Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Nov 11, 2009 23:59:08 GMT -5
Noooooooooooooooooooooo!
"Yeeeeessssss," F'ur hissed back under his breath, dropping into a crouch and whirling upwards with a roundhouse. Bad bad bad. A fan sprung from the sash that secured the long 'tunic' he'd taken to wearing snuggly around his thin waist, flicking outwards in a colorful whirl to add to his already conspicuous clothing. "Not bad," he explained again calmly, dancing nimbly forward along the edge, his body moving with the supple, economic grace of a fighter. "Some people don't just take 'I don't want to fight' as an answer, and then how am I going to protect you, eh?" Run hard, run fast. Away away. Terror definitely understood F'ur, though the man suspected that had more to do with their bond than his actual words. "And if there's nowhere to run?"
He launched off the ledge, spinning and palming the ground as he skidded along the next ledge. Noooooooooooooooooooooo! Another few seconds of hesitation. He exhaled in aggravation. This was going to have to be beaten here shortly, because those few seconds could be very important. The Weyrlingmaster arched upwards on his hands, lashing out with a foot as the fabric whirled around his legs. His back arched and he quite naturally regained his feet from there, the second fan flaring now. Terror clung to his scalp desperately, torn between keeping his position and the bad, bad reality of blood if he held on too tightly.
Dangerous, noooooooooooooooooooooo!
Marking another leap, of course, this time for a ledge far enough below that he had to roll forward instead of absorbing the landing with his knees. His knots - the unfamiliar weight of them - flopped against his chest...and he staggered for a moment, not noticing the other occupant out on the ledge for one very simple reason. The roll had forced Terror to sink his claws in and - as usual - the sight and smell of blood caused an instant reaction. This time, though, the salamandyr didn't faint dead away. No. He frilled, bouncing animatedly - right off F'ur's head - with a loud Blood, no! and then went limp.
The Weyrlingmaster's left hand moved swiftly, fan flaring and catching the small body near the center of the steel rods that supported the fabric of the fan. He stood with an annoyed frown, shaking his head as if to clear it. That was another thing he'd have to learn to work through. Crazy salamandyr.
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Post by dragon on Nov 12, 2009 1:19:14 GMT -5
It was a nice day. One in which there was absolutely nothing to do. Which marvelously defaulted to one thing: Picnic! So, with a light heart and a full basket of little edible bits, Dorava sat crosslegged on her ledge. Bare stone, warmed by the sun, a nice breeze blowing across. A marvelous view of the Weyr beneath, the waterfall clearly audible. Sometimes Dorava really loved having a top-of-the-Weyr weyr. Even if it was a sharding long ways to walk when Aonith wasn't around. She had to admit ... climbing all those stairs was giving her a serious set of calves! Leaning over Mandyr's sleeping form, Dorava poked in her basket for another piece of flaky sweetbread. The little green flitter had already eaten herself back into a semi-comatose state and was simply sprawled out on the stone next to Dorava's leg, looking for all the world like there was nothing happier.
Aonith was not around, for the green dragon was on the ridges of the cliffs, sunning her wings at full extent. So the weyr itself seemed rather hollow and empty to Dorava, but it was of little concern. Just a novelty. Maybe she would actually sweep the thing once she was done picnicing. Watch the dust and grit rain down on those people unlucky enough to weyr below her. She giggled to herself. She'd never actually do it, but it was fun to think about. But then, it would also be nice to have some company to talk to and picnic with. But she didn't really know anyone that would even be remotely interested. Not that she knew all that many people to start with...
Dorava was about to take another bite of the piece of bread in her hand when suddenly something large with far too many limbs came plummeting down from above straight at her ledge. For a moment she was frozen in shock as her basket of goodies was knocked aside. It rolled on one edge, shedding foodstuffs the whole way until it tumbled right off the ledge to rain down on the unsuspecting weyr below. Finally getting her wits about her, Dorava squeaked audibly as she scrambled to her feet, dropping the bit she had been holding in her hand. For a moment she was so confused she didn't quite know which way was up; all she knew was that something had just dropped onto her ledge and it didn't look friendly. Another split second and it resolved from a too-many-limbs creature into what appeared to be a human. More specifically a man. A skinny little scrap of a man. After spending most of her life in Benden, her first reaction was to think she was getting attacked, and her first trained response was to lash out at said attack, try to blow it back and off balance. Even if the attack was only feigned.
