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 Jul 11, 2011 16:29:05 GMT -5
”Waddaya think?” His chipper voice called out to the mare that stood on the shore. By the set of her ears and the tilt of her head she seemed not entirely sure that this man who rode her was sane—perhaps it was time for her to be getting back to Je’kyll and telling her owner that Sebolaren was not to be trusted in any way, shape, or form. Not that he would blame her if she was really thinking that. In actuality she was probably wondering why they were standing here doing much of nothing and he looking like a foal that lost its head. Which he probably was all things considered, because today; far from the Weyr and with the freedom to be simply himself: Because stars above know it would be a tragedy to relax in front of his friends—he was dancing.
Well. Reylia wouldn’t call it dancing; she tended to call it graceless cavorting—but he did his best to learn. Something told him that he was actually learning; perhaps he was even becoming more graceful on the two huge things that were his feet. Both of which were left. It was decidedly hard without a partner, and without someone to judge his graceless movements for actual progression, but Reylia was busy today, and he certainly wasn’t going to ask Xiro’el to help. No. He would practice as he practiced his drafting, and his scrolling, and his suturing, and his baking, and his swimming—well maybe not that; the ocean was unseasonably cold and he was alone: That would be a senseless death indeed if his legs froze solid and he simply drowned without anyone the wiser.
So again he squared himself; arms up as if a lady was between them, and again he went. Side to side, step to step, the count in his head ringing loudly against his brain, and as he moved a quiet trilling rose to join him: Making him seem somewhat less a bumbling ex-Herderboy, and more the Gather reveler he wanted to be. Sigard sat nearby on a tree—or what had once been a tree before the ocean had called it to her bosom and loved it smooth. Now it was a dry expanse of imperfection-free white, and part of him wished he could carry it back and keep it always; but for now it was the perch of his Blue as the flit sang the song his feet should follow. Though more often than not Sigard chided him for ruining the illusion with a misplaced step or stumble.
He was lost in thought: The world around him had swept away, the beach no longer existed beneath his feet and before his eyes—there instead were endless tents of wares and sweets, smiling faces and happy laughter, the scent of leather and bitter taste of Smithcraft work. The avenues were marked only by the flattened grass, and all of them lead to the very center where spread a swath of clothed tables around a shining expanse of polished wood laid together for dancing feet. He remembered the Gathers of Ruatha with mixed feelings in his heart—he had been able to sneak away very rarely, and never was he permitted the freedom of other Holderfolk or those of the Blood. No; with so many travellers come to visit Gathers were a time where his hands were needed to tend and stay their work with conviction.
Yet here, far from all he had known and cut loose the life he had once imagined his; here when there was a Gather he could embrace it, and part of that meant being everything that those happy people were. Well-dressed and handsome with a beautiful lady on one arm, a crystal glass of Benden in one hand, and the soft serenades of Harper ballads on the wind. And dancing. All gentlemen knew how to dance—you could see them whisking their prizes across that polished floor; through resplendent dancers. Like fighters drawn together, a battle so glorious that both came away invigorated.
Unfortunately for Sebolaren; he was not at a Gather—the beach had not ceased existing simply because he willed it so, and he learned this suddenly when his legs ran headlong into that sea-worn tree, scattering Sigard angrily as the ex-Herder topped over it: Head over heels amidst angry chatters.
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader 
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Aug 22, 2011 12:42:19 GMT -5
Bundled happily in his riding jacket, Y’nis lay against Yusriyath’s neck and looked down at the chilled continent as it passed by below him. Though the small continent that Dalibor was slated to protect did go through seasons (horrible, not warm ones in his opinion), the land was ever resilient and persevered regardless of what afflicted it. As it had been his home as a Renegade- the happiest time of his life- Y’nis worshiped the invincible wilderness and all it offered. There he could hide, be free, be himself, or be whoever he wanted to be. Though some of the mountains and trees were tall, they were not imposing like the prison-like cliffs of the Weyr. When he did crave wide open spaces, Y’nis could easily hop astride Yusriyath and fly, as he was doing then, or seek out the ocean and pass his time beside it, as he also then sought to do.
