Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman 
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 10, 2011 21:22:38 GMT -5
[ OOC: The day after the fire. ]
By morning, Lexony was one of the cleaner people moving across the Bowl. Tireless drudges flocked past him in and out of the kitchen tunnels, even their dull brown and gray clothing bright against the blots of black ash still to be scrubbed off the stone. When he got too close, one of the workers shoved him off and yelled at him to return to the Barracks. As he did so, the Candidate contemplated how the drudge could have known what he was. The one thing Candidates shared with the staff was an absence of rank-knots. Lexony kept feeling more than seeing the missing piece, like a hole burning through his shoulder. He had been hungry in addition to curious, but he was not sure if the Weyr ate earlier or later than he was used to, or where he should go now that the common dining hall was unavailable.
He slipped back into the Candidate Barracks and reconsidered the outfitting of the common area. No food there, but...slates on the walls. Of course. One had the schedule. Breakfast started in thirty minutes on a normal day; today's schedule had been erased, but the ghostly traces of the previous days revealed all. His first night in the Barracks had been prompted to restlessness by the preceding day's carnage, and he was up earlier than the other Candidates. But someone had already adjusted the second slate of the day's chores, with most of the Candidates locked into pairs for clean-up. Each entry regarding the kitchens referred to an extra block of information at the bottom of the slate: Don't enter...room...ger...lapse...sparks...be careful.
Whoever had written the assignment had been in a hurry, and they had not adequately mopped up the previous day's chalk around the bottom message. Lexony could not read all of it. He touched the tip of his finger to the slate and began wiping clean the letters he was sure about, only to realize someone had entered the room and was watching him. He jerked away from the slate and pivoted to face the stranger, heels clicking back to balance on the same invisible line. Despite his surprise, his heartbeat remained even, and only his dark brown eyes displayed unusual amounts of activity as they assessed the stranger. Relaxing his jaw from clenching his teeth, he dipped his head against his un-chalked hand and pushed his yellow bangs out of his eyes.
"Sorry," he said, and it was not the embarrassed squeak of an unwitting Candidate caught acting out of turn. It was an apology for more than that. After a pause, Lexony continued: "I wasn't sure where to go. There's breakfast--- I don't know where. Maybe there isn't. But they've paired everyone up here. Maybe if we work a bit, they'll find something to feed us." The new Candidate smiled faintly at his audience. Of course a Weyr would have foodstuffs that did not require preparation. It was just a matter of finding out where and when they were being laid out. "And they wrote a warning here..." He pointed to the bottom of the slate. "Can't make it out. But I think they're trying to say 'use your head.' Looks like they wrote me to cleaning the ash off the walls. Do you know where I can get the supplies for that? Buckets...?"
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Ruin
Wingrider 
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Post by Ruin on Aug 11, 2011 1:20:45 GMT -5
There were very few times when Sebolaren considered running from one particular location to another as an acceptable method of transporting himself there; frankly he just didn’t see the sense in exerting himself unless absolutely necessary, but today would have been one of those days—if he’d had it in him somewhere to dredge up that energy. The morning air was cool enough to prick his smoke-seared lungs painfully, and every breath he drew in was cut off before he could approach capacity in his lungs.
More often than not he felt a great weight against his chest as if he couldn’t draw in the air required to consider the action breathing, but thus far he had managed to suffer through the ill-effects without fainting—or slipping into the anxiety-ridden attack he’d witnessed no few of the Weyrfolk fall under. Healing: That would be the concern moving forward, and many of the wounds suffered were not wholly laid across flesh or burned into sensitive tissue. No; here there were broken hearts, confusion, fear, and a growing paranoia that had begun to rear its head only hours after the final body had been dragged from the ruined Halls.
Alone to himself he felt disassociated: Even Pen, a Candidate with which he had class and chores, and meals, had not been close to him aside from what could be considered Apprenticeship—but perhaps Candidacy would always be the best term. The Weyr had suffered a staggering loss, and he felt it in every action of those around him as he could not feel it himself—he was still unbound to the community here: He had neither dragon nor contract, but what he lacked through all obvious signs of integration he made up for in understanding. There were three harrowed faces on the mark this fire had burned into the Weyrwall like a brand: They had lost capable Dragonriders so close to Thread, Weyrfolk capable of Standing, and those dedicated to working within the Weyr on the cusp of an event that would send most people to ground within walls of stone.
