Should be interesting—my aim against his weight.”
Another smirking grin. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll come back out of death as an annoying flitter or something.” It was barely possible, yes? “Or a dragon…” he added. “And then your dragon can come back as some idiot Candidate that you end up choosing, thus condemning both of you back together.” He grimaced at Corinth. “If I were a dragon, I’d have more sense than to pick someone so completely opposite of me.” I balance you, and you me, Corinth replied serenely. There is only one lifemate. You would have picked me. Where had he gotten his confidence? Well, maybe, T’rid admitted, wrinkling his nose drolly. You shouldn’t be too confident, though, I’m sure I’d have my fun mauling some Candidates before I chose.[/i] “No…? Between lasts as long as it takes to cough three times—if there was no air, you couldn’t inhale,” he pointed out. “Therefore…there is something. Plus,” he added, remembering, “When a dragon or fire lizard comes out of between, you feel a blast of cold air, don’t you? That has to come from somewhere. Or rather, from nowhere.”
He was welcome for the lovely images? Oh, yes, thanks. T’rid snorted as he kicked a pebble absently into the water, watching Corinth turn his head keenly at the splash. “Maybe I’m just biased, but from what I’ve seen, even when you’re tied up you still have some control over which way you wiggle. One jab too many can mean a quick death, and Shards if I’m going to let myself be tortured and not even try. C’leon, on the other hand, is probably so screwed up that he’d be convinced that he can survive all torture and laugh hysterically at us all.” He shrugged absently. “Besides, they’d have to make sure Morsrath didn’t just flame them all in order to free C’leon, and Morsrath isn’t exactly a small bronze to tie down like Corinth is. If we caught C’leon, I think we’d probably be better off just killing him and getting him nice and dead.” Another impersonal shrug. “You can stab him multiple times if you really want.”
So, wait. Dorava had been at Benden Weyr. With people, including a Junior Queenrider, vanishing all around her—and she had never wondered where to? Did she really think that even Benden Weyr would be stupid enough to murder a Queenrider? Oh. She’d suspected Fort. “Just because Fort’s got an intelligent Weyrleader—or rather, had, since they’re dead now—doesn’t mean they’re that smart. Especially not anymore.” He snickered lightly, rubbing his hand absently against a rounded stone. “But, eh. Probably a good idea to have a Drudge test the food up north anyways. If I were up there, no doubt I’d have a mass hoard of enemies trying to kill me en masse within a tenday.” Corinth glanced over and snorted. At least you admit that you’re aggravating. Only when I try to be. “Come to that,” T’rid added doubtfully, “I’m sure I could name some people who want me dead as it is.”
Later…“Hmm. Sooner for me,” T’rid countered. “I like new straps—I get to irritate Corinth with ‘em, since he’s obsessed over my straps being perfectly oiled, and new ones already are oiled. ‘Twould give me a lot more time off.” You hardly /ever/ oil your straps. You wouldn’t oil them /at all/ unless I told you to, come to that, Corinth protested. Eh, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t /have/ straps, T’rid pointed out lazily. If it weren’t for me, you’d be back at Selenitas Hold; I doubt the Weyr would keep you long once your reputation as an idiotic prankster caught up to you. T’rid blinked as Dorava tossed the rock at him, eyes narrowing as he instinctively picked out the flight of the rock. It wasn’t a particularly malicious throw, so even if it hit him, it probably wouldn’t hurt too badly. He followed the flight with his eyes, quite ready to spring out of the way, and ended in its falling into the water behind him. “Yeah, no fun without the North,” he quipped.
T’rid clicked his tongue absently as he adjusted some of the knots to better fit his arm, tugging at it in satisfaction. “I like.” What a /compliment/, Corinth sneered. “Blossom Hold’s having a Gather…they’ll sell leather there…I’ll just buy some then.” He flicked out his knife again, pretending to aim it at Corinth, who hissed playfully back at him. Leather isn’t cheap, the bronze deigned to warn him, as soon as T’rid had sheathed the weapon again. I get paid more as a Wingsecond, worry not, O Bronze One, came the always-sarcastic reply.
Oh, he liked seeing Dorava baffled. His face was still completely solemn—he could probably even produce a few tears if need be—but inside, T’rid was all but howling with laughter. You are /so/ irresponsible, Corinth informed him. Show me a responsible person and I’ll show you a stuffy idiot, came the cheerful reply. He glanced at Dorava as she spoke, and instantly the mask disappeared into a wide grin. “Of course,” he agreed, straightening. “Last time I ever trust you. Don’t worry, I won’t make the same mistake twice.” Only because I don’t /let/ you, otherwise you’d happy go about making the same mistakes, Corinth offered. Did I ask you? You should.