As the Purple pair neared the beach, a curious sight greeted them. Next to a perturbed-looking runner, a boy was moving clumsily about on the sand. What is he doing, YaMine? asked Yusriyath, intrigued by the sight. Not sure, Y’nis replied, But I think it might be dancing. Yusriyath hovered silently just out of sight and both Rider and dragon watched with interest the movements of the boy below them. So focused was the stranger that he did not notice his audience OR the devious tree in his path. Y’nis could not help himself; when Seb went tumbling spectacularly over the worn out trunk he burst into laughter, hooting loud enough to give away his position to anyone in a dragonlength’s distance. Yusriyath too rumbled with a fit of laughter and landed on the beach to keep himself from falling out of the sky.
”Oh my,” said Y’nis, sliding from Yusriyath’s bare back and wiping tears from his eyes, ”That was quite a fall. You need help,” he stated rather than asked. Crossing over to his fallen entertainment, Y’nis stuck out his hand to help the boy up. He thought nothing of the wariness that his forwardness and sudden appearance warranted. Y’nis was a man of impulsive action, not thought, and to those who did not know him he really seemed quite mad.
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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 Aug 22, 2011 20:25:49 GMT -5
The laughter did not go unnoticed, but it didn’t occur to him to be offended—in fact he was laughing right along with the Purplerider and his dragon even as they landed. ”Indeed, it was,” Sebol grinned his agreement as he accepted the hand offered to him and used it to lever himself to his feet. He hadn’t anticipated an audience, but obviously this man was fine and understanding company. ”I’m afraid I may be too ungainly to dance at the Gather, but I have been trying.”
At the very least there were many moons ahead of him before that Gather, and possibly an Impression if Couineth Rose when expected—perhaps there wouldn’t even be so many people watching him: Fewer than today in fact, and he’d get off cleanly without so much as a stumble Unlikely, considering he could fall on the flattest of ground, but he did have some hope. ”Sebolaren,” came the belated introduction to the man who had rescued him from his plight, ”Dragon Candidate.”
Having only seen Purples from a distance, he had to admit a boyish giddiness at being so close to one, and his Rider to boot! It was like a special treat—although he’d heard they were tricky troublemakers. Of course he had plenty of experience with troublemakers what with his friendship to Xiro’el and Tigreath—certainly the Purple couldn’t be that excitable. Could he?
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Aug 24, 2011 13:06:30 GMT -5
Y’nis pulled Seb to his feet when he took hold of his hand, stepping back to give him room to brush off and recover. ”So you were trying to dance,” Y’nis ah-ha’d in response to his words. ”Yu and I thought that might have been the case. But for a Gather? They’re fun, I must admit, but if you want to dance then you should dance for yourself,” he clucked with the disapproval of an expert. ”You got somebody to impress, kid? Regardless, it’s clear that you need guidance.”
Turning with flourish, Y’nis marched to the middle of the beach and motioned for Sebolaren to follow. When he eventually did, Y’nis took his hands and placed them in a formal hold on himself. ”Right hand in the middle of the ladies back, left hand loosely holding hers. No, no, don’t interlock the fingers, clasp them. There you go. Now this sand is far from ideal to be a dancefloor, but it’ll just have to do. Hard surfaced allow for more precision- sand will probably trip you up- right Yu?” he called back to his dragon with a grin, a particularly funny and humiliating memory in mind. Yusriyath, however, had seen Seb looking at him and was preening vainly. Y’nis rolled his eye and returned his attention to his new partner. ”You ready?” he said, setting his frame and placing his free hand on Sebolaren’s shoulder, ”I’m Y’nis,” he said in belated introduction, ”Let’s dance.”