He felt the losses, he couldn’t deny it; he still saw that flash of burnished auburn, but it was nothing compared to the agony that others felt—those who had grew, and lived, and loved the ones whose lives had been claimed. Regardless of his affiliation, or lack-there-of, he was not immune to this pain; he had always felt the keening agony of lose as it rippled from another living creature as distinctly as he could feel his own pain: So he was only permitted calm to the storm when away—alone. There could be no alone now, not when he—everyone—was still needed: There was so much work to be done. The bodies had been washed and wrapped and sent between; the Hall, Infirmary, and some of the Storerooms had been damaged by fire, smoke, and—against all odds—water from vapors that had condensed on the stone ceilings.
The Hall was where he had been previously, because regardless of his wounds he would not cease to serve the people of the Weyr; not in their time of need, and really he was far less injured than some of the most charitable cases that currently resided with the Healers. Bandaged though his hands were to protect the burns from rough rags and harsh punishment, he still felt every scrape against the wall to clear the soot and ash—he still felt it like a heat resided in the heart of the mangled pieces of wood he helped remove from the destroyed gathering place. Felt it, accepted it, and worked through it; because that would be his way of coping—of working through this—ignoring the paranoid whispers that were spreading and seeking to make it better.
Unfortunately that wasn’t what Daymar was doing—he had been; and quite well under the supervision of his angry grey pillie, but suddenly the Candidate had high-tailed it back to the Barracks as if he himself had been lit on fire, and it was most likely due to the insidious rumor which had broken through the workforce that the fire had been set intentionally and the guilty party would visit during the night to finish the job of those who had survived—fantastic. In the very least it gave him that opportunity to clear his head away from the emotions of the Weyrfolk and Riders, and it gave his hands a chance to rest; though the movement did nothing for the sutures and healing burns across his back—nor the ones that had marked his arms and legs. Luckily; aside from his hands, the other bandages were concealed beneath the ever-thickening tunics and trousers he wore to ward off the growing cold.
He hadn’t expected to see Daymar when he walked into the Barracks—and he didn’t, but he did see someone else, a young man he did not recognize. Hopefully Daymar hadn’t seen him in passing, because the man would instantly assume that any new person was the killer at large, or at least responsible in some way for the Weyr's destruction. Weary though he was, he could not cease the observations he always made—ever a man at watch—one of another things drilled into his head from eight turns onward. He appreciated that apology. It was unwarranted, but it was also kind, and it bespoke a boy who could think outside of himself and understand the destruction he had not taken part in or lost friends to. The faint smile from the new Candidate earned him one in return; though it was wearied and on a face smudged with dirt—it was genuine.
”They’ve set up tables pulled from the craftrooms down on the beaches near fire pits that have been dug. It’s all sort of a mess, but the Weyr cares for its own and there is plenty of food. Was probably Candidatemaster K’var who wrote that, even in the best of circumstances he can be in a rush with how busy we keep him; he’s probably suggesting we keep ourselves busy with work instead of running off and causing even more stress. All of the supplies you will need are already up that the Hall, but I would not mention buckets—not for a few sevenday. Some are attributing the destruction to buckets.” Buckets and the dangerous people who had stolen them—murdered Weyrfolk—and fled into the night.
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Cathaline
Lady Holder
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 11, 2011 1:45:53 GMT -5
Daymar had just barely missed Lexony on his first pass through the Candidate Barracks, fleeing back to his room. Technically he had completed his first round of chores before fleeing the scene, so he did not fear being in trouble for his hasty exit; he simply couldn't help it. Not only were people tossing around rumours that made his insides twist, but he was absolutely certain that the dust and ash in the dining hall's air was coating his lungs. He was going to die of that horrible disease he'd heard miners got.
Therefore, he had rushed through the barracks and into his bedroom to hyperventilate and wash his hands and face in the pillies' bowl. He would refill it later; Why was down at the lake today, and Starfall clung to the back of his neck. Not so long ago, this would have been cause for a heart attack, but he and the gray had come to an understanding. She scared him half to death, but she protected him. He got the feeling she did so because she viewed him as a possession rather than a friend, but he'd take it...for now.
The only reason he left the room was to go dump out the grimy water, which he couldn't stand to have in his room. Bowl clutched in his arms, he stopped short once he saw the new Candidate, whose name he did not know, messing with the slate. Sabotage! Starfall sensed his distress and started to hiss, her feelers poking out around the side of his neck, beady eyes fixing on Lexony. Plot, plot, plot...he better look out.