So it was only natural that the instant she was on her feet she tried to punch said attacker in the general vicinity of the solar plexus. But while that was in route, her brain was still catching up to all the split second reactions. She recognized the skinny scrap of a man. He was F'ur. Which translated straight into enemy in her mind, but also deadly enemy. Fort. Which elicited another startled gasp as she realized she was in the process of trying to hit said expert killer. Her attempted punch was shortchanged in that moment, losing most of the power it should have had as now her instinct was going the other way. As in, get out, and get out fast. Dorava's strengths did not lay in hand to hand combat, and she knew it deep down.
Changing a body's direction and momentum on a split second was not easy. But willpower made up for a lot. Dorava did her best to withdraw just as fast as she'd advanced, prepared to jump off her very own ledge if need be to get away. It never occurred to her once that F'ur was no longer Fort, but was not Selenitas himself. Knots didn't mean much to her - she didn't stop long enough to bother to read them, after all. If she did manage to make it over the edge, she had no fear that Aonith would catch her before she hit bottom - it was a long ways down, after all, and they'd done many such stunts before.
If there was one thing the greenpair were good at, it was harebrained flying. Dorava had no fear of heights at all, or even freefall. Utmost confidence in her expert-flier green was a big part in it, but not all. She could only just hope to get away before he somehow ripped her to pieces with his ... whatever he used to kill people with these days.
Through all of this, Mandyr remained an inert lump on the stone, completely oblivious to all the stomping and flailing going on around her sleeping form. What could be better than a full stomach and a warm rock to sleep on, after all? The little flitter was in heaven.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Nov 14, 2009 16:36:07 GMT -5
Movement. He didn't even look up, the fan supporting Terror's limp little form sliding back protectively in a smooth motion of his shoulder. F'ur continued with the movement, shifting his hips, the hand blowing past him. Pathetic force...probably wouldn't even have winded him had it connected, despite the fact that his stomach very nearly met his spine. But then, women couldn't punch worth anything. Flaily things. Particularly this one, it would seem, as she was backing up with an expression on her face that wasn't so terribly shocked that he couldn't read the fear easily.
He could hardly be blamed, really. F'ur's mocking smirk was a completely subconscious reaction, as was the desire to screw with the woman's head - give her actual reason to fear him. It made little sense to be afraid of a man smaller than you were when he was clearly on the same side. (It wouldn't have occurred to him that the woman thought he was anything but Selenitas. Weyrlingmaster knots with Selenitas colors. Kind of 'duh.' Even F'ur gave women more credit than that as far as intelligence went.) Fortunately for Dorava, the bluerider wasn't interested enough in her - bored enough, really - to waste the effort of screwing with her head.
In fact, keeping her from what might well be a suicide dive off the cliff was almost too much effort. It wouldn't look very good if she turned up smashed across the rocks when he'd been on her ledge, though, and, with his luck, she'd survive it. Then he'd have to explain why he hadn't done anything and...just a general bother. No hands made that problematic, though. Oh well. She wasn't moving that fast. All of this flashed through his head as he was stepping to one side of her weak little punch, the hand closest to Dorava sliding the fan into his sash and palming the ground. He spun counter to his initial direction, slower than normal to keep Terror from flying off the fan, his heel burying into her gut. F'ur didn't care if it knocked her over or even hurt, really, but the point was to stop her momentum towards the edge and maybe knock her back a few paces.
He snatched Terror up off his fan as he moved forward, pocketing the tiny salamandyr so he could then free up both hands, and pounced the woman who had to outweigh him by a good fifteen pounds at least. (Come to think of it, that would have been a good enough excuse for his not intervening. Tch. Should have thought of that earlier.) "Not that ugly," he commented, almost teasingly. "At least, not so much that death is better than looking at me. Chill, sweetheart." His hands had locked on her wrists. "Don't make me sit on you."
Inocenth, of course, being Inocenth, cracked open one eye to look at the figures down below. He yawned, coiling tighter. Tell Yours to keep still, he told Aonith lazily, not bothering to mask the chill of his mindvoice. Go near them and I'll come out to play. Amusement, then, at her expense. Protectiveness? Self-preservation? A little. A dragon could be a problem for His if the woman was too stupid to realize he wasn't a threat to her. But mostly it amused him to terrify the green. His couldn't be allowed to have all the fun, now could he?
