Post by Avu on Nov 9, 2008 10:26:26 GMT -5
He was still in Archive Duty, and white Tr'esn could have coped with that, what he couldn't cope with was that someone had decided that having a dragon in the Records Room wasn't allowed and, thusly, Oquith was loitering in their barracks, and while Tr'esn was moderately sure Aberath wouldn't eat her, he still had a slight nervousness niggling in the back of his mind as he tried to dust off the records to the best of his ability - not very well, considering that someone had decided the meaning of "organized" was to merely stuff the records back in their shelves as befitted, perhaps, trash. The Greenweyrling wrinkled his nose as he tugged them straight, stifling the overwhelming desire to sneeze or choke on the dust that swelled around him as he dusted.
Had it been simply worry for Oquith's well-being tugging at him, Tr'esn thought he could manage reasonably well - but no. It wasn't just that; it was, too, that he felt ridiculous. His sandals, overlarge and awkward, tripped him every so often, though if he concentrated on his feet, he could strike a moderately quick pace without faceplanting. Barely. And besides, the boy, whose gait was so confident without the sandals - even if he wasn't - didn't find concentrating on his feet very entertaining. In the crowded Records Room, tripping would prove fatal indeed for any hope of a good day. Thus, the Greenweyrling moved at about the same pace as a crippled wherry. Actually, he thought dryly, that was being generous. A crippled wherry could have easily outstripped him if the desire so struck it. How're /you/? he queried of Oquith, the question almost accusing. I'm lonely. I made you a shiny for when you come back, the green responded. Can we practice that image-sharing? Like we did in our lesson. Like tag, only not tag?
"What?" Tr'esn asked aloud of the duster. Pleeaaase, Tr'esnmine? I like it. It's fun. The boy paled as he realized he'd spoken aloud, cringing internally as he slunk - or rather, shuffled - deeper into the records. Sure, sure... Closing his eyes, the Greenweyrling felt around for Oquith, and the image came with startling clarity - terrifying clarity. Oquith was mid-leap towards the dragon couch, the feeling of moving sending Tr'esn reeling as he jerked away from Oquith. Qui! he reproved weakly, one hand pinning the duster against the wall, his back pressed against the same wall, the other hand groping for a grasp on the shelf as he swayed, pushed himself into a standing position, shaking his head in bewilderment, thick curls falling into his eyes as embarrassment washed over him. No more. We can do more later. Tr'esnmine, why? What's wrong? We were doing well. Didn't you get the image? Too well. Tr'esn clicked his tongue audibly as he refocused on his task.
It took only a few more minutes before the Greenweyrling had tired of his task - again, his mind wandering again. The morning's run with the other Weyrlings had been exhausting as always, and Tr'esn had grown to dread such runs - mostly because he was constantly stumbling. He unconsciously rubbed one arm as he flicked dust off of another volume. Those few seconds when he actually caught his breath, found his footing - that was sheer joy. They never lasted long, though, and overall, Tr'esn would be perfectly happy to sleep through the runs. Lucky Qui; she never had to run...just fly, when the time came. He tugged out one crumpled record, smoothing out the cover and inserting it back into the shelf absently, twisted to move on -
And tripped. Tr'esn's eyes widened in shock as he instinctively dropped the duster, his hands shooting out to stop his fall, the Greenweyrling twisting to one side to avoid contact with the nearest shelf - "Owowowowowowow." The mutter was a low hiss of escaped breath as Tr'esn caught his breath, nursing his ribs as he stood, swayed, glaring venemously at the culprits - his feet. Shardit...stooping slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the duster, straightening as he dropped his gaze, face burning with humiliation as his head dropped, curls blocking his face and eyes from view as he shuffled behind a shelf, taking a deep breath as he prodded his ribs tentatively. Yes. That most definitely hurt. Great. He snuck a glance around before he tugged his tunic up. A bruise was already spreading on his pale skin; Tr'esn dropped his tunic back down in disgust. Again, great.
Had it been simply worry for Oquith's well-being tugging at him, Tr'esn thought he could manage reasonably well - but no. It wasn't just that; it was, too, that he felt ridiculous. His sandals, overlarge and awkward, tripped him every so often, though if he concentrated on his feet, he could strike a moderately quick pace without faceplanting. Barely. And besides, the boy, whose gait was so confident without the sandals - even if he wasn't - didn't find concentrating on his feet very entertaining. In the crowded Records Room, tripping would prove fatal indeed for any hope of a good day. Thus, the Greenweyrling moved at about the same pace as a crippled wherry. Actually, he thought dryly, that was being generous. A crippled wherry could have easily outstripped him if the desire so struck it. How're /you/? he queried of Oquith, the question almost accusing. I'm lonely. I made you a shiny for when you come back, the green responded. Can we practice that image-sharing? Like we did in our lesson. Like tag, only not tag?
"What?" Tr'esn asked aloud of the duster. Pleeaaase, Tr'esnmine? I like it. It's fun. The boy paled as he realized he'd spoken aloud, cringing internally as he slunk - or rather, shuffled - deeper into the records. Sure, sure... Closing his eyes, the Greenweyrling felt around for Oquith, and the image came with startling clarity - terrifying clarity. Oquith was mid-leap towards the dragon couch, the feeling of moving sending Tr'esn reeling as he jerked away from Oquith. Qui! he reproved weakly, one hand pinning the duster against the wall, his back pressed against the same wall, the other hand groping for a grasp on the shelf as he swayed, pushed himself into a standing position, shaking his head in bewilderment, thick curls falling into his eyes as embarrassment washed over him. No more. We can do more later. Tr'esnmine, why? What's wrong? We were doing well. Didn't you get the image? Too well. Tr'esn clicked his tongue audibly as he refocused on his task.
It took only a few more minutes before the Greenweyrling had tired of his task - again, his mind wandering again. The morning's run with the other Weyrlings had been exhausting as always, and Tr'esn had grown to dread such runs - mostly because he was constantly stumbling. He unconsciously rubbed one arm as he flicked dust off of another volume. Those few seconds when he actually caught his breath, found his footing - that was sheer joy. They never lasted long, though, and overall, Tr'esn would be perfectly happy to sleep through the runs. Lucky Qui; she never had to run...just fly, when the time came. He tugged out one crumpled record, smoothing out the cover and inserting it back into the shelf absently, twisted to move on -
And tripped. Tr'esn's eyes widened in shock as he instinctively dropped the duster, his hands shooting out to stop his fall, the Greenweyrling twisting to one side to avoid contact with the nearest shelf - "Owowowowowowow." The mutter was a low hiss of escaped breath as Tr'esn caught his breath, nursing his ribs as he stood, swayed, glaring venemously at the culprits - his feet. Shardit...stooping slowly, he wrapped his fingers around the duster, straightening as he dropped his gaze, face burning with humiliation as his head dropped, curls blocking his face and eyes from view as he shuffled behind a shelf, taking a deep breath as he prodded his ribs tentatively. Yes. That most definitely hurt. Great. He snuck a glance around before he tugged his tunic up. A bruise was already spreading on his pale skin; Tr'esn dropped his tunic back down in disgust. Again, great.
