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Post by rii on Sept 17, 2009 16:14:01 GMT -5
His eyes fell back down to his foot, trying not to pay much mind to the touch tracing the lines, but following the movements all the same. Thoughts were strictly kept to the topic, not being allowed to stray too far. It was more than a bit difficult to keep his thoughts skimming the surface and not allow them to slip and plunge deeper. Despite the effort, it didn't stop a thread of confusion from stitching itself somewhere inside of his chest.
"I find this to be more colorful, more of an art than searing flesh.." His nose wrinkled in distaste. Burns tended to damage nerves, causing the loss of feeling, not to mention it smelled horrid. F'lix still wanted to be able to feel–obviously his pain receptors were askew but he still felt things, an important sense–despite that he currently attempted to ignore afore mention sensation. "And scars tell a different story, and are earned by different means. It's just.. different." Golden eyes glanced at F'ur's chest. Even though the other wore a shirt, he remembered the near illegible history written over the man's body. "The blood is misleading," He half-mumbled reaching down to pull the skin taunt and display that the design he had drawn barely nicked the surface. More of a scratch than anything else. No potential to scar, the inking acted more like a permanent paint. F'lix gave a gallant shrug, leaning back on palms while stretching out his leg to see the foot from a distance. "I like it, I don't think I need a better reason than that."
Secretly, a morbid part of him liked see the etching of darkened blood. Art indeed.
F'lix, only then noticing F'ur's upraised foot, peered down at the bared flesh next to his side. His eyes began to track a hidden design over the man's skin, eyebrows rose in thoughtfulness. Slowly a smile began to show and F'lix shifted his gaze upward, giving the Fortian a playful look. A jesting offer, one he didn't put much seriousness behind, but there all the same.
"Mm," The bluerider hummed thoughtfully at F'ur's words. Head tilted away, chin inclining a bit while golden eyes continued to regard the Fortian with veiled interest. "Last time I started having a conversation with someone about the plague and disappearances, a.. man showed up. We didn't see him, only the salamandyr got a glimpse, but.. I'm more than sure he was not of this Weyr. So maybe if you talk about it enough, it will attract attention." Part of him was serious, the other half was merely teasing. F'lix merely felt.. patient on the matter. Others were searching and scrounging for any clue. They had found nothing, why would it be different for anyone else? "Probably find something when you don't expect to."
—
Saboth wings twitched with aggitation, a low rumble sounding deep within his chest as he gazed at Inocenth. The Benden dragon was not well versed in the ways of combat. Had been in very few fights in fact. His bonded was another story, but as for himself, he really didn't know how to fight. Maybe act intimidating, but he made a point of trying to avoid conflict! His aggression was of the passive sort. There was little he could do now without making a chaotic scene–and he may not like it, but his bonded seem safe and content enough..
Turning to fully face the dark blue, Saboth weaved his head left and right before.. a trace of green whirled in his eyes and his tail whipped forward. Not nearly close enough to strike Inocenth, but that was not his intention. He struck a skimming blow to the surface of the stream and sent a well aimed splash at the dragon's head.
Ha. Take that.
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Post by rii on Sept 16, 2009 22:41:43 GMT -5
They heard music. Or rather, Quintresk heard it first and happened to translate it to his bonded. The thief took in the information and quickly stuffed it aside. Mind moving a dozen different directions all at once. It was almost too much for the brown to decipher. According to His, there were so many things to do and get done and so little time. No wonder the thief couldn't sit still. Patience. One thing at a time. More efficient.
Quintrell wrinkled his nose at the sensation, his pace slowed as the foreign feeling soothed his antsy nerves. That's when they saw the blue wher up on the rise. No, not true, Quintresk knew his sibling was about with his chosen. Why didn't he tell His? It wasn't of any importance. Trel skidded to a halt, almost as if he heard the greeting through the brown's mind–being as tightly connected as they had during their run, it was quite possible. Quintresk came to much smoother stop than his bonded, sitting back on haunches and lifting his head to return the greeting with equal politeness. Simple answer: His enjoyed running.
Who was this? Quintrell's peered curiously at the bright creature, even with his own poor nightvision the shiny wher appeared to glow. Much different than the brown, who without the add of a wher's eyes appeared nothing more than a sleek black creature, part of the shadows, eyes reflecting out from the darkness. An image appeared in his head, the sight of his clutchbrother walking by with the tall, long-haired boy. The thief grinned, dimples flashing as he waggled his fingers at the young wher in greeting. "Lovely night for a stroll, isn't it?"
So the crazy queen rider was bonded to the blue? Yes. Where was he? Beyond.
Not waiting for a proper meeting, Quintrell scrambled up the rise and peered into the darkness beyond Dmisk. Here he had to squint and try to use his own eyesight until his brown could 'lighten' things up. Quintresk observed His for a moment, then turned to calmly walk into the trees and up the side of the mound.