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Post by dragon on Nov 15, 2009 14:40:14 GMT -5
The instant that Dorava freaked out, Aonith was in motion. She slid right off the ridge of the cliff and into the air, banking hard on wide-spread wings. She was too far away to fly straight and get there in time, and she knew it, sensing what Dorava's escape plan was. So close to the cliff! Aonith's heart leapt in worry. There was something of a difference between open air drop-and-catching, and catching next to a cliff...! But she knew just as well that Dorava would not randomly do such a thing without a very good reason.
Rolling and cutting into a hard dive, Aonith sped faster and faster until she was just above the forest canopy, at which point she snapped her wings open and shot upward and outward at a speed that she could not have attained otherwise on such short notice. She would be there, when Dorava needed her to be.
At which point she heard Inocenth's remark, and Aonith's blood ran cold. Now she understood completely why Dorava had reacted in such a way. If anyone could make people leap off cliffs to get away from them ... it was F'ur. She snarled as she sped through the air before replying. If yours harms mine, I WILL eat him! She countered, not at all afraid. Hers was on the line, after all. And Hers was all-important. She continued toward the area, but she did not ascend to the level of her weyr yet, instead cutting and turning back underneath. There to catch if needed. Inocenth's warning was heeded; she didn't go near. Not yet. But she wasn't going to back down and roll over either. Breathe, mine. Be still for now. She said, gently, soothingly, to Dorava's frazzled mind, trying to support even as she tried to ascertain just exactly what was going on up there.
Dorava whoofed when that foot connected with her stomach, and she flailed outward in an attempt to not go plumb clean over backward. Not that it worked. For half an instant she was surprised that the two of them meeting headlong like that via his foot hadn't sent him reeling backwards over the edge just as it sent her backwards back into her weyr. Knowing she was going down, Dorava twisted on her heel, landed on her palms, and twirled around sideways so that the same energy that knocked her back brought her back onto her feet in an upright posture several feet back, bringing her fists back up again. Going down was a bad idea, it would be endgame.
She knew who he was, indeed she did. Dorava tried hard to sidestep him when he jumped at her, but didn't manage to redirect her direction of movement fast enough, it seemed. Shards, he had a grip like a smith's vice! Dorava tried to wrench her wrists out of his grip but failed for lack of room to complete the motion. When he started talking, she froze, startled, locking her gaze on his. Not ugly? What? What kind if sharding comment was that?! She stopped thrashing, and just looked at him, mouth drawing a tight, straight line across her face. Dorava wasn't stupid; if he was going to kill her it would have happened already by now. And if he intended to kill her, he certainly wouldn't be talking.
"What do you want." she asked flatly, aware that Aonith was nearby again, heeding her dragon's advice on pure trust.
Only then did she notice the knots, and that was like a second kick to the guts. Selenitas Weyrling Master? Either he was impersonating (which was utterly stupid, almost everyone knew who he was she figured - not to mention such a prestigious position), or he really was. Considering the odds, it leaned heavily in favor of he really was. Knots wouldn't get someone like F'ur anywhere, when it came to subterfuge. She breathed a bit easier then, and actually relaxed - but only a teeny bit. If he was Selenitas, he wasn't going to kill her. And if he wasn't? She was dead to rights anyway. But now that she had a moment to see and think rather than react, she remembered seeing him slip something small into his pocket before he jumped her. Anyone with one would recognize what it was, and she definitely had one. A salamandyr. Only Selenitas folk had salamandyrs.
"What in Faranth's name are you doing here?" She asked. Last she'd heard, he had still been Fort's dog. What had prompted him to abandon ship? Or had he? "And what are you doing in my weyr?" Another good question she wanted to know was what insane idiot had put F'ur in charge of Weyrlings. But she saved that one for later. Only a few things at a time. Her heart was still trying to hammer a hole out of her chest, after all.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Nov 15, 2009 21:46:10 GMT -5
Inocenth uncoiled, dropping off his ledge like a stone. He swirled upward, tail lashing through the water pounding down from above not far from Aonith and sending droplets her way as he sped above her to coil almost lazily through the drifting clouds above. The dark, dark hide stood out starkly against the sky. Will you? he questioned tauntingly. Yours will be dead before you have the time to process that she's being attacked, little green. Nevermind that they were nearly of a size. (Inocenth could easily have been mistaken for a green if not for the extremely light blue patches that colored his hide randomly. Oh, and the little tiny detail that he definitely didn't Rise. Probably to the relief of many.)
