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Post by rii on Sept 13, 2009 19:27:21 GMT -5
Really? It had been that easy? F'lix blinked a few times, feeling bewildered when he found himself standing upright on his own two feet. Not thrown, or dropped. All he had to do was ask? That alone surprised him enough that he didn't immediately distance himself from the Fortian. A mistake, he scolded himself, snapping to and narrowing golden eyes when the man again took his chin. How foolish of F'lix to think he would get off so easily–but what the shards was F'ur even talking about? Got what bad? The confusion showed, not quite in the eyes, but in the way the bluerider's brow furrowed with inner questioning.
"Older," He growled–reverting to hostility because he didn't understand the turn in conversation. He was.. twenty-two turns now? His birthday had been that month. Not much older, but he felt the stubborn need to answer. F'lix arched an eyebrow at the man, a single, rhetorical question clear: So? He didn't care about the age difference. It never even crossed his mind. Why did it matter? F'lix jaw tightened as he focused on F'ur's unprovoked set of chiding words.
Or.. they must have purpose. Had F'ur noticed the blush? Curses flew through F'lix head. No, no, and no! F'ur was getting the wrong idea. Yes, and no. Maybe. F'lix refused to dwell on it, because he knew the truth in the man's words. F'lix knew he had found himself drawn to the wrong person. Knew that F'ur would blindly shun him because of his Benden origins–the younger rider had stated this in their first meeting, had he not? About to restate that truth, F'lix paused, noticing F'ur drew even closer. F'lix should have turned away, pushed the other, but instead he stood his ground; firm belief that: No. F'ur wouldn't. He'd stop. He never followed through on his teasings. He wouldn't..
.. He did.
Not the first time F'ur had kissed him, no, but it was certainly different, since the older man was not delusional. Then to turn away, not even sparing a taunting remark or smile, could the man be anymore confusing? That simple brush of lips contridicted all the man's words. How was F'lix suppose to interpret that? Unpredictable. Misleading. Frustrating. F'lix loosely wrapped his arms around his slender waist, fingers brushing reassuringly against hilts as his expression once again became guarded. He turned and followed after F'ur. It would be excessively stupid of him to stubbornly lag behind just because he was irritated with the Fortian.
"I know there is nothing there." The words came out quiet, but firm. F'lix didn't need a reminder that the other looked down at him for being Benden. This he already knew. The younger glared as he carefully stalked, his pace just a tad slower and every few steps he paused, swaying slightly before he could recover his full balance then press forward. "I don't have any delusions about that. I don't expect you to like me, ever." Had to clear up that misunderstanding, right? "But I didn't follow you because of anything like that. I came to watch you.. to maybe learn something. You have all this skill and.. can you really blame me? Really? And yes, I know, you want nothing to do with me, but I still want to learn.. from you."
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Post by rii on Sept 12, 2009 23:49:22 GMT -5
Quintrell remained on his back, still clutching his nose and was that–he pulled his hands away to see the red substance–yes it was, blood. He flailed his bloodied hands at Anz. Didn't the other see why he was fleeing!? "She's going to eat that idiot up there! I don't want to be around when she get's hungry for seconds!" He clamped a palm back over his nose, the other waving dismissively at the other candidate. Frantic to chill in record time. "Yeah yeah, I'll be fine. You?"
He still had to sneak away. So, while the other candidate pondered over his health, Quintrell flipped over onto hands and knees and prepared to get out in a quick animal-like dash. But he never got the chance. Movement from the corner of his eyes caught his attention, one of those.. things.. was coming near him. Quintrell eyes widened and he froze. Maybe if he didn't move.. the creature wouldn't see him.. and go by without mauling him to pieces. Noo! Nooo! Quintrell mentally shoo'd the brown as it kept coming, in a very distinct straight line, toward him. Away with you beast!
Then, as the brown nudged his hand, Quintrell couldn't help but slowly melt down into a sitting position. "Are you serious?" He puzzled, petting the orange-red snout, not showing the slightest bit of fear as he leaned forward, planting his own forehead against the brown's head. He peered suspiciously at the creature's eyes, inquiringly. What did it want from him? He didn't want to get stuck at the Weyr. Being bonded to some draconic beast meant he had to stay put, didn't it? And and.. Quintrell couldn't remember a thing from the Wher lessons. He had been trying to snooze through them. What did the brown want?
As for blood, well, Quintrell's hands were already bloodied, along with is face and lips from his collision with Anzalorin. When a rough tongue began to clean his hands, though, Quintrell realized with dismay that yes, he had to stay at the Weyr. He frowned pointedly at the creature, sniffing as if in sorrow–only to have the brown tackled him back to the ground and start licking the blood off his face.
"Nooo! It's eating meeee! Getoff Ge'off!" He pushed at Quintresk, grin wide on his face. The brown eventually did let him up, completely innocent of it's actions. Quintrell rolled his eyes, watching as the hatchling sat somberly at his side, long tail curling around them both. Well.. it wasn't so.. bad. But the brown seemed to be watching him, waiting for.. what. Quintrell idly scratched the back of his head before looking around for help–finding only Anzalorin nearby. "Uh.. am I.. suppose to go somewhere?"
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Post by rii on Sept 12, 2009 21:32:13 GMT -5
Bored. Bored.
Dark brown eyes flicked to and fro in search of entertainment. Quintrell was a restless creature, and a couple weeks at the Weyr and he had explored nearly every crook and cranny with knowledge of the place worthy of a full-bred weyrbrat. He had met some of them, played their games, fun kids. But now, with a slight bounce in his steps, Quintrell needed to find something to do before he fell over and died of boredom. He felt sure that if he tried to hold still he'd just explode on the spot. Quintrell could not hold still.
In his wanderings, Quintrell found his feet leading him back into the candidate barracks. Old news there. He had checked everyone's trunks ten times over. No one had anything of interest. Not like him, he who glittered with numerous rings, bracelets and necklaces. One day the people of the Weyr might recognize that he was wearing their stuff–of which he had stolen. A grin stretched his features, enhancing his boyish qualities. What better place to hide something than in plain sight? Quintrell's style was loud, in both dressing and thieving. He didn't do subtlety, at least not full-fledged. He was a sneaky bastard, be sure, and be warned.
