Demure Eccentricity (F'ur

[dragon]

"Autumn, if you don't stop harassing Storm, I'm going to give him permission to bite you." C'oar warned, flicking a piece of boiled tuber at the little green annoyance. Autumn managed to miss getting hit by it, if only barely, rolling suddenly to one side as her legs flailed in the air. C'oar heaved a sigh and shook his head a bit. Strange little flitter had a few screws loose, he was certain.

Storm, for his part, was sitting prim and proper just as he ought to, ignoring the abuse his tail was getting from his strangely adopted sister-thing. Not that she was in any way related to him. At all. But it was a lot like dealing with a baby sister.

Stuffing the end of a roll in his mouth and biting it off, C'oar leaned back from the table as he took a moment to survey the rest of the hall he was sitting in. It was by no means the same hall that he'd been used to. It was a whole new facility. Some of the gear in it was still missing, or shy capacity. But it was something he and a few others were working on. But at least it was pretty near to civilized again. All things considered, it was a nice hall. If stone. The wood had had more of a ... he didn't know how to describe it. More comfy but at the same time less comfy feel to it. The warmer wood colors had been nice, but at the same time, the awareness that it was a thread or fire trap ... not so much.

But things were getting back on track and that was good. Very good. People were adjusting, healing, moving on, getting back on track as well. If some of them had seemed to drop off the face of Pern again. Maybe they were just working else where and he had simply missed them. Who knew?

Storm peeped, bringing his thoughts back to the here and now. Because, Storm had grown to know what that thoughtful look meant ... it meant C'oar wasn't paying attention and wasn't liable to give him anything. Thus the peep ... wake up and feed me! Without really even thinking about it, C'oar picked up a shred of meat, and held it out to the bronze who was all too happy to take it and chew on it.

[Requiem]

Okay, okay, so he wasn't allowed to shoot a bow around people. So said Kalierre - in different words, while chasing him through the trees flailing a cane with an arrow still sticking out of it. You wouldn't think a cripple could be so fast. F'ur would admit that burying an arrowhead into a random bystander probably wasn't the best risk to take, so he'd gone about fixing his problem. Now, most people would fix their problem by actually improving. While he certainly practiced (in a decidedly remote area) anyone who thought F'ur would fall in with the 'most people' crowd needed to get their heads examined. He was currently camped out on the floor of the kitchens, diligently working on...a new invention.

Said new invention consisted of hides typically reserved for coinpurses, stuffed with flour and tied around the shaft of arrows in the place of arrowheads. Could still pack a punch, certainly, but it wouldn't hurt or potentially kill anyone anymore. F'ur himself was covered from fingertips to elbow in flour, with some more smeared down one side of his face, as he finished off the last of his flour arrows. And F'lix thought he was making a joke. Ha! He didn't know if they would explode on impact in a lovely floury display of awesome. That might be too much to hope for. At least he wouldn't accidentally be sticking people though.

Well, there was one way to test it, really, and he had just the target. Eyeing the Weyrleader camped out at his table by the wall, F'ur carefully cleared the flour from his face and arms, ignoring the curious glances of the drudges who had - perhaps wisely - left him to his eccentricities so long as he wasn't causing them too much trouble. Yes, clearing the flour off him would definitely keep S'rei from discovering who had shot the arrow - cause there were a million people in here standing around with bows out. Still, if he'd been that worried about repercussions, he wouldn't have chosen this particular target to begin with. Aim hiiiigh on the wall above him...pull back...sight...and if the bag exploded properly they should have a ghosty bronzerider for a Weyrleader.

The arrow flew all right, and he nearly bounced with glee as it erupted in a veritable cloud of white. Yes! So what if it was practically the other corner of the room, and instead of hitting the wall above the Weyrleader's head, it'd hit some huge kid square in the chest. The important part was it worked! Ignoring the exclamations of surprise and titters, he bounded over toward C'oar, snatching up the arrow to inspect it with a broad grin. Oh yes, yes, yes. Sooooo much better than he'd hoped. "Excuse me. You've got something of mine." So saying, he plucked a scrap of the leather from C'oar's hair.

[dragon]

Autumn was sneaking up on Storm's tail again, and C'oar opened his mouth to scold her again, only to find his world suddenly turned into a blur of white at the same time something impacted his chest rather heavily. Something clattered on the table, while something else flew past his ear. Everything, even the air was white. He coughed as he started to his feet suddenly, having inhaled a goodly amount of the fluff. "What in Faranth's name?!" might have been something he would have said ... if he hadn't been too busy choking on his air instead.

