Women, Marks, and Curiosities [Azh]

He shook my hand, I—roh, I knew this man was so good when I saw him. Did you know that I saw him right after I hatched? I know you know, because I showed you, I bet you can still taste his fuzzy…his fuzzy…well it’s like an animal on his face isn’t it? The hatchling lifted her wedge-shaped head up, the muscles beneath her slender neck coiling against her hide as her soft muzzled stretched for that bushy object of her affection, but she could not reach when she was on all fours—coming up short she simply snorted delicately at the Tanrider. When his hands quickly followed to cup her bumpy jawling, ripples of pleasure shuddered down her flanks as she leaned into the callused appendages that were exploring her body: Oh, but it was so delightful! In fact, she was almost certain this was the first non-Iroh human to touch her, and she might need to coerce others to do the same if they all felt this good.

Irohvyne watched the proceedings with a soft smile that was reserved for the gentle curiosity of her dragon: Though she could not feel the emotions of the Yellow, she knew from experience that anything new was much-approved by Valeath. Q’sis’ ignoring of her did not go unnoticed, but did not cause her concern, she had said what she would, and he would mull over it as men did, and then he would pretend not to be interested, and she would wait for him to realize that he wanted money more than he wanted to be obstinate. As the man’s rough hands wandered down her sensitive still-new flesh, Valeath turned her head into his arm and whistled through her nares, hot air spilling across his flesh as she ran her soft lips up the hairy flesh that was nearest. It tickles, the dragon stated for both of them, though only Iroh took note of it, and no reply was offered.

While she was apt to speak aloud to Valeath, it seemed out of place here, as if the words were something that could only be shared in private, and Q’sis was not permitted into that world. It saddened her in a way, because the other Weyrlings were so easily able to speak with their bonded dragons, in fact she had seen entire conversations transpire between Sian, K’oa, and theirs: Signaled by blinks, grunts, and long staring matches, it was something she could not understand. While she patiently awaited Q’sis’ response, she reached for her dragon. Not physically—though they spent many ‘marks coiled together in a mutual state of discovery—this reaching was something else.

It was as if she was fumbling for a lock with a key, stretching toward that heavy void in her head that was Valeath: The place inside from which the emotionless voice of her dragon originated, but where no emotion had leaked since Impression. Beneath Q’sis’ hands, the Yellow trembled as if adrift in a cold sea, and her facetted eyes, once lidded in contentment at the man’s touch, slid fully open under the swirling wonderment of a touch in a place she did not understand. It was, in the end, the Tanrider’s heavy words that broke through the unseen interaction—or childlike stumbling. Surprised, Valeath gave a nasally honk as her wing arms brushed through the man’s fingers, and Iroh echoed her sentiment with a blink of her own.

There was a slight hesitation, a stumbling falter as she came away from that inner corner of her mind back to where the Tanrider stood, but she was able to answer him with a simple ”yes,” that was honest, if delayed. His attention remained on her, however, so rather than try again for that curious experience, she gave him her attention as was required—at least if she wanted that for which she had accosted him. ”Luck, for the choices they make perhaps?” It was an honest query, with a storied past between them, but it required saying as did what followed. ”I can pay, in all likelihood, more than what you will receive from the hopeful ‘Folk who have dragon dreams, and if the most is made of a deal between us, you will still be left with twelve eggs to portion out as you see fit. It seems a victory for you in many ways.”

Below, Valeath had overcome the odd feeling inside her head and begun exploring again, stretching toward Q’sis’ abdomen. Did you know, I—roh, that he had a funny smell before, like the notman Sian, do you think he still has…lines cut in sand, below this jacket? Will he show me? Irohvyne doubted that he would, but yet again gave no response to her hatchling, and it was at that moment that the Tanrider resided his hand upon the Yellow’s head and stymied further attempts and discovering what lie beneath the folds of fabric. Snorting, the dragonet lipped upwards at her palm, attempting to gain some ground on him in some way, but failing that her long blue tongue snaked out to tease around his thick wrist—see, she could hold him too!