I'll admit that it's possible you'd remain long enough to exact your revenge, but do you really think you could reach him before I tore you out of the skies? Cold laughter rippled into her mind. Will you please stop contributing? Just looking out for my mindmate, Inocenth responded innocently. The man knew that any amusement from Ino meant the dragon was toying with someone, and it hardly took much intelligence to guess who. Uhuh. Sure.
F'ur responded instantly to her attempts to wrench free, pulling her in tight against his chest. The skinny little scrap had quite a lot of power coiled in the ropy muscles that lined his wiry frame. Certainly enough to handle a girl who didn't know how to use her weight to her advantage. A brow rose at her question. What did he want? Really? She said it like she expected him to...well, he wasn't sure, really. Something unsavory. "Prevent you from jumping off a cliff like a frightened wherry? Speaking of wherry, a roasted one would be good right now. I'd also like water, some tubers, a few greens, redfruit, cheese, some hardbread, a nap, and a nice tumble with the kitten but we have to wait, so I'm a little frustrated on that end. Let's see, and a dance. Would you like to dance with me, sweetheart?" Definitely teasing, even though most of the list was true. (Except for the last item.)
He clucked his tongue softly, releasing her wrists and taking a step back. "I've been here for two turns, sweets. The window of questioning has passed." What, did she have her head in the clouds or something? Not that he was everywhere and saying 'hi' to everyone, but he wasn't antisocial in the slightest. "And, technically, I was using your weyrledge, not your weyr. Passing through, really, until a certain someone decided she wanted to throw a punch and jump of a cliff at the same time. That's not an easy thing to do, is it? Looked kind of awkward, anyway. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm in here now, but since you're in a suicidal mood it seemed appropriate to restrain you until you were acting a little more rational."
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Post by dragon on Nov 25, 2009 0:22:03 GMT -5
Aonith's only reply to Inocenth's rant was a bloody snarl that she didn't even bother to direct upward at him. Turning again, she swirled through the air to cruise back up the Weyr again, never getting too far from her own weyr. Just in case. She might have asked for hers to calm down, but it did not in the least mean she herself was calm. Wound up and alert, aware of every little spec of everything, Aonith was in battle mode. Barely restrained, and restrained only on pain of losing hers. That was not something she wanted to lose, so she held her ground, seething under the surface. But all this was closely sheltered from hers, she didn't need to get her own so wound up and jumpy that she couldn't think.
Think! Think! It was a must. If either were going to make it out of this alive. Think!
Dorava herself blinked. And her brows bunched just a bit before returning to their positions on her face when she was yanked toward him. For half an instant she considered resisting with all her strength. For another moment she considered following the momentum through and going with it, throwing her weight that way. Maybe knock him over or something. But in the end, the indecision led to nothing. Just allowing herself to be yanked on, to whatever end that might lead. After it was overwith, she was glad it hadn't been a fatal ending, though it was certainly unnerving to be that close to F'ur. Dorava just looked at him for a moment, at close proximity, before it dawned on her what he was saying.
"Do I look like a kitchen to you?" She demanded, baffled, surprised, and amused all at the exact same time. No one had ever said that F'ur the mad dog was a jester too! But then ... who had ever lived to tell of that facet?? Hm. No one. Go figure. "I don't know how to dance." She confessed, to the last. "I'm afraid I'd be rather disappointing."
"Two turns?" She asked, shocked. Just what kind of rock did she live under? F'ur had been in Selenitas for two whole turns and she'd never noticed?? Granted, she'd been pretty busy with an overstuffed schedule, but ... still. She really needed to pay more attention to who it was she was passing in the halls. But she dropped it as fast as she said it. "Of course it isn't easy. Takes skill." She retorted, still on edge and not sure what to do. Was he really harmless and just passing through? Or was it worse than that? No! Couldn't be. No matter the situation, F'ur was the polar opposite of 'harmless'! The man probably didn't have a harmless bone in his body. Her brows crawled together across her face again. "I'm completely rational. Nor am I suicidal."
Leaping off a weyrledge was always more preferable than meeting F'ur in secluded locations, after all. Anyone who had heard of F'ur knew that. It was the rational thing to do. "Okay, you were using my weyrledge. Why? What is there to be gained from jumping down a cliff face? The self same act you just called irrational on me." She pointed out. It wasn't any different... just the motives.
