Remembering I'm pretending.. [Dmitri]

[rii]

Sploosh.

Three.
"It was Four."
Three.
"Learn to count."
Four. Five. Six.
"Now we're talkin'."

Quintrell eased back toward the bank of the sluggish stream, crouched low over his heels and plucked through the various stones until he found one to his liking. His dark wher was back near the trees, lounge sphinx-like on top of a large rock. Without the aid of nightvision he was nothing more than a pair of dark blue eyes hovering in the shadow above the pale gray of stone. Said eyes were slitted as the wher watched his rider with a detached sort of interest. It was well after their patrol and as the short hours before morning crept near, the brown pair found a quiet place to wind down before eventually returning to the main area of the weyr. His did enjoy peaceful moments.. but it foolish to think it would ever be peace and quiet.

"How 'bout a bet?" The blond thief flipped the smooth rock before quickly snatching it out of the air. He grinned, peeking a look over his shoulder. The brown tail curled along the bottom of the stone, his head canted to the side in silent questioning. "The rewards, right.. if I win I getta skip out on this whole patrol business the next few days. And if you win, I promise not ta make a fuss 'bout havin'a go with you, or the others, for the next sevenday."

Quintresk made a light whuff as he folded one claw over the other. Spinning on heel, Quintrell continued to grin while rolling the stone over his knuckles this time. "I bet you.. I can hit 'im from 'ere. Right between thee eyes." Quintresk's tail stopped moving, pausing for that heart beat before he tapped it against the side of his perch. He had not realize his had been listening in when he had been talking with Dmisk. Silly wher, he was always listening. Just because he didn't comment right then didn't mean he had not heard them. Can't keep much from him.

"Whadda ya think, harper?" Quintrell shifted his gaze away from the near-black wher to somewhere just beyond in the darkness of the trees. Couldn't blame him, Quintresk that was, for trying not to clue him in on the approach of the blue pair – or mentioning that Dmisk had asked to know where they were. Why, only Faranth knew. Not like Quintrell had shown any interest or responsibility toward the Night Watch business (and that really was the only reason he assumed he was being sought out).

[Requiem]

Dmisk, who should never have been able to conceal himself so easily with coloring such as he possessed, stepped out of the foliage with hardly a sound, the large blue regarding Quintrell placidly. Apparently a stone between the eyes of His was of piddling concern. The male circled toward Quintresk, taking up a position not far away to continue their interrupted discussion of a moment before.

The harper was...similarly...unmoved by such a suggestion. His burnt hand slid into a pocket as was his habit of late, Dmitri strode through the trees. "I've little doubt you can hit me with it. Though I'd bet you get me in the eye rather than between them. Oops? Sorry there, Dmitri. You win at least?" He snorted mildly. The bluehandler didn't stop in his foreward progress until he was a couple handfuls of paces from Quintrell, apparently not worried about any deadly - eye-destroying - rock throwing.

Come about the Night Watch, yes, of course. It was more or less all Dmisk thought about the majority of the time, and as his somewhat unwilling puppet, it had become the major concern of Dmitri's life as well. Which he supposed wasn't terrible since it essentially was their purpose here anyway, but...well. He'd rather have just been following orders, personally. Simply because the headaches involved with this particular bunch wasn't exactly something he looked forward to.

That wasn't to say the Night Watch was his only reason for finding Quintrell, though the other reason was likely to go unspoken. He didn't really want to leave the brownhandler with the impression he had their last meeting. Yes, part of him was still very twitchy about the reason he was scarred and now pretending to be left-handed, and being prodded about it by Quintrell...rankled. Didn't really matter with everyone else. They'd been there too, after all. That wasn't to say he was angry with the other wherhandler, though. If anything, he was annoyed with himself for not showing similar sense. Particularly considering his presence had likely just increased the danger to everyone else. Namely, his friends.

Again, unlikely he'd say anything to that effect. Quintrell wasn't a friend. But since Dmisk and Quintresk were tight, he figured it behooved him not to be a complete ass to the other handler.