"Heeeey!" Quintrell hopped over to the harper. "You're alive! Shards guy, I thought you were going to die the other night when you jumped on the queen like that! What were you thinking? You're so lucky she didn't maul you!" An image of the tall youth before him came through, so detailed, all those little details. Quintrell stepped forward, taking the harpers hand (the other hand coming up to touch against the boy's elbow) in a firm shake, pumping the other's arm energetically. "I'm Quintrell by the way, got here just a couple sevendays ago, already impressed. Crazy that! Kind of changes my plans a bit. So what's your name?"
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Post by rii on Sept 16, 2009 18:57:57 GMT -5
Rulven noticed first the scurrying creature fleeing him. A frown creased his features, and he looked apologetically at the small salamandyr. He wished he had some food with him to offer the shy thing, currently frilling at him. "Sorry," a very soft apology. "I didn't mean to scare you.." The smith almost offered his hand to the mandyr in hopes of showing he was harmless–that was until he realized the lizard was practically on Dorava's bosom–and that he was talking down at her chest. He had to talk down to her regardless, so probably not even noticeable, but Rulven didn't want to risk earning a slap.
The smith quickly lifted his gaze and felt relieved that the woman had her attention on the bronzerider. People, women in general, often didn't realize that it was a misunderstanding. He didn't mean to stare at that particular location. Rulven eased to lean back on his palms, no longer upset over being sat on–utterly incapable of holding and brandishing anger or a grudge. He gave the other man a brief glance upon hearing the words, the disarming smile from the other did erase any feelings of ill-content. No, he still didn't appreciate being sat on–but worse things had been done to the smith and he had forgiven those responsible.
"I didn't know what to say. Not every day someone mistakes me for a chair," He arched a brow at the other, the words holding no bite. Neutrality. "I was sort of baffled."
He'd be fine with the bronzerider, as long as the man didn't treat the woman in that cold manner. Rulven didn't care the reasons, and he also didn't care how tough a female may act. To him, they needed to be treated with the utmost respect and.. as women. His mindset, firmly planted in him, showed in the difference he treated S'rei and Dorava. Body language, expressions, tone of voice–of which now softened as he addressed the green rider. "You know, just because you are conscious doesn't mean you need to be booted back to duties like no one cares about what happened. Don't try to stand up to what you think is someone else's expectations."
He shot a stern look at S'rei, but didn't do anything more accusing than that. "There is nothing wrong with taking a break. We all have to do it sometime, or else we'll start to crack and eventually break. It's not weakness, it's practical. If you are going back to duties just to ignore it, it's only going to fester."
In a quieter tone, as an after thought and sounding embarrassed about it, the smith added. "I'm Rulven, by the way.."
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Post by rii on Sept 16, 2009 18:06:17 GMT -5
Saboth laid out on the grass, long and slender this blue, and not bothering to shorten his length. His wings lightly fanned about his body to help dry away the remains of water. His neck curved inward so that one eye could view Dsoleth, and the other remained on the two riders. Saboth was a quiet dragon, and since no questions were directed at him, he didn't feel the need to press the conversation.
Through the lashes of his narrowed gaze, F'lix examined the brownrider, trying to figure out the man's angle. More words, useless words. Saboth, amused by the entire thing for only Faranth knows, supplied images of the brownpair playing the odd sike-out game with the dagger. Hm, F'lix eyes faded past T'san to view the calm blue. He'd think his dragon would want him to avoid people with sharp objects.
I know that you'd enjoy it. F'lix snorted softly, chin tilting down again in a once-purposeful gesture. I doubt he can play such a game.
The bluerider let his arms fall loosely too his side and stalked forward, smooth graceful motions with golden, feline eyes locked on the brownrider. Unafraid, and a look too much akin to the predator he resembled; ready to pounce if he so felt the whim. "I don't think you know how to use it." He spoke in a soft tone, but it didn't detract from the firm statement. He came right up to T'san, nearly bumping against him as his motions came just short of collision. Fingers touched lightly against the wrist that held the blade, gently pushing it aside. A taunting gesture, daring T'san to do something about it.
A sly smile directed itself up at the slightly taller male. No name was given, and F'lix didn't plan to give it either–not to men who wanted to play games. He didn't want to know the brownriders name either, but he noted it none the less. Nicknames would do just fine. "Probably because they lack creativity." Head canted to one side, an amused gaze taking in T'san's expression. The bluerider's turn to see what made the other squirm, what annoyed him, would he do anything to retaliate?
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Post by rii on Sept 16, 2009 17:06:51 GMT -5
Slender head plunged under the water to nose aside a large rock. If the stream wasn't deep enough, then Saboth would fix that problem. With claws he dug into the soft, muddy soil–ripping it up and shoving it onto the grassy bank. Working on creating his own little eddy kept Saboth preoccupied well enough from trying to make sense of his rider. He didn't like what F'lix was doing. Not one bit. Although he couldn't remember exactly why he disliked it. He just did.