That thought made her blood run cold. Was there someone out there so bad and nasty that F'ur would leap off a cliff to get away from? That ... now that was just scary.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Nov 29, 2009 19:22:46 GMT -5
Shards, but she was mouthy, wasn't she? One more reason F'ur had never really taken much of a liking to women; they never knew when to shut up. It was a wonder any lasted very long at Benden - which this one had to be - with a mouth like that. Or maybe it was just nerves that had her babbling all over the place. He eyed her mildly, waiting for the jabber to die down. Such a suspicious look tacked onto the end of all that. Hrm.
His response to her first words was decidedly belated, but it would be hard to mistake them as a reply to anything else. "Well, you did ask me what I wanted. And you were having quite the little picnic out there, so it's not wholly unreasonable, now is it?" F'ur arched a brow her direction, the expression itself almost mocking.
He padded lightly out onto the weyrledge, turning his back on her - the message in that single motion clear to any Fortian; he clearly didn't consider Dorava a threat. Not that this should have been any surprise, really, but the action itself had become part of Fort's language. You only did such a thing with disdainful intent. It was a subtlety that he doubted she'd pick up on, but it pleased him well enough to do so, and that was really all that mattered, right?
The bluerider crouched by her basket and plucked out one of the rolls that hadn't taken a trip across the ledge, glancing over at her after swallowing a bite. "It is," he stated slowly, "quite irrational for someone to jump off a cliff to get away from a wingmate." This would seem obvious. Of course, things were probably different at Benden, but he generally refused to acknowledge the existance of that Weyr on general principle. The way things had been at Fort was clearly the right way for things to be, after all.
"Jumping across ledges, on the other hand, is not at all irrational if you're doing it for training purposes and already know it's well within your capabilities. Though if you wish to call it irrational, go right ahead. I am crazy, or so they say. Maybe I just thought it looked like fun." A flash of teeth.
Rummaging through her basket, he added, "I don't suppose you have any butter lying around? Rather dry."
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Post by dragon on Nov 29, 2009 22:15:37 GMT -5
Dorava blinked when she was released, and the man litterally turned his back on her to saunter over to her lunch ... and proceed to start eating it. Just what planet had he come from, anyway? She rubbed her wrists a bit, working the bloodflow back into her hands as she watched him without complaint. She knew what that back meant... it was pretty much universal. Either, not a threat, or trust. And it sure as shards wasn't trust that prodded him into doing it. But at the moment, she didn't even think to protest that assessment. She knew she was outclassed, just as well as he did.
"Help yourself." She remarked, relieved to have him a few paces further away. "And ... the butter was in the basket..." Dorava gestured at the edge of the ledge. There was a good chance some mandyr or flitter was eating it, by now, after having been disturbed from its sunning by the greasy blob going splat nearby. Along with the rest of the rain of food. "Picnics are more fun with company anyway. Though I daresay that's the oddest way I've ever seen anyone invite themselves in." She admitted, with just a touch of humor as she started to unwind. It was worse than silly to stay all wound up. Not only had she ascertained that he was, indeed, Selenitas (at least on the surface), and - at least for the moment - not going to kill her ... all was good. Twitchy she might never get over being, but she wasn't staying cramped with tension.
When she decided it might be safe to move, she did so slowly and smoothly, with no sudden motions, as she walked back over toward her own ledge. Stooping, Dorava picked up a few of the random bits of her lunch that hadn't gone tumbling down the cliff. Pulling a cloth from her pocket, she placed the food in that until she had most everything. For a moment she looked at it, before offering the whole thing to F'ur. She'd certainly lost her appetite, and his looked whetted.
"Last I checked, you aren't on the same Wing I am." She observed, completely misunderstanding what he said on that regard. The remark was delayed quite a bit, as she picked and chose her words carefully. "But, nevermind that. Why are you leaping on ledges, anyway? Really, I mean. What benefit can it get you? Some people have broken legs doing that." Dorava pointed out. Never mind F'ur was not most people, but that was beside the point.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Dec 3, 2009 0:28:48 GMT -5
No butter. A shame. He could almost eat butter without bread. Yes, F'ur's diet tended to be rich in fats and oils - although that didn't mean he didn't eat everything in sight. Not that you could really tell by looking at him. Some people just didn't seem to put on weight. Ever. He wasn't so sure about the company, of course, but food could never be a bad thing.
