Kiran
Weyrling 
kiract[M:-125]
Posts: 614
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Post by Kiran on Jun 17, 2013 15:04:29 GMT -5
(Character interaction not required. Simply post your character doing something - or their pet - and have a story made up about it. The stranger the action, the more awesome the story!)
Quellyn was bored. Bored, bored, bored. What did this weyrbrat do when he was bored?
He stalked followed people to get a story or two out of them. The man who constantly drank klah was an endless source of amusement, along with the eye-smartingly blue dragon that bounced around the weyrbowl. He had come to the conclusion that the dragon was a bit of sky that had fallen down, and his strange antics were mysterious rituals to try and climb back up to where he belonged. The man had decided to take care of it, feeling lonely after having survived such a dreadful illness that killed everyone he loved and could only keep death at bay by keeping his stomach full of klah.
He had also quite enjoyed Gennesk, the wher that had made an intriguing effort to meet the new queen dragon. The pillie that had loved the copper so much that he had become a not-quite dragon, and so couldn't be with her.
But those were only two stories that the Weyr had to tell. Who and what else lurked in his new home?
Quellyn walked single-mindedly down the hallways, Misty close behind. Kzz! Kzz! She enjoyed Quellyn's adventures. They were delightful, since they gave her the opportunity to scope out potential stories of her own.
Love stories.
She wiggled in excitement. Quellyn had a dash of the romantic in him, she knew it! And that meant that if she could just prod him the right way, perhaps he would get the hint and make a story about two of the couples (real and imagined) she saw in the weyrfolk. And maybe he would help get them together!
Kzz!
Quellyn looked back and grinned at his beloved Pillie. Misty always was as excited as him. But who would they find stories about first? They peered around a doorway, wondering what and who they would see...
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Boo
Jr. Weyrwoman 
booct[M:-425]
Shirath: THOSE aren't spirit fingers... THESE ARE SPIRIT FINGERS!!!
Posts: 1,917
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Post by Boo on Jul 9, 2013 21:59:55 GMT -5
”OI YOU BAKLAVA THIEF!”
A shout echoed across the Weyrbowl as a certain purplerider ran after a black firelizard. C’ian shook his fist at FlittFace as the firelizard disappeared into the lower caverns. The rider charged after his pet who kept betweening back to the kitchens and then to the lower caverns once again to drop pieces of baklava all over the ground. It left a trail leading from the Weyrbowl and through to the lower parts of the caverns. All the while, C’ian ran after the pet shouting at the black.
“Give it back I-“
He stopped and dropped to the ground in front of a piece of particularly nice looking Benden baklava. He had put in a lot of effort to get the kitchen workers to make this for him. Mostly it consisted of whining and crying until they agreed to help him but now it had been murdered!
“SOMEONE’S MURDERED THIS BAKLAVA!”
He held the pastry in his hands and sniffled, holding back the tears that threatened to spill forth. Closing his eyes and averting them from the disaster he placed it back on the ground. FlittFace hadn’t even wanted to eat it he’d just wanted to cause trouble. Unjustified murder of an innocent baklava.
Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket he lay it over the food and then began crying, kneeling in the hallway before he began crying.
Mine… You are the worst.
How could you say that at a time like this?!
And sobbing, he threw himself on the ground to remain like that for a great long while.
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Kiran
Weyrling
kiract[M:-125]
Posts: 614
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Post by Kiran on Jul 11, 2013 23:45:03 GMT -5
Well THAT was interesting.
Quellyn's eyes were open wide as the man ran through after his purple flit, screaming about murdered baklava. What was baklava? The pastry that the man picked up and then sat back down on the floor seemed to answer that. It must have been sent by a family member. Perhaps his mother. A mother that was dying and had sent her beloved son a last bit of sweets to help ease his heart over her passing.
A tear dripped from the corner of his eye as his lip trembled. So tragic!
BUT WAIT.
It had been murdered! Murdered by that purple flit! Mere SWEETS could not be murdered, which meant....
It meant that this Baklava, that seemed to have the appearance of a pastry, could only be a strange, new breed of pillie, one that had developed the ability to hide among humans in the weyr. It was bound to happen eventually. After all, there were certainly enough pillies running around the place, and they all had colors that were excellent for hiding in the wild. The dragons had been much the same way, too, until the genetic mutations.
A sob nearly escaped the boy. That poor, poor Baklava! He and the flit had to have gotten into a terrible, terrible argument, and when it finally had boiled over.... DEATH. DEATH TO THE PILLIE. Death to the pille Baklava! A terrible death, to be sure, and much mourned. Who knew what fascinating and terrific pillies he would have fathered?!
Misty purred in sadness beside him, as depressed over the situation as he was. He looked like he was handsome, if a bit sticky, and that was a darn shame. She nuzzled her antannae at Quenym, encouraging him to leave the man alone in his misery and move on to the next room. They could find something happier there, she was sure.
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lee
Wingrider 
leect[M:190]
Posts: 322
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Post by lee on Aug 5, 2013 13:43:39 GMT -5
ooc: I'm going with this being prior to Wenth!Hatch.
It wasn't the first time helping bring a Little into the world, and it wasn't likely to be his last, but Tay wasn't the sort to discount a success simply because it had happened once before. And there had been, for a few bleak candlemarks, doubt they would succeed at all this time. But as the candlemarks stretched from twilight again to dawn and finally midday, they'd stopped the bleeding at last. The first daughter had not arrived without a fight, and the second nearly hadn't arrived at all—they'd had to go get her—but mother and daughters were settled, hale and healthy and resting. Their father was a rider, and had been absolutely no help at all; he'd been jittery and anxious and seemed to jump at shadows as if he expected his own ghost to peer around the corner any minute, and though Tay knew the man would see little of his new daughters and not likely be very much involved with them, he was grateful the woman he was helping had someone else rather than the Journeyman Healer to scream at during the process (and she had done a great deal of screaming, not that Tay blamed her one bit—the ordeal, as it always did, made him extremely grateful he wasn't of the female persuasion, all things considered).
While he ought to have been dead on his feet, Tay could only feel like he was floating, giddy with relief.
So it was that he burst through the doors with a whoop, a laughing old lady in his arms whose name he didn't know but who had brought heated cloths and the woman's hands, and the spun together in a wild polka, a tarantella, a frenzy of spinning limbs and a whirlwind of giddiness, with Tay so tall that the woman in his arms barely touched the ground with her feet as the pair whirled and whirled, with whoops and cries of success as they laughingly flew through the cavern, avoiding collisions seemingly only by accident. Tay held the woman like a lover, for all that the lines on her face and white of her hair marked her as considerably older than the boy who danced with her, but that didn't stop him from kissing her messily and joyously on the cheek, a cry of "Congrats, Grandmer!" echoing behind them as they whirled their way along and into the next corridor. |
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