"So you are aware that the Watch has been restarted," Dmitri commented teasingly. Oh, he knew this was so. Dmisk informed him that Quintresk's went with the brown on their patrolling. Didn't mean he wouldn't poke at Quintrell about it, though. The ever-missing brownhandler. "While the brains plot our demise...I thought you might have a few ideas better than 'we should have uniforms' or 'let's start a howling code,' " he commented dryly, a brow arching mildly.

Dmisk half-curled around a tree-trunk, tailtip flicking idly. Had their striped friend shown Quintresk any more of the paths? the blue questioned. He was, rather unfortunately, more consumed with taking an active interest in the wher eggs when not out doing his own patrols, and had not seen the wild wher in a couple nights. Golds were not a problem, no, but it made life easier if they were content with motherhood and feeling appreciated enough not to meddle in affairs of which they knew nothing. Apart from that, those eggs held the Watch's future, something Dmisk was all too painfully aware of. He stretched his muscles lazily.

[rii]

Quintrell didn't bother to mask the devilish grin that stretched across his features. The stone rolling over his knuckles came to a pause, slipping over the last digit to be held firmly between his thumb and index finger. No doubt he could hit Dmitri somewhere – if he threw it at all. Not his intention at all, and as Dmitri neared, Quintrell curled his arm back.. turned on heel and flung the flat stone out across the water. One, two, three.. and then they got too small and close together, followed with a tell-tale plop of the sinking stone.

Having his back to the scarred harper hid the thoughtful play of emotions across the thief's face that was devoid of the grin he had been displaying. It didn't sound right. Dmitri wanted his opinion? What a crock of shit. To actively seek him out though, took motive, and Quintrell wasn't exactly sure what the harper expected to find. The thief was far from cooperative. Responsibility didn't suit him. Commitment and anything that even remotely resembled an anchor in his life he avoided with passion.

Snorting, Quintrell glanced briefly over his shoulder before shifting back to the bank to pick out a new stone. "Uniforms. Yeah, that'll help – light a fire under our arses with that self-righteous crap. My brothas and sistas," Dramatically one hand came to the top of his chest while the other stretched out as if hailing a group. His tone raising a couple of octaves in the mock frilly speech. "Let these tunics symbolize our union together and our plight to stand as fodder against those that seek to destroy us all. At least we can be comforted with the knowledge that we will look good." The hands fell away, returning to the stones. "Let me guess, Nautic's idea. Anz n'him woulda been jumpin' with glee over that."

A pang in his chest. Anz was gone – see, it was irritating enough to feel that small stab of emotional pain over a guy that had just been his roommate.. and his silly playful wher and the overly shy sprite. Quintrell gritted his teeth, irritated with himself. "Whaddya want Dmitri? Ye really wanna know what I think?" Likely not. Still, Quintrell clucked his tongue before standing upright. "Ain't none of them any good. Jus' sacks of meat just waitin' for the slaughter. Sure, maybe you can teach the whers to fight – they're wild, right, gotta have it in there somewhere like instinct. Know what the problem is though? The handlers. Only one of them might think ta carry a blade and bury it in the privates of some attacker, and that's Yoalla. Piden's a creep, Nautic's a fruit. Eikane is a goldie and Tresk says that Eikask and Eikane won't be involved in anything because spitting out eggs is more important. Roi looks about to fall over from age, and then there is you. Ye think yer mouth will save you from some guy that's just going to knock you down as he moves on to his goal?"

Was the harper annoyed enough to leave yet?

"Fine, ye wanna idea. Look at it like this," His hand cut away from his body as he spoke, again a rock between his fingers. "Lookit the dragons. Their lessons are half wing drills, prepping them to take part in the safety of the weyr. Now lookit our lessons, answer silly questions about why whers go blind in sunlight and walk around in blindfolds. Shards, the teacher bailed out on us and it's a wonder why the whers before and now seem so useless to everyone else? Tresk says to teach the new whers. Ain't nothin' to teach or take from the old. Night watch mighta been an idea before, but yer still gonna be startin' from scratch."