The air cleared rather quickly, thankfully, and C'oar managed to get a breath of good air. When he did finally get a word out, it came out so raspy it was hardly decipherable. He had just enough time to recognize that stick laying in his flour-coated food as a headless arrow before it was snatched up by someone else. As well as that thing that had apparently lodged in his hair. Completely stunned by the very strange and unusual attack, C'oar didn't do anything but look at Fur for a moment.

"Shardit." He said finally, after clearing his throat, one hand rubbing his chest. Apparently, the idiot didn't know that arrow shafts launched by any half decent bow could still punch through any leather baggy. Thankfully, it hadn't. But he was still liable to have a bruise! "What was that for?!" C'oar asked. He recognized F'ur, sure. Who didn't? But what he couldn't gather was what he'd done to get himself shot with a ... flour arrow. "Did I piss you off in some past life or something?" C'oar asked without a trace of anger in his voice. More curiosity than anything else. Sure, he'd heard of F'ur, who hadn't? But he also was not terrified of the man. C'oar didn't make a habit of going around being scared out of his wits.

Another cough, and he picked up his now-white flitter, giving the blinking creature a little shake to dislodge some of the flour that had disguised her mottled green hide. "You owe me a new meal, by the way." He remarked idly. "Something of yours? Possession is nine tenths you know." C'oar countered, vaguely amused now that he wasn't choking on the bomb anymore. The sting of the blow had faded quickly enough, as well. In general and on principle, he was a fellow rather hard to rile. It also was not his job to reprimand people for being ... weird. Or vaguely dangerous. He wasn't hurt, and that was all that mattered to him. "Warn me next time, and I'll practice being harder to hit."

[Requiem]

"Shardit is right," he echoed laughingly. "I think you might just be the biggest all around man I've ever seen." He craned his neck up, tilting his head to one side as he tried to calculate how many F'ur's would fit in a...C'lorp? Yeah, he thought that was his name. "Three, probably," he concluded aloud, not caring that C'lorp would have no idea what he was talking about. "Possibly four at a tight squeeze." And you wonder why people think you're insane. I do?

He considered the huge kid's question, at the same time doing his best to conceal the bow in case anyone hadn't noticed earlier when the big flour cloud erupted. Not his doing. Nope. "Yes, that must be it. In a past life I must have been a little canine that you kicked when you were a little girl, and I've held onto that hurt for lives and lives and lives, saw you, spontaneously got supremely angry and thought, I know! Let's shoot that C'lorp person with the most deadly of all weapons: the flour arrow!" He kept his voice low enough that only the closest would hear, but that didn't do much to take away from the enthusiasm.

"Now, while I'd be more than willing to get up and grab you another free meal provided by the lovely Selenitas drudge service, I do believe they're forming a lynching team just about now, set on removing their perpetual side thorn from the gene pool or forcing him to clean up the flour mess, so! If you're hungry and can't get it yourself, I'd say your best bet is to run off with that pup you kicked in a previous life in an epic escape over the tables that no one would be anticipating, and come raid his hoard in his weyr. Or you can have a carrot to munch on." So saying, he produced said tuber from his pocket, tossing it at C'lorp's chest, then bounced up onto the nearest table and ran down it, narrowly avoiding dishes and hands of other diners.

As well as the groping lunges of a few of the younger drudges. F'ur laughed, hopping down off the table nearest the door and skittering into the hallway, dodging through the crowd while waving another carrot up in the air. He didn't know if C'lorp was following or not, but if he was, the waving tuber was definitely for his benefit. "Come and get it, big guy!" And if he wasn't chasing, then, well...it only helped with his image of being absopositivelylutely insane, which could never be a bad thing. No one expected anything out of insane people. Like trusting them with a bunch of snotnoses. Ha!

[dragon]

Three probably? Four? Those were some rather strange comments. "Excuse me?" C'oar asked, more than a little baffled, as he picked up his mug to take a swallow of it. Even if it did have a film of flour on it, it would still help remove the film of flour that was in his mouth. He could understand F'ur thinking he was huge ... cause C'oar kinda ... well, was. Between rather large genes and his trade of choice, that tended to happen. "Three, four whats?" C'oar asked, setting the mug down again.