A noise from upstream drew Saboth's attention. The blue went very still, standing half-way on the shore. His wings had arched, spread just enough that with one quick downward sweep he could leap into the air or thrust himself backwards to avoid any pouncing nuisances. He stared long and hard into the trees, the shadows beyond making it difficult to see anything, but Saboth focused more on trying to detect movement. He waited patiently for a sign—head suddenly snapped around in response to his bonded's alarm—
Still being partially deaf in the left ear did not help matters. Absolutely unaware of F'ur's approach, F'lix reached down toward the ink dish with intentions of adding another curving line. Hearing the voice made him startle–badly. Hand and dagger came down into the black ink, the little dish being knocked away, flinging its contents as it spun aside. Left foot kicked out through the water, sending a crescent spray across the stream. Whether F'lix was more surprised at someone being there, or the fact he knew to who the voice belonged, was still up for debate (truthfully, recognizing the voice did keep the dagger from arching around in defense). Heart knocked frantically against his ribs, adrenaline flooded his system–clearly caught completely off guard.
Then F'ur was there, beside him and touching his foot. All F'lix seemed able to do was stare at the man's face. Lips slightly parted with intentions of speaking but lacking the words. Golden eyes narrowed, not into a glare, but to regard F'ur with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. The comment toward his hair made F'lix blink and absently raise hand–still holding the dagger–to brush fingertips through the short black strands. Leaving a thin trail of ink across his cheekbone in the process. He didn't know how to decipher the words–compliment or insult; probably neither. He'd be silly to take it in a positive light (and really quite incapable of such). F'lix knew he didn't cut his hair to look better; sort of a way, by exposing the scars, to make himself less appealing, less approachable. Maybe that did make it more suitable for him?
The rest of F'ur's words finally registered as F'lix adrenaline rush began to wane. The moment for reactions had passed and the time for thoughts now settled in. It took a stretch of speechlessness before F'lix made.. very little sense of the situation. What is it? F'lix finally pried his gaze off F'ur's face and examined his own foot. What was the design? Or what was it he was doing? He opted to try and answer both.
"It's just an outline of what could be," He answered lightlly, almost cautiously. He faintly shrugged, because even he didn't know what it would become in the end. Nothing specific, something more general. Black and red lines swirled, some starting between his toes, like rivets of water flowing up from his step, curling around his ankle–at least until he had stopped 'drawing'. The dagger was set aside, showing that the younger bluerider had grown more.. at ease.. around F'ur. Good or bad? A little bit of both. F'lix twisted about to reach down and retrieve a clean strip of cloth. He began to wipe away the blood and ink; couldn't wash the cuts yet. If anything, it kept his mind and hands occupied.
"Saw a man once with brands on his arm. Never did ask him what they were called.. " Because he had been dead at the time, and in Bitra–two things that should have made the body art less attractive. But he found them interesting all the same. "Theory is.. that as long as I don't cut too deep, at least not the point of scarring, when it heals, the design will remain."
F'lix tilted his head, letting golden eyes shift side-long to examine F'ur's profile. A dozen questions flitted through his mind, none of them traveling past his lips. F'lix didn't know how to respond to the man's presence–at least without irritating the older man. Except.. the younger seemed to do that without trying. Their explosive, handful of interactions a good testimony that any calm that hung in the are was likely to be short-lived. "Out hunting?" He inquired softly, just his nature to be quiet–not meek. F'lix meant to tease the other about actually living in the jungle and not the Weyr, but an outrage spillover from Saboth distracted his thoughts–drawing his gaze upstream.
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Post by rii on Sept 16, 2009 10:36:23 GMT -5
"Do it again."
Quintrell sat cross-legged beside his newly bonded (of two days) brown wher–whose hide came off more as black in the night; except for the few patches of lighter brown and dark red, catching in the low light to give the young wher a lovely, if dark appeal. Yes, very good-looking. If Trel could have stolen the brown, he would of attempted just that. And if anyone really asked, he'd prattle off a tale of an egg he planned to sell only to have it hatch one night during his trip to the nearby Hold. Of course, Quintrell puzzled, he didn't know who he'd tell that far-fetched story to, no one in the Weyr would ever believe it. Hm, he'd have to think of a better tale–to share with any search candidates that came in the future.
It was still a bit unsettling, on a deeper level, to think the Wher would always be with him. Trel didn't care much for being.. attached to something. Materialistic items could be taken, lost, sold–he never cared about something so meaningless. But Quintresk was like a.. friend. A very good friend, that had always been a part of his life but only now they had just met in person. Very strange. Aside from his family, Quintrell had never bothered with any sort of closeness with another being. And between him and Quintresk, close was not a proper description. Two different minds and bodies, but together they were one. So very strange.
"Pleaaase~" The thief leaned against the quiet creature, beaming at the brown which currently gave him a curious look in return. Not knowing what he had done to amuse His so greatly. All he had done was show him an image of how he saw the area around them, detailed and as bright as 'day'. His bonded eyes were sharp, but fairly useless and clearly inferior in the dark, so Quintresk had loaned him a better glimpse. This he repeated, much to the pleasure of the short blonde.
"Don't look at me like that." Quintrell sniffled dramatically. What? "That look!" The brown was only looking, he didn't think he was looking in an specific way. "I'm not use to, to.. others talking in my head. And you don't even talk—yes, I know you don't need to talk, but you do realize I am not Weyr-bred. I'm not even Hold-bred. What? It doesn't matter? Sure it does. Maybe it's normal for you but it's kind of odd for me to be sort of reading your mind. You don't even talk in words yet I know what you are saying. It's weird, okay!?" The thief crossed his arms high, squaring them in a purposely poor attempt at looking upset. This earned a light head butt from the brown: Enough.
