Post by Requiem on Jun 28, 2010 6:52:45 GMT -5
He wasn't sure which Gathers C'oar was going to, but he hadn't seen a single sword being sold at any of the ones in the nearby Holds since coming to Selenitas. Much as he wasn't too keen on blades, he did tend to pay attention to weaponry of any sort. Call it morbid curiosity. Eh, but this area was the same one that C'oar had originated from, given his accent, so...perhaps he just hadn't encountered this world the brownrider was describing. Unless he meant a good fourteen, fifteen incher. Not unlike the hunting knife that F'ur carried when he went feline hunting - much to his weyrmate's unease. F'lix oddly never elected to come with him, though. (Yes, the ex-Fortian had enough sense not to try to wrestle a feline with his bare hands. He really should get praised for that kind of foresight. Really. Considering who it was.)
F'ur was smiling. Now, that was a pretty normal occurrence. Smirk, teasing smile, bouncy hyperactive smile...in fact, F'ur had a wider variety of smiles than most people had facial expressions. Right now, however, he was smiling. It was just a touch of chill off from being the smile that had earned him his name and the greater part of his reputation at Fort. Not quite murderous yet. Despite all rumors to the contrary, F'ur was not really the violent type. He tended to prefer to leave that to battlefields or when dealing with beasts. Or training. But this was definitely the smile that anyone on his old wing could tell you meant clear out and clear out quick. It meant something had just gotten personal. And there was a shitload of difference between duty and personal.
The coldness in his eyes was frigid.
"How unwittingly accurate. The least you can do." The hands that had found his pockets - the first sign if you knew F'ur at all that he was beginning to edge toward irritated (or at least toward an emotion that he wasn't showing in his face and speech) - remained there. "Do tell me. I'm just curious, really. When," And here his lower jaw slid forward and head tilted to the side in what amounted to a facial shrug before his teeth grated back into place. "When, have you ever truly witnessed an apology that changed the past? I mean, that would be something, now wouldn't it? Quite the oddity. I wonder then. Is that the purpose of an apology, do you think? To...fix...what you're apologizing for? If it is, it's an interesting phenomenon that, failing to I don't know, bring runners back to life and unblind dragons, people just keep on trying to apologize. Hm. People must just be inherently stupid I guess."
A small gasp. "Or maybe that's not the reason for them? Nah, what a crazy idea." His eyes narrowed on C'oar, the heavy sarcasm dropping. Leaving behind only chill. "Doing what your Wingleader and Weyrleader are demanding you do - actually train up to a point where you don't act like an idiot child under pressure - is not terribly impressive. You'll be stuck on that wing or grounded once they realize you're hopeless if you don't. So that's pretty worthless. And since you clearly don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, and you're seriously beginning to piss me off to the point where I'm willing to see how many bones I can break before your bellowing brings half the Weyr down on my head, I think you should get out. Go."
F'ur was smiling. Now, that was a pretty normal occurrence. Smirk, teasing smile, bouncy hyperactive smile...in fact, F'ur had a wider variety of smiles than most people had facial expressions. Right now, however, he was smiling. It was just a touch of chill off from being the smile that had earned him his name and the greater part of his reputation at Fort. Not quite murderous yet. Despite all rumors to the contrary, F'ur was not really the violent type. He tended to prefer to leave that to battlefields or when dealing with beasts. Or training. But this was definitely the smile that anyone on his old wing could tell you meant clear out and clear out quick. It meant something had just gotten personal. And there was a shitload of difference between duty and personal.
The coldness in his eyes was frigid.
"How unwittingly accurate. The least you can do." The hands that had found his pockets - the first sign if you knew F'ur at all that he was beginning to edge toward irritated (or at least toward an emotion that he wasn't showing in his face and speech) - remained there. "Do tell me. I'm just curious, really. When," And here his lower jaw slid forward and head tilted to the side in what amounted to a facial shrug before his teeth grated back into place. "When, have you ever truly witnessed an apology that changed the past? I mean, that would be something, now wouldn't it? Quite the oddity. I wonder then. Is that the purpose of an apology, do you think? To...fix...what you're apologizing for? If it is, it's an interesting phenomenon that, failing to I don't know, bring runners back to life and unblind dragons, people just keep on trying to apologize. Hm. People must just be inherently stupid I guess."
A small gasp. "Or maybe that's not the reason for them? Nah, what a crazy idea." His eyes narrowed on C'oar, the heavy sarcasm dropping. Leaving behind only chill. "Doing what your Wingleader and Weyrleader are demanding you do - actually train up to a point where you don't act like an idiot child under pressure - is not terribly impressive. You'll be stuck on that wing or grounded once they realize you're hopeless if you don't. So that's pretty worthless. And since you clearly don't give a shit about anyone but yourself, and you're seriously beginning to piss me off to the point where I'm willing to see how many bones I can break before your bellowing brings half the Weyr down on my head, I think you should get out. Go."