This fellow was definitely strange, and apparently managed to sneak his way into the sweetener bag while no one was looking. It would be even weirder if F'ur was normally this hyper! In any event, C'oar couldn't help but grin at the rather bizarre story that F'ur came up with. Though he had no real idea who this C'lorp person was. Or why F'ur wanted to involve him in shooting the fellow with another one of those silly flour-tipped arrows. "You know ... you might piss some people off going around whacking them with those things." Thankfully, C'oar was a rather hard person to upset, one way or the other. However, he was well aware that some people were all too easily looking for any hint of a reason to get rip-roaring mad.

With the next spiel that poured out of F'ur's mouth, C'oar caught on that F'ur thought his name was C'lorp. Which only amused him further. "It's C'oar." He corrected, hand flashing up to catch the tuber as it bounced off his flour-covered sleeveless tunic, sending up another, smaller, cloud of flour to drift down. He looked at the tuber a moment, then tossed it at the table. He wasn't much of a raw vegetable person. "Thanks, though." He was surprised to look back and see the man practically prancing across the tables, though, upsetting dishes and people the whole way, a group of them chasing after him. Probably kitchen staff, most of them.

After a moment, he heaved a sigh, shook his head with a bemused grin, scooped up Autumn and crammed her into a pocket as he set off after the rather bizarre fellow. Who clearly wanted him to follow, for whatever reason. And what reason did he have to not follow? C'oar wasn't really interested in the carrot, but it was rather refreshing to have someone who wasn't so tired they couldn't crack a joke to talk to. Or worse, bummed.

As big as he was, C'oar was not a slow person. Never had been. He'd been a fast, skinny lad once, before he'd filled out. And then afterward, participating in a gob of random speed exercises on top of working with a dragon and in the smithy, there was nothing slow about him as he dodged around upset people headed in the same general direction as F'ur. Granted, he could probably never be as fast as someone as small as F'ur was, but he wasn't terribly far behind F'ur in making it through the doorway. Reaching to a side, he closed the door to the hall. It wouldn't stop anyone, but it'd slow them down.

"And what is 'it'?" C'oar asked. "Hopefully not another carrot." he answered. "I am not looking to grow big teeth in front after all." Reaching over, he swiped the carrot from F'ur's waving hand, and turned it point-down to poke it into the back of F'ur's shirt quick as a flash. "Maybe they won't see you past the greenery, hey?" He joked, finding the tuft of green sticking out of F'ur's collar a bit weirder than he had imagined it to be.

[Requiem]

F'ur wasn't terribly fond of being interrupted, even when it was preceeded by an 'excuse me'. As likely evidenced by the fact that he hadn't paused one moment in the quickfire spiel that was more or less words tumbling from his mouth as they came to mind. He figured that anyone who attempted to talk over him had to expect that he wouldn't hear a thing they were saying (though he actually did, and the mundanity of most of it just served to make it more annoying). Oh well. C'lorp was staying 'C'lorp' until he could learn enough manners not to interrupt...and as for whatever he said when F'ur had already turned and was bouncing down the tables? The bluerider had no clue. Hopefully it wasn't too terribly important.

Important. Riiiight.

The closing of the door announced, in no uncertain terms, that F'ur had definitely picked up a kid mountain for his amusement - at least for the next few minutes - and he slowed down the swift bucking and weaving through the mass of people to a more sedate prancing half-skip. A soft, overdramaticized whine of protest at his carrot being stolen left his throat, as he continued his merry way down the hall, leading his newest victim along. The weyrmate was not currently in. (It would have been better if he was. F'ur did so enjoy the effect of his glare-prone dark Bendenite on people, he did. It was ever so fun to duck behind whoever happened to be along and beg them to save him.)

Skittering to a halt at feeling the carrot descend down past his collar, he turned his head slowly up toward C'lorp. "We are going to have to work on your jokes. Tch. That decides it. I will be dropping in on you to save you from your drab, dull, dry self. Bet you don't have a girl. Shh. Don't answer that. It was a statement, not a question." So saying, he extracted the carrot from his shirt and began to gnaw on it contemplatively, all while stalking around C'lorp, tsking and hrming the whole time. "Yes, a makeover is most certainly in order. Brownriders have this lovely stigma against them, you know, being so boring, and you really are just adding to the problem. Kudos for trying, though. I know you want to break out of your rut, don't you? Poor C'lorp." A pat on his massive mountain shoulder, and he was dancing off again in the direction of his weyr. "First rule: never ever ask what I'm referring to when I say 'come and get it.'" He smirked back at C'lorp, dragging his tongue suggestively down the remainder of the carrot. "Fortunately for you, I prefer a challenge, and that was way too easy."