"Eee! You're like two days old—So? What do you mean so? I'm seventeen turns old. It's odd to be taking advice—No. You're not odd, it's the concept that—stop interupting me—Yes I realize that I don't stop talking. Regardless! It will take time for me to get use to all this!" Quintrell threw his hands up into the air, as if it would help make a point. The Wherling was well aware of the fact he looked the part of a madman ranting to himself in the middle of the Weyr. Perhaps knowing that made it worse.
The brown idly curled his tail around his claws, completely unconcerned toward Quintrell's behavior. His had already accepted and loved him, this he felt and knew without question. But they were wasting time, there were many things Quintresk wanted to see around the Weyr. He rose in one smooth, arching motion not unlike that of a feline, and softly padding into the darkness. His tail curved around his bonded, urging the thief to follow–which Quintrell did without question where they were going, he already knew. The thief quickened their pace, turning it into a slow, easy lope. The differences in their motions coming through, while both had a sense of balance and inner grace, Quintrell's was more of a bounce while the brown wher seemed to glide over the ground.
Quintrell didn't slow, even though he could not see. At least not on his own. Quintresk supplied a near constant visual of their surroundings, almost to the point where Trel was basically seeing out of the brown's eyes. Ooh~ Quintrell grinned, very amused at the opportunities now within his grasp. They must explore those possibilities for mischief. It would be a crime not to..
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Post by rii on Sept 15, 2009 22:28:38 GMT -5
I don't get it. The blue dragon observed his peculiar rider with one whirling, scrutinizing eye. In the middle of a small clearing, surrounding a narrow stream, sat rider on an upraised rock, then dragon–laying flat in the water and trying to not be so painfully obvious. Not an easy task, being too big for the stream, the water barely covered half of his body and his bulk blocked the flow, causing a minor flood in the grasses around him.
"I don't either," F'lix chuckled lightly, but his golden eyes remained downcast on his current task. Freshly sharped dagger in hand, he traced–with his eyes first–a pattern over the his bared right foot. Pant legs were rolled up to the knees, the left leg dangling over the rock and into the water, the right bent upright and positioned into the light. His torso was slightly curved around his right leg, not in his usual leathers, just the nearly skin-tight dark colored shirt he wore underneath them. The hot weather was really starting to aggravate him. Especially since being moved off of his nightly shift. Too many riders had passed with the plague, and so F'lix had been reassigned to a more 'useful' position. Thus being awake during the day.. much to his dislike. Too hot. At least cutting his hair had helped with some of that problem.
Then why do it? "Do I need a good reason?" Yes. I don't know why you are trying to color yourself. "I'm not trying to be appealing. I just want to try it.." Then can't you use something more.. colorful? "Not like anyone is going to see it. Why are you so worked up over it?"
Saboth huffed, but left his rider in peace, opting to raised his head high and keep a watch on their surroundings. It wasn't the most wide of clearings, and he really wished his bonded would stop going into the jungle. Felines aside, the unknown attacker had never been discovered, and about a sevenday ago his bonded had suffered an injury to the head–briefly damaging their connection. To say the least, Saboth let his more protective side show through; refusing to let F'lix go too far out of his sight. He wanted His to stay in the Weyr, but being crowded in with all the others made His irritable and broody. He'd settle for letting His do the odd things he does, as long as it kept his mind occupied.
F'lix gave the blue a smile before concentrating back on his foot. The dagger was dipped into a shallow dish of black ink thickened with tree sap. Feather-light he drew the sharp edge over the pale skin, moving with the invisible pattern he saw in his mind's eyes. Black ink mixing with red when a small amount of blood rose from the carefully shallow cuts. The design was nothing specific, at least for now; just a test to see if the ink would remain. F'lix re-dipped the tip and went back to work, mind completely on his movements. He barely noticed Saboth had risen to skulk down the stream to try and find a deeper spot–the blue didn't want to watch. F'lix could draw, had an eye for it really, but it was such a useless talent, in his opinion. It didn't show too much in the thin swirls and curls befit the movements of the water or air–but rather in the skilled way he held his 'brush' and let the movements translate through wrist and fingers. Not a single mistake. Of course, it helped that he couldn't feel the pain that should have accompanied the actions.
"See," He paused, a teasing note to his voice–talking to Saboth without realizing the blue was not nearby. Golden eyes were busy criticizing the dark red-black lines. "You make it sound worse than it is.."
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Post by rii on Sept 15, 2009 17:31:01 GMT -5
If he noticed Dsoleth's displeasure, Saboth made no show of it. He gazed down at his own tail tip, swirling it lazily through the shallows, turning over small rocks. He too shared a possessiveness over his own bonded, but never fussed overly much about it. His mindmate always kept away from other people, all on his own, thus no reason to worry. Only when His started to become attached to another person did Saboth start to get annoyed. Others could be trusted, to a short extent, but not much further.