Oh, another living being, sitting there so glumly on the bed. Bored too?
Quintrell broke into a sprint, planting a foot on the bottom bunk to propel him up and onto the top one. The thief then draped himself over the edging, dangling in front of Mihkal with a wide grin. Frantically his arms flailed in some sort of... wave of greeting. "Greeeeetings my fellow Candidate!" He eyed the other quickly. "Why the long face? Home-sick are ya? Or is this your home? Does that mean you are sick of home?"
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Post by rii on Sept 12, 2009 19:48:35 GMT -5
"DON'T EAT ME!"
Quintrell bolted upright from his bottom bunk, not tall enough to hit his head on the top boards as he gazed wide-eyed at the room around him. Pillow was clutched to his chest. His dream had been strange. To say the least, he had been sneaking around the Weyr when he got tangled in some webbing. What kind of Weyr lets a giant spider spin a web in one of holes in the cliffside? Those were meant for dragons not spiders. But none the less he found himself caught, and a giant spider crawling down at him, jaws clicking when suddenly it started howling this horrible—
—Oh wait. Quintrell tilted his head to the side, hearing the Wher's howl. The giant spider was real? What was that in his head? Spider eggs? And where was everyone going, leaving him all alone in the bunks? Whining nosily to himself, Quintrell climbed out of his bed, pillow still in arm, and trailed after the other candidates. "Where we going?" He pried, but no one gave him an answer, leaving Quintrell to sniff indigently to himself. Going to slay the big spider? Er, apparently not.
Quintrell stopped just inside the area that allowed them all to see the pale queen and her prized clutch. The thief mumbled irritably to himself. He had wanted to steal one of those and pawn it off on a lord holder. But if they hatched, then he would have to wait for another clutch. Inconvenient was that. Dressed in only a thin pair of sleeping pants, Quintrell stalked grumpily in after the others, pillow clutched to his chest. He ran fingers through his tousled hair when he froze–eyes glued to the idiot riding the queen.
Inner flail. Someone was going to die tonight. Quintrell paled and began edging back towards the door, his movements slow, but eyes glued to the sight of Dmitri near the queen. Dead bodies were not something he wanted to see. Blood mingling with sand. No no. He had seen plenty of that in Bitra. Best thing to do there was pretend you saw nothing. Fleeing time. Yes, Quintrell spun around quickly to make a made dash to safety, smacking head first into the next candidate that had arrived. The thief fell away, falling to the ground and curling up while holding his nose. "Oww.. What are you doing just standing there!? Ow.."
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Post by rii on Sept 12, 2009 18:40:10 GMT -5
F'lix brow arched, eyes narrowed questioningly. Why had F'ur not tossed him to the ground? The Fortian must have a motive in mind. It would reveal itself, given time, and F'lix would be ready for it. But for now, he relaxed a bit to avoid a muscle cramp. Still on edge with intention of reacting in a self-preservation fashion. Of course, he noted to himself, the closer he got to F'ur, the more those survival instincts got thrown askew. And being carried by the Foritan certainly counted as too close; danger, danger. But, aside from the matter of pride, F'lix was vaguely aware that F'ur.. didn't like to be touched? At least not by him. Every time he had done it in the past, the man responded by.. putting him in a restraint, or lashing out in some way. So, it became an unspoken rule in F'lix's head. Do not touch.
The younger gave a humored snort, soft and a slight smile twisting on his lips for the briefest of moments. Naturally the man painted himself out to be some misunderstood rogue of sorts, charming but aloof–and F'lix got to be the twisted monstrosity. Masochist, yes, somewhat. But it wasn't about the pain. It revolved around control, of giving someone control and trusting them not to hurt you. F'lix didn't give that.. privilege.. to just anyone. Only one. Oh, he had likely chosen poorly (if the throbbing in his head was any sign), but in the end, he had made a choice. Rectifying it would not be an easy task.
The younger rolled his eyes, shaking his head at it all. "You've got it all figured out, have you. And oh, I don't know–" He carefully flicked aside a feather from F'ur's shoulder. "–probably something dreadfully boring. Beware." Did he prefer meeting F'ur under such strange conditions? No. But realistically, he doubted (very highly) that anything normal would ever transpire between them. What would they do, have a pleasant conversation over klah? The very idea of it made F'lix face twist with distaste. Depends on the conversation he supposed.
Headache, right, injured. F'lix brought up a hand up and touched the side of his bruising features, then to the wetness sliding down from inside his ear. He knew right away the extend of his injury and gave a dismissing sigh to it. The pain had at least receded a bit. "I'm not fragile." He shot a glare at the man's face before quickly looking away again. "What can be said? You are one of the more interesting things around here." He spoke in such a way it sounded as if he was quoting a certain someone..
When F'ur jumped, F'lix reacted by pulling himself closer–righting himself to help with balance instead of being a lump of dead weight. Both arms curled low around F'ur's neck, bringing his own face up next to the older man's. Too close. He could feel the heat off the other, and as his eyes moved from the jungle to F'ur.. he lost his train of thought. Golden eyes noticeably moved over the other's face, then upon realize where his thoughts nearly dipped, F'lix pointedly looked aside, glaring and tilting his own head to bring raven strands down to cloak the sides of his face, or rather, hide the faint pink tinge at his cheekbones. Being close to F'ur was bad. Very bad. Stupid bodily reactions. Need space.
He didn't hear a thing F'ur said until the last question. He latched onto it, speaking quietly. "Yes, twice actually." Maybe that was why he was so weird? Perhaps. F'lix didn't know, didn't care, just wanted his train of thought down a different set of tracks. "First when I was nine. I think? Guy was hasseling my mom. I stuck a roasting fork in his leg for it." He faint smirk quirked on his lips. "Least to say he didn't appreciate that." Babbling, yes, just keep talking. Surely that would get rid of the damn flushing. He wasn't embarrassed, he had no reason to be, really. Damn Fortian. Carrying him like such. If there had been teasing involved F'lix wouldn't have responded. Hn. "Second time, somewhere around fifteen turns.. someone wouldn't take no for an answer. I guess it just never healed properly. It's a fracture, splits in the ear canal, down the jaw.. nothing too bad.. won't be hearing out that side for a couple weeks..
"Can I be put down now?"