Herding C'lorp along, F'ur pushed him by the small of his back into the tiny weyr that he shared with F'lix. A weyr meant for one person, used by two, was bound to be cramped - add in the factor that one of the blueriders was a definite pack rat and the whole weyr was a tripping hazard. (Yes, the pack rat was the man currently dodging around various neat piles of doodads and whatsits.) "Don't be shy; the air won't turn you gay. Perhaps bisexual. I'm pretty sure F'lix puts off stronger pheromones than I do. To be young again, to be young again," he drolled, ferreting through a pile. "If he comes in, stay very, very still. He won't charge unless he sees movement. I'm pretty sure he's still terrorizing the poor kidlets our illustrious Weyrleader decided to entrust to him, though. Aha!"

His yoyo. The wooden sphere dropped, then returned to his hand. "Now I've got my thinking tool, what should we do with you, you think?"

[dragon]

It seemed ... that like a big rolly polly dragon intent upon rolling over ... nothing was going to stop F'ur. In any way shape or form. Not exactly the most ... tactful of people he'd ever met. But out of curiosity, C'oar followed along to see what the wierdo would do next. Curiosity killed the feline, but he wasn't a feline now was he?

Getting drug along all the way to the short fellow's weyr, however, had not been in his plans in the least. That was a rather ... disconcerting thing to do. Especially when said skinny fellow had a reputation for liking other guys. That was definitely not something C'oar wanted to get tangled up in, even if only the rumormill.

"You sure think you know a lot about what I think." C'oar mused, quite aware he probably wasn't going to get a word in edgewise. That didn't stop him from being amused by the overabundance of rattle-trap energy just boiling out of F'ur. Words just spilled out right and left, half of them not making any sense at all. "I take it you're master at jokes?" He prodded.

After getting shoved into the over-crowded space, C'oar came to a dead halt as he took in the space that F'ur supposedly found space enough to sleep in. Without even really thinking about it, he noted what was there. But more importantly ... what he was more concerned with at the moment, was where there might not be anything. Stepping on things in here was almost a given, and the last thing C'oar wanted to do was step on something, break whatever whatsit, and make F'ur mad. Or worse, step on whatever thing, and have it stab him in the foot for his trouble.

"Do you seriously live in here, or is this just where you store things?" C'oar asked, not entirely sure F'ur would hear him past his own jabbering. "Movement ... right." He noted. F'lix ... he'd forgotten about F'lix. "Wait, he lives in here too? Where do you find room to put you, much less him too?"

A yoyo. Definitely not what he'd been expecting F'ur to turn up with! "Thinking tool? Are you alluding to not being able to think unless that thing is spinning around? Some people get dizzy on them you know." C'oar responded, in good humor. "Wait ... what? Do with me?"

[Requiem]

Revision: the mountain kid was delightful. Almost had F'ur bouncing with glee, in fact - though how anyone could tell when his stride was so ridiculously bouncy already was anyone's guess. The cute little attempts at comebacks and the absolutely confuzzled, almost dazed look on his face? Priceless. A broad grin was offered in response to the comment on his thinking he was a joking master, making it clear that F'ur fully agreed with that. Or at least was acting like he did.

F'ur laughed outright at the rattling of questions while C'lorp picked his way through the array of knick knacks like a runner through a glassblower's stall. So much potential. Where to start, where to start? The yoyo rose and fell a couple times before he said anything at all. "Your makeover, of course. Neutrals are rather dull. I'm allowed to wear neutrals, because I'm old, and because I'm annoyingly talkative, energetic, and do things like shoot flour arrows at strangers. You've got the size going for you but eh, nothing to keep the eye." Reaching to a new pile with his leg, he caught up an edge of cloth in his toes, yanking it from the pile deftly and catching the end in his free hand. A bound forward, and he swiftly wound the scarf - a deep blue with white needlework - around C'lorp's neck. Cocking his head to one side, he circled the brownrider again.

"Well, it's a little better, anyway. I'm afraid we'll have to make do with odds and ends, considering F'lix and I don't own any clothing in 'giant'. My shirts are larger, his pants, but I think they'd only serve as stockings and long gloves for you. What do they feed people in the south, anyway? Half of you are the size of small houses." He flitted about, collecting random bits that stole his fancy. Settling a wide-brimmed, floppy hat in black on top of C'lorp's head, he hmm'd to himself, adjusting it so it slanted droopily in a rakish fashion. "It's quite an injustice, really. We used to have four nice weyrs between us when no one knew F'lix regularly visited me at night. Then apparently they noticed I had an adorably scary young bluerider glued to my bedside, and the light dawned, as it were. Suddenly we have our own weyr - single weyr, mind you - and four weyrs worth of furniture and items. Had to get rid of half my hoard. Sad sad day."