Saboth head again tilted, examining the 'dying' brownrider with curiosity. Yes, this odd one should do to get his own rider out of the strange mood. I've found that to be true with most people. The more Mine is mean to try and make people leave him alone, the more they want to bug him. Very strange. Why is that?
Ciceroth had pointed that oddity out, and it made Saboth wonder if His acted nice.. would people go away? At Benden, those that openly acted mean were left alone, because that was their true nature; brutal savagery. And those that were nice were tormented and trampled over. But, Saboth didn't mull over that long, instead crawling the rest of the way out of the river to dry on the shore next to Dsoleth. Yours likes mean people? Isn't that dangerous?
Hn. F'lix's eyes narrowed a fraction more, disapproving the boldness in which the brownrider eyed him. Then that grin. A smiling man was always hiding something. F'lix purposely turned the scarred section of his face toward the stranger, eyebrow raising–almost mocking the brownrider with a silent challenge. Hip thrust to one side, swaying his slender frame into a lax stance, but arms remained crossed, unperturbed. Whatever game the man had in mind, F'lix would play–and win. He didn't like games, but wherever he went, people (namely men) felt the need to toy with him. A bit tiring, but in the long run, F'lix would miss it–even if it annoyed him. Strange how those things could be missed.
Golden eyes remained steadily on T'san face, meeting the man's gaze with a touch of feral hostility, a non-spoken warning for the brownrider to keep his distance. "Unless you're planning to use that," A nonchalant glance was spared to the blade. "I suggest you put it away." F'lix didn't seem the least bit intimidated. A man that visibly brandished a weapon before a fight was a fool. For his part, F'lix blades were small in number that day. The only visible one being a thin blade sheathed and belted around his left thigh. The bluerider was not in his usual leathers that day. Selenitas was getting hotter as the months stretched on. He thought it was bad when he first arrived, but no, it got worse.
Why am I here, Saboth? To cheer up. Very funny. He seems nice. You're plotting something, what? Always paranoid is Mine. You're not giving me any reason to change that.
Saboth's eyes whirled before he directed an amused thought to Dsoleth. Think they'll play nice together?
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Post by rii on Sept 15, 2009 15:36:53 GMT -5
Hum. Quintrell's frantic movements came to a temporary halt. Arms hung limp, fingertips nearly reaching down to Mihkal's knees. Large brown eyes stared openly at the other candidate, blinking a few times in awe. This guy must be one of those silent and thoughtful types. At least he looked like one of those introverted keep all their thoughts to themselves person. What, with the neutral blank stare n'all. Quintrell wasn't anything like that. His thoughts spilled out of his mouth before they even became whole in his mind. Buuut, it was okay that Mihkal was quiet, because Quintrell could talk enough for two people. Mhm, sure could.
"A traveling caravan, you say? What a coincidence! I came from a traveling family too." The thief began to wave his dangling torso side to side; grin wide and friendly. "What did your family trade?" Only a very short pause followed this question. All too soon Quintrell launched off in his own story. Nothing wrong with that, reasoned the thief, since Mihkal didn't seem talkative. "My uncle was a Mastersmith and my father was one of the best sellers. We're from the north, so selling weapons to both Fort and Benden was a huuuge trade, especially when the war first started. They made such a profit they could of easily become Lord Holders, but they loved traveling more. Those were the daays, ahh~"
Quintrell took a moment to reminisce, eyes unfocused as he stared at some point beyond Mihkal. After a few brief seconds before pulling his arms up, curling fingers around the bottom edge of the bunk. "I remember riding in the back of one of the wagons, my mom and sister would be singing–they could of been harpers if they wanted–and the customers would just wander over, drawn by their voices. The Lord Holder at Lemos actually invited us to stay with him once, in exchange to hear their songs, that place was so biiiig. And he had these runners that—ahh!"
The constant fidgeting got the best of him, and Quintrell slipped off the edge of the bed and fell into a heavy, graceless heap on the floor. Right on top of Mihkal's feet. Quintrell absently put a hand against the boy's ankle in order to push himself up into a sitting position–the action a ruse to check if the other had anything hiding inside. Knives were usually stashed there. Why Quintrell had no idea, because it seemed such an awkward place to him. Hard to look casual while.. reaching into a boot for a knife. "Your boot is untied." Had he done that? Maybe. Busy, quick little fingers.
"Hey, want to do something fun?"
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Post by rii on Sept 14, 2009 22:44:46 GMT -5
Like a metronome, Saboth's head canted to and fro while following the path of the dangling T'san. The look on the man's face was priceless, and Saboth's eyes whirled more rapidly, green and blues crashing over each other in a dance much like the ocean. Oh dear, the man was upset about not being dropped into the water? Saboth could help with that. The blue pulled himself up into the shallows, sat down, and whipped his long tail around to wrap tightly about his feet–sloshing water up onto the brownrider in the process. Head cocked to one side, oh-so innocent of any wrong doings.
He's very funny, He complimented Dsoleth, much like one parent commenting another on their wonderful child. And talkative too. A good thing, for certain, since Saboth knew His didn't speak.. at least not out loud. Saboth lazily fanned his wings, not paying much mind to any droplets that flung off the tips. A playful croon-rumble sounded at Dsoleth, happy that the brown was willing to help–although Saboth wasn't so sure it would be the same on the rider's behalf. Mine is behaving oddly. Not sick, but still strange. I was hoping you and Yours might be able to cheer him up?