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Post by rii on Sept 12, 2009 13:36:26 GMT -5
Darkness. So thick, pressing him down.. down.. Almost comforting, but it didn't fully embrace him like sleep. He was aware. The pain, yes, he could feel it–throbbing inside his head. Each sharp stab blossoming in the darkness in hues of scarlet. Dripping, flowing, bleeding.. hm, yes, he was bleeding. With a roll of his tongue he could taste the coppery substance inside his mouth. Pain, concentrate on the pain. Something familiar. His mind curled around the sensation. It was real, unlike the sinking void engulfing him. Concentrate. Control it. He allowed the pain to course through him, building with each beat of his heart. Sharp now, splitting his mind in half–
–F'lix let out a soft moan, a faint whine in response to the pain. He shifted, pulling himself more tightly against F'ur, turning his own face to press into the side of the Fortian's neck. Brows knitted together, waiting the pain to go away. But, as much as he wanted to drift back down into the darkness, a stubborn part of himself urged himself to wake. It nagged him to find the source of the pain. To sleep before treating a wound could mean death. Had to get up. He wasn't ready to surrender. Not to that.
The younger bluerider pressed his forehead more closely to the warmth of F'ur's neck and registered he could smell the man's musk.. it wasn't too bad, but it still.. smelled. A mixture of ocean, sweat and.. F'lix wasn't really sure, but his eyes did finally slit open. The world around him blurred in and out before focusing in on.. F'ur's jawline. The man was carrying him–heartrate doubled–why? The memory came at once, quickly and causing a fresh wave a pain to radiate from his left temple; a strong reminder of what had transpired. The Fortian had struck him. Surprising, yet.. not.
The next series of reactions were all instinctual. Expression became guarded, as usual when around F'ur, and F'lix's entire body steeled, coiled in anticipation of.. something. He didn't know–thrown? dropped? casual disposal of his once unconscious body? a snack to be left out for the felines? The glare hardened which each paranoid-driven suspicion. He jerked away from the other, head snapping up, hands lifting away so only his arms held onto the man, the fabric of shirts between them. He was not suppose to touch F'ur. Bad. Very bad. Eyes flickered with emotions then–with a soft, faintly growling sigh–the expression dropped and his gaze quickly fled to the nearby jungle. Although his body still remained rigid in the man's arms; waiting for the violent reaction that, without a doubt in his mind, would happen.
"One of these days," His voice was back to the soft, faintly growling tone of normalcy.. at least for him. "I'm going to find myself.. in a normal situation with you." Sarcasm? Yes, if one could detect it underneath the growl and glare, which currently directed themselves side-long at F'ur. "Mark my words." Ooh, scary.
His body tensed again, ready to be thrown on the ground. He wanted down, but hoping to be set down nicely was expecting far too much.
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Post by rii on Sept 11, 2009 22:45:24 GMT -5
The clamping of tiny claws into his wrist made Quintrell want to flail ever so much. Fling the little critter away while yelling 'get it off! get it off!'. If he hadn't already been attuned to the presence of such tiny lizards (they seemed attracted to his rings and earrings) the thief may have been worried at the constant frilling at him. Vibrant colors usually indicated poisonous; and the frililng, wasn't that suppose to work as intimidation? Be warned or I shall bite you! Quintrell wrinkled his nose at Showoff. If the bronze bit him, it was going to get a quick fling over the side of the platform.
A large bit was taken out of the second pie. "Ish thaph sho?" He arched an eyebrow at the curious critter now seated on his shoulder. A better spot, in his opinion. Now more clawing of his hands, Quintrell didn't like to get all scuff and scratched up without having a good reason. Like stumbling in the path of a pretty face in hopes of earning that sympathetic 'Oh are you alright!? You poor dear!' Yes, Quintrell smiled with the daydream, eyes growing distant as the play continued on in his mind's eye. She would apologize profusely then insist that she treat his trifle scratch. Yes, yes, he'd deny, 'it's just a scratch' but go anyway. She'd would take him to her room to get a bandage where he'd proceed to charm the panties off her.
Or, something like that.
Quintrell took another bite of his pie and began to kick his legs again. This time he swallowed before trying to speak. Kind enough to take a small piece off the pie and hand it to the Showoff King. "That is an impressive title. You must be the best catcher of shinies to have earned it." Could the little mandyrs be thieves? Their tiny demeanor certainly could help with getting around undetected, but what really could they steal–thimbels? coins? rings? Hmm. Quintrell lifted his free hand and purposely wiggled his fingers, catching the light against the numerous rings; thirteen on just that one hand. Some plain metallic bands while others adorned colorful stones or elaborate designs. Not a single one properly bought. Could always use another.
The rest of the pie was tossed out to fall down to the river. Quintrell quickly hopped up to his feet, glancing at his shoulder to make sure his little thieving friend had not been dislodged, then he set himself out on a path toward the bridging and stairs that would take him toward the weyrfolk apartments. "You show me. Yes. You find shinies, best shinies. I'll watch Showoff. Learn that he is king. He is best."
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Post by rii on Sept 11, 2009 13:27:21 GMT -5
F'lix didn't exactly flinch at the tone directed at him, but his eyes did narrow and quickly snap aside to avoid the Fortian's gaze. Muscles tensed on their own accord, but he was tired and he didn't want to argue, didn't want to talk anymore. No one would really mind if F'ur left a Bendenite out on the beach, of this F'lix felt certain. Maybe waggled a scolding finger at the Fortian, but little more. For his part, F'lix wouldn't care if F'ur left him. He expected that kind of treatment. It just confused him more that F'ur didn't leave. F'lix wouldn't tattle on him. If the man wanted to be alone so badly, disgusted by the mere sight of him, then he should just go. F'lix, however, didn't mention these thoughts, merely replied in a dead-panned tone of sarcasm. "That might be uncomfortable."