The mention of the buckets only made his frown deepen, and Daymar demanded, slightly hysterical, "Did you take the buckets? Did you? Who are you? Why are you changing the slate?"
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 11, 2011 10:24:24 GMT -5
Beaches. K'var. Buckets. Lexony's thoughts circled the keywords, particularly the Candidatemaster's name. The young man who told him all these things could have been one of the inferno's corpses, cloaked in soot and the smokey tinge of death. He seemed too tall to be a Candidate, too much like a dragon that had just gotten back from spitting fire. At the same time, he stood on his own two legs, unsupported. He had seen healers, and presumably they had released him to work-- had he been working all night? Were they all supposed to?
"Right, no buckets," he agreed, unquestioning. He did not need to ask. Word-of-mouth would be his ally in explaining how mere buckets were involved, though he thought he had seen a line of Weyrfolk, dragonriders and dragons themselves equipped with similar containers. Admittedly they had mostly looked like pots, basins and troughs-- not buckets. It was almost bizarre, or funny, a taboo against buckets. But Lexony did not take to morbid humor, and the tiny laugh inside him now incited considerable worry.
Unfortunately just the reiteration of the problem word summoned a vengeful spirit. The bucket avenger. He was an unlikely sort to be making demands: not as obscenely decorated with the fire's spoils as the other one, but pale and, to Lex's eye, somewhat sickly. Memory likened him to those poor souls that showed up malnourished from time to time at the hold, usually as thieves. They did not have to be described by boniness; sometimes the evidence lay in the pasty shawls of their skins. Such people were often the cause of confrontations in the dark of night. Strong, tested men knew their limits and did not challenge an armored guard without great purpose. The skinny and the weak had never matched themselves, and often had a potent combination of alcohol and fear driving them.
"I'm Lex," he answered, smiling to the extent of his courtesy. He did not gratify those other questions with an answer. He might have extended his hand to the newcomer, but Daymar was occupied with a water bowl. Lex dipped his chin to the other Candidate instead, and the same to Sebolaren. His gaze went back to smaller, hunched Candidate, and the segmented appendages fluttering out from behind him. "Is that a Western animal?"
He was content to return his attention to Sebolaren, keeping Daymar at the corner of his view. "Did you eat yet?" he asked the giant-- they did not make men like this at Fort! "If you wash up, it sounds like they will have everything ready when we get there." Lex nodded an aside to Daymar: "If that's alright, you should come. They were wise to put it all out on the beach. It's peaceful there." Maybe certain people could calm down once they met the zen of the waves and the smokeless ocean wind.
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Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Aug 11, 2011 16:27:10 GMT -5
Mouth open, poised to respond, Sebolaren’s words were cut short and swept from his mouth like so much dust blown from the Bowl when Daymar appeared quite literally out of thin air—as suspicious as the ex-Herder had assumed he would be. When the Candidate broke down into an angry tirade, one which his strangely aggressive pillie echoed through her hissing, Sebol found that he had to resist the urge to drop his head into the tender grasp of his bandaged palms—fantastic. The days ahead would be long and sorrowful enough without the addition of Daymar’s anxiety getting the better of him whenever anyone new arrived, and new people would be arriving. ”He’s a new Candidate, there will be plenty of them what with Couineth growing larger by the day; even if you did doubt the dragon’s choice—he’s appeared to have recently arrived.”
True, the man could have been some great antagonist in the events that had transpired, but Sebolaren doubted it: If anything this was a time where they would all need to remain together, and vigilant, not fall into a mess of disorganized thoughts and fears. Thread take them all if they allowed paranoia to grip them: Although Daymar seemed to be quite lost to that irrational fear already, and he’d not give up his beliefs any road. Western animal indeed; either he’d actually dissuade Daymar from his questioning—not likely—or he’d send him off into a new torrent of questions: who doesn’t know about pillies anyway? Well Daymar hadn’t for one—the man who still didn’t believe in Flight. Really the best anyone could hope for at this point would be a distraction.
Brows lifting in acknowledgment of the attention, his focus returned to the new arrival; ”I haven’t, actually; give me a moment.” And try not to get beaten with a mug, was the warning he did not speak; even though the harshness to his voice and the softness of his tone would probably leech away any seriousness in the words. Giving an encouraging smile to Daymar as he passed the man, Sebolaren retreated further into the Barracks for a fresh set of clothing and the washroom.