Besides, Saboth wanted His to stop thinking about that man. He didn't like that bluepair, and since His was not willing to socialize.. Saboth would force it on him. The brownpair would do. Mine can come off as being mean, but he won't do anything to hurt yours. I promise. A truth as far as the blue knew. His bonded normally tried to scare people off, not set out to actually hurt them. Do you think you can help? I just want mine to be normal again. My name is Saboth, by the way. The blue dipped his head low toward Dsoleth, a polite bow if anything. The same gesture was done to the brownrider. Saboth, ever the polite one. He offered a grayed ridge to the rider, a sign of trust.
F'lix came up to the scene, his pace slowing the coming to a complete stop–still a healthy distance away. His eyes were narrowed in their usual glaring fashion, this one suspicious. Why Saboth felt the need to call him here.. around other people.. confused him. His arms crossed high on his chest, chin tilted down in an action that would have sent his bangs down to cover the left side of his face. Except, oddly, now they were gone and the gesture lost it's original purpose.
"Is that blue lump bothering you two?" F'lix spoke softly, growling each word while casting his golden eyes out toward the river. He shifted his weight onto one foot, idly flicking a brush of hair off his short sleeve. The look shifted to the corner of his eyes to examine the brownrider. Not missing the fact the man currently held a blade. "Don't worry, as soon as I figure out what he wants, we'll leave."
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Post by rii on Sept 14, 2009 21:07:15 GMT -5
The two daggers belonging to M'ta dropped to the ground next to the brownrider. F'lix didn't pay much mind to the verbal responses. To the bluerider's ears, all the words sounded carefully guarded and lacking in any real substance. Evasive, even, in the way M'ta shrugged the matters aside. "Hope that's not a problem." Whatever. F'lix showed his full concern by.. continuing to walk away. He made sure to take a diagonal cut through the brush, putting tree trunks between himself and the blade-flinger. He had already given the brownrider one free cheap shot, wouldn't consciously give another.
His steps cracked over the splintered remains of trees, a path Saboth had been tearing in hopes of reaching him. A frown marred F'lix face as he noticed the color and stench of.. ichor. A mental scolding went out to the blue, and Saboth responded with one of his own. Not bothering with a show of grace, Saboth landed heavily, wings snapping shut as he came up to his bonded, rumbling deeply as he moved. His head craned down, nearly butting at F'lix, multi-faceted eyes whirling first with red and oranges of anger and worry, but soon shifting to greens and blues of his usual amusement.
F'lix kept a steady glare on the dragon, crossing his arms until, stubbornly, Saboth sat down and lifted his left fore-claw to reveal the source of ichor. A rip on the underside of his leg opened during his rampage on the trees. Nothing serious, but having his dragon hurt instead of himself, annoyed F'lix. If he chose to do something stupid, he didn't want others hurt in the process. Not for him, anyway. When it came to revenge, F'lix didn't take on such.. 'thoughtfulness'.
His dragon not here? No, but I don't care to wait.
F'lix frowned, the expression more of an annoyed scowl than anything remotely relating to sad. Surely the brownrider would be capable of taking care of himself.. if he decided to linger in the jungle. It didn't seem likely the unknown assailant would be returning so soon. Thusly, with this in mind, F'lix climb onto Saboth's back. The blue was more than ready to leave, pushing off the dirt with a powerful sweep of his wings before F'lix even had a proper grip.
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Post by rii on Sept 14, 2009 20:12:57 GMT -5
What an odd game they were playing.
Saboth watched from the water, his head appearing nothing more than an odd bump, maybe a rock, in the flows of the wide river. Even his eyes swirled with dancing shades of blue, amused by the sights he observed. The light that dappled down through the moving water splashed colors over his hide, further masking his blue-gray hide against the rocks below. The blue dragon enjoyed the water, very much so. Selenitas was a nice place, if only his bonded would open up to it..
Speaking of who, his mindmate was being odd. His was always strange, but he was being stranger than usual. Just down the river, by the small eddy they often idled around, His was.. cutting his hair? Such an odd mix of feeling came from his bonded, and Saboth had left to find a distraction. Which turned out to be swimming through the currents, herding fish to and fro along the banks. But, in one of his underwater sweeps, the brownpair on the shore drew the blue's attention. His use to play like that, not that game, but goof around, and sometimes he still did. Very rarely. Saboth missed it.
Eyes whirled with tinges of green, laughter, as Dsoleth picked up T'san. Though, as they neared the river, Saboth's cover became less effective. Not waiting to be discovered, Saboth moved forward, long slender next emerging noisily from the waters. Water continued to drip off edges as he brought his head close, hovering near T'san, cocking to one side, a green-blue eye peering curiously at the man from under a gray ridge. Save him, huh? Saboth rumbled deeply, his form of vocal laughter. He brought his wet muzzle close to T'san's dangling foot, but didn't touch the brown rider.