Upon noticing F'ur's proximity, F'lix began to lean away to avoid touching the man, but his actions were too late, too slow and he found himself being lifted. Out of necessity for balance his arms wrapped back around F'ur, unintentionally smearing blood and sand on the other's shirt, over the shoulder and down the adjacent scapula. His right arm hooked around F'ur's neck, anchoring himself enough to lean away. F'lix did not like being carried–he was a proud creature, and a bit of himself was starting to stir in the back of his darkened mind. The younger seemed to swell, tensing, preparing to strike out–and then it all faded in one exhaled snort of disapproval. Fine. F'lix glared before pulling himself in close, wrapping arms more tightly in a rough hug as he set his chin on the top of F'ur's frame, pointedly placing his face in a spot where he didn't have to look at the other. He'd allow it, for now, just because he felt absolutely drained of energy.
Not forgiven. F'lix tightly shut his eyes, right fingers curling into a fist as his unstable mind rationalized this from F'ur's words. It made sense to the younger, to why he apologized. Obviously he had broken something metaphorical, stepped out of line, and F'lix had been.. molded to accept blame. Bad things happened because he brought it on himself. "For making you hit me," he muttered, thinking that sounded close enough to the reason. F'lix didn't fully know himself. It was true enough. The intention of the kick had been to make F'ur respond.. in a way F'lix better understood: Violence. "I didn't think you'd hit me that hard." the soft admittance followed, directed down at F'ur's shoulder. Meekly he added, "I'll dodge next time." Apparently F'ur expected him to not get hurt. How odd.
Frowning with his own confusion, although his own was not quite as troubling as F'urs, F'lix turned his head to lay the side of his face against the warmth. "You're wearing a shirt." Really, he already knew this, but it didn't really matter until that moment. F'ur was usually in a state of undress, afterall. Regardless, the other was.. comfortable. Especially with F'lix being exhausted, it was perfect enough that he let himself relax, letting out few pointless 'mhms' to make the other believe he was still awake. But within a couple minutes of the swaying motion accompanied with walking, the younger was out cold–as he should have been from the start.
Saboth was seething, in his own fashion, on the infirmary ledge. His body had gone rigid, alarmingly so that he appeared more like a statue than a living dragon. Was that bluepair playing some sort of cruel joke? What were they doing with his bonded? Were they really out by the ocean? Or did they expect Saboth to fly out there and find nothing? He didn't trust them. Not one bit. Why did His always get himself into such trouble? And what did Inocenth mean it wasn't safe to fly. Flying would be better! Anything where His was with him and not with them was better. But the fact remained that he couldn't detect where he bonded was, so he would have to wait. Stew with his distrust, but be patient and wait all the same.
And, knowing His would be angry with him for it but doing it anyway, Saboth told Ciceroth his version of the situation. Just in case, if something did happen to his bonded, the blue wanted someone to be responsible for it. Punished, even. He didn't know what game they all were playing, but he would much appreciate if it didn't involve His.
[ ooc: Not ending thread. He'll be normal next post, yay? >>; ]
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 23:27:11 GMT -5
Voice in his head. Quintrell froze mid-bite, brown eyes wide as he slowly scanned for possible sources. He still had to get use to that particular little quirk of the Weyr: voices in his head. The first time he had heard one Trel thought he had finally gone crazy. Not because of the fact of actually hearing a voice (because he talked to himself all the time, plenty of voices there), but that the voice didn't make a lick of sense to him. Babbling nonsensical things, and Quintrell thought he was bad at rambling nonsense. Later he learned it had not been a dragon he heard, because dragons never spoke back to him anyway. Apparently there were tiny lizards about that chatted up a storm if given the chance, and broadcast to everyone in the vicinity. So, guessing by the disjointed speech, and the distinct creepy-crawly feeling zipping up his spine, Trel made an overly-educated guess of exactly what draconic being spoke so boldly in his head.
"I beg your pardon," Quintrell cocked his head and grinned broadly at the bronze settling on his wrist. Kind of a cute little critter with it's vibrant red piping. He suddenly wanted to keep it in a jar. The pie was shifted into his free hand, moving the occupied wrist to eye level. "I did not get caught, little mister. They have NoOo idea they are missing a couple of pies right now. And when they do count them, all evidence will be gone." He gave a sagely nod and patted his stomach for emphasis. "You want one though, huh?"
At least it said please. Quintrell broke off a small piece of the pie and handed it politely to the perching mandyr. The thief had no qualms over sharing his plunders. It wasn't really his anyway. It was the act of taking that he enjoyed the most. For all he cared about the pies, they could be tossed out into river to feed the fish. "You are going to show me better? Better what?"
It was his turn to give a mistrusting peer at the lizard, although his was just a play. Really, what did he have to worry about from a tiny rambling lizard. In two big bites Quintrell finished off the first pie, then held up the second, waggling it in the air like a bargaining tool. "I don't need anymore food, so what is better, hm?"
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 21:55:29 GMT -5
Ooh, he was late. Drat. Quintrell peeked out the doorway to where the candidates sat outside around the bronze Wher. Ugly thing, shiney though, nearly glowing under the dim lighting. Luster could add quality to the most unattractive things. Least to say, Quintrell did not like whers. Big nasty watchwhers, always able to catch him sneaking around. They really took out all the fun of.. everything at night. The only reason Quintrell came was because they expected him to take interest in these silly hatchings. Must not give them a chance to think any different..
Sticking out his tongue, Quintrell ducked low and slowly crawled up on all fours, coming up from behind the class with his pillow held tightly in his teeth. Honestly, did they have to hold the lesson at night–oh wait. Yes, yes they did. Hopefully no one would notice his arrival and be too distracted with the lesson.
Inching ever closer..
Quintrell began to take in stock of those presents. He wanted to find the tallest, thickest bunch to hide behind and go back to sleep. Dark eyes fell on the dog. Canine. Distracted. That seemed rather silly for someone to bring their pet. What if the Wher wanted to eat the thing? Now on his belly, pillow below him, wrapped in both arms, Quintrell wormed up behind Ariya and her mutt. He reached out a hand and scratched it's flank. "Arf arf," His tone was soft, but purposely high pitched and cooing at the canine. "Who's a good little wher snackie? That's you! That's yooou!"
