Contrary Counters {Bailiwick/Open}

Lessons and chores had been done for the day. H'tep and Iopiath proved a very distant pair, but they were diligent. Even if H'tep still retained his bold indifference towards responsibility, Iopiath had the marvelous talent of conveying him exactly the shade of critical disappointment that she felt whenever he meant to dodge anything. It was always because of her, now. He wanted to skip chores because of her, so he could stay in his room and stroke her smooth ridges and the softness of her neck, but he didn't, because she knew a very offensive shade of warmish swamp-cyan, the likes of which he had never seen before. He kept to himself because of her, because it wasn't keeping to himself anymore - it was keeping to her. He loved her. Finally, for the first time in his short life, he was entirely sure of it. He loved her.

He was passing through the caverns and meant to retire to their room until dinner, but along the stretch of corridor that fed into the storage rooms, he caught an unmistakable glimpse of fiery bronze. Quietly, as he neared, he saw the back of Ghris' head, and beyond that further, Requezzia's face and dragon in the dim glowlight of the closet. A bit of an odd meeting place, he thought, but it made his lips quirk into a thin, small smile. He was fond of both of those humans. Iopiath cared not for Bessienth, but found it in her to look down her nose at Xuqulzeth for being so brutish - but she was outwardly polite, and perhaps he would never know how to find her feelings in the vast dreamworld of her head.

H'tep considered a few courses of action. There were a few he wanted instinctively to take, but never would. He wanted to ghost up behind G'ris and surprise him with gentle hands on his shoulders; in his hair. He wanted to be bold and brave and march in cocky and dashing. He wanted to tell Requezzia that she was terrible at folding cloths. In each scenario, he saw a faint image of himself carry out each course of action. A few twinkling lights accompanied them. He reached down to pet Iopiath's muzzle and she readily leaned into his palm.

But he hung back. He did a lot of that, lately. Iopiath's slow, contemplative nature had infected him. Where was the hurry? Who needed words? The beauty in the world would reveal itself with time, she had told him through colours and pictures. Social interactions didn't really operate the same way, though. And he had been so scarce outside of lessons that he almost felt bad for slipping away from his friends again. Iopiath would always be there to talk to. Could he say the same for others? Probably not.

"G'ris," he said, letting his smile creep into a smirk. Words felt good to say. "Ezzia. Having a party in here?" A shower of multicoloured sparks and ribbons burst down from the closet ceiling for his eyes only, and he let out a laugh that would seem very belated to those whose mind's weren't touched by Io's. The green dragon beamed up at him and rubbed her cheek into his hand. They both looked very happy.

Ezzia folded her arms and raised her head a little taller at the joke.
"I will have you know it was like this when I got here."
Although it was fairly obvious that it had not been. For one thing the stores were never a shambles. They were always in perfect condition thanks to the Weyrfolk, candidates and Weyrlings working hard to keep it in order. Ezzia had heard tell of new conventions and rules put in place after a fire apparently broke out in the Weyr at one point.

The cyan huffed a sigh and eventually settled down, wings returning to her sides as comfortably as she could manage. There was still some edge to her posture but at least she was no longer likely to leap at the bronze in both alarm and frustration. That said, her tail flicked lightly from side to side as she sat in the cupboard slowly realising that she was caged here. With the bronze in the door there was no way to escape and she wanted to run. Suddenly her green sister appeared leading Bessienth to lift her hind quarters half way off the ground again. This was all quite alarming and the cyan was not certain that she enjoyed it overly much...

Requezzia flashed a smile at H'tep when she spotted him in the doorway, arms still folded. As he spoke, the proud expression returned when he mentioned something about a party.
"Well my parties are always the best," she responded lightly.
When he laughed Ezzia raised an eyebrow. He had always been a very strange person but this was just confirming it for her. What a strange person to be picked by a dragon.

"Well maybe you've just been doing your chores wrong."
Clearly she was right and they were wrong. She was always right.
"I've been very good."

Xuqulzeth's sudden outburst left a large well of silence in H'tep's mouth. He didn't like how it tasted; didn't like that he couldn't find the right words to say when his best friend sounded so exhausted. He leaned and closed the minuscule distance between his shoulder and the wall, a faint, pressed-lipped look of concern shifting onto his face. He had been very ready to give up his life to Xuqulzeth on the hatching sands, but now he found himself wanting to deprive the bronze control over any life at all - especially G'ris' - but he couldn't.

Iopiath lifted her elegant little head. She imagined, for H'tep, an abstract blanket materializing out of thin air and, shimmering, draping thick and warm about G'ris' shoulders... and Xuqulzeth's. With it came an echo of the exact same shade of protectiveness the Igen boy felt. Iopiath understood him exquisitely. Every single day, it surprised him, and her comforting mind-presence eased his anxiety. She brushed her cheek against his leg again, and then touched consciousnesses with her bronze brother.

It was rather impulsive on her part. To Xuqulzeth, she sent a confusing mash of image, colour, sound, and feeling. The lapping blue of the ocean tide; the bass hum of dragons through the shell of an egg; sighing ribbons of soft green and warm brown. To her, it all made perfect sense. To her, it meant the word 'calm' and so much more. Just as quickly as she bumped his mind, though, she retreated, leaving a ripple of the sensory rush in her wake. Some of it radiated out to Bessienth, too, as Iopiath nonchalantly navigated herself back to H'tep's head. There, she was a very satisfied shade of plum purple.

H'tep was grateful for Requezzia's humour. While perhaps not the best way to deal with the situation, it was one of the easiest.

"Herder turned weyrling turned famous fashion icon," he smiled, though the idea of G'ris wearing a Weaver's knots was absurd. He was struck with another urge to reach out and touch G'ris - a boyish clap on the shoulder, a light brush, anything - and so he scratched Iopiath's eyeridge instead.

"Impractical at Igen, though," he commented to Requezzia. "That would be a very strange shape for a sunburn."