The bronze uttered a surprised huff of air as Dorava began to mockingly…eh. Worship him. Why is Yours worshipping me? he asked Aonith cautiously. T’rid watched, a crooked smile twitching at the corner of one lip, eyebrows raised. You should enjoy it. But it’s /sarcastic/. She doesn’t /mean/ it. He paused. Plus, I am not gold. “I’m glad you can adapt to worshipping so well,” T’rid said, drawling, his voice rising over Dorava’s intoning, “But Corinth’s not gold. Yes? Not to mention he’s not big enough to be even considered a decent-sized gold anyway.” They lack the agility that I have. If it makes you feel better, keep on telling yourself that. Queens prefer bigger bronzes, don’t they?
“Corinth, acting?” That surprised T’rid; his eyebrows shot up, his long, messy hair obscuring them momentarily. “Eh, nah. I mean, he probably can—but he doesn’t.” Funny, too, because Corinth was absolutely the most politest, sweetest little thing ever when he was talking to anybody else, like a queen, a green, another dragon, or even to a fire lizard; but to him? Snarky, taunting, sarcastic, and overall aggravating—and he wasn’t acting on either side. How did he do that? Quite simply. I respect them. T’rid started slightly; he hadn’t been aware Corinth had been eavesdropping on his thoughts. Oh, so you don’t respect /me/? I have seen you as a gangly, idiotic boy trying to figure out if I was bouncy; I have seen you /naked/. I do not respect you in the same way as I respect them. Oh. Right. Fair enough. “Does Aonith act?” he added wryly, glancing at the green.
Oh, Kalierre was being smart, wasn’t she? Probably she didn’t even know when Aonith would heal and promptly gave a very sharp, short answer. “Eh…well, if it were me, I’d plague her for an answer.” He would, too—follow her around, learn her schedule, and stalk her until she at least gave him a time frame to work with. “Not knowing is the worst thing ever, especially since it is your dragon, isn’t it?” he asked, raising his eyebrow again. “If she doesn’t heal as fast as Kalierre thought she would, she can hunt you out and change that, but at least this way it’s not a total surprise. Yes?” …rise? Rise, with her wings torn? “If they don’t heal for a turn, there’s not much you can do about it…but Phremath Rose. You know Kalierre’s dragon, Phremath? She was from Fath’s mutated clutch and she Rises just fine, without wings…Aonith could just have a Run instead of an actual Rising, eh?”
Ah, so here was her curiosity. Much better. T’rid considered. “They wanted to get away from it as permanently as possible, I think. That’s the reason for the whole emphasis on ‘safe,’ ‘Benden and Fort don’t know,’ and all, I’m guessing. And most of the Candidates and Weyrlings that went probably didn’t leave to get messed up in the War as soon as possible.” Selenitas was already probably going to fall in the War anyway. “That Weyr? Too lazy to build a whole new one, too lazy to go too far from Fort. Who knows? Maybe they think it’s special to them or something.” [/size]
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Post by dragon on Oct 3, 2008 18:50:20 GMT -5
Dorava only nodded slightly to T'rid's admission to being the guilty party of their not communicating quite squarely. She really didn't think that the whole issue was his, but… she wasn't going to dispute someone else taking the blame willingly. That was his business. She knew she herself had major difficulties in communicating squarely to other people. Shards, one might think she was born and grown on another world entirely! "As far as I am aware, the language is majorly the same between weyrs." She noted.
"Wait. Are you saying now that I am involved in this, but I can't actually participate?" Dorava asked, feigning indignance. She did have one problem with involving a drudge, though… "How can we be sure that the drudge won't just take the coin and then say differently?" She really wasn’t a very trusting individual at the moment, though she used to be quite trusting. And then Benden happened in her life. Learning to be wary had been hard for her … and learning she didn't have to be wary anymore was going to be just as hard, it seemed. "I'd really rather help paint Salenth." She admitted. "Rather than involve a drudge."
You don't look as silly as you could. Aonith said, neatly sidestepping the question at hand. She considered being gold for a moment. Did she want to play at being gold for a few weeks? What would be the point in it, when she couldn't fly? Hm… not many would see it. Some, yes. Surely. But not many. If she was going to get painted, she wanted the whole weyr to see. Make it worth the itchy. Alright. But let's wait until I can fly again. Then we'll find some paint. She said. And maybe if it was worth the bother, she might even do it again later on. Have hers paint some kind of neat scene on her sides and wings … flying tapestry! Aonith rather liked Dorava's artwork, even if Dorava thought it was horrible. But then the green liked everything about hers … well … almost everything. Some things could stand for some improvement! Good! I look forward to knowing what they do in those shells. They're so small, it can't be terribly comfortable! Aonith said, glad that someone was going to remember, so that they could ask. Do you think any of the current weyrlings would remember what it was like in there?
The green left off towering over T'rid, having gotten quite a bit of amusement out of the Bronzerider's worried expressions. It was really funny that a bronzerider would be afeared of a Green dragon, while his Bronze was so near. You're welcome. she told T'rid directly, simply. And then she wandered off to go find something neat to lay on. Pushing a few boulders about in random directions, she finally flopped down amidst them. The bigger rocks were randomly arranged about her, some between her and her various and a sundry limbs, some merely resting around her. Dorava only shook her head slightly, still grinning.
