Post by Requiem on Oct 14, 2007 21:07:21 GMT -5
Mutasim stared at Narna for the longest time. What, was she daft? His scars were little more than raw rings about his wrists and neck. If he'd been beaten, they would have marred his entire torso, maybe even his arms and legs. Xiamon certainly wouldn't have allowed his 'treasures' to be beaten. It might decrease their value. No, Mutasim didn't expect her to know much of Bitra or the gambling houses, but surely mere observation would have told her these were the scars of bondage, not of beatings.
His voice, when it came, was just as deadpan as his stare. "I was never beaten." Mutasim never lied. He was always direct. But, unlike some people who were completely honest, he was very good at saying nothing that he didn't want to speak of. What had happened in Bitra was not an easy thing for him to contemplate. Nor was it this girl's business. Besides which, he was fairly certain Bitra still considered him an outlaw of sorts. There simply was no wisdom in divulging any of that information to a nosy candidate, especially when it had the potential of making him emotional. Mutasim hated emotions. They clouded his judgment. No, the boy had never been beaten, at least not in the usual sense of the word.
He moved away from the river and Narna, pulling the tunic back on because he didn't want anyone else ogling those markings as he joined Z'hin to watch the brownweyrling cook his rabbits. Unlike the others, Mutasim found this quite engaging. From a world where food was hard to find, he was always interested in how people found and prepared it, which of course he didn't get much of a chance to see when food just seemed to magically appear in the dining hall. He catalogued everything, just as he had when Z'hin had hunted the first of the creatures. Mutasim would never forget.
Unlike Mutasim, Z'hin was not particularly perceptive when it came to other people. He knew what they told him, read expressions, and sometimes even had a few insights, but unless he was in direct communication with someone, he tended not to notice. It was most likely a defense mechanism, given his aversion to crowds and general shyness once the group grew too large to be intimate. He waved to Paryal as she left. She was, after all, the only one of the weyrlings he'd really spoken with before the hatching.
The brownrider arose and wandered over to the crowd of people and dragons, swallowing a moment before plastering a smile to his face. All these people. Mutasim lingered at his side, prodding the older boy. Z'hin glanced at him. The boy nodded to the blood on his friend's tunic. The holdless man, turned dragonrider, looked at it blankly before realizing that maybe it would be a bit offensive, at least to the ladies, to have rabbits' blood all over him.
He drew the offensive garment over his head. Alone of all the assembled male weyrlings, Z'hin had obviously already fully grown into his masculinity. Muscular, his shoulders were broad, his wide chest sprinkled with curls just slightly lighter than the ones that covered his head. His body narrowed at the waist, the muscles of his abdomen rippling as he restraightened, throwing the bloodied tunic over a shoulder. Though he was no taller than the average man, his sheer physical presence was staggering. And Z'hin simply wasn't the sort to actually notice this.
Perhaps unluckily, the brownweyrlings reserved nature caused him to seek out one of the quieter, friendly faces in the crowd, and, having already met Paryal, P'tol was the natural choice. He approached the blonde boy with a friendly smile. Mutasim followed in Z'hin's wake, eyeing the cousin to the queenrider frankly. His friend may be a bit oblivious, but Mutasim knew that boys with a slant toward female companionship didn't tend to Impress greens. Not that any of these greenriders bothered him. It was the sort with the personalities closer to bronzeriders that were an actual threat.
Jessereth came over as well, peering curiously at Llath, still a little sad that the female seemed to be afraid of him. He didn't get too close, though. The brown certainly didn't want to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. He couldn't help the question, though...Don't you like me, clutchsister? It was plaintive, and young, that query. He couldn't understand why anyone would be afraid of him. It actually kind of hurt his feelings.
His voice, when it came, was just as deadpan as his stare. "I was never beaten." Mutasim never lied. He was always direct. But, unlike some people who were completely honest, he was very good at saying nothing that he didn't want to speak of. What had happened in Bitra was not an easy thing for him to contemplate. Nor was it this girl's business. Besides which, he was fairly certain Bitra still considered him an outlaw of sorts. There simply was no wisdom in divulging any of that information to a nosy candidate, especially when it had the potential of making him emotional. Mutasim hated emotions. They clouded his judgment. No, the boy had never been beaten, at least not in the usual sense of the word.
He moved away from the river and Narna, pulling the tunic back on because he didn't want anyone else ogling those markings as he joined Z'hin to watch the brownweyrling cook his rabbits. Unlike the others, Mutasim found this quite engaging. From a world where food was hard to find, he was always interested in how people found and prepared it, which of course he didn't get much of a chance to see when food just seemed to magically appear in the dining hall. He catalogued everything, just as he had when Z'hin had hunted the first of the creatures. Mutasim would never forget.
Unlike Mutasim, Z'hin was not particularly perceptive when it came to other people. He knew what they told him, read expressions, and sometimes even had a few insights, but unless he was in direct communication with someone, he tended not to notice. It was most likely a defense mechanism, given his aversion to crowds and general shyness once the group grew too large to be intimate. He waved to Paryal as she left. She was, after all, the only one of the weyrlings he'd really spoken with before the hatching.
The brownrider arose and wandered over to the crowd of people and dragons, swallowing a moment before plastering a smile to his face. All these people. Mutasim lingered at his side, prodding the older boy. Z'hin glanced at him. The boy nodded to the blood on his friend's tunic. The holdless man, turned dragonrider, looked at it blankly before realizing that maybe it would be a bit offensive, at least to the ladies, to have rabbits' blood all over him.
He drew the offensive garment over his head. Alone of all the assembled male weyrlings, Z'hin had obviously already fully grown into his masculinity. Muscular, his shoulders were broad, his wide chest sprinkled with curls just slightly lighter than the ones that covered his head. His body narrowed at the waist, the muscles of his abdomen rippling as he restraightened, throwing the bloodied tunic over a shoulder. Though he was no taller than the average man, his sheer physical presence was staggering. And Z'hin simply wasn't the sort to actually notice this.
Perhaps unluckily, the brownweyrlings reserved nature caused him to seek out one of the quieter, friendly faces in the crowd, and, having already met Paryal, P'tol was the natural choice. He approached the blonde boy with a friendly smile. Mutasim followed in Z'hin's wake, eyeing the cousin to the queenrider frankly. His friend may be a bit oblivious, but Mutasim knew that boys with a slant toward female companionship didn't tend to Impress greens. Not that any of these greenriders bothered him. It was the sort with the personalities closer to bronzeriders that were an actual threat.
Jessereth came over as well, peering curiously at Llath, still a little sad that the female seemed to be afraid of him. He didn't get too close, though. The brown certainly didn't want to make her feel any more uncomfortable than she already did. He couldn't help the question, though...Don't you like me, clutchsister? It was plaintive, and young, that query. He couldn't understand why anyone would be afraid of him. It actually kind of hurt his feelings.