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Cathaline
Lady Holder
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 12, 2011 15:00:38 GMT -5
The fact that Lexony refused to answer Daymar's entirely reasonable questions only served to arouse suspicion, and Daymar's grey eyes narrowed to slits. So he was sabotaging the slate, and trying to deflect the question! Well, direct interrogation wasn't going to get answers, so Daymar let it go.
"Yes, she is a Western animal," he responded, his tone only slightly more moderate. "She's a pillie. They live in the lake and eat things. This is Starfall; she is bonded to me and she is incredibly dangerous to people who are not trustworthy, because she is evil." Starfall at least recognized "evil" as a more or less fond descriptor, nowadays, and slowly she crawled up the back of Daymar's head. Crouching there, she was on a level with Lexony's eyes, and hers bored into him.
The threat in Daymar's words was not so much threat as guarantee, because as usual, something clicked in Starfall's tiny pillie brain, and she was off and putting her plot into action. Once Sebol had disappeared, the gray went skittering down Daymar's arm, launched herself to the floor, and rolled over to Lex. Springing out of ball form, she attached herself to the toe of his shoe and began industriously chewing on it.
Daymar blinked at this, then glanced up at Lex. "I don't think she's quite all there," he whispered. "So you just arrived?" Highly suspicious.
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 12, 2011 16:37:36 GMT -5
"It's a nice name," Lexony said. Who would not like to see the Red Star plummet from the skies? In this Turn it sat visible at all hours like an angry red bead of blood. Next Turn it would bring the Pass, and Thread. Of course Daymar might have meant the name less dramatically, perhaps in reference to the celestial ghosts that sometimes sparkled downwards in the night. It was nice either way. "I'm sure she's not evil," he continued, unphased by the insinuation. "She's really protective of you. I'll try not to meet her eye. I'm sure she'd take offense to that."
Of course Starfall did not operate based on Lexony's promises, and within seconds the pillie was fastened to his shoe. For the first time he had a good look at her whole body. He squatted down, lowering his other knee to the floor to balance himself. "She's interesting. Is she more like a pup or a flit?" he asked, smiling back at Daymar. "Always wanted a flit...you know, when I was little." Daymar had relaxed from outright accusation to sustained suspicion and whispering; that was a victory when examined in the right light. "Ow," he informed Starfall when she had finally gotten a good enough hold on the shoe leather to put pressure on his big toe.
He studied the pillie's dark but shiny shell, trying to imagine how slippery it might be. From her first assault he knew she was faster than she looked, and decided against picking her off himself. Helpless then, since he could not very well kick the pillie away, he got back to his feet and addressed Daymar as if she was not even there. "Yesterday," Lexony clarified. "Came in for a landing right through the smoke. Brillith dropped me off. You can ask J'von..." His eyes slid to their upper right corners as he spoke the dragonrider's name. "He brought me in from Western." There was another pause, and another shifting about of his focus, this time in the general direction of the floor. "I thought to help, but everything looked fairly in order. I might have just gotten in the way."
Lex shook his head, a little torn about his inactivity still. "I saw your Senior Queen there. The most horrible sound. I guess that's something you get used to." He smiled weakly at Daymar. "And to be honest, J'von about near broke my arm getting me off Brillith. Maybe there was a dismount technique I was supposed to use." Lex pantomimed a smooth slide down an invisible miniature dragon's arm with his hands. "I used the land-on-my-side-and-crush-everything move." He patted his right arm, hidden under a long gray sleeve. "Bruises everywhere, so it's pretty stiff." The blond shrugged, eyebrows knitting. "So what's your name?" he asked the paranoid man, though his attention flickered to the hall behind Daymar. "I think that's uh-- well, I don't know his name either. Looks like he's coming back. So let's..." He peered back down at the pillie fastened to him, trying to determine if she had made any real destructive progress. Her ball-shape movement had been pretty entertaining too. Inspiring, even. "Let's roll," he chuckled.
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Ruin
Wingrider
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Post by Ruin on Aug 12, 2011 18:33:13 GMT -5
The hardest part about cleaning himself post-fire was certainly changing the bandages that stuck to the moist layer, but there was nothing to do for it during the day hours when he was needed to help with clean-up. He tried his best to hurry, but as he did so he could hear Delilah admonishing him on mistreating the wounds—if he didn’t heal they wouldn’t let him stand. They were painful, but he had declined any fellis therapy—there were others who needed it more than he; besides, simple aloe with a spattering of dragon’s tongue had served him well. He’d even declined further numbweed applications once the sutures on his back were finished, but those had to be tended to regularly by Delilah—and only Delilah.