A soft croon was directed at Dsoleth, a very low bass-tone noise that didn't much match those of other dragons. Sorry, I did not mean to spy on you and Yours. Is yours normally flaily? Saboth casually turned his head to look downstream, eyes swirling with amusement before he addressed Dsoleth again. Would you help me with something?
—
The glassy surface of the calm eddy provided a decent reflection. The young bluerider, crouched low over heels, balanced on a small rock near the shoreline. His gaze was half-lidded, distant as he observed his doppelganger. Gray and blue in the hues of water, all behind a mask of long raven strands. Eyes of molten gold simmered amidst the darkness, bright and reflective even in the ghostly mirror. F'lix lifted a hand and slowly pushed away the bangs to expose his face.
He never thought he was hiding anything, but maybe he was still avoiding something. What, change? He had left Benden several months ago, with a desire for change. The scenery was different, but F'lix had yet to let go of old habits, old views. Any sort of real change would imply the break-up of the world as he has always known it, the loss of all that gave him an identity, the end of safety. Could people really change? No, he didn't think so. Hopeless. Why bother..
A flash of steel as a dagger came up and sliced easily through the long bangs. F'lix didn't stop with just a handful, he went on, letting black strands fall into the water as he severed all the lengths. Fully exposed. No longer hiding anything. F'lix examined his reflection. When turned to show the right, one could really see the feline beauty–like a small wildcat, all sharp angles, defined and elegant. But when turned to show the left, the three scars took all the attention, marring his features into something twisted, dark and, in his opinion, something ugly. But now he could hide them no longer; nor could he mask the dark purple bruising visible between the red slashing.
A prodding from Saboth made F'lix raise his gaze from the water to gaze upstream. He couldn't see anything, but Saboth was urging him to come. Why? Saboth didn't answer. Hn. F'lix looked back down at the make-shift mirror, ran his fingers through his hair–all short now. Another mental prodding. "Ugh, fine. I'm coming." With a growl the young bluerider rose to his feet and began to stalk up along the shoreline.
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Post by rii on Sept 14, 2009 18:21:52 GMT -5
The laughter made F'lix's mind tense, thicken that intangible metal barrier in preparation of being turned down. It was hard not to be paranoid, to assume the worst and expect F'ur to behave the part of an arrogant superior; retort with spits on how he didn't teach weaklings. F'lix couldn't find it in himself to be hopeful. If he anticipated the worst, then he wouldn't be disappointed when it happened. Which explained a bit why F'lix found himself surprised when people were even relatively kind toward him. Surprised, then instantly suspicious.
All that aside, F'lix had meant what he said. Even if the man refused to humor F'lix, the younger would still find a way to learn from him. Stubborn as he was. F'lix had yet to see anyone match what he saw in the Fortian; not so much the combative skill he demonstrated, but other, more subtle signs. No, he didn't know the extent of F'ur's skill, but.. in the end it didn't matter. F'lix already accepted and acknowledged that F'ur's skill far surpassed his own, that should be enough.
The.. critic.. was kept in the back of his mind. Watching F'ur suddenly dart up a tree currently drew more attention. A questioning eyebrow rose, but F'lix said nothing, merely observed the interesting display. The younger came to a halt, swaying until his weight rested over one foot, arms still low over his torso. He visible cringed at the sound of the branch cracking against the tree. A spear of pain shot through his head, leaving a slight frown to linger on his features. And what—
F'lix's arm snapped out, catching the faux-staff with his left hand. Automatically he shifted the grip more toward the middle to balance out the ends.. then switched it over to his right hand. His eyes fell to the long branch, scrutinizing every inch through a narrowed gaze. Was F'ur serious? Or was he trying to purposely be unappealing in hopes that F'lix would drop the subject? Slowly, obviously not use to such an item, F'lix twirled it once in a careful mimicry of F'ur's demonstration. It felt so awkward in his hands. F'lix preferred edged, to speak his moves with the spill of blood. This thing was.. blunt.. and.. completely different. Again he moved it, making a slight adjustment to make the motion more smooth. Then, feeling silly, he held it horizontal in both hands in front of himself.
Golden glare raised, blood still running down the side of his neck, ever defiant. "I'll learn."
F'lix would not back down. Nor would he be disrespectful and argue over the possible opportunity. Part of him, the part that refused to trust anyone, wondered if F'ur was playing a game. Maybe, maybe not. But, if these were F'ur's conditions, the younger would accept. A trainee did not get to pick and chose what he learned. Of course, as a slight wobble altered his stance, F'lix doubted he could learn anything right at the moment. If F'ur pressed, F'lix would do his best, but really he just wanted to stumbled back to his weyr and curl up under the covers.
Another stab of pain and something buzzed instead of his head. F'lix features betrayed the hidden inner cringing. But he could.. feel Saboth. Not hear him, but a fuzzy link re-formed between him and his worried blue. It would grow stronger as the day passed, but for now, just having Saboth back with him gave him a slight comfort–although, also made a constant pain throb behind his eyes. F'lix again looked down at the branch, unsure of what to do with it, then back up to F'ur. Was it a joke..?
Back at the Infirmary, Saboth had quickly taken to the air and was winging with haste toward the jungle..