A long blue, silken swath of material was folded, and tied loosely about C'lorp's waist to drape over his hips, the ends trailing down to just past his knee on his left side. "We're quite on top of each other in here. But seeing as how that isn't at all an unfavored position for us, not too much to complain about. Like it nice and cozy. My only concern is Selenitas will continue the trend of piling all us little northern chromatic riders together in one room and stack us like kitchenware. Bad form, you know? I don't mind being all entangled with my kit, but that's about as much entanglement as I'm looking for."

[dragon]

Thankfully, C'oar was not prone to random flailing when people around him moved terribly fast and unexpectedly in his direction. His sense of risk assessment was a bit better than that. Otherwise F'ur might have gotten randomly whacked while a few things on the floor might have gotten randomly stomped in the otherwise reactionary retreat from such an onslaught. However, C'oar was as stable as he looked. He didn't lurch backward, instead just watching as items were applied. But after awhile he just grimmaced and starting taking some of them back off. Most notably the hat went first.

"I hope you're not planning on trying to dress me up like a girl. Which is what it looks like you're doing to me. I daresay I wouldn't pull it off very well if I wanted too. That and Saeo would probably kill me." That is, if he could figure out where in the world she'd gone. Again. That girl had the worst habit of disappearing on him for reasons unknown.

Furthermore, he didn't think F'ur quite understood why he wore what he did. It was all practical. Between working in a rather grungy place like a forge, and then piled on top of that random and unlooked for attacks? Dull colors worked just fine.

The idea of northerners piled into a single weyr and stacked like dishes was an amusing one, if a horrifying one at the same time. "I can't imagine that many of you getting along that well, no." He agreed, tugging at the thing tied around his neck in an effort to loosen and probably remove it from his person.

Last he checked, he wasn't a midwinter tree.

"Where did you get all this stuff? Did you rob a few caravans as they were passing through the forest?" He asked, even though he was pretty certain that F'ur had not done anything of the sort. It was as good as anything to poke fun at F'ur about though. It was certainly random enough and completely wacky. Who knew a body could own so much strange stuff? A bright scarf, a floppy hat, ... since when had F'ur used these things? C'oar was pretty sure he'd have heard about it if F'ur had turned up anywhere crossdressed.

"Meat. Lots and lots of meat." C'oar answered, with a grin. "That stuff I hear is in rather short supply where you come from."

[Requiem]

Snatching the hat out of the air, F'ur placed it on his own head with a flourish, an amused twinkle flaring in his eyes. "Now that's a thought, robbing caravans for items to crossdress mountain giants in. Will have to add that to my list of ideas to try when I'm bored." Sadly, the bluerider wasn't even completely joking around on that one. (Robbing might be a bit much, but sometimes things got misplaced accidentally, yes, yes.) "So you do have a girl then? Or is Saeo a boy? I remember no Saeo, though that's not saying much...I only remember people who don't bore me to...oh! I do remember her. Crazy little girl they got their paws on at the siege, isn't that right? Haven't seen her in ages. Didn't she used to work in the infirmary? You're a brave man, taking on that little she-beast, and a healer besides. Pushy, all of them, to a man."

A brow rose mildly at C'oar's comment, his expression one of contemplation. Was that intentional? Who knew...but he doubted it. A straw hat with a garish feather sweeping back from the brim was placed on top of the brownrider's head to replace the one F'ur now wore. "Hm. Contrary to these rumors you seem to have heard, I have never been lacking in meat. Nor had any trouble finding any." He grinned mischievously. "It just likes to hide a little better up north. You can always find meat..." He circled around C'oar, fingers briefly tracing up the scabbard strapped to the man's back. Speaking of meat, talk about a cleaver. Compensating for something there? "If you know where to look for it." His voice had dipped into a low, sultry murmur.

Then, before C'oar could think too much on what that murmur might mean, he bounced around back in front of him. "You'll have to forgive me. I see that huge shaft back there and think, now, this is a man who wants to be seen. Eye-catching hats, broad gesturing movements, a splash of color and an au vant guarde attitude." He lunged forward, cutting a pattern in the air before him with an imaginary sword, stabbing his finger into C'oar's broad chest. "En guarde, mon cher. Préparez-vous à recieve mon épée."