He glanced at her offering, his nose wrinkling slightly. "Always wanted dirt with my food. Excellent source of iron," he commented dryly, but he took it from her just the same. A thank you might have been appropriate, but he didn't offer one. After all, it was only fitting that he take some of her food as compensation for both the aggravation of dealing with her and the fact that he'd kept her from cliff leaping. It hardly mattered that F'ur had been leaping ledges himself; most people couldn't replicate and he had little confidence that this woman was in the special minority. Ignoring her question for the moment, he asked his own. "Got a name, sweet cheeks?"
Then, because it didn't really matter to him what her name was aside from having something to call her that others might know her by in the event he wished to cause some more trouble, F'ur proceeded to answer without pause. "I did say training purposes, didn't I?" Apparently it wasn't direct enough. Women were the masters of implication until they had to work out nuances coming from a mouth other than their own. Tch. "I have a recent addition to my mind leeches, which effects my reaction time. It wouldn't mean so much if I was still twenty, but speed is what I rely on and I can't afford to be slowed."
Actually mention Terror and the fort of furs? Not to anyone he didn't trust. Frankly, even F'lix wouldn't know if he hadn't seen it in person. A fainting salamandyr that effected F'ur stronger than Inocenth did was a definite liability and the bluerider didn't tend to believe that just because a person was a Selenitas rider didn't mean they wouldn't take advantage of such a weakness. Not to mention the simple fact that there were spies and the less people knew about it, the less likely it would reach northern ears. If they even paid much attention to him. Which...they might now that he was wearing these pretty knots. Bother.
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Post by dragon on Dec 3, 2009 0:54:09 GMT -5
Dorava quirked her mouth off to one side as he made another sarcastic comment before taking the food anyway. "Oh, but of course. Where else would you get it?" She eyed his thin frame, and suspected he didn't eat much in the way of real food. AKA; meat. Of course, that was just an assumption. For the most part she was just in a mood to be snarky anyway. Partly because not only had he ruined her lunch, but was now eating it for her, but because he was being snarky and because Aonith - still circling below them - was feeling rather irate about the whole thing. Straws tended to pile up, and eventually they fell out her mouth. It was how she usually got herself in more trouble than she knew how to dig back out of. Usually.
"I do, actually, have a name, fat cheeks." She jabbed back, still being snarky and making a jab at his food-filled mouth at the same time. "And how would you know whether or not I was sweet? Far as I know, you never tasted them." Probably a really bad thing to say, right about now, but Dorava was not known for saying the right thing at the right time. Wrong thing at the wrong time was so much easier after all. Even if she regretted it horribly afterward. It certainly hadn't been an invite for him to bite her, that was for sure! Naturally, this only occurred to her after it had fallen out of her mouth. She closed her lips firmly, then, drawing a straight line across her face for a moment. Shards. She really needed to learn how to shut up sometimes.
Of course, it was a moment that passed all too quickly when F'ur started talking again. She just couldn't help herself and had to talk, too. It was contagious, after all. "You did." She confirmed. "That's why I asked. Last I checked breaking ankles by jumping off cliffs was not a typical training method, and I wanted to know what you aimed to accomplish by scattering my lunch, so. You owe me a new one, by the way. With butter." While said in all seriousness, Dorava would honestly be thankful to get away without getting stabbed, lunch or no lunch. It really didn't matter that much, when all things were said and done. But it fell right in line with her saying stupid stuff just to be snarky. Truthfully, though, Dorava had no idea - still - how leaping off of ledges was going to improve anyone's reaction time. Regardless of any mindmate. How could a mindmate slow one down, anyway? Other than having to pause and scoop them up out of trampling range ... "A salamandyr?" She guessed, since she'd seen one. And if something was going to make trouble for their bondeds, usually it was the mandyr hands down every time. Her own seemed to be a blissful exception to that rule, most of the time.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Dec 5, 2009 16:03:21 GMT -5
Sassing him, huh? He didn't like easily excited people...women, usually, because they were the ones who seemed to squeal and shriek the most. Nor did he approve of people who were clearly terrified just a second ago moving on to outright idiotic taunting a moment later. He was no less dangerous now than then. To be truthful, though, he disliked that sort of ignorant behavior most because it always made him want to remind them quite vividly why they should still be afraid of him. It was quite unwise to depend on his good humor. Quite unwise.