"I don't think you could knock a bronze dragon out with a stone that was thrown." Dorava said, gazing up at the bronze's head speculatively. "Not one thrown by any body's arm, that is. Their bones are too thick to impact that way." She tossed another small stone at T'rid, this one landing just shy of the toe of one of his boots. "A human, sure. Not a dragon." She thought it would be really funny to see Corinth try to sit on T'rid. The dragon would be waddling backward all over the place trying to chase a running T'rid with his ass, missing every time he paused to sit. That would be hilarious to see! "I don't pretend to understand the finer intricacies of between." Dorava admitted, with a shrug. "Maybe there is air there, maybe there isn't. I doubt anyone will ever figure that out for sure. In any event… air or no, it sure is cold in there."
"Maybe so. Fort was once pretty slick, however. They were kicking Benden's collective asses in the air and on the ground regularly, until C'leon got underhanded and sly again. That man is scary. I am glad he never sneaked into my Weyr! I probably never would have woke up again."
"Aonith and I both rather detest new straps. They're stiff and itchy and uncomfortable until they are nice and broken in really well." Dorava noted. "And buying new straps is totally different from getting some worked on. New straps won't have been tampered with. Cause no one knows who's they're going to be, until they are bought."
Dorava smiled as T'rid announced rather bluntly that he liked her handy work. Good! Finally, positive progress with someone. Though, she had to wonder if T'rid was really a prime candidate for starting off with as friends. The more she heard about him from his own mouth, it sounded like he was one of those evil little pranksters that everyone hated. Oh well … any friend was better than none. And some fun wouldn't hurt. Maybe she would be able to temper some of his pranks, if it came to that. "A gather? Good. I guess I ought to get on getting some decent clothing soon, then. I really would like to go, and purchase some things."
Dorava only laughed out loud, as T'rid's attitude changed so drastically again. Ah! So he was kidding around again! Maybe she was getting the hang of this place after all. Or maybe, frighteningly, getting the hang of T'rid! That was a scary thought… "Alright. Note made. I think all mistakes are worth trying at least twice. Just to make sure you got it wrong the first time!" she laughed. "Though there are exceptions to that rule, mind you!" she held up a finger to make the distinction.
Aonith watched in wonder as Dorava mocked both Corinth and T'rid at the same time with the play worship. I have no idea. I quite wonder if she is quite sane, this day. She has never done anything the like, before! Is yours rubbing off on mine?! the green asked, with some alarm. "Well, you specified 'gold', now didn't you?" Dorava countered to T'rid's statement, as she stopped drawling on Corinth.
"Aonith acts, yes." Dorava admitted. "She is quite good at it, actually. A body has to be good at acting to have an independent streak and still survive at Benden. Pretend to be all subservient to the bronzes and their riders, all while plotting escape behind their backs? Oh, yes. Acting is part of it." She nodded, slowly. And thankfully, no one had seen through that act, allowing to escape with their spirits intact!
"Actually, I am trying to get on Kali's good side, thankyouverymuch." Dorava countered. "I want her to teach me things. Like everything I can learn about healing. And I can't do that by being an ass about my dragon. Especially since I'm already on rocky ground around her. All those healers hate me already. They don't seem to understand it was not my fault, what happened. And I did all I could for her, just getting her here to get the care she needed." She shrugged. It was the past, and hopefully the healers would see to forgive perceived trespasses soon. "I have patience. I waited this long to get here. A month or two for Aonith to fly, while nerve wracking, is no big deal. I only hope we won't still be grounded when and if Benden shows up." Oh, yes. She was still on edge about Benden. She had no idea how clean a get away she had made. So far, it looked good. But then, she was a nobody, too. Maybe they didn't care? That would be nice.
She listened to T'rid's tale spinning about events that had been transpiring in secret. It also relieved her some. Apparently word through the weyr about her wasn't as bad as she feared, if he felt comfortable sharing that with her. But then, her ever pessimistic side kicked in. Maybe he was feeding her lines, as a test. That was even worse a thought, if they felt they had to do that! But she was wholly and squarely where she appeared to stand. Free of Benden! And it was interesting, fabricated or not. "It seems that settling down in a pre-inhabited weyr is a bad idea, to me. Anyone flying over, would see that it's active. Especially if anyone set out with the idea to hunt for sprouting weyrs. Those weyrs are known in location to most all, and thus easy to find."
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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 Oct 4, 2008 11:06:50 GMT -5
I thought you were communicating well, for—well, /you/, Corinth noted, slightly surprised, as he absently crossed his forelegs and laid his head on them, his eyelids closing translucently again. For—/me/? What’s that supposed to mean? It’s not a secret that you seem to…to /irritate/ people. That was true, yes, but what Corinth didn’t appreciate was that he did it wholly on purpose. After all, what better way to get a reaction? Besides, his childhood—one of thievery, pranks, taunting—had left an impression on him. Quite simply, it was that an enraged person was a much easier target than a calm, level-headed one—quite an advantage in an all-out fight. Plus, he couldn’t quite seem to harness his sarcasm unless it really counted, or when he was acting. Nobody here seemed to appreciate sarcasm, mores the pity. Benden seems to take war tactics much differently from Fort; and both of them from Selenitas,” he pointed out wryly. For Benden, ‘warfare’ seemed to mean brute strength; for Fort, sharp intelligence and tactics; for Selenitas—well, it seemed to mean, ‘AVOID AT ALL COSTS.’ Frankly, he thought that that was rather boring.