Quintresk observed His for a moment, then lowered his head over paws to regard Dmisk. No, no recent word from their wild brother. The brown shared a smell he had picked up in the forest earlier – a faded scent of a running wild green. That would likely explain their brother's absence for a few days. But, the last time he had gone with the striped brown they had discovered that the felines were moving. The seasons may not be as dramatic in the south, but the coming of rain still signaled a change in a continuous cycle.

[Requiem]

Dmitri merely nodded, not bothering to hide the amused half-smile at Quintrell's dramatization. "And here I thought it was worthless," he mused, making a show of seriously considering selling that piece of drivel. Who knew? It might actually come to that with this bunch. Faranth knew mob mentality was a powerful little entity. "The truth comes out. Nautic is actually an evil totalitarian mastermind brainwashing us all; he's already got the goldhandler in his pocket." The comments were punctuated by a soft snort.

Anz? Oh, right, right, the other bluehandler. Dmitri hadn't even talked to the kid once, as far as he could recall. Silly little clutchbrother to Dmisk, Anzask...that's all he remembered, really. Dmitri dismissed those thoughts, as they weren't important. Sure, he could feel, but not for people he didn't know. Call him cold. He didn't care.

A brow rose slowly as Quintrell launched into an attack that sounded - well, about as genuine as anything he'd ever gotten out of the brownhandler. Waiting for the spiel to end with more patience than most would have expected from him, Dmitri let a slow, wry smile touch his lips. "The Night Watch is a myth...it never really existed to begin with. We're well aware - Dmisk and I if no one else - that this isn't going to simply be adopting a formula that got forgotten somewhere along the way." He rubbed lightly at his arm, drifting to one side of Quintrell instead of hovering behind him, still keeping his distance. "But the rest of them don't need to know that. They'll never get up the gumption at all."

Dmitri frowned at the water. "This is why I needed to talk to you. Of all of them, you're the only one who sees things...the way they actually are. Maybe Yoalla does. I don't know. I can't think of everything - do everything - by myself. Quintresk and Dmisk can handle the wher side of things but that still leaves the sacks of meat." He shifted slightly, fingers of his left hand brushing over the spot at his hip where he used to carry his pipes...a belt knife hung there now. "None of us are cut out for this. I've got a northern rider teaching me how to use more than my mouth. Piden could be useful if I can play to his ego...he at least knows hit and run tactics from High Reaches. Not much, but it's something. Roivao's not as old as he seems. He's dragonless...possible to use him, too. At the very least, working out a new curriculum and telling him to do it shouldn't be terribly hard. And Roisk is an asset, bothersome domestic honorable streak aside. It's easy to see all the problems and give up. Just leave us again when things get dicey. But you can't be sure that you could next time."

His eyes flicked toward Quintrell. "Next time we might not have warning. Giving up on them, on us, won't benefit anyone."

Not that he really expected much from the other male. At best, participation up until the point he didn't feel like it anymore. That didn't stop Dmitri from trying though. He was completely out of his depth, and knew it. Pampered little harper boy. So he'd seen a few things, been involved in a few things, wasn't completely naive. He'd still been taken care of all his life. Dmitri needed someone who thought like Quintrell. Give him a political mindfield, and he could rub his nose through the mud until it was blacker than pitch as good as any of them. Probably better. He had his reasons for not playing that game here - chief among them being he didn't have to - but that didn't make it any less his arena. Or make this any more his niche than working the nets on a deep sea rig.

"If you don't want the responsibility, I get it. But I could use another mind here. One that doesn't buy into all the duty, for glory stuff."

Dmisk wasn't paying any obvious attention to the handlers at all, which didn't really say much one way or the other. In fact, his eyes were closed. Vision wasn't the greatest asset to a wher, anyway. He considered the information. They would have to note where the felines went, so as to avoid them. Most wouldn't attack a wher...most. But a pride might if desperate. It wasn't as if they'd need to guard the regions already guarded by felines, after all. Did Quintresk remember their dam? he questioned.