Sighing softly he made his way back to the room he shared with Daymar, the quiet conversation reached his ears as a hum through the silence of the grieving Weyr, his hands stung through the bandages against the door-nob and he found another reason for wishing he was in the Weyrling Barracks where such boundaries were swept away for the sake of dragons. Once admitted into the simple room he wasn’t yet free of minor annoyances as he did his best to wriggle free of the char-soiled chore clothing and into something fresh from his dresser—which also tested the mettle of his hands against the wood and stone. Finally, after what seemed like an exhaustive eternity, he managed to settle the tunic around his wounded back.
The clothing would serve for something clean to eat in, but wasn’t nice enough that he couldn’t return to the Dining Hall once they were finished; which he had every intention of doing once they were finished at the fire pits. Retreating back into the hallway and then down into the common area, his eyes scanned the pair for any signs of trouble—of which all he could find was the pillie attempting to take out the new Candidate at the…well…foot. Amused, his eyes remained on that grey creature as he drew alongside Daymar again, gaze flicking up to consider the paranoid man with mild amusement. ”Joining us?”
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 14, 2011 14:48:44 GMT -5
The death of the Red Star - so long as it didn't mean the death of all Pern, somehow - was indeed something to be desperately wished for, but it would never happen. No, Starfall's name simply referred to comets and meteorites and the grey light the stars shed in the first place. And it was pretty.
Daymar's suspicion only grew when the boy started talking about flits, though at least he was clever enough to admit to himself that this was more reason not to like his fellow Candidate as a person rather than to think he had started the fire and killed all those people. "They're like firelizards, yes," he said with a scowl. "They bond, and they're fairly clever. They talk in my head, but not...in words. They don't quite understand humans." Starfall, for her part, happily clung to the shoe and continued to chew on the leather. Ow was good. Ow meant it was working, hahaha!
Hmm, arriving during the fire...instantly Daymar invented a conspiracy theory wherein J'von started the fire and/or stole the buckets, then went off on Search so he could claim he hadn't even been here at the time! Lexony was nothing but a patsy. That, and the discovery that they had something else in common, actually made Daymar relax slightly. "I'm from Western, too," he said. "You don't have to get used to that - they only make it when dragons die, and I've never heard Kalith sound like that before. I'm Daymar, and that - " He glanced over his shoulder - "is Sebolaren."
Impossible to tell if Starfall understood the pun, but when he talked about rolling, she quite lost her head again. She lunged against his shin, prodded him hard with one of her legs, and then went skittering back to Daymar, sending him fuzzy feelings of judgment. Obviously this stranger's boots and trousers were not up to par, and she latched onto her favorite spot on Daymar's leg, glaring at the other two as if she thought they might attempt to steal her place.
"I suppose I might," Daymar said, lifting his chin confidently. Had to keep an eye on the slate-changer, maybe learn more about this J'von...
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Azhdarchid
Jr. Weyrwoman
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 14, 2011 21:38:27 GMT -5
"Very good," Lexony said of Sebolaren's participation and Daymar's...agreement. He turned around and started ahead of the other two. He presumed nothing about leading his seniors down to the beach, but having that step or two of a headstart allowed him to throw a covert glance down at the front of his shoe: still intact and not fraying when he wiggled his toes. Besides, he would need to take long steps just to keep even with the giant among them.
He tried out another smile on Daymar when he caught the pillie owner's eye again. "I do not recall your face from the Hold. I suppose that means you never got into trouble." He winked, only to notice the humor had no context. "I was on the watch there," he clarified politely. "And my wife, Eywren, she would have been down in the laundry when she could manage it. She's got brown hair." Easily the most discriminating of descriptions. Lexony appeared ready to elaborate, again, when another thought occurred: "Though I suppose there's no reason you'd be there either!" The Candidate rubbed the back of his head, grasping at his hair tightly for his futility. He decided to switch targets. "You are definitely not from Western," he informed Sebolaren. "I would have remembered someone so tall."
When a Green the color and texture of a heat-withered sapling swung out of the Weyr over them, Lexony ducked his head a half-inch, raising his hands over it. He had felt the breath of her downsweep running up the back of his skull, and thought himself an actor of wisdom rather than fear. That did not keep his sheepish grin from showing to the others once the dragon had turned down to the docks and landed in the seas beyond. There her translucent lime wing stretches and foam-traced paddling joined that of others. A great flock of the beasts bobbed along together in waves that would chill their riders to discomfort in minutes.