He wrinkled his nose vaguely. “Yeah, well. Unless you want Salenth to tell S’rei that you were there—thereby rendering any alibis pretty much useless—you can’t come.” T’rid shrugged. It was quite simple to him. “Unless you know anyone else who wants in?” he added. As for the Drudge…“Drudges here will say anything for a fair amount of marks,” he said nonchalantly; he’d bribed a few for bubbly pies and they’d told the Headwoman that a tunnelsnake got into them or something of the sort to get out of trouble—marks did wonders. “If you’re really that concerned,” he replied, raising both eyebrows in amusement, “I can always tack on a threat—like, ‘If you don’t do what I tell you, I’ll gut you.’ I’m sure that would work well, too, although we might scare the poor Drudge between. But if you’re not worried about that…?” He paused, and then added, “And if you don’t want to involve a Drudge, then the only excuse I’ve got is that you were in my Weyr for the night or vice versa, which you probably wouldn’t like.” He couldn’t really care one way or the other, as long as they did have a viable alibi.
Corinth rumbled in amusement. He didn’t look as silly as he could? Meaning he did look silly? I thank you, Aonith, for the compliment, he responded gravely, bowing his head, his bronze hide rippling as he extended one foreleg in a mock bow, one that resembled a human bow to the extreme. The bronze dragon raised his wings, even, half-rising before he sank back into a languid position. He nodded at her assent to be painted gold. Very well. I don’t know anyone who would paint their weyr bright gold, but I’m sure we can find someone, somewhere, who is willing to sell us or give us some gold paint. He’d heard of Riders painting their weyr walls bright gold, along with the more standard shades of white, blue, green, and earthy tones. Bronze, he’d decided, was slightly rarer, being a rather queer metallically green-brownish color at its worst and a more orange-brown shade at its best—both of which looked rather odd on a weyr’s walls.
The bronze tilted his head, considering, flaring his nostrils in absentminded thought. Well, /they/ are small when they come out of shell, he pointed out, Perhaps it fits them or something. How, I do not know, especially since they seem to grow so fast, but perhaps they are comfortable for at least a while… He paused, his tail flicking in thought absently. The current Weyrlings…um, no, probably not. Hepaticath and the younglings—he remembered only Hepaticath of the lot, and even then only because she was a queen and therefore important—They have already started flying. And the Senior Weyrlings are near graduating; the greens should Rise soon and the males should begin to Chase. This was both good and bad, since greens Rising meant more to pursue—that was good—but more Chasers meant more competition. Blah…
…and now Aonith was no longer towering over him. T’rid rolled his eyes, repressing an amused grimace—although he was startled by the feminine voice speaking in his mind. How often did that happen? Not very—not mentally, at least. He seemed to converse with more females than he did males, though. He blinked, completely startled, after Aonith as she wandered over to lay down. Corinth was horribly picky about whom he spoke to; his contact was limited to His and the dragons of the Weyr. Only in the most extreme of circumstances, and only to the most trustworthy of people, would he ever speak to another human—at least, as far as T’rid had known. The bronze assured him that he truly hadn’t spoken to any other human in his life yet, as far as he could remember; he had found nobody with an open mind, after all; he was hardly going to make the effort to converse with a human; they were horribly dull sometimes. He blinked again. You look like someone just said they loved you, and you’d never met them before, Corinth stated mildly. But—but—do all greens talk to whoever pricks their fancy? Corinth shrugged lazily.
His gaze switched to Dorava as she flung another stone at him, twitching his foot sideways as the stone bounced daringly close to him. “Yeah, probably couldn’t knock out a green dragon either—although a hatchling might be a fair bet,” he suggested. He wouldn’t seriously knock out a dragon just to satisfy his whims, of course, but it was an interesting thought, to be sure. T’rid tucked his legs against his chest, a childish gesture, propping his chin against his knees and rocking slightly, an absentminded motion that emphasized his youth. Sure, he was a Bronzerider, but he still was only eighteen Turns old. Being forced to cope with war, strife, and trouble so early on certainly was no fun and if T’rid had any say in it he wouldn’t be forced. “Or an egg,” he added meditatively. “But I doubt Millieth or Aslath, or even Hepaticath when she grows, would let you throw a rock at an egg…”
The young man shrugged at her statement. “Yeah, well, I doubt anyone alive knows much about between, so.” Another careless shrug—and then a flash of a grin. “But of course, I’m sure up north it can seem colder than between sometimes, can’t it?” Corinth interjected with draconic logic, Nothing is colder than the cold of /between/. I know, I’m just kidding, T’rid assured the bronze lightly. I’ve been /between/ enough times to know. I thought you preferred /between/ to straight flights. I do! But…eh. Never mind. It’s still cold.