[rii]

Quintrell threw a half glance in the direction of Dmitri but otherwise refused to look at the harper. He began to play with the assortment of rings on his fingers instead. Twisting them about and quietly counting them in a restless behavior. The thief didn't often stand around and talk with people, and if there was to be talking it was usually to tease, or to flirt his way into a girl's furs. Discussing business – business he wanted no part of – made him want to turn on heel and stroll off into the trees. Didn't care if his wher felt the need to see to this Night Watch stuff (even though he acknowledged that it would be a good idea to get it up and going. The weyr's defenses weren't strong in his opinion).

Still, the quiet approach Dmitri was using only irked the thief. He had only a few handful of interactions with the taller hanlder and each time the attitude had been different. Oh he never labeled the harper as being stupid – knew the guy had a sharp mind. So the new, quiet somewhat docile approach only struck Quintrell as the harper's attempt to try and find a way to best handle him. Quintrell didn't like being handled, or attempts at manipulation.

"No one can learn from someone that just don't have it in 'em. Did we ever listen to Roi?" His dark eyes turned to Dmitri, brow lifting with the rhetorical question. "He can't teach what he doesn't know. He can only teach 'bout the bond between handler n' wher. You'll hafta find someone else, or step up to it, to teach things that will relate to the Night Watch. Not everyone is gonna fit into it. Those that don't have the will are only gonna be a burden, a body to bury."

The harpers next words made Quintrell's eyes roll. Didn't Dmitri get it? Quintrell didn't care. There was never any us or we. There had only been himself and his common sense not to be a sitting duck. He didn't leave anyone, or give up on them – because he never had faith in any of them from the start, and none of them had ever once relied on him. An absolute drifter, there and gone with little more than a stir of dust to mark his short presence. He flashed Dmitri a rather vicious smile with the thoughts, not bothering to explain himself to someone that was trying to make him feel guilty. Survival didn't recognize remorse.

"A'right harper. If ye need a tongue that isn't worried about earnin' favor, why not. Seems Imma be stuck 'ere for a bit. Might even relieve some boredom."

Quintresk remained silent for a long moment as his mind drifted through the various scents that lingered in his memory. He could recall the taste of his chosen handler's blood – the brown wher ventured into his bonded's mind. Knowing that even tho he was engaged in conversation, a light prodding question about the wild queen that had clutched them would get answered. Images of the harper jumping on the gold were surfaced – but little more. No, the brown finally replied, why did Dmisk ask?

[Requiem]

Dmitri watched Quintrell's fidgeting, feeling the tug of the muscles on the left side of his face, a twitch of a half-smile he didn't bother to conceal. One. Two. Three. His. And yes, he'd known they'd been missing, knew who'd taken them, too. He'd realized it after he'd returned to his room before the dawning. Which was pretty impressive, when it came right down to it, that it had taken him that long to notice at all. While he was certainly no thief, he usually was at least moderately aware of his surroundings. Part of him wanted to ask the brownhandler when those rings had changed hands, but now wasn't really the time for that. The fidgeting told him something else, though; his words were having an effect. At this point, it didn't matter if it was for good or ill. Quintrell played at not caring about anything, but the fidgeting, the salamandyr's run and the small outburst not long ago said otherwise.

It was impossible for Dmitri not to scheme, not to note reactions, words, tones...and evaluate them. His training. There was a natural ability for it, one that had been taken and carefully honed. Which was perhaps why he rejected that training for the most part. Even if he didn't use his observations much - consciously - certainly not as he had brushing elbows with the elite of Fort Hold while playing at boyish innocence, he couldn't stop the mental cataloguing and analysis.

Nor could he help thinking that, eventually, Quintrell would realize that Dmitri's openly talking about using people, playing to certain traits - was an admission. And a baring of himself. He was letting Quintrell in. Partly, yes, because Quintrell seemed to be able to smell manipulation like a hound. But also because he genuinely did need the other, needed the survival mentality, the experience that only survivors had. He could pull the strings he needed to make it work, but the most difficult of them would not dance unless Dmitri proved he wasn't doing the same to Quintrell. Which he only knew how to do by being honest about how he thought, and what he did. No, he wasn't sure it would work. There was a big risk in that.