Valeath tasted Q’sis with a curiousness that was uncontainable. Every tinge of salt or dirt was examined and measured against everything she had already learned about the world from her experiences and her Irohvyne, which wasn’t much, but it was enough in a way. Enough that she could formulate her own ideas of where he had been, a spinning epic saga in her head of his adventures in the world since she had seen him last. To her, Q’sis was a statue of a man—a hewn edifice that was worthy of admiration and praise, because he was kind and sweet. There had been no yelling when she had taken what was his, and even now he tolerated her explorations with tender ministrations from his own hands. Oh yes, my I—roh, I like this man very much. He is a good man. Do you think, do you think, there is a thing. A thing where women have a man, like…like your views in your head. Of the men. The ones you thought were…something…special…like the not-man. Do you think this man could be mine? He has been so nice to me. How do you choose your man when you have found a man to choose, oohhh where is he going?

Though Irohvyne received no feeling from the dragonet, the words were distinctly unhappy, if only because of the funny way she pitched them into her human’s head mimicking the way she had heard other humans speak. Though Valeath was busy being unhappy that Q’sis was removing her tongue from his flesh, Iroh was attempting to compose the steady blush that was threatening to creep up from beneath her collar and reveal itself along the edges of her fair neck, and, should she be extremely unlucky, across the fair hue of her swollen cheeks. She had never thought of Sian that way. Maybe…maybe once…she had looked at Kai between the curve of her lashes, but it was the silly considerations of a woman who knew she would never be beautiful enough to find consideration in that way. To have Valeath know that, and not understand it, and now be considering such a relationship with a human—this human most of all—was oddly unbearable in this situation. What, however, could she do? Nothing. There was no dissuading the Yellow at this time, not without revealing all of it to the man in question.

Forcing herself back into the conversation, not because she felt in any way threatened by his words, but instead as a way to maintain the appearance that nothing untoward had occurred, she gave the Tanrider a soft smile that spoke only of her willingness to play his game, if not actual happiness. ”I can pay what you decide is required in payment,” surely a Trader knew he would be hard pressed to find a Hold more prosperous than Benden, and that would speak volumes to what extent her ruling family could—and would—pay for something that would please one of their children. She could not, however, speak to the hopefulness of others, because she had not held hope in her heart, nor want for his life, so the idea of purchasing a dragonshell to guarantee Impression seemed silly. If a dragonet could choose someone completely unwilling, then it hardly mattered if a Candidate wanted it with all of their soul. She was rather surprised more Stands Impressions didn’t occur—the beasts were robbers much like the Dragonriders who brought them their fodder. ”Many would say she is the most distinct and beautiful of the clutch,” and had, though her distinction was discovered more by her peculiarity than any other proclivity toward usefulness. Of course he would find his Bronze to be the best, but the Bronze’s shell was not the one she sought.

”Yet here she stands, bonded, surely you can buy into the ‘Folk’s superstitious nature with the other shells. It is not like they can hope to Impress the dragon that was cooked within.” When he neared her, one hand raised above her head, she did not move or flinch—she was one of them now, and one of his own babes had chosen her: While he might have been inclined to strike a Lady before, he had done not a thing to the girl who had smashed his bloodied egg, so what did she have to fear now? It was his expression that impressed upon her the darker meaning of his words, she took note of the hardening around his eyes and mouth as if he mulled on something inside. That Holdless smile, quick and slippery like Holdless tongue, did not lead her astray of the thought that had been settled into her mind by his eyes. What foul work did he have in store for Sian? The man who was woman, who deceived even the man who thought so little of women? Irohvyne was not certain, but she would not ask, and she would not forget, perhaps there was someone she could speak to within the Weyr: Perhaps there was a way to head off Q’sis’ retribution before he was given a chance.

For now, however, there was their fine dance; his of words, her of expressions, and all dances must be followed through until the last note. That silversmile was answered with her own, or rather the softness around her previous smile deepened as if to allow a secret between them—a secret that was a lie, of course, but it was his lie to tell and her lie to accept. ”Yes, I do remember it, Valeath showed me all of the eggs that I was not close enough to see. I think, perhaps, many women will be interested in that egg.” An innocent enough observation, though she doubted he had any plans to sell it, tainted as he probably felt that it was. Though it was curious that he seemed willing enough to accept it as Unath’s own egg—though he had no choice on that matter, did he? She watched the way he went to great lengths to play his game, allowing him the time to hold his shriveled heart as if it ached with the beauty of Impression, before reacting to the extension of his hand out to her.