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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 Aug 24, 2011 14:13:44 GMT -5
Now he was all mussed and dirty on top of being an ungainly herdbeast, how unseemly—Reylia would have certainly walked away in shame over that performance: Luckily, Sebol was still quite unperturbed. Brushing away the sand and errant beach-grasses he flashed the Purplerider a bright grin. ”Impress? Perhaps everyone who knows I’m likely to fall on flat ground while standing still, but no, no one in particular—I’d just like to be a bit more refined than the boy flown out of the Ruatha fields.” Wasn’t so much to ask, was it? Probably—at least for his large frame and lack of finesse. Mirth-filled grey eyes flickered to the dragon as at least part of his name was given, inclining his head to the vibrantly coloured male: That dragon looked more a Trader than some of the actual Traders in the Weyr.
The Rider, on the other hand, was busy confusing the dust right out of Sebol; was it customary for this man to appear on the beach and help clumsy Herderboys? Not that the Candidate minded, of course, but he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some complex trap being settled around him. Although really, he could make a fool out of himself without help any road, so it wasn’t like he should be concerned. He joined the man after a brief hesitation, but if he had expected some grand scheme to unfold and topple him over—he received quite the opposite. Fighting away the confused blush that wanted to flower on his cheeks and embarrass him further, Sebol did his best to follow the quick directions; not that he had a choice what with the Purplerider placing the ex-Herders hands where he would.
Here he was, on a secluded beach, holding a man he’d never met in his arms—one, he might add, who carried himself with more feminine grace than most women Sebol had met, and that wasn’t even including the delicately fair skin that seemed so out of place caught between his work-rough hands. Thankfully it was the dragon himself that shook Sebolaren out of his confused reservation; so blatantly vain was the preening once he had turned his attentions on the creature, that the ex-Herder could only laugh and shake his head. Well made match indeed.
”Aye,” he answered honestly, gathering up whatever bits of seriousness he could find as he settled one large hand more naturally against the Rider’s back, the other trying to find that delicate balance between joining and releasing his partners hand that Reylia had tried to impress upon him. If the introduction was belated—which it was—Sebolaren hardly noticed, the man barely needed his own introduction, but he was ready to dance, or try, and men led—right? So he promptly set out into the dance steps he had been practicing earlier, trod directly upon Y’nis’ foot, and then finally succumbed to the blush which had been threatening him the entire time. Shards.
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Aug 26, 2011 0:15:48 GMT -5
Y’nis nodded as Sebolaren placed his hand more firmly on his back, wriggling his shoulders a little so that it rested in just the right place. Sensing he was ready, Y’nis gave him a prepatory countdown. ”Ready? Five, six, seven, eight.” That he moved on the uncounted one was a good sign; that he immediately trod upon Y’nis’s foot and caused them both to stumble and nearly fall was not. ”Good thing it’s winter and I’m wearing these boots! If it was summertime you would’ve crushed my foot for sure!” he exclaimed, his tone teasing.
The resulting blush that crept across Sebolaren’s face did not go unnoticed and Y’nis smiled coyly. ”No need to be embarrassed for me, Seb, old chap, handsome as I am. Don’t let that make you nervous,” he teased. Moving in close and lacing the fingers of his left hand with Seb’s right ones, he raised their interlocked hands to eye level and stared at him seriously. ”Clasped, not laced.” He slid his fingers out and let them rest comfortably between Seb’s thumb and pointer finger. ”Hold me- we’re trying to learn how to dance here.”
Probably just as vain as his bonded, Y’nis knew that he was a good dancer. In his old life he had danced with beautiful women in the houses of Lord Holders. Fabulous and glittery as it all may have been, it had not made him happy. The dancing he had enjoyed, as well as all of the beautiful things, but it has been a prison, just like Dalibor and the Weyr that he impressed at. From his home, however, he had taken the upbringing of a gentleman (though he revealed it sparingly) as well as the delicate appearance of the upper class, and from his first Weyr he had taken Yusriyath. They were the best things of both places, or so he thought, and they defined who he was just as much as the things he had done after leaving them.