Right now, though, what was most irritating was her almost dismissive way of sizing him up. He could practically see the patronizing thoughts rolling around in her hollow skull. Just because she was a cow and could likely flatten him with all that extra weight rolling around on her didn't make him frail. He smirked openly beneath her gaze, his eyes mocking. Caught you.
"Probably should hit the wine a little less often," he responded obscurely. Either she did or didn't typically drink herself into a stupor. The comment was oblique enough to just be confusing, as like as not, if she didn't. And if she did? Why not put a germ of doubt in her mind. It wasn't hurting anything, after all.
F'ur eyed her mildly, tapping his fingers along the stone as he continued making short work of her 'lunch.' As far as he was concerned, he owed her nothing. Especially when food was free at the Main Hall and it had been the little git who knocked over her basket to begin with. It wasn't his fault she was a skittish, beastly sort of woman. The bluerider simply stared at Dorava, his eyes half-lidded in apparent boredom. He made no attempt whatsoever to answer her question, or to reply to the comment on lunch replacement. Merely stared at her and munched languidly.
Waiting. He'd asked her a question, and he didn't intend to answer any of hers - or give her anymore verbal responses at all - until she'd answered it.
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Post by dragon on Dec 6, 2009 1:50:21 GMT -5
Dorava met his gaze dead on, and for the moment was actually silent, waiting. Apparently to see what he was going to do. Or say. Or something. For she didn't do anything other than stand there, with her arms loosely hooked on each other across her chest. After a moment, she tilted her head to one side, one corner of her mouth twitching just a bit.
Hit the wine a little less often? Hmmm. Maybe so. But since he didn't even know who she was (just who was living under what rock, anyway?), she thought it was a fair bet that he hadn't the vaguest notion just how much she drank. As such, she decided to not grace that quip with a rise of an answer. Besides. Even when she was drunk she could fly better than most other riders.
But she did expect him to eventually do something, other than sit there on her ledge and stuff his face. There had to be something else he was going to do. Dorava could see Aonith, now, and was reassured by the dragon's close proximity, even though she was basically only circling back and forth along the cliff face. Where she was, and where he was, regardless how fast he was, she could easily get away, now. Right over that edge. So her fear was far lessened, on top of knowing he wasn't on attack mode.
Why he wasn't saying anything, she didn't know, and certainly didn't connect it to his perception of her not answering his questions. Because, to a very literal sense, she had answered his questions. A literal sense she had learned to adopt from the people of Selenitas. No frills, just answer the question that was asked. No matter how seemingly obvious the answer was. Of course she had a name. Everyone had a name. Of course, F'ur wasn't truly Selenitas ... he was Fort, and she figured might always be Fort. He'd had it good over there, after all
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Dec 8, 2009 23:29:26 GMT -5
The woman was either stubborn or daft. Both traits were common of the female sex, after all, and when mixed together produced truly inconvenient effects. A stirring in his mind and in his pocket warned him that Terror was rousting...slowly but surely. And, sure enough, in the next moment his little, purplish half-transparent head poked just far enough out of the pocket to take a look around. Big humany thingy. The salamandyr slid down further in the pocket before the scary could see him. F'ur shook his head, murmuring softly around a mouthful of bread and likely offending the woman's delicate sensibilities. "What could she possibly do to you in there, mmm?" Terror listed off a number of possibilities in quick succession, concluding with a stomp on F'ur's leg that would effectively crush him into little Terror jelly. The bluerider rolled his eyes.
Just his luck, really. Impressing a salamandyr even more paranoid than he was himself. (For all that F'ur rarely openly demonstrated his paranoia, it was most definitely alive and well.)
He glanced up at Dorava, licking his fingers idly, and took one last peek in her basket...just to make sure he'd devored everything and nothing was hiding in a corner at the bottom or something. That would just be a shame, now wouldn't it? The man then rolled - and no, there was no better way to describe it, despite the awkward image the word would put into the mind of most if they weren't there to see it personally - through his legs and up with nimble efficiency.
Brushing off his clothing, he pushed his hands into his pockets, not so much as twitching when Terror took advantage of the open sleeve to dash up his arm and find a spot in the curve of his shoulder where he could stick his snout out just past the edge of the collar to keep tabs on Dorava. F'ur casually brought his foot down on the edge of the basket, flipping it up toward her. To take her hands from her, truly, though he wasn't actually concerned about them. That was more the little salamandyr shivering along his collarbone.
And if she elected not to catch the basket? Well, it would hit her square in the chest and make her look like a simpleton, but that was hardly his problem.