“Hmm, yeah, D’loro was pretty good at plotting…” T’rid agreed vaguely, and then shrugged, dismissing it. “Doesn’t matter, he’s dead anyway,” he finished cheerfully. It was a pity that he’d been replaced by an idiot, of course, but thinking and mooning over it wouldn’t bring him back from the dead—and T’rid really didn’t want D’loro back from the dead anyways; he didn’t care about him that much—so, as logic stated, he simply—stopped thinking about it and grousing on what could have been. He was quite good at making them up when it came down to that, but he preferred to think about more personal, down-to-Pern things, not ‘what-if-D’loro-had-not-died’ things. “Benden probably got a spy,” he added with a shrug. “They got a spy in Selenitas, that healer Trenlor, who went and tried to poison Shmee.”
T’rid raised his arm for Corinth’s inspection; the bronze wandered a few steps over and lowered his head, nosing His’ arm and flaring his nostrils at the scent. It smells disgusting, leather smells better, he stated frankly. T’rid blinked, and then grinned at the bronze head, rubbing around one nostril absently. Most people don’t smell their knives anyway, but thanks. No, what I wanted to ask you was to help me remember this arrangement of straps. Keep thinking about it, or whatever, yes? Corinth cocked his head, studying it intently. I will remember, he assured T’rid with a soft, breathy croon, and then he withdrew his head from the very close proximity with the two Riders. Hopefully he hadn’t scared Dorava—she ought to be used to having a dragon’s head within inches of her own, after all—and he’d stared a fair few yards away from her at the very least, but still, a big bronze head could be a bit disconcerting. T’rid absently started to unwind the vines surrounding his wrist after reattaching his knife sheath to his belt. “Um, yes, a Gather at Blossom,” he agreed. “A horribly cheerful place—they’ve got that big dolphin hall…” He couldn’t remember if he’d said that before or not.
She wasn’t angry—that was a good thing; some people were when they were duped. T’rid wrinkled his nose at her comment, managing to follow along—barely. Just because he was young didn’t mean he was unintelligent, nay? Sometimes you don’t /show/ it, Corinth said mildly. Thanks. Thanks a /lot/, T’rid replied, biting back a grin at the bronze’s outspoken remark. “That sounds fine,” he agreed with mock sweetness to Dorava’s comment. “How about you jump in the lake twice? First time to see if it’s cold or not; second time to check and make sure that the first guess was right.” It was cold, obviously; the night had been a cool one—or so he assumed; T’rid couldn’t be quite sure, seeing as he’d had Laurie with him and frankly was unaware of much past her—and the water had yet to warm up.
Corinth snorted, huffing through his open mouth, letting his warm breath wash over both Riders. T’rid wrinkled his nose at the familiar scent of peppermint—Corinth had taken a liking to the taste of peppermint tea, for some reason; he insisted that peppermint didn’t count as a vegetable, and he didn’t eat the plant anyways—he just drank the liquid. Peppermint made water taste so much better, after all, and it revived him and energized him, too. I don’t think it’s possible for Ridmine to ‘rub off’ on anyone; he usually just makes fun of them, the bronze said doubtfully. Er—at least she seems to be having fun? Maybe she had gone crazy or something, after the stress of getting here and then of getting situated. He had never heard of it before, but…eh. Who knew? T’rid was snickering lightly. “Gold was specified if you were worshipping a person,” he replied. “A dragon you’d call by their rightful color. Although if you want to add, ‘O Wonderful’ to the beginning of that color, as in, ‘O Wonderful Bronze,’ I’m sure that would be all right, too.” It’d be better to be ‘O Wonderful Bronze,’ than ‘gold,’ Corinth commented dryly.
So Aonith acted, eh? T’rid raised one brow, amused and faintly impressed. Most greens were sharp-tongued and didn’t bother hiding it—or perhaps that was simply because they grew up at Selenitas, without any motive to curb their tongues? And if not, they were usually overly sweet and flirtatious. Neither of which T’rid preferred. Corinth seemed to get along incredibly well with greens—he had yet to find one he hated or even moderately disliked—but he certainly didn’t. “Is she acting towards Cor?” he asked, sincerely interested now, for the bronze’s sake. “He wouldn’t mind if she was…a bit obnoxious or anything.” He wrinkled his nose. “He had to put up with Reysalth this morning.” Although the dragons seemed to have gotten along better after the initial shock than Laurie and T’rid had ended up doing. Either way, T’rid thought Reysalth was…not a particularly overfriendly green.