”Come on now, you’re the man- you have to lead,” Y’nis instructed, adopting the feminine part with eerie ease. ”Men move forward on their left feet first, ladies back on their right. Remember that! You won’t step on anyone if you move the right foot. Did you get stepped on by a Runner as a child in Ruatha? Is this some sort of twisted revenge? You’re a weird one, Sebolaren. Again! Forward on your left. Better, but you’ve got to lead. You’re the man, remember? Keep your left hand firmly against my back. Skilled ladies will lean back so they can feel you guide them from there. You also lead with your hand and your body. Put some pressure against my hand so that when you move I can feel you and anticipate where you’re going. Same with your body- no quick radom movements. You have to be fluid. Theeeere we go.”
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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 Aug 27, 2011 20:09:31 GMT -5
The teasing certainly didn’t help Sebol’s blush, and muttered a quick apology while trying to find his holds again. Of course, Y’nis was quick to correct him, even lacing his pale slender fingers between the ex-Herder’s work rough and dirt-stained digits. Which rather embarrassed him even more all things considered: Hardly a man worthy of a lady, even if that lady was a man. When commanded to hold the Purplerider, he did, at least he tried to—pulling that lithe form closer was not improving his sudden shyness, but he was certainly doing his best to learn: Y’nis was his teacher—a man teacher—but a teacher none-the-less. And teachers deserved respect.
On the left, on the left, he chanted in his head before promptly stepping on Y’nis again. Why yes he had been stepped on by a runner, but no it wasn’t, he mumbled another apology that probably wasn’t even noted between the lilting chants of the orders as he moved forward ON his left foot—on it! Yes! He had done it that time, and he felt a small bit of confidence come back, it wasn’t even washed away by the Purplerider reminding him that he needed to lead.
Those next words, however, were curious, and he stopped one moment to actually touch the man’s back. Not just place his hand there awkwardly as if it were a shelf. Lead him like that? The woman would feel it in their backs? ”Like a runner!” Came the triumphant words as the dancing formed a connection in his head that he could understand. ”Reacting to calf and heel and the faintest of touches against their mouth, it’s a cue. Firm but imperceptible like the finest of saddlebeasts. Are the ladies trained like runners?" Which probably sounded terrible, so he elaborated.
"To react to the subtle touches of pressure, much like the men are trained to guide them?” Curious, but it helped. With that in mind he was able to really connect to the muscle of Y’nis’ back, fingertips and palm a subtle weight much like the grasp of his hand across the Purplerider’s. So this is why saddleriding had been described as dancing; teaching the runner to bend around the aid, it wasn’t only because of the grace; it was because of the direction from rider to mount. Like partners. Fascinating.
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Kila
Sr. Weyrleader
kilact[M:217]
Let's move to a cloud so we're never under the weather
Posts: 1,574
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Post by Kila on Sept 14, 2011 17:17:30 GMT -5
Y’nis threw back his head and laughed when his pupil compared women to runners. It was an odd connection, to be sure, and sounded terrible when taken alone, but when he explained it, it did made sense. As long as it helped Sebolaren to understand, that was all that mattered.
”Right, then,” he agreed, nodding and barely containing a smile, ”Women are like runners. So I expect you to lead me as such. Again!” And so they started again, counting as before. This time, however, with his connection made, Sebolaren was infinitely better than before. Not good yet! Yusriyath piped up when he felt His began to pique with pride. No, not yet, but better! Y’nis agreed cheerfully.
”Much better! he repeated, aloud for Seb’s sake, once they had finished. ”Far from perfect, mind you, but I think you’ve got a hold on it.” He curtsied to his partner and held out his hand daintily to be kissed. Mischief sparkled in his eyes and he winked before bounding off suddenly and remounting the Purple. ”Keep it up, dear!” he shouted as Yusriyath spread his wings and took off. ”And save a dance for me at the Gather!” And with that the strange Purple pair were gone just as quickly and unorthodoxly as they’d come.
Ooc: Just to wrap things up =) Sorry it's so late.
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