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 21:29:14 GMT -5
Nautic: Green Anzalorin: Brown Janik: Blue Nitsa: Green Ariya: Green Yoalla: Gold Eikane: Bronze No idea. Don't kill me people. +2 marks for Nautic
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 14:06:45 GMT -5
F'lix eyes narrowed on the sands, scolding the tiny grains with a weak glare. "Not revolting," he mumbled childishly to himself, the words barely audible to his own ears. His vision wavered, darkening around the edges and F'lix felt his mind falling. Hands came forward as a brace, fingers curled through the sands to anchor himself. "What is the goal then..?" Confusing Fortian. If he didn't strike to hurt, then why had he done it. Was F'lix suppose to have dodged it? Would of been nice to know that earlier. "And what do you mean by if.. " F'ur had told him to go before, so he really did mean he couldn't stand the sight of him. "Oh." The younger bluerider continued on in a one-sided conversation. "I understand now. You were confusing before, I thought you were just.. well, don't worry. I'll leave you alone."
His thoughts drifted aside when he noticed F'ur had moved away, far enough that he became a heavily blurred image barely recognized in the darkening scenery. Golden eyes hazed, trying to watch the moving figure.. graceful.. floating over the water just beyond.. the flash of color from the fans suddenly made him tense. So vibrant in the darkness, like a glint of steel, subtle until caught in the moonlight. His pupils shrank to pin points. Why..
Saboth stirred from his sunning ledge, confused by Inocenth's words. He took to the air and glided over to land on the infirmary ledge. But, after a short search of those present, the first touches of panic whirled in his eyes in shades of bright orange. He couldn't sense his rider at all, where was he, and how badly had Inocenth's hurt him? Saboth didn't trust that man, nor the dragon. A very cold, yet calm question went out to the dark blue. Where is Mine?
F'lix was fighting against the images in his head. Pupils dilating then contracting at an alarming rate. The fans, appearing so red, vibrant–red hair. And the sky behind the color, a pale blue–those cold eyes. No no no. By the time F'ur approached, F'lix breathes were slow and deep; trying to keep himself calm. His gaze latched onto F'ur, and the younger came forward on knees to bring the man into better focus. He came close, but never touching. Hands rose out of the sand, one coated with the tan grains.. now darkened to a deep brown as it mingled with the blood. They reached for F'ur's face, fingertips hovering a breath away from cheekbones, simply lingering in the warmth next to skin. F'lix drew in close, nearly brushing the other's nose with his, golden eyes still rapidly flickering with emotions until they could focus fully on the Fortian. His open gaze, mild fascination mingling with fear.. relief.. shifted back and forth between left and right; intensely searching F'ur's gaze for a truth. Not blue. Not blue.
They were nice eyes, but.. this was a bad man too, right? F'lix had trusted him not to really hurt him. Kill yes, but that was an end, hurting meant he had to live with the pain, remember it. He thought F'ur had enough control.. he had before. Punished, but not to the point of harming, despite how wild F'lix had gotten. That intangible line had been found, and F'lix had crossed it, nothing could erase it. Now it would nothing but pain, of hate. No more illusion. Why did he always end up pushing people too far? A touch of hurt cut through his eyes, glistening against his will. Left fingers curled slightly, tracing down in a ghostly caress of the cheek. Very softly he whispered, pleaded. "Forgive me."
He blinked rapidly at the question directed at him. Slowly his hands began to fall, his body drawing back. "No." An honest answer, for a few reasons. The main one being he didn't feel like he had enough strength to stand back up. Saboth was going to be angry. Saboth.. couldn't hear his blue. His blue, always there, never judging him. Always loving him. "You can go.. but could you maybe ask Inocenth to ask Saboth to come get me? I can't.. seem to talk to him.. tell him I'll wait here for him. It's dark, I don't want to walk.. dangerous.. going to.. rest before he comes.. "
[ ooc: blergh, will get him back to normal soon >>;; -kicks broken f'lix- ]
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 10:58:08 GMT -5
What a boring bunkmate. Quintrell wrinkled his nose as he carefully rifled through the half of the trunk that did not belong to him. Not for the first time, but he had been wondering if the other candidate had acquired anything new. A disappointment. Dark eyes skimmed the other trunks sitting conveniently at the foot of the bunks. He had gone through every single one of them the first day he had arrived. All he got for his trouble were a few pieces of memorabilia, and he was actually surprised some of them had yet to notice the missing items.
Footsteps. Quintrell grabbed a shirt from inside his shared trunk and casually folded it.. and put it away as the stranger entered the barracks. He flashed a smile, carefully closed the lid and headed out the door–waggling his fingers at the other boy in a peculiar wave that made his rings glint energetically. People found him suspicious, yes, but only in the sense that they had an inkling that he was.. completely crazy–hey, he had a sandwich. Not fair. Quintrell's own stomach rumbled in envy. Must be time for lunch—
—Sprinting out of the barracks, Quintrell twisted around a corner vaulted over the railing without bothering to look below. He already knew what was below. Whoever had built Selenitas had been a child at heart, or a madman (maybe even madwoman) because there were so many fun nooks, crannies, rising platforms and rope bridges. It was a giant jungle gym. He fell to the dragon landing platform below, easing off his landing into a tuck and roll to avoid harming himself. A rise of dirt marked his landing, ending with him sitting in a cloud of dust. A goofy, lopsided grin on his face he directed at a young green dragon curiously regarding him.
"I need to work on my landing. I'm not quite as graceful as yourself–" He hopped back onto his feet and began brushing away the dirt. If he wasn't suppose to be talking to someone's dragon, Quintrell didn't know. They never talked back, so he tended to babble at them. He suddenly flapped his arms in a mimicry of wings. "Although, I shouldn't be trying to fly. Having no wings tends to set me up for failure, don't you think?" He shot the green a wink before–his stomach rumbled a reminder–Right, lunch. Quintrell set off again, with a parting wave over his shoulder at the dragon, from standstill into a sprint in the blink of an eye. Out over the rope bridge to the Main Hall. Nearly to his destination of the kitchens, not the dining hall. No excitement in eating free food.