F'ur followed that up with a wink. "Colors aren't just for the ladies, you know. Such a narrow view." He shook his head and tsked softly. "Not that I've seen any ladies around here lately. Thank be Faranth. Last time I talked to one her nose was turned up so high I was afraid I'd get stuck in her nostril hair. And I seriously doubt genteel boogers are any more appealing than those of us common-like folk."

[dragon]

"Saeo is ... definitely not a boy." C'oar answered, somewhat amused by F'ur donning the hat he'd just tried and apparently successfully gotten rid of. "That thing looks just as ridiculous on you as I thought it might on me." He pointed out. "Or maybe a bit more so. Someone your size could probably take flight in that thing if you had a string under your chin for it!" He could definitely agree to the ascertainment that Saeo was a pushy one... but then if she stopped that, she'd stop being Saeo. He was agreeable to her strange ways. If only she'd stop disappearing!

"Really? I got the impression that the terrain up there was all barren rock and blowing snow most of the year. I can't imagine very many beasts living there, much less with much meat on their bones." C'oar answered. Of course, he'd never been to the north, so he had no idea what it was really like. Just what he'd heard growing up. There was a reason people had moved to the lush, green, fertile, warm south after all. Things grew better there. Didn't matter what that thing was. Plant, animal, man ... it was all good. If a tad hot sometimes.

"Not so much seen." He disagreed. "More along the lines of never caught unprepared again." Though whatever that gobbletygoop it was that F'ur spouted after that was anyone's guess. C'oar certainly didn't understand him and most definitely started to suspect that F'ur really didn't have a proper brain in his head. Goofing around in strange fashions, preferring other men, and now randomly and completely losing his language abilities? "Are you quite alright?" C'oar asked, not flinching in the least when F'ur started dancing around as if he held one of those rail-thin blades. Not even the finishing poke had him moving.

Really, it was dangerous to even think of moving, in a place this cluttered. But thankfully F'ur's ability to talk coherently returned almost as abruptly as it had left. "I can't say as I've ever been in a position to be graced with such a view." He answered. Nevermind he'd probably never met a real Lady, either. But he wasn't going to admit to that just yet if he didn't have to. If he had met one, he hadn't known it. Maybe the Ladies of the south were more relaxed than the choked ones of the North? Who knew? Not him. Nor did he particularly care if F'ur thought that statement was another jab at how short F'ur was in comparison to C'oar's own stature. Might even be funny!

He reached up over his shoulder and took hold of the hand and a half hilt, lifting the blade just a bit as his thumb triggered a release catch. The whole thing scabbard and all came free of its harness, and C'oar brought it around his own shoulder. Taking a hold of the covered blade, he offered it to F'ur. "I hear you're a blade aficionado. Don't fall off the ledge." He couldn't help but tease the little man. Even if he didn't really think the blade would drag F'ur over an edge. It wasn't that heavy, and he was pretty sure F'ur wasn't that weak.

[Requiem]

"Well, that right there is likely your biggest problem," F'ur quipped, in response to C'oar's verification of Saeo's gender. Women. Can't live with em, can't boot em off the weyrledge without getting a slap on the wrist.

This one was quite oblivious, now wasn't he? That was fun for a short time, but with no one else to witness and appreciate it - talking circles around the poor kid got old fast. As for the 'impression' that C'oar got...well, they did say that ignorance was bliss, didn't they? In that event this brownrider must be one of the happiest people around. Faranth forbid that F'ur ever do anything to destroy another man's happiness. There was nothing wrong with the north's ability to support a human - or dragon - population. It was also the height of stupidity to think you could characterize the geography of an entire continent in two words. Barren and snowy. Tch.

A brow rose mildly in response to this 'unprepared' claim, though F'ur didn't comment on it. In fact, he said next to nothing in response to the kid. A chuckle did sound at the joke about the bluerider's height - or so it seemed to be. C'oar had already commented on it multiple times, after all, and the jokes continued. F'ur didn't move as the man raised his hand, the ex-Fortian's hands going to his pockets as he offered the brownrider a pleasant enough smile from beneath the brim of his floppy hat.