“Keeping on a healer’s good side is nigh on impossible,” T’rid instructed teasingly, “But if you want to try, be my guest.” He shrugged, uncurling himself and dangling his legs over the side of the rock, absently toeing the ground with one worn boot. He’d have to get a new pair…yes. Remember that. Leather and new boots. He probably would end up just getting the leather; he could foist a pair of boots off of the Headwoman. “Have you had training previously for healing?” he asked curiously. “I mean, some Senior Apprentices and Journeymen Healers and Dragon-healers have come; they probably are the ones that’ll be being instructed by Kalierre willingly if anyone.” A crooked grin flashed over his features, the right side of his lip tugging higher than the left in wry amusement. “Of course, if she was really that angry at you, she could always use you to demonstrate the proper way to bind a wound and stuff, yes?” Another shrug—an ineloquent motion—as she spoke about Benden. “Before, when Benden attacked, they made sure the dragons were all…unable to help at all. So whether or not Aonith can fly—it doesn’t seem to really matter one way or the other in terms of Benden.”
Even if T’rid had thought Dorava was a spy, he probably still would have told her exactly what he spoke of now. He, personally, disliked High Reaches Weyr to the extreme. Starting a secret Weyr, headed by a runaway Fort queen—a cowardly thing to do. Perhaps necessary, and he wouldn’t have disliked him if only for that—but stealing some of their Candidates and Weyrlings? A bronze, along with several browns, blues, and greens, all young dragons—lost to High Reaches. No word had been sent; no message; nada. It was as if they had just gone between after taking away their Candidates and Weyrlings and—didn’t come back out or something. He shook his head, though, disagreeing with Dorava. “High Reaches was…sucked into Fort, kind of, wasn’t it? I doubt Benden will care to look there; that’s far too close to Fort Weyr. Fort itself lost a queen dragon, true, but logically, a runaway queen would get as far away from Fort Weyr as possible—if they do think to check at High Reaches, it won’t be for a while. They’ll start by looking out farther, won’t they?”
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Post by dragon on Oct 4, 2008 16:55:12 GMT -5
Dorava thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. "I don't have any marks to spare. I do have to save up to get myself a knife and some clothes, come gather time." She pointed out. "I would have to resort to threatening a drudge, and – quite frankly – it was that kind of runner manure that I came here to get away from. I really don't approve." She shrugged, then, absently, as she picked out a new stone to fiddle with, contemplating its shape. "There has got to be a better way to do this … or simply it's not worth the doing. It went from simple – paint the dragon – to complicated. The more complex, the less fun it is."
Aonith rumbled in similar amusement at the bronze's reaction to her comment. This was really, really strange. For a bronze dragon to be so amiable … especially toward her. But she liked it. It was a very nice change from what she was used to, and it made her think that she and hers had made the right choice in moving here. I don't have to be gold. Bronze would do just fine. Or maybe, I don't know … any random color. Doesn't even have to be a dragon color. We'll see how everyone thinks of a new color! she laughed, at that thought. There would certainly be a lot of stirring going on in the weyr if, say, a red dragon started cruising over the weyr? Or one in rainbow colors? But, indeed, it would have to wait until she could fly again.
Aonith tilted her head to one side, listening as Corinth spoke about hatchlings and the shells they came out of. They stay in there long enough, it had better be comfortable! she quipped. Goshgollywow. To spend that much time in a cramped environment that wasn't comfortable? That would be sheer torture!! She knew she'd been there once before, but, now that she was thinking about it, she was glad she wasn't going to be in an egg again. Yikes. Dorava noted that T'rid seemed to be very very expressive with his eyes … always blinking them, rolling them, squinting them … golly he had mobile eyes. She wondered if they would pop out of his head, next! That would decidedly … strange. But it was a little refreshing to meet a fellow who was comfortable with expressions. Stony wall faces got old after awhile. Though, he was still just a kid, and probably hadn't been brainwashed into what males perceived as was proper yet. She grinned, maybe even a little evilly, as he twitched away from the latest pebble she had tossed at him. Oh, but he was learning to dance! And he hadn't said a word about it yet, either. Hmm… interesting! Poking fun at him was fun. If in a weird, twisted sort of way. She absently wondered how far she could make him move, one twitch at a time, as she considered the pebble in her hands at the moment. It was smooth, and small. Not big enough to be a water skipper. But no – she didn't throw it. Not yet. Truth be told, she was getting a little bored with stone throwing. Maybe she really ought to take up something for a hobby until Aonith was back in the air again? "If I had eggs, I wouldn't want anyone throwing rocks at them, either." She commented.
"It gets pretty cold in the North, true. But not as cold as between. I have never gone into between and thought, 'Oh, hey. It's warm here today!'" She giggled at the very idea. And then promptly went ahead and chucked that pebble at him. This time, there was no telling where that thing would go. But it hadn't been thrown hard enough to do anything but bounce off wherever it hit. Dorava watched with interest as Corinth seemed to inspect her handiwork in T'rid's arm. It never even occurred to her to duck back from him, even though had a Benden bronze done the same thing she probably would have just on instinct. But not only was he obviously not interested in her, she had calmed down substantially since arriving at Selenitas – even if it really didn't look like it. It helped a lot that Corinth and Aonith had been getting along very well so far, and Aonith was not at all concerned about the bronze getting that near to hers. Not any more than Corinth had been, when Aonith towered over T'rid. "Horribly and cheerful don't seem like two words that would go together very often." Dorava mentioned.