Up the stairs and–pretty face! Quintrell tripped over his back foot, stumbling and ending up in a graceless heap at the feet of a female green rider. "Ow." He sat back on his heels, nursing a sore shoulder. Warm, dark brown eyes gazed up the profile of the young woman, sparing her an apologetic smile when.. she gave him scolding glare before stepping around him. Quintrell snorted, dropping his act and giving the girl a nasty look as she walked away from him. "I'm okay. Thanks for asking." Stuck-up trollop. Huff. Probably only interested in actual dragon riders. Quintrell stuck his tongue out after her retreating back. Tch, he had learned enough about the Weyr to know green riders didn't really get to be picky so obviously that one was just a prude—
—He smelled pies. The kitchens must be making them for dinner later. What luck. With a smile back on his face, Quintrell jumped back onto his feet, flew up the stairs and came to a skidding halt in the kitchens. Roguish grin in place, rings flashing mischievously, Quintrell close in on the working staff. An older woman noticed him right away, wooden spoon ready and when his hand descended toward the berries meant for pie stuffing, she rightly smacked it. "Don't even think it."
Quintrell gasped in disbelief, but quickly snatched a handful anyway–then skimmed away with the old crone at his heels. He dodged around the other staff members, weaving, ducking, snitching with his free hand while they were distracted by the fistful of berries. "Hi." Duck, spin around, step. Another drudge. "Lovely day, isn't it?" Dodge the crone, slip under the arm of a younger woman rolling dough. He flashed her a broad smile. "Very nice." Now, the pocket sew in the inside of his front shirt heavy with goods, time to make his escape. Quintrell flailed, catching his foot on the corner of a table and making a heavy landing on hands and knees leaving squished berries on the floor.
"Noo, not the berries.." A solid thwack caught him on top of his head and Quintrell quickly fled away from the harpy woman and her damn spoon. She didn't give chase though, since in her eyes, he had only taken the berries which now scattered across the kitchen floor. Mm, Quintrell licked the red stains on his fingers. The south had such lovely variety of sweet fruits. He found a relatively secluded spot on the walkway and plopped down, legs dangling over the edge of the platform. Time to see the goods. Quintrell reached inside of his shirt and pulled out–only two pastry pies? Bah. It would do. Quintrell began in on the first one while watching the river below; absently kicking feet through the empty air, fingers drumming along his stolen lunch, rings glinting with the motions, drawing attention because.. yes, Quintrell was quite smug with his petty theft.
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 1:24:32 GMT -5
Watching M'ta struggle with the knife was a humorous scene, and the more the brownrider failed, the more clear the amused smile became on F'lix's lips. To keep from chuckling, he lightly bit down on the inside of his lip. Though a snort of laughter temporarily snuck through when M'ta technique landed him on the ground for all his trouble. The smile masked, F'lix rose an elegant eyebrow at the fallen youth–eyes momentarily glancing over the cut tracing over M'ta's torso. "You alright?"
The bluerider pushed away from the tree and circled around the brownrider. The piece of bloodied garment was picked up and examined. F'lix glanced in the direction the man had went. He had no desire to track the stranger. If it had been someone at the Weyr, their identity would become known given time, but if indeed was someone connected to the disappearances, F'lix opted to first report the incident to Ka'rys instead of rushing head-long into the jungle into a possible trap. The bluerider did have a sense of self-preservation. It only seemed to vanish when around that damn Fortian. And–hearing M'ta's question–F'lix thoughts continued to circle around that man. His lips twisted into a distinct frown. "You could say that." He shook his head, a part of him refusing to consider that possibility. "Doesn't really fit though.."
Being from Benden did not make him friends. Being unfriendly didn't help either. Yet the entire thing seemed very surreal. Hn. F'lix let the piece of cloth fall from his fingers. "Are you sure we were meant to fight?" His tone was soft, but a hint of tease laid under the words. "Perhaps they just.. missed. Where do you get it in your head to attack someone you know nothing about?"
He raised his hand, thumb and index finger held out displaying the phrase of this close down to the brownrider. M'ta had been that close to being nonexistent. Yes, F'lix acknowledge that if M'ta wanted to kill him a thrown dagger from afar would have done the job quick enough, but up close the odds were stacked in the bluerider's favor. Especially when the damn idiot didn't tell him he wasn't serious about his attack. If F'lix had not listen to that moment of doubt, which was usually ignored, he would of had one dead brownrider on his hands. With his luck, it would turn out to be everyone's favorite little brownrider too.. The world just liked to laugh at him like that.
Another cautious gaze was swiveled around them. "We should get back to the Weyr." Who knew if the man would return, alone or with others.. F'lix didn't want to stick around to find out. "You need to get that cleaned." He gave the brownrider a faint, scolding glare before turning and heading for the river. "I'm going to report this to Ka'rys."
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Post by rii on Sept 10, 2009 0:58:48 GMT -5
Name: Quintrell Age: 19 Gender: Male Sexual Orientation: Hetero Rank: Wherhandler / Thief
Physical Appearance: A narrowly built individual that at times appears to be nothing more than legs and arms, yet not to the point of being gangly because he only reaches a height of 5'5 with a potential to grow a couple more inches. There is just enough muscle on his lightly tanned frame to suggest an active lifestyle, boyish good looks–complete with permanently red cheeks and dimples when he flashes one of his roguish grins. The stark contrast between his short platinum blonde hair and dark brown eyes add spunk to this youth. Along with several ear piercings on both ears, and the various rings he typically adorns, the spirited Quintrell tends to be eye catching.
Personality: Friendly, to the point of becoming misleading. Rarely is there a time when Quintrell is not smiling–and not because he is happy, but usually because he has stolen someone's favored piece of jewelry or thought of a good prank to pull. He doesn't wish ill on people, but honestly, he just doesn't care to get to know people beyond a superficial level. Attachments are not good, they hold him back, and Quintrell is always on the move. He suffers from a short attention span and keeping him cooped up in one place is just asking for trouble. Extremely animated, bizarre, talkative–tends to come off as immature and a class-A klutz. Making a scene is not below him, and when trouble comes his way, Quintrell is quick to flee the scene of the crime. (Even if it is just a simple pie theft). He tends to be touchy-feely with people, even complete strangers–a playful flirt but never serious.
There is a hidden grace to Quintrell, and a level of subterfuge that surprises most people. The jovial youth is likely to rob a person blind while engaging them in a pleasant conversation of lies. He may fall and stumble, but it is merely an elaborate show. There is no hidden beast or darkness within Quintrell, the flashy display he puts on for show it not far from his true thrill-seeking self.