Though most people would have taken Quintrell's comments as simple complaints, hardly worth considering, Dmitri drummed his fingers along his thigh. Yes, yes, these were true enough. He flicked a glance at Quintrell. Him? Teach? Wouldn't work. Too young. No matter what face he put on that, half the wherlings were likely to be older than he was, which would make it impossible. Age had certain handicaps. He could play people individually, but he couldn't make them listen to him as a group. "Well...the burden of teaching shouldn't just be his. Not a single one of us knows everything...I'll think on it." A pause. "I've toyed with the idea of specialization. Different functions. It's...kind of weak, with numbers like we have now. And will have after this clutch. But it should be beneficial as there are more clutches. And it'll get the pairs that can't hack it in more dangerous roles out of the way."

Now that was quite the wicked grin there. Dmitri responded with a raised eyebrow and a snort. It took a lot to unnerve him; he had a lot of practice with Elysia, if nothing else. That woman was deadly as they came. "It's more your mind than your tongue I'm interested in," he responded shamelessly. "I'm not used to thinking in terms of escape routes and failsafes. You've already mentioned several things I hadn't thought of."

The long pause was telling, and as such, Dmisk was not terribly surprised when Quintresk responded in the negative. Easily plucking the memories from the mind of His - without permission, and likely...ah, no, the glance and the twitch of his mouth showed his musicmaker had noticed after all - he shared with Quintresk the events of the hatching, as well as his own recollections. Trying to find a suitable handler. The frustration at the wrong minds. His command to their mother and her obedience. It was a longshot, but he was curious if she would still...humor...him, should they cross paths again. A wild gold could be of a good deal of use, no?

[rii]

A mind, yes, but the mind was tied to a tongue that didn't bother to filter. Quintrell didn't care if he hurt feelings with his assessment of their skills. If the had no use, he would tell them that. Not bother with the extreme effort it took to dance around the truth – fluff it up so it was more appealing to the person being rejected. Roi was useless, in his not so humble opinion. Yet they couldn't just get rid of the failing teacher, could they. No, likely Dmitri was going to manipulate things around and make Roi like how things were being arranged.

Quintrell didn't like it. Too personal for his tastes. He had his moments in the past, mainly during his turns spent in Birta, of working with others and appointing people where their skills were put to the best of use. Yet, in the end, they had all gotten their share of the goods. They knew their part, knew the situation, and even the less useful ones knew they weren't much help but made decent enough lookouts. A blunt approached appealed to him more than Dmitri's song and dance.

The raised brow and snort drew a further widening smile from Quintrell. Harper had quite the ego on him, didn't he. Acting tough and unconcerned – against something he didn't even have a clue. Idiot. No wonder the ideas of escape routes and failsafes didn't cross the harper's mind. The mentioning of sectioning the function of the wher pairs floated in one ear and out the other. Quintrell didn't care, and wasn't curious to know the details. "And what's yer plan to deal with the goldie. Dun think she'll appreciate your pullin' all these strings without her say-so. Fancies herself a queen, a gal who thinks she's always right – " The last word held a touch of bitterness. Eikask's run still in Quintrell's memory even if he had not been in control of himself. Quintresk's dismissal of his golden sister because of her blind arrogance was a pinned note in the thief's mind. " – and not just a brood mother. Can't imajun she'll take well to being set aside."

Quintresk silently regarded his blue brother for a long moment, toying around with the prospect of find the wild dam and the extent of use she could be to them. Since Dmisk was busy catering to their current gold and her eggs, Quintresk commented he would speak with their wild brethren to start tracking her down. If she were to allow her clutch to impress to humans again, that would add to their numbers more quickly – and Quintresk's not so hidden thought of approval to whers with more wild blood in their veins came as a passive afterthought. There also was the aspect of her being able to command their wild brothers and sisters to a further extent.. even if they were doing find on their own. What, Quintresk finally questions with curiosity, did Dmisk have in mind?