"Aficionado? Not sure what that means, kid, but if it's anything like an expert, you've been misinformed." He reached out to grasp the sheathed weapon, nevertheless, taking it easily. Though he'd never really seen one up close - yeah, hello, swords were for lordholders and their lily-livered posses - the 'bastard' sword was popular enough among those of the bloodlines. Nice and long and suitably scary-looking, but made light to be wielded one-handed. This one proved no different. "Some sort of illegitimate child four seats removed from a Lordholder, kid?"

The blade rasped from its sheath in a long, fluid motion, the scabbard itself tossed onto the bed. He held up the sword, studying it, before his dark eyes looked past the metal and focused on C'oar's face. "Useful, I suppose, if you've any skill with it. Blades aren't my thing. F'lix, on the other hand, has something of a morbid obsession with them and blood. He prefers the ones you never see coming, though. I'm inclined to agree. Never was a giant who got the better of me...now those pretty little boys with their tricks?" A mild shrug. The blade flicked out toward C'oar's cheekbone, before he briskly presented it back to the brownrider hilt first.

"You've guts, kid. Handing me your weapon. Surely you must know how tempting it is for me to take your eye and claim it as an 'accident.' Or don't you recognize that pale grey, half-blinded blue sleeping out on our weyrledge?" A small, dark smile touched his lips. "If you use this blade as well as your dragon flames, I have to say, we'd probably be safer opposing you. At Fort you'd likely have disappeared. At Benden they wouldn't bother keeping it genteel - beat the shit and possibly the life out of you within a night. Fortunately for you, this is Selenitas. That said, if you want off the wing of newbies and failures quicker, I'd look me up after drills."

[dragon]

"Expert? More like enthusiast I think." C'oar answered. "And no, I'm not. I was and am a smith. I made those things quite frequently. I bought this one, however, instead of making it. I was pretty good with a staff, and during one of the attacks all I had to defend my classmates with was said staff. I decided it was time to upgrade to something a bit more lethal. It works for what it's designed to do. It's certainly not the only thing I use at any given moment. I understand the usefulness and necessity of shorter blades. But I also appreciate reach." He explained. "It's not an item for show, if that's what you're implying."

C'oar rather trusted that F'ur wasn't going to attack him any time soon. Maybe that was stupidity on his part, but for it he didn't flinch as F'ur started flailing the sword around like a plaything. "Careful, it's sharp." Though having it pointed at his own face was a bit disturbing. Maybe he'd misjudged F'ur? But no, it was offered back to him almost as suddenly. C'oar took the hilt in hand, and lifted it free - carefully - of F'ur's grasp. "If I had paid much mind to him, I would have. I admit I didn't inspect him to identification." Not that one had to ... when one was as infamous as all that, the dragon's name was hardly forgotten or unknown. "If you feel retribution is to be exacted, I trust you are rightfully entitled. But I also trust you are as equally aware that the incident was an accident as I am." C'oar answered. However an accident it might have been, C'oar was not so full of pride that he couldn't realize that improvement could be made. Even if Frosstyth had been very young and inexperienced at the time ... which wasn't so much the case anymore, really. Improvement could still be made. "I'll do that." C'oar picked up the sheath, and slid the blade home again, lifting it back over his shoulder to clip it deftly to its home on his back. He took it off and put it on so many times, he knew exactly where the clip was and didn't have to hunt for it at all.

He rather did get the impression that F'ur was rather full of himself. There might be good reason for it, but it was still not an admirable trait. In any event, that same ego was offering to possibly teach him a thing or to. Despite all the training C'oar had already put himself through, he was game for more. Something different, it would be good. As big as he was, he was faster than he looked. He'd started out that way, but at suggestion that he work on it, he'd only gotten faster and more durable. Of course, he worked with his own blades, but like F'ur ... most people around the place looked down on his weapon of choice. So he'd had to train pretty much alone. Now, maybe he could pick up the pace a bit, even if in a slightly different direction. Training of any kind was useful. "Where?"

[Requiem]

"Frequently?" F'ur echoed, blinking. "For who?" Unless the south had quite a few dandies prancing around with a sword strapped to their backs or their hips, for show, he didn't see why anyone would commission a southern smith for the weapons. Dragonriders didn't carry them, and it wasn't because they couldn't afford them if they wanted to - or at the very least train smiths to forge them. It wasn't practical for the air, and hardly more practical on the ground.