Dorava giggled at his suggestion of jumping in the lake. "I just might! Who knows … the shock of getting wet might just blur your distinction of just how cold it is!" She teased. Hm … a swim in the lake did sound good, actually. Dorava did love to swim. And a body of water that was not salty would be a nice switch.
Despite the 'minty freshness' of Corinth's breath, Dorava still gagged and choked on it. The sheer lack of oxygen was enough to make her lightheaded. And she really didn't appreciate the added warmth, either. This place was already quite a bit warmer than she was adapted to! "Please breathe somewhere else!" She told the bronze dragon, gagging. Everyone rubs off on everyone. Every pebble in the lake makes ripples when thrown. To what degree of rubbing off depends on how hard the stone was thrown. Aonith replied to Corinth, trying to sound sage. Even if she got her parables all mixed together in strange directions. "I think I'll pass on the worshiping." Dorava decided, after she managed to get a breath of cooler, oxygen-rich air.
"Is she acting toward Corinth?" Dorava asked, looking over at the two dragons again. "No. She's too relaxed. And … well … being herself. It's a good change for her. To be herself." She nodded, and looked at T'rid again, before smiling slightly. "Why? You thought she was being sweet on him?" "Nigh on impossible does not mean actually impossible." Dorava said, more to herself than to him. And then she spoke up a little louder again. "I can be stubborn. No … not stubborn. Stubborn is bad. I can be … persistent. That's the word!" She grinned at him. "I can be persistent in getting what I want. And I really want to learn the healer's craft. And … no. If you don't count tending to animals, I have on experience what so ever. And I really don't think things you do to an animal to heal it would work so well on a person. Or a dragon, for that matter." She really didn't want to think of possibly being declined just because some snot nosed kid turned up wanting the slot, too, and just happened to have to official prior training in the field. Though, if one did show up, that's exactly what was liable to happen. It was simple smart SOP for the weyr as a whole. Dorava only shrugged at his comment about Fort and Benden maybe finding High Reaches. "I really have no idea what Fort would do, if they got the notion to go looking for them. If Benden got the notion that there was another weyr out there, I am pretty sure they'd start a systematic sweep of the whole continent, naturally starting there at Benden. Aggressive, those."
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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 Oct 7, 2008 14:51:01 GMT -5
No marks? Oh, pity…T’rid idly found a small stick, digging it into the ground in much the same way he’d used his knife before. “Threatening a Drudge doesn’t sound so bad,” he mumbled abstractedly, his eyes suddenly lighting up with mischief. “Or we could just find a younger one who’s up for a prank.” As she commented on the complexity of a prank, he shook his head, clicking his tongue in mock reproof. “That’s the best way to get caught though, isn’t it? The more complex a prank is, the better your chances of getting away are. And it’s no fun if you get caught, unless you mean to—which can be a good thing, too, kind of a like a signature so people don’t mess with you,” he added thoughtfully, “But—still. S’rei is my Wingleader, you know—I can’t just outright prank him. I need to make sure I can get away with it…which will be a hell of a lot easier if the prank is complex.” S’rei probably didn’t think T’rid had the brain cells to think of something complex anyway, he thought lazily. But he was hardly going to show himself off as a genius, was he?
How’s it going? he added to Corinth, absently considering that it was so much easier to plan a prank if it was just him—although it was harder to come up with alibis. There was always someone willing to hop along for the ride, though, without doing any thinking—those were the people T’rid maneuvered to take the blame. Are you frustrated? Corinth asked, curiously glancing over at His. Umm, no. That’s good. Only after Corinth had turned back to Aonith did T’rid realize that the bronze hadn’t even answered his question. Whoops. He rumbled in amusement, though, his eyes flashing in amusement. I think a bright pink dragon would be lovely, he suggested teasingly. Perhaps the queens would want to be a hot pink shade, yes? It’s much more feminine than gold is, isn’t it? It was rather hard to think of anything as more feminine than green and gold, but then that was because of Corinth’s association of those colors with female dragons. Female humans seemed to adore pink most of the time.
Another amused rumble emerged from the bronze at the idea of staying in a shell that one wasn’t comfortable in. They would have broken out at much shorter notice if they were that uncomfortable! he pointed out. They seemed to struggle getting out sometimes even when they were fully developed, but surely a great discomfort would prompt them to greater levels? I suppose it’s got at least something that tempts them to stay, he decided at last. Food, comfort, what, though? Not even Theirs would be known, since Impression occurred after leaving the shell. He couldn’t imagine life without Ridhis, annoying as he might be at times; despite all the arguments, taunts, etc.—there was no life without His. His eyes softened, almost saddened. I can’t think that being alone, without even Yours—would be too nice, he admitted anxiously.
