Ruin
Wingrider 
ruinct[M:-786]
We build the worlds we wouldn't mind living in
Posts: 1,137
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Post by Ruin on Jun 22, 2011 18:34:11 GMT -5
Why, oh why had he chosen this person to cut his hair. That thought was wavering forward in his head as he sat stock still on a rock ledge listening to Rhys sharpen his shears. Shears. Didn’t they make smaller versions of those for human heads? Apparently not. His fingers idled on his thighs, palms supporting most of his upper body weight in the midday sun. Of course he’d only just finished his two sevendays worth of punishment for Xiro’el’s sneaking into the Candidate’s Barracks—and somehow he felt like he’d be paying another round of penance with a missing ear.
He didn’t let any of this fear on; at least not to someone like Rhys who had only run into him once before—god knows the man would pounce upon nervousness like a hungry wherlet upon…well anything bleeding. His hair did need cutting though; there was no escaping it. The weather was turning into the hottest months and he would sweat himself to death like a stuck pig. Besides; this would likely be his last haircut before the next Hatching, and the cold time.
He could feel the sweat dripping down his back from the long tunic paired with the warm daylight—but he continued to maintain his discretion with sitting still. Nope. He wasn’t going to lose an ear today—he hoped. “’Preciate you doin’ this Rhys.” At least that was true; right?
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Post by coelacanth on Jun 22, 2011 18:56:47 GMT -5
Rhys hummed a little as he sharpened, looking more like a brutish butcher, in his wher-leather apron, than a hair dresser. It wouldn't take much for anyone to see why, besides his roommate, he'd only had managed to wrangle in one other, single, solitary volunteer. But he didn't charge anything! And he promised not to slice anyone open! And most importantly, he'd neglected to mention his actual level of skill.
"And I 'preciate you letting me do this," he replied, meaning that, too, though maybe not exactly in the most friendly of ways. But he really did. He needed another test subject, after all, and he thoroughly enjoyed the work. Work which he promptly got to, after the clippers were razor sharp, an edge sliding threateningly over the skin on the back of Sebol's neck, so he could feel it. Sniiiiip.
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Sakoru
Drudge
THE FEARSOME FIERY BEAST
Posts: 11
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Post by Sakoru on Jun 23, 2011 17:47:26 GMT -5
If Xiro'el had thought that the Weyr couldn't get worse, he'd been wrong. Though he'd only sneaked out once (and then snuck in to the candidate barracks), he'd at least occasionally had the opportunity to slip outside the place for a breath of fresh air, if only for a few minutes. The same was not true now. Between chores, lessons, and everything else he had to do, the weyrling barely had any time to do anything else.
Except running. For that, the holdless still managed to find time, if only because the activity meshed itself nicely with getting from place to place. Right now, though, he was just running for the sake of it, alone except for Lakeeti bounding beside him. Tigreath, fed, oiled and bathed, was fast asleep in the weyrling barracks, and he wasn't in the mood to sleep too.
Swift, desperate strides carried the trader around the Bowl endlessly, until the sweat ran freely down his bare back in the midday heat. Finally he slowed, panting, to keep loping along, determined to burn himself out. Plans changed, however, when he caught a glimpse of a familiar figure sitting on a ledge not all that far off, with a less-familiar figure standing behind. Holding... what were those, anyway?
Motioning to Lacky to follow, the trader approached the pair, much more slowly than he might have under normal circumstances. Normal circumstances didn't usually have people holding shears to the back of Sebol's neck, though. The giant didn't look alarmed, so it couldn't be anything too serious.. ah, haircutting. Not wanting to be responsible if the herder got his head lopped off, Xiro circled to approach from the front, lifting a hand in a lazy wave but saying nothing. Startling a person who was holding a pair of shears to someone's neck generally wasn't a good idea. |
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Ruin
Wingrider
ruinct[M:-786]
We build the worlds we wouldn't mind living in
Posts: 1,137
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Post by Ruin on Jun 24, 2011 9:45:57 GMT -5
If ever it mattered to Sebol that he had learned to control his body posture; it mattered now. He felt that blade upon his neck and everything he had inside of him told him to make good his escape or turn and fight: He doubted the reaction would have been anything like this if someone who wasn’t Rhys had the pleasure of cutting his hair. Unfortunately it was Rhys, and those shears were snipping through his hair so close to his skin that he could feel the chill of passing metal. His eyes never wavered from the area of the bowl that was in front of him, and his muscles didn’t even twitch to belie his need to watch, watch, watch and ensure he would be safe—safe and able to escape.
Oh sure,Sebol—go get your hair cut by the resident angry Wher Candidate with an attitude problem who will probably assume you’re mocking him if you slouch so much as an inch. Fantastic choice of judgement, Sebol—again. Still; it was Sebol’s nature to assume there was honor in everyone; that he could win people over to him and then work with them in ways that Harpercraft bespeaks true Dragonmen. Was this not a Weyr? Was this man not to be guarding his back one day as surely as Sebol himself would guard the skies? He found his mind wandering along thoughts of Impression and Wings in the sky; then his attention was stolen by the figure walking towards them.
The Trader; of course—now he would certainly have his ear cut off. There was a tightness of apprehension in his stomach as he considered the man at his neck compared to the man who was growing ever closer. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that the meeting—if this was the first—would be interesting, but he hoped that was true only for the men, and not for himself. Luckily, concerning expressing his emotions; none of his qualms with the Wher Candidate were shared with the Trader. As such, his eyes; well hidden from Rhys, said everything to Xiro that the Herder could not speak. Including an obvious flickering glance to Xiro’el’s boot—should Rhys change his mind about being helpful.
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