He squinted at C'oar in open curiosity. The bluerider's eyes flicked toward the corner, and the staff he still carried around when not just flitting around the Weyr and shooting flour arrows at people. It was possible that the sword was actually a better choice than that, he supposed, but F'ur had his reasons for disdaining blades on general principle, from daggers to their less practical cousins. They required a mastery that was hard to achieve. Parrys, thrusts, slashes, edge, flat, guard, hilt...so many options to choose from in a blink of an eye, and if your opponent was truly good you wouldn't even get that much time to process. It had to be instantaneous. Instinctual. Plus there was the matter of most blade fighters forgetting they had anything but the blade at their disposal. Neutralize that and they were helpless.

This was, of course, a generalization. He had one of the exceptions to that rule living in his weyr with him right now. He currently estimated his odds with a F'lix who genuinely intended to kill him - which was rather pointless given neither man wished the other any harm - to be about 60/40. And the gap was quickly closing. In fact, the only reason F'ur still had the edge was he had ten turns of experience on the kitten, and that was all. F'lix was faster, and a master with the blade...one of the few F'ur had ever met who actually fought with the use of his whole body, not just the blood letter. If F'ur drew blade his chances dropped dramatically to 15/85 - heavily in favor of F'lix. Because he was efficient with a dagger. Not a master by any means. F'ur was far more deadly unarmed or with a staff - or his fans. He found it interesting that a weapon could be classified as more 'lethal' than another. It was the skill of the wielder that truly animated it - and decided who lived and who died.

"So formal. All those big words are confusing me." He waved a hand dismissively, as if to wipe the words away. "It's not me you've to worry about 'retribution' from, smithie. Saber and the kit, maybe. You should remember Saber, given he has to live the rest of his life blinded on one side because of you. Quite indecent to forget him as well as blind him. And yes, I already said it was an accident, but you know what, kid? You couldn't have messed him up more if you'd heated a blade yourself and seared it. This isn't some little playground where you can tell your mommy that you didn't mean to trip your kid brother and suddenly it's all better, you know. Take responsibility for yourself...that alone will help smooth things over. And before you say anything stupid, yeah, you're responsible for Frosstyth, too. Just as I am for Ino, much to my chagrine. Nasty little devil." Inocenth crooned from the ledge in response. Love you too, Mine.

"That said, your swordy thingy intrigues me. I have doubts that it's really of much use, but I'm willing to give most things a try. You should bring it along so we can test it. Yes. And just have Frosstyth contact Ino when you get out; I hardly keep track of the schedule for the seedling wing."

[dragon]

C'oar shifted his weight. "I think you misunderstood what I meant. Blades in general, not specifically swords. But yes, there are a lot more larger blades out there than one might suspect. After all, you can usually find them for sale at most marketplaces or gathers, can you not? There are a lot of households that have one, even if it's not a true sword. You don't see them very often. People are not as unarmed as it might seem. They have them, they don't carry them. More of a home defense thing ... usually from predators and what not, though. Wild critters are much less liable to attack if you have a long blade swinging at their faces. Doesn't take much skill, either." C'oar shrugged. "Most people have little to no skill with them. Only the very rich have the fancy kind and wear them. As I am sure you are aware. But yes, quite a lot of blades come from any given smithy. My father had a larger forge, and quite a few people to work it. Was a well respected facility for the produce we generated." Not boasting, but simple statement of fact, to help make the picture clearer. It had been a trip to the main Hold with some of their goods that had gotten C'oar searched in the first place, after all. A forge didn't last long outside of a main Hold, if they weren't superb at what they did. Much less prosper the way his father's had.

"I had hardly forgotten." C'oar answered, simply, after F'ur broke his silence again. "But there is little I can do to mend it, as well. It is like having had a hand in the accidental drowning of a runner. No amount of apology or work or any of the rest of that is going to bring the runner back to life." It was practicality, that was all. What could he do? Nothing. "I am fully aware of my responsibilities. I have also been doing what I can to remedy the situations that had brought such an occurrence about. I do not intend to ever have it or anything like it ever happen again. It is the least that I can do."

After having the very idea of a sword put down so roughly, C'oar was quite surprised when F'ur admitted interest in it. "I will do that." Not only bring it along ... it was like an extension of himself these days, after all, but to call in when he did not have other duties to attend to. C'oar was rather hard to ruffle or insult, and as a result he still did not make any remarks upon F'ur's attempts to do just that, in reference to his wing. He also didn't bother to try to reciprocate ... after all calling F'ur a geezer wouldn't really amount to anything productive. So why do it? C'oar didn't tend to go out of his way to intentionally piss people off. Or even annoy them. "I look forward to seeing what it is you have to show me."