History: Born at Fort Hold to a family of.. traveling merchants. Thieves or gypsies would a better term, as his family roamed around the northern continent, stealing from one area then selling at the next. Quintrell began to help steal at the age of five; mostly with his older sister to get food. As he gained in turns it became an elaborate game, see what he could steal, and how much. The more challenging, the better. He got caught a few times, but always proved to be quite the escape artist so he never really suffered the consequences of his actions.
While traveling through a smaller town in Benden territory, being 13 turns old, Quintrell was seized while out prowling the market. Men that chained him up along with others to be taken to Bitra to be sold. No horrible fate met him, however, because as soon as he was bought, Quintrell slipped free during the transaction. He spent the next two turns in the forsaken hell-hole because it was challenging (and he didn't have his family to travel with). He ran with some of the bottom of society 'packs' for safety, but for the most part Quintrell was a loner. A friendly one, but a lone wolf none the less.
Finally his restlessness caught up with him, Quintrell began to travel on his own instead of waiting for the slim chance of his family finding him. So, after hearing much of the conflict between Benden and Selenitas (The conflict between Fort and Benden was nothing new, very typical in fact, but Selenitas, he hadn't been there yet), Quintrell stole away on a ship headed south with self-proclamations of becoming a pirate–a really bad idea. The Sea was a terrible place. Wet, boring landscape, and not to mention the constant rocking back and forth. So, after vowing to never sail again (ignoring that he was just a stow-away, and that it was his first time on a real ship and he got horribly sea sick) Quintrell ended up in Southern Hold.
Over the next two turns Quintrell journeyed around the southern continent using his youth to the full advantage. Sympathy from kind-hearted men and women who would take him in, feed him, and then never see him again as he whisked away once bored. Along his travels he picked up stories about Selenitas Weyr. Apparently he had avoided the drama of a Benden attack on the Weyr and also an attempted theft of a queen's eggs. But the news of egg theft got him thinking.. And so, Quintrell traveled with one of the tithes from the nearby Hold to Selenitas Weyr–Dragons were scary, so he couldn't just sneak into the place on his own. They might eat him by mistake. He came and expressed his great interest in place! And they seem to buy it. Ha!
Yes.. yes.. become a rider.. sure.. or steal eggs to sell to the nearby holds. Maybe the Northern Weyrs would be interested. Yes. Anything to make a quick profit. Unfortunately the thief's grand scheme took a sharp detour when he ended up impressing to a brown Wher during a hatching. Seems Quintrell will end up sticking around a bit longer than planned..
It's been a on and off relationship with Selenitas weyr since Quintresk's adulthood. After losing Eikask's run, Quintrell hasn't met resistance from his brown to return to his wandering. They always return, a fortnight at a time, to check on the others, but once a thief - always a thief. Quintrell needs to leave the weyr to have his fun in the towns near and far in order to not become stir crazy. He'd run off for months when Fort attacked; and when wasteland invaded his fellow handlers were forced to restrain him to keep him from running off..
Wher
Paradox Brown Name: Quintresk Color: Brown (#8A2D00) Appearance: Big, Quintresk is. In sheer length, he’ll match (if not surpass) many bronzes, not including his tail – with tail included, he’ll surpass even more bronzes, for his is incredibly long, almost whip-like, flexible and bordering on prehensile, making his rear end just as dangerous as his front for anyone that he feels deserves some small punishment. It’s also very good for winding around His and pulling him along wherever Quintresk wants to go – good luck to His trying to escape. While Quintresk is long, however, he isn’t muscular. A very slender creature, Quintresk is, the length of his body only emphasizing such. His body slides smoothly from the tip of his muzzle to his tail; he sports proportions almost akin to a dragon’s, with a long, slightly arched neck and a small, refined head. While his muzzle is more blunt than is strictly elegant, and his neck ridges are extremely prominent, he still is quite the fine-looking creature. That his wings are smaller than usual will not detract from this brown’s appearance in the least – though they really aren’t too elegant, being wide and quite short.
While Quintresk is extremely graceful on the ground, each step calculated and measured to produce a very quick, efficient, smooth pace that looks more like gliding than actually walking. Most whers will be hard-pressed to keep up with Quintresk, let alone with the level of elegance that he manages; Quintresk has a decidedly unique gait. Each movement makes hide ripple over the wiry muscling under his coat; the appearance might have been quite a predatory, frightening one had something about Quintresk make it look just like natural gliding. If any draconic creature could dance, it would be Quintresk. However, due to the inferior size of Quintresk’s wings in comparison to the others of his species, flying will be completely impossible, and even actual gliding an awkward struggle best left untried should Quintresk want to keep a dignified, graceful appearance up.
In terms of color, Quintresk is nothing short of glamorous. A very dark, rich brown color is tinged with red, the latter shade deeper and more obvious along his highlights and fading to a brown that borderlines pure black on his undersides and the membrane of his wings. Meanwhile, his limbs, tail, and his nose brighten to a shade of brown that’s almost orange-red. Overlaying his entire body are faint stripes in the same orange-red tint that’s seen at the very tip of every appendage, lightening the overall color of Quintresk’s body when seen from afar. Up close, the striping is faintly visible, but it will prove impossible to trace each stripe to its end, for they wind around his body, fading in and out of sight, making irregular squiggles on occasion and twirling around other stripes – along with being faint enough to almost blend entirely into his body. All in all, Quintresk is definitely a uniquely-colored creature, a blend of dark and light shades of brown.
Personality— Quintresk is definitely a complex creature; there’s no doubting that he’s quite intelligent and observant, quick to spot details and small flickers of mood that others will undoubtedly overlook. And Quintresk thrives on details; he loves to analyze everything he possibly can and draw conclusions based on that. Very rarely will he rely on intuition, since he’s safer on solid fact, the tangible, instead of the emotions, but if he must, he will – but not before he has exhausted every other possible source. Mysteries will never exist around this brown, for they’ll be resolved almost before they emerge, from those that are actually significant to those that mean very little to anybody’s life and are simply used as ‘practice’ of sorts to this brown. Quintresk is also a very practical creature. Sentimental tidbits, he is not adverse to listening to, but (quiet though he undoubtedly is) this brown is not a sympathetic listener – though he is in no way emotionless, he has no use for emotions save for a pragmatic analysis of them – hardly what one wants ones’ deepest secrets and fears confided to.