If he squinted, Lex could almost make out the dolphins flickering between the dragonkin. Or maybe his imagination had constructed the animals from what were merely playful waves. Outside the Weyr the wind poured on unusually icy gales and shouted in their faces, berating the Autumn day and their presence in it. "I suppose it's understandable we never crossed," Lexony called to Daymar, fighting the environmental quelling of conversation. "The hold is much bigger for the number of people it retains than Fort." Their path curved, taking them away from a stand-off with the gusting skies, and the Candidate shook out his hair, pushing his bangs back into place.
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Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Aug 14, 2011 23:34:36 GMT -5
Waiting until Daymar followed the other Candidate out, Sebolaren fell in behind them until there was ample room to carry on beside them; tailoring his stride so they wouldn’t feel hurried or haggard. Content as he was to simply listen and observe, the ex-Herder did not in the very least feel left out from the conversation concerning Western; while the men discussed their former Holding he allowed his eyes to wander across the so recently changed Weyr. Though people were burning through the hours to clean the caverns which had been affected by the fire, the Hall still showed angry black marks of smoke as did the sands—those were still a mess of black, and red, and discarded bandages which hadn’t been plucked free as of yet.
It seemed as if a herd of angry beasts had trampled the area into chaos, but instead it had been the feet of many Healers, and rescuers. If he looked hard enough he believed he could see the distinctive outlines of where the dead had lain side-by-side awaiting that final flight between on dragon’s wings. Attention recalled by the statement, Sebolaren realized he had been rude—distraction or not—and remedied the situation neatly. ”Sebol, formerly of Ruatha,” the words were paired with a genuine if faint smile, and then his eyes were drawn skyward to the Green as well. The ex-Herder’s grey eyes followed that sky-clad dragon as she made her way Southward in their general direction; even when she sank into the white-caps, which had become typical for the drawing cold, his eyes remained on her now glistening hide.
In a few days time most of the dragons wouldn’t even remember what had happened here save for those who still had Riders coping; if only human memory could be so altered. Stepping beyond the Weyrwall through the channel of ground that lead toward the harbor, he stumbled slightly as the angry cold wind came to bear on him, a sigh ripped from his mouth the moment he exhaled. The pain along his back intensified as he fought against the grip of that lashing squall, and if there’d been any other way to feed himself he’d probably have given up on the entire affair and returned to work on the spot, because really this was hardly worth it.
Unfortunately there wasn’t simply food at stake here, not with a new arrival and Daymar a likely man to believe Lexony had attempted to murder him if he tripped and fell: So stay he would, and at least he’d manage some food out of it.
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 15, 2011 16:07:22 GMT -5
Hmph. Someday, when Starfall achieved her full growth, she would be able to fray a boot. Rip it right off a man's foot, too! But for now, she was still tiny, and it was probably a good thing she hadn't managed to do any lasting damage; by the time she got that large, hopefully Daymar would be better able to control her so he wouldn't have to make reparations to innocents.
Not that he was completely convinced Lexony was innocent. Of starting the fire and stealing the buckets, perhaps, but of everything? Not so. "I was a scribe," Daymar said. "I most certainly had nothing to do with the watch." The watch had some whers and whers were terrifying, nothing like their dragonkin at all; not only was he a model citizen, but he deliberately avoided the patrols. He'd never spoken one word to a guard. "I did spend a fair amount of time in the laundry, though," he admitted after a moment. Things had to be clean! "I didn't ever meet your wife, though; I'm usually good with names, so I'd remember. Are you here without her, then?" That was awful, being forced to leave his family behind - Daymar hadn't had a family to leave, and he'd found his here. Knowing nothing about Lexony's relationship with his wife, he assumed the separation must be extraordinarily painful.
With a nod to Lexony's words, Daymar glanced around suspiciously, searching for any sign among the recovery efforts of guilt. "It's all closed in here," he called back, glancing at the rising cliffs of the bowl. Fortunately he wasn't claustrophobic in addition to his many other phobias. He hunched up against the wind, and did not unwind even when they escaped its push and pull. "It's nice though," he added. "You'll probably like Dalibor. Most of the people are quite decent."
