so we don't need the headlines [darya]

[Avu]

“Why is it that I’m always hungry when you are, but you never care when I am?”

I’m hungrier than you ever are, Sparath answered plaintively, as if he was not fully capable of flying himself over to the feeding pens and picking out his own meal rather than flitting like an overgrown weyrling through the clouds on a roundabout path towards exactly nowhere at all. Plus you need to be fatter, you know, you get twiggier as you go, shouldn’t that be the other way ’round? I thought humans got fatter as they went, what are you thinking, Minething?—where are you going?

“I am going,” Ce’thian answered peevishly, managing to startle a passing Drudge in the process as he stalked past her, carrying a tray heaped with food, “To make Darya suffer through this food with me, because I am not ‘twiggy,’ Sparath, you asshole, and I don’t need to be fat.”

Oh, /Azrath’s/, was, of course, all Sparath got from the retort; in the air, the bronze immediately flipped himself into a loop to reverse directions and beelined for a familiar ‘ledge; whether or not the blue wanted him there was irrelevant as he sung out his arrival with a flirtatious croon. Aaaazrath, /darling/, it has been /so/ long, and you /still/ haven’t started glowing yet, when /are/ you planning on Rising for me? The ledge to Azrath’s left was empty, and so Sparath helped himself to it, landing with a coy little flutter to his wings before he promptly sprawled out over it. Must I ply you with herdbeasts and love first?

“Brat.” Ce’thian paused outside of Darya’s door for a moment, juggling the tray of food awkwardly until he managed to get it adjusted properly to not tip over immediately, and knocked peremptorily before he let himself in. (Boundaries? Propriety? What? Surely Sparath was herald enough to his arrival.) Kicking the door closed behind him with his foot, Ce’thian edged into the weyr blindly, brow furrowed in concentration as he squinted at the precariously balanced bowls and plates. “Darya, Sparath’s trying to make me fat and if you don’t help me with this, it’s going to end up on the floor in a second, I—”

And abruptly, from the depths of a pocket somewhere, Aether’s gravelly, measured voice, Stupid. Got too much food.

“Yes. Yes, thank you, that is very helpful.”