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Post by rii on Sept 13, 2009 23:05:59 GMT -5
The smile he gave became more genuine when Dorava didn't immediately snap his head off for bothering her. The smith never claimed to understand women, at times they were all sorts of irrationally strange and frightening. Just smile and nod, take it with a grain of salt, and be sure to guard eyes and loins. Ah, but Dorava, Rulven felt positive he could get along just fine with her.
Or would have..
Rulven's expression faltered, replaced by puzzlement when a large figure came up and sat down on his thighs. An occurrence that Rulven honestly could say had never happened to him before. The smith was a hard person to overlook. Impossible even, when given, not only his height, but his build. To ignore him would take effort, to be done on purpose. Utterly baffled by this, Rulven lips parted to protest the treatment but he couldn't find the words. 'Excuse me you are sitting in my lap' didn't illustrate half of Rulven's annoyance. Who was this man? Was he trying to make a point? Was it some strange dominance thing?
And then the blunt rudeness. Rulven's jaw firmed and he had to fight down the urge to shove the stranger off his lap and over the side of the ledge. The hesitation came when he took in the sight of knots on the man's shoulder: Bronzerider, Wingleader. Was this how the higher-ups treated candidates–to be ignored and sat on like chairs? Yes being a candidate put him at the bottom of the totem pole, but this was a tad over excessive and a bit literal of that comparison. Rulven's hands curled into fists, but he did little in retaliation but lean back. He was more offended by the man's coldness towards Dorava than the lack of acknowledgment toward himself. She had a miscarriage, how could he stand to treat her this way? She must have lost it while sick, no wonder she was so distraught.
Of a sudden a hand was pawing at his chest, then face. Rulven's expression darkened. Didn't see you here. Uh-huh. Right. And Thread was really spindles of sugar that rained down from the heavens. Faranth, did people think Rulven was that stupid? He knew he wasn't the brightest fellow, but.. honestly. Rulven features remained unfriendly as the stranger finally removed himself. Too irritated, the smith didn't take any notice of the apology, opting to not even look at the man.
But, a single look at Dorava instantly softened his expression. No point in staying mad, or starting a fight, the bronzer was none of his concern, really. Rulven had come out on the ledge for her. Mumbling a quick pardon, to Dorava, Rulven rose to his feet, absently rubbing his thigh as it began to tingle from the blood loss. The smith walked away without another word.. only to return shortly, sit on the other side of Dorava, and hand her a tissue for her running nose. He wouldn't leave her alone with the bronzer if the man's original greeting was a fore-warning of his attitude. Rulven didn't like seeing others get hurt.. and he kept his hands politely by his sides for the sake of wanting to keep his candidacy, little more..
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Post by rii on Sept 13, 2009 20:46:37 GMT -5
The epidemic had taken a toll on the Weyr, but the number of ill were becoming less and less. That was good news to the smith, who was unable to hold and maintain a negative point of view. He knew people were still dying from the plague, but he argued, things were getting better. The fact that he had not been required to move a dead body from the infirmary for a couple days had to be a good sign. Right?
Rulven blankly looked around the room, wishing someone would agree with him. He sat, slouched forward with chin planted on upturned palms. A dense gloom hung in the air, making people's faces stretch long with eyes full of weariness. Rulven was doing his best to help, to counter the dark mood, if not with manual labor, than with a friendly smile, a comforting hand; but others could not seem to find anything to smile about. Mostly the smith found himself staying out of everyone's way–his large frame made a better door than window, they scolded.
Hazel eyes fell to his feet, which had started tapping with restlessness. A walk with some fresh air would do him good. Stretch out the muscles and maybe clear his mind, free it of the heaviness that had started to weight down on his thoughts. The smith rocked up onto his sandaled feet and paced about until his striding lead him out onto the ledging. His gaze raised to the open skies to watch a blue sail by on outstretched wings. A smile touched his features until his line of sight fell on the woman seated at the edge. Call it intuition, empathy, or a lucky guess–but without seeing her face, Rulven knew she was crying. Perhaps it was the casual raise and wipe of her hand across cheek that gave it away. But a brother doesn't live with five sisters without being able to see the signs and become.. sympathetic.
Soft maybe be what others may call his behavior, but Rulven could not walk away from a crying female without trying to offer his condolence.
Casually Rulven approached, letting his steps fall normally so as to not spook her (he'd never forgive himself if he managed to spook her into slipping off the ledge she so precariously leaned over.) Choosing the side opposite of the salamandyr, Rulven sat next to the woman–but with enough space not to crowd or make her uncomfortable. For a moment he sat there in silence, letting his hazel eyes trace over the scenery before he dared a direct look at her face (people could be oddly prickly when caught crying). He.. sort of recognized her. Didn't know here name, but seen her around the infirmary.. or rather, she had been one of the sick ones. Other than her falling ill, Rulven knew nothing more.
"Hey." His greeting came softly, and the smile he shared was mild, meant to be friendly without becoming over-bearing. "Good to see you well. How are you feeling..?" Maybe a silly question to ask, considering her wet cheeks, but if she wanted to scorn him for being pointedly oblivious, he would take it with a smile. Rulven only wanted to help.
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