T’rid’s gaze flicked nonchalantly from Dorava’s face, where politeness insisted he stare when speaking to her, to the stone in her hand meditatively. Would she throw that one, too? The corner of his lip twitched in slight amusement at the thought. Well, at least he would be die plotting, yes…? Why are you dying? Corinth asked, clearly bewildered and startled as he glanced at His. Never mind; it’s nothing, T’rid assured Corinth vaguely; the bronze blinked, still alarmed. I won’t die, I promise. I wish you wouldn’t, the dragon agreed. “If you had eggs, I would be slightly alarmed,” he replied wryly. “Besides, if you had eggs, then you’d be a queen dragon or at least a flitter or a Salamandyr and I definitely wouldn’t be within a dragonslength of you then. Proddy queens—ugh.” He mock-shuddered, smirking slightly.
The smirk grew wider as Dorava spoke about the cold in the North. “Yeah, well. At least then, it wouldn’t be much a change in temperature,” he pointed out dryly. He and Corinth had regular betweening exercises; the last thing he needed was to be lost between. One could argue that the less you went, the lower your chances, instead of the more you went, the lower your chances, Corinth pointed out absently as he caught a wave of the thought. “Whereas down south here…” He waved one hand in a vague gesture at the Weyr behind him. “It’s definitely a shock, no?” And it was, too; he had never failed to draw his breath in an attempt to keep it from leaving him altogether as the cold of between hit him after the warmth of the sun. The cold of between /is/ cold, Corinth said reproachfully. He flinched sideways as she tossed the pebble, effectively evading it; T’rid turned his head to watch its unhindered path to the bank of the river, where it bounced off lightly into the water with a soft plop.
Corinth sniffed—rather haughtily—casting another scornful glance at T’rid, who was absently rubbing at his arm. You really have no idea how horrible that smelled, he informed the young man. Mm, don’t I? he answered absently. He grinned slightly at her comment. “Not normally, but you’ll see what I mean when you see some of the displays they set up at their Gathers…ugh. Corinth thinks that this vine smells horrible, and all vegetables as a rough rule. The smell—it’s enough to make him faint.” He wrinkled his nose in a vague remembrance. “It’s like you were just thrown in the center of a bunch of squashed flowers—not altogether pleasant and all but blinding visually. Horribly cheerful? Oh, yes.”
He sniffed at the idea of jumping in the lake. He exercised as much as the next person—running, flying with Corinth, practicing with his knife, occasionally swimming on a warmer day (although most of the time the swim was not initiated by him so much as by Corinth)—but the idea of hopping into a lake and lapping it a few times—ugh. Not to mention the current might just dash you up on the rocks or the bank. What a cheery thought. “You first,” T’rid suggested sweetly, gesturing at the river as it licked up against the bank. “I’ll be right behind you, I promise,” he added, smiling innocently at Dorava.
Corinth huffed once more in the Riders’ direction, although he obediently swiveled his head away as T’rid stuck out his tongue playfully at the bronze. “You see? Not everyone likes being woken up to a dragon’s breath that smells like peppermint tea.” Corinth ignored him, clearly to preserve his dignity, and shrugged at Aonith. I find the opposite is true with Ridmine. If he is cheerful, that generally means other people aren’t; if he is irritated, that means everyone else is completely unaware of his existence and completely satisfied and content. But I see what you mean, yes… Kind of. She hadn’t exactly explained it as perfectly as Corinth might have hoped, but the crucial points were satisfied and that was what counted, no? “Not worshipping is good,” T’rid agreed, drawing his legs up and propping his chin on his knees again, arms locked around his legs.
He nodded thoughtfully at Dorava’s words. No, he hadn’t thought Aonith was acting—most greens didn’t around Corinth. Not only greens—all female dragons. He had a certain way with his words that seemed to make them relax and respond in just the right way—which rather irked T’rid, as the bronze displayed none of the polite interest towards him that he did with the females—and yet he didn’t act, either. T’rid only grunted at her question, and then reconciled himself to answer, smiling rather resignedly. “She wouldn’t be the only green,” he settled for, rolling his eyes again. Reysalth and Corinth had gotten along splendidly; he and Eriannath had gotten along well, too; Calistoth had flirted with him—shards, it was wonderful to meet a green that wasn’t all over Corinth, even if they were still friendly. Although technically, he couldn’t say Eriannath had considered Corinth in that way.
Stubborn, persistent…“Tenacious,” he suggested wryly, “Or hardheaded—either of those would fit in. Besides, I’d leave healing to Healers; they know about things and they’ll only get impatient with newcomers.” He shrugged absently, running his fingers through his hair. “But eh, be my guest—at least when you give yourself a paper-cut or something, you’ll be able to heal it.” The wry grin stretched slightly at the thought. “Although it would perhaps be good to make sure the healers aren’t poisoning us or something.”
T’rid shrugged. “Well, it’d be pretty easy to situate spies in Benden and Fort Weyrs, since they are completely unaware of High Reaches’ existence—so they would be forewarned. They can always just pop between to like, some cave or something, for the duration of the search…” He shrugged again. “Who knows? They’re crazy. Benden’s power-hungry. Not a good mixture, of course, but there you have it.”
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