Perhaps there was more of Valeath in her than she had known, or perhaps the growing dragon had more of an effect on her than had been explored in private lessons with the Healers and Weyrlingmasters. True enough to her nature, the Yellow had hopped her way over to stand beside the humans, her slender neck and wedge-shaped head politely bobbing back and forth between their shoulders without directly interjecting between their bodies, but when Q’sis extended his hand, she could not help herself. With one slender hand she reached out for his and gently cupped the underside with her own, fair thumb extending over the dusky work-torn palm to trace the deep grooves in cracked flesh before sliding down to thumb the scarred end of the missing finger with a gentle curiosity. Four fingers were gentle on the knuckles of his hand, glancing across his skin like the softest flashes of fabric, and they were clawless, because it was not Valeath who had made that connection, but Irohvyne. Where her palm was scarcely three inches in width, his must have neared six, and she was truly dwarfed by him in every other way, but for that moment she was lost in the dichotomy of their joining; soft, and hard, smooth, and rough, pale, and dark. When she did finally meet his green eyes with her grey, the retort that she had no shells in hers died on her lips, but her hand remained in his all the same.

For all the obvious retreat in his body, Q’sis may as well have slapped her for the effect his words had. Where his movement was measured, her recoil was sudden, and startled. She pulled away from his looming body, her legs carrying her backwards out of his shadow when the physical space between them wasn’t enough distance to soothe the welling emotions she felt inside of her. The sunrise-hued wedge that settled so easily into Q’sis’ large hand turned to follow the erratic movements of the usually graceful woman, a querying warble vibrating the soft flesh of the dragon’s neck into the Tanrider’s fingers as she called after her Irohvyne. It was all the woman could do to battle her feelings as the man continued talking, but she did her best—their sudden separation giving her room to breathe.

Are we going? Can he come with us? Iroh could only try a brave smile for her dragon, almost oblivious to Q’sis’ words, but knowledgeable in the fact that she needed to listen if she wanted that for which she had been stupid enough to pursue him. The prices did not faze her, she had known they would be high regardless, especially after she had admitted their importance to her, but it was the final stroke of his unwritten contract that snapped the quiet stranglehold she had on her emotions. For one long moment that seemed to stretch into forever she could only look at him and strive to control the growing knot in her throat that caused her to silently swallow around the painful mass, but then the dam broke and there was no concealing it, or disregarding it.

”Thank you,” came the words, hoarse and quiet, echoed immediately by a thank you that only Irohvyne could hear. It wasn’t until she continued her words that Valeath’s head twisted beneath Q’sis’ attentive hand once more, focusing on her woman with a confused curiosity. ”Thank you for your kindness, and your honesty. Thank you for helping me to understand that I am unfit and insignificant, and that a dragonbond will never change that.” The strength of fighting away the tears that wanted to come was wearing her down, and water had already pooled against her large lashes, so she had simply refused to blink for fear of loosing one. A changed life, an unwanted Impression, and further persecution had slowly undone the delicate balance of her emotions.

Valeath, could sense it, in her own way. Perhaps the tumultuous storm within her Irohvyne was spilling over, like condensation on glass, or dew on morning grasses. Whatever it was that the Yellow felt, it was sad, and the swirls of her radiant eyes slowed to a crawl as she crooned softly at the woman to whom she was bonded. What is it, I—roh? Will you laugh for me? ”And thank you,” she said, pushing through the questions of her dragon to finish what she needed to say to the man. ”Thank you for reminding me that I am so very disgusting, that I will never know intimacy with someone unless it is repaying a debt or purchasing a service.” At long last one single tear fell freely and she knew that her time was up, there would be no stopping it once it was started.

Ducking from beneath the Tanrider’s hand, Valeath advanced on her bonded human with a summoned bright song sounding from her slender neck, but the brilliant greens seemed to be withering in her eyes even as she stretched her delicate muzzle up towards Iroh’s face. You are leaking I—roh, this is not good! The woman captured her dragonet’s muzzle in her hands, both were necessary where Q’sis had needed but one, taking strength from physical warmth and presence of Valeath, even if she could not feel the unconditional love she had experienced at Impression. ”Crush them to dust,” she said to the man, her broken eyes unfocused from his until she was looking through him. ”Offer them to the simple folk in the hopes that they will come here and know the true valuation you have for them."