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 15, 2011 22:44:35 GMT -5
Lex could not help but notice that Sebol of Ruatha was very quiet on the journey down. He caught the other Candidate looking off at something by the kitchens when they passed that dismal checkpoint, but could not see what Sebol did in the ash on the ground. Of course once they were out of the Bowl, there were several unpleasant but valid atmospheric excuses to keep one's mouth closed. He supposed the man might still be listening. Time would tell if his was a permanent reserve, or a temporary effect of the grave circumstances in which Dalibor found itself. Some of the Candidates, even without dragons, had surely grown very attached. He appreciated someone who easily found silence, whatever the cause.
"She was not permitted along, nor I suppose would I wish her to bring our son here," he admitted. "Even before I knew of what happened, I was not sure it was...safe. Dragons are very large." He chuckled at his own preconceptions, some of which he was not about to voice to the other two honored with the chance of being dragonmen. An erected wooden wall helped buffer the wind down further as they entered the makeshift "dining hall," and Lexony checked his volume accordingly. "And she told me she would be alright. The boy is old enough, she said." Lexony glanced over the faces of the other two, hitching his shoulders up uncertainly. It was his first try at absentee fathering. He could not know if he was doing it right.
A drudge waved them toward one of the smaller pits devoted to cooking and preparing breakfast: a few precious fishrolls, and a high quantity of grain porridge studded with dried chunks of fruit. Some people got plates, others clean wooden boards or slates. There seemed to be enough bowls and cups and utensils for all, at least. Some of the utensils even looked new: Lexony left the fire with a bright metal spoon, which he would have just as soon marveled at were he not starving. He sank it into his porridge bowl and balanced the platter all the way to one of the larger eating fires. The orderly stacks of wood sent the flames high, ensuring their warmth when they sat in the sand next to it. There were ordinary wooden tables available, but Lexony was drawn to the firelight.
There was a distinct oceanic odor in the air that did not ascend from fishrolls. At least the high winds kept it dilute. Lexony carved out a dent in the sand where he could rest his bowl, addressing the steaming rolls on his plate first. His furtive glances at the other two telegraphed his intent to say more, but he had priorities. As he ate, he took in a quick visual tour of the beach and the docks. He became aware of dimpling in the surrounding sands, brought about by two-toed feet. The Weyr did keep a population of whers, and he supposed there would be no better place for them to keep watch than at the late night set-up of the new dining area.
He only saw the one set of tracks though, not the multitude of sizes he would have expected from a full complement of watchwhers-- a notion startling in itself. Lex searched for the origins of the path and, as best he could reckon it, the tracks started right where the shallow remnants of waves were flushing up the beach. The wher's route squiggled around the edges of the encampment, circling repeatedly back to the spot where food supplies had been stacked before trotting inland. Lexony leaned very far forward to try and see around Daymar and Sebol, then his eyes inadvertently flicked back to their faces and he grinned, shaking his head and sitting back into place.
By the time he was picking the fruity bits out of his porridge like a finicky child, he had given up on whers and was watching the dragons out at sea. One of the Blues-- or maybe it was Dalibor's specialty, the Cyan? --looked curiously small as it drifted by a similarly-colored counterpart. Granted if the dragon came and stood in front of him, mantling its blue-green wings and lashing its tiger-striped tail, "small" would have been the last word he picked. But relative to the other Blue-- or Cyan? --it seemed diminutive. He did not know dragon breeding produced such variability in the size of one color!
Unless: "Is that one of the hatchlings from Callistath's clutch?" he asked, but felt the answer in his own hand. "They grow!" Lexony exclaimed, then laughed. To his credit, he kept the sound from booming beyond their fire. "I know nothing of dragon strength," he sighed. "Even now... I was there, you know. I watched that Hatching. And Kalith's too." Lex pressed his lips together to suppress all comment on the Copper's clutch, gravitating back toward the relatively painless matter of Callistath's. "Were either of you there last time? I'm sorry. I wasn't too focused on the people." Lexony chuckled, not sorry at all! "Did the girl who got her leg opened by the Green recover alright?"
Whatever he had wanted to say about his personal troubles had dissipated quick as tracks in the wind-battered sands once his mind caught on the Hatchings. "I wonder if I could've Impressed then. Sometimes they crawl up into the Stands, don't they? But maybe for me it was too much trouble." Lexony smiled. "No dragon had anything to say to me then about being a Candidate. Not even Brillith." He lost some of his excitement at that, rubbing the side of his neck. "Does that mean something changed between then and now?"