Even so, Quintresk could be an undeniably charismatic creature if he wished to be. Intelligent, confident without being arrogant, and reliable, Quintresk could be a leader. He could potentially lead the Night Watch if he wanted to; he could do almost anything he wanted. However, Quintresk doesn’t want to, it seems. Though he’s aware that he’s intelligent and in no way does he doubt his capabilities, Quintresk is more of an eleventh-hour Samaritan – content to take the backseat and let the bronzes and queens, be they wher or dragon, lead without questioning them except to himself, unless something happens and spirals so out of control that he feels that he needs to intervene – at which point he will, and with grace and modesty enough to allow the “real” leaders to take the credit for his own genius. To say Quintresk is lazy, however, would be a lie – he’s not; indeed, he can be quite the energetic creature if he wishes to be, which includes winding around the entire Weyr in pursuit of what he wants to know, or trying to draw a smile out of His. Dignified though Quintresk presents himself usually – dignified, patient, somber – he has quite the playful side when it comes to His. Never should His be unhappy, after all, and Quintresk will often indulge in bouts of childishness, playfulness, that usually would be quite odd. For His only.
If everyone has a guilty pleasure, Quintresk’s are females. Though this brown will almost never flirt and will rarely demonstrate physical affection, Quintresk does like females – Chasing them, that is. Be it gold or green (though he’ll never go after anything but a wher; he knows his own limitations), Quintresk is fond of them. And he will Chase them, unless His specifically requests that he does not. Even when after females, Quintresk will never make an excessive amount of noise, being practically noiseless throughout the entire affair – and afterwards, he will never stay long to lavish attention on any female. Very direct, he can be, when he wants to be; this brown is less than interested in acquiring a permanent mate. His preferring female company is, too, apparent in the fact that he prefers His to be around females as opposed to males. Though he’ll never vocally protest – he’d never ask His to do anything that His does not want to do unless it’s absolutely necessary, after all – it’s clear in that he’s much more welcoming around human females, often going as far as to nudge them if His is particularly fond of them, while male humans will be simply watched.
Scorpion Bronze
Name: Age: Adult Color: Bronze #A8A154 Gender: Male Based Off Of: K'sel
Physical Description: This male is average-sized for a bronze salamandyr, with a body shape that some might consider odd. He’s not fat - far from. He is, however, wider than the average salamandyr, though not unattractively so; he simply looks more flat than most of his kind do. His wings are average-sized, which emphasizes the width of his body and will probably be a detriment to him in flight as he will no doubt be heavier than most of his kind are by proxy; this little male will be lucky to glide, let alone fly in truth. His legs are slightly shorter than most salamandyr’s, which gives the impression of him continuously crouching down low to the ground - he’s simply a short salamandyr in terms of ‘height.’ His tail, on the other hand, is long - even for a salamandyr’s. Unnaturally spindly, it won’t be uncommon for this little male to curl his tail around any and everything he finds, even if he doesn’t need it to act as a bracer for him to avoid falling off of something. He has a wide, attractive frill with jagged enough edges to make him look more than a little masculine, easily compensating for the width of his body; he’s not an ugly creature to look at, but he is a little on the strange side.
Bronze. Bronze, that's the only word that comes to mind when looking at this salamandyr. This little guy is definitely an elegant mossy-bronze. His entire body seems sleek and streamlined, as if colored for perfection. He has the typical sheen of bronze salamandyrs, seeming to glow when caught by sunlight, and there’s a definite edge to his color that makes him unique: his body is highlighted in rich, almost golden hues that stand out staggeringly. Complimenting that is spots - well and true spots, a feature almost never seen in the larger salamandyrs. Symmetrical and patterned down his back in a bronze so light as to be described as true gold, the spots are tiny and numerous - almost like freckles. The same markings creep up his neck, with a single marking over his left eye that resembles a clover leaf. His frill is a pure, unabridged shade identical to the majority of his hide, leaving no question to whether or not he’s handsomely colored: none would mistake him for anything but a bronze.
Personality: Most salamandyrs are unpleasant, and this little one is not exactly an exception. ‘Cynical’ would be a good word to describe him, even from the moment of his hatching: he’s always one to expect the worst in every situation but especially of others, and he’s not above sarcasm, something that he understands very, very well. It’s not unusual for this bronze to launch with absolutely snippy comments, usually unprompted, though not about His; actually, to His, he’s relatively pleasant (well, he doesn’t insult his mindmate, at least). He’s arrogant, though, as is expected from a bronze – he’s totally convinced of his own superiority and has no problem (frequently) stating his opinion, pretty much regardless of who he’s talking to. (Unfortunately, this means he’ll probably be telling queens exactly what he thinks of them if they offend him but hey – at least someone’s got the guts to stand up to them, right?) Despite this tendency to thumb his nose at any kind of authority figures, he’ll usually do as he’s told (within reason)… though he’ll complain incessantly the entire time, often making a big, embarrassing fuss in the process. How dare anyone ask him to do anything? What a massive inconvenience!
His arrogance is actually a thin veil for his insecurity; this salamandyr doesn’t quite have the same amount of conceit that most of his color possesses. He doubts himself a lot, especially his decisions, and he worries that others find him less attractive than those of his color – he’s certainly not the most gorgeous salamandyr to ever hatch. Since he’s not the prettiest, nor is he the best in any way, he compensates by showing off and bossing others around – basically being unpleasant. Only His will have the vaguest inkling that he’s not as conceited as he likes to pretend to be, and even then it would be wisest not to bring it up – this salamandyr will deny any kind of ill feelings toward himself, after all. He’s the best, don’t you see, he knows it! (Never mind that he actually believes otherwise – people aren’t supposed to know that…)
Even though he’s mostly sarcastic and unpleasant to be around, he’s not without a sense of humor (however ironic) and he is prone to making somewhat inappropriate but nevertheless amusing remarks, especially to His. He’s a veritable devil-on-the-shoulder to his chosen mindmate and because he never ventures very far, he’s a constant source of entertainment; this comical side is displayed only for his chosen and the few people he’s deigned to trust… which will always remain a small number, since he’s too insecure to put faith in very many others. People are constantly disappointing. Having no expectations means he can never be let down, right?
[ x ] By checking this box, I am saying that I have read the Rules and History, and will follow them.
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