One fair hand departed Valeath’s flesh to trace a shaky line down her fat-swollen stomach, a pained smile pulling on her lips at the irony of the situation when she realized that she had the habit of holding the worst part of her when upset, but when a second tear fell unbidden she turned away from the Tanrider. Crooning sadly as her human’s hands fell away, Valeath turned and gave Q’sis her approximation of a sad look, her soft muzzle drooping downward; goodbye, favourite man, I will find you again, okay? When my Iroh isn’t leaking. Her Iroh was leaking, though, so it couldn’t be now, and she turned to hop after the woman.

Iroh was simply doing her best to depart at a pace that wouldn’t draw too much attention to the unfit physical portions of her body the Tanrider took so much offense to, while also escaping with enough haste that she might make it behind the hangings of her stone chamber before her tears overwhelmed her. This seemed to be the way she most often left Q’sis’ presence, so she should have known better than to approach him at all. Unfortunately there would be no quick-delivery this time: She was on her own. How do we stop the leaking I—roh? Well, maybe not wholly.

At Q’sis’ touch, Irohvyne’s insides ran cold, and any emotion she had felt died within her chest—or in the very least faded away until it was a throb within her pit that could no longer change her outward appearance. When she turned back to face the Tanrider, her face was picturesque; artfully spread onto her features, and the displeasure in his face—while not unnoticed—did nothing to sour the serenity that washed her eyes into a blank compliance. ”Tanrider, as you can see, Valeath is quite alright,” and it was true. The hatchling had turned with her chosen human and was watching the woman’s face closely. That is a funny look, interesting, like…still water? A reflection. Are you…showing the man what he wants? Why? Why would you do that? Oh will you tell me later, I don’t know why you won’t speak to me when he is here.”

While she was confused, she was happier, Iroh’s leaking had stopped, and even though things were weird, they had to be better! Except…what was causing the funny faces, what was it? Was it Q’sis’ hand? No one touched Iroh—even not-man Sian and K’oa weren’t touchy with her human…only she was touchy with her. Iroh had told her it was because humans didn’t simply go around touching one another…so why ...why was… was he? Even though his fingers were trailing on her head, she wiggled out from under him to gently nose the offending hand that was holding to her Iroh. I don’t think your human told you that you shouldn’t touch other people! Or…I meant…I meant your …ME. The one I saw pick Iroh up. Is that why you are touching her. Why do you always touch her?”

When the hand pulled her Iroh’s away, and his lips…did something there, Valeath was even more confused, but soon enough Q’sis had returned her hand and, that was good, because she needed it. For her own part, Iroh let him do as he would. He was like a VTOL buzzing around a sweet orchid in the Southern woods, making much about his actions while taking no time to appreciate the beauty he was slowly destroying. Somewhere, his words had cut her, but she had forgotten that she was not meant to feel, or express. She was not a person with feelings; she was a piece of furniture to be pleasant for those who needed something from her. Unfortunately for Q’sis, she had long been in a position to handle prospective clientel—not by her father’s wishes, of course. Much like Q’sis he favoured his sons for his work, but he was not blind to the fact that beautiful women could earn him many things he desired. Why else would he sell his daughters? Iroh, of course, had always been hopeless for that, but that didn’t stop some men from seeking anyway.

”As one of the Blood, I have spent turns under meticulous study to better understand how I may represent Benden. As you know, she is prosperous; old and thick about her foundations with wealth that stems from Crafts, barter, and marks. It is not her wealth that I cannot witness, but this deal. You have required that I bear witness to a singular man’s requests of Benden; and she answers to no singular man, much less one Dragonrider of a Weyr to which she does not tithe. If it is merely her marks you require, then offer to me a trade of goods, and goods alone. If not, then it is here that I must say Benden declines your generous offer; though may all further barters bear the fruit of your needs in the future.” That would be that. There would be no other offers from Benden to him, and from Irohvyne there would be no further simpering or begging. She would not so readily sell her Hold, or her father’s voice, for the sake of shells whose dragons had already been Impressed to those that sought them.