"Well, this has been wonderfully dull - excluding the suicide ploy to get me to embrace you. Tsk. So desperate, are we? When you decide to answer a question as its intended to be answered - without the sarcasm or the sass - you can possibly look me up. But I likely won't be interested. Toodles." He stepped toward the edge of the ledge, then, with the clear intention of continuing his little ledgehopping training.
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Post by dragon on Dec 8, 2009 23:56:58 GMT -5
Yep. It was a salamandyr. But, to all appearances, it was even more shy than her own Valiant was. If that was even possible. Was that even possible? The thought was almost enough to make Dorava laugh, but all she did was twitch the corner of her mouth. Imagine that. F'ur. Dealing with something so terribly shy. That had to really grate on him! Talk about clashing personalities. Because nothing she'd seen out of F'ur even suggested shyness! She hardly noticed that he talked with his mouth full, and certainly didn't comment on it. Really, what could one expect from a dog from Fort?
When he chunked the basket at her, she caught it deftly in one hand and then just as quickly dropped it straight down to the side, out of the way. It didn't stay in her possession for more than a half moment, as she didn't want to be obstructed as she might have to ditch and run at any moment. As skinny as he was, she was pretty sure she was faster than he was on foot. Pretty sure, but not enough to bet on it.
After he made his last jab at her, she sighed and rolled her eyes. Lame, the whole thing. But, she couldn't afford to alienate someone like him, either. If things got bad, the last thing she needed was to have him as a confirmed enemy despite being the same Weyr. "Dorava." She answered. Not that it would mean anything to him... it likely as not told him absolutely nothing at all. She'd always excelled at being less than nobody. "And if you are going to insist on jumping around like that, there are a few things you should learn about falling long distances, and landing properly. Regardless of the surface. That fancy little rolling trick you did? Only good on flat, fairly even surfaces with plenty of room." She pointed out, before crossing her arms over her chest. Jumping, she knew that. She also knew how to land on everything from any kind of surface, to any place on her own dragon's back. Naturally, with Aonith as a landing pad, she could manage far greater distances for jumping than she could when landing on the ground, but that was just physics.
"But you never told me how jumping from ledge to ledge was supposed to train you for anything in particular." If all he wanted was the wind in his ears, it would have been simpler to just ride his dragon, so it couldn't be that.
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Requiem
Weyrleader S'rei WM M?ta Rider A'nd Harper/Handler Dmitri Weyrbrat Miguel
Posts: 2,861
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Post by Requiem on Dec 9, 2009 9:11:44 GMT -5
His eyes narrowed mildly as she dropped the basket. Well then, still on edge? (He rarely did things for no purpose, and her reaction made it clear that...despite the smart mouth and apparent calm demeanor, she was just as likely to throw herself down the cliff now as before. Well, he wouldn't be stopping her a second time.) As she finally responded to him, all he could think was 'better late than never,' and he fully intended to disengage from her just the same. F'ur's patience was wearing thin. Much more contact and he was likely to start plotting evilness for his own entertainment. That was just how F'ur was.
Her next statement, however, caused him to pause, glancing back over his shoulder, a brow lifted in silent inquiry. Really? Were women always this forward at Benden? How did they survive, especially being so stupid as well? People must simply humor them; he had no other explanation for it. Or maybe her dragon made up for her. Greens were formidable in the air. If they weren't, Inocenth wouldn't enjoy tearing them out of it so much.
He smiled at her, half-turning as his eyes narrowed slightly. "Will you be telling me how to hold my hand when I make a fist next, Dorava? Or possibly how to tie my boots?" He glanced down, then shrugged. "Oh. What do you know. Not wearing any." Digging his toes lightly into the stone, the smile broadened slightly. "Dorava is an unknown. Just think about that for a second, the next time you think to tell me how to do what I've been doing for twenty turns. In fact, thinking before you speak in general might be a good piece of advice to follow. Just a thought."
He was small, and he aged well enough - and had Impressed early enough - that it was sometimes easy to forget that this man had been a dragonrider at Fort since before the wars even started. Even with a ten-turn run as part of D'loro's penetration wing, people still seemed to forget. Which he found...interesting...considering how many seemed to know him. Selective memory apparently.
"Why would I tell you?" he responded, with an unusual level of bluntness. "If I tell you why I'm training, then you know what I feel I'm weak in. And no, it's not landings."
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