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Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Aug 17, 2011 22:51:11 GMT -5
Sebolaren’s sea-grey eyes returned to the newcomer who walked beside them; they were devoid of any incriminating emotion save the barest glimmer of curiosity. Of course he heard the words, and understood them, but in light of the destruction he was reduced to wondering how lucky he had been to not marry so young—where would he be now worrying over wife and child while enduring his loss of Craft, family, and everything he had been. Had to show. It was yet another depressing query inside a head already full with the notion of grief so he remained silent lest his words run away with him as they sometimes did when he brooded like a Queen on her eggs.
Instead of responding he simply followed, and their footsteps eventually lead them to food—the prospect of such a thing only hitting him once his eyes laid upon the feast and his nose recognized the scents. Sebolaren must not have considered eating—for once—or perhaps he had not considered what eating would entail. The charred ends of the fishrolls immediately brought forward the charred faces of those bodies he had found within the smoldering kitchen—the lumpy porridge like so much bubbling flesh over the wind-banked fire. Immediately he felt his appetite go away with him as if his stomach had wandered between of its own accord.
Knowing that he couldn’t get away without at least making a show of it, being that he regularly ate enough for three men, he simply filed in after Lexony and Daymar, filling his bowl with enough of the gooey mess to pass cursory inspection. Having long grown accustom to the sea air he did not notice it, but it would have been a welcome change from those scents still locked into his memory from the previous day, and night. The bowl in his hands was hotter than he expected; its warmth irritated his burns even through the layers of bandage and aloe. It was an annoyance, but one he could suffer.
There was no reprieve from his memories here, not even in the choice of seating by the newest Candidate. His day-old sutures and flame-touched back would not allow him the luxury of sitting so low: Likely he’d never gain his feet again, and couldn’t be wrenched up by his bandaged hands. For a long moment he wondered if he’d need to stand, certainly not relishing the idea as he’d be on his feet most of the day if necessary to finish the work in the Dining Hall, but he found his salvation in a stool set aside most likely for a fire-tender. Snaking it away from its place out of the way with a foot, he managed to at least fall onto it with mustered grace.
Better than most of his showings, and far better than bending over to lift it; He’d underestimated the range of motion stolen from the strength of his back by the burns. There seated he watched the men quietly, feigning interest in his food even though his eyes were quickly following the paths that Lexony’s trod. The tracks were not foreign to him, not to one who had killed too many a wild wher to save the runners, but they weren’t curious. After all, there were no wild whers here, he would have seen them by now—seen signs of them. The tracks simply told him that wher had been set to unload a small boat on the shore—drop it directly onto the beachkitchen and save the walk from the docks.
His attention snapped back to Lexony as he caught the movement of that shaking head, offering an echo of a smile in return before returning to his not-meal. Sebol probably would have continued staring into that small sea of chunks and blobs if his eyes had not been drawn off into the distant wind-swept ocean to measure the dragons that bobbed there like flotsam. ”They do, it causes their skin to dry and flake,” he stated quietly but without any hesitation. At least if he spoke he was not required to eat. ”I Stood, and I assume as such—her dragon still lives.” Probably more bleak than intended, but there it was, as for the rest—well. ”Sometimes, I have heard. They paid as much attention to the humans as you did—even less to those in the Stands.”
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 17, 2011 23:10:46 GMT -5
"Not permitted?" Daymar asked, wrinkling his brow. "Well - I suppose you hadn't had news of the fire, then. People..." He swallowed hard at the memory. "A lot of people died, so transfers in will probably be quite welcome. I don't know how nice a place a Weyr is to raise a child." By now even he had heard of the death of the Weyrleader and Weyrwoman's son, and his voice trailed off into mild grief. Even though he hadn't known any of those killed, even though the horror was remote because he had not been there, it was still strikingly nightmarish to contemplate. What would he have done if Sebol hadn't made it safely out of the flames? Or if Reylia had been there when the world ignited?
Weakly, he offered to Lexony, "I suppose you won't find much happiness here, today." Or willingness to chatter on about nonsense. Sebol was clearly feeling distant, no wonder with his wounds; Daymar wouldn't even be here, except that he was watching the new Candidate like a hawk, in search of his guilt. He took one fishroll and some porridge, and then first set about peeling the roll off of the fish, a pained expression on his face, because Starfall had caught wind of it and sunk her teeth slightly into his leg. The needle-pricks served to remind him that she hadn't eaten either, so fish she would dine on.
"I was Searched from Western a few days later," Daymar said quietly. "I've never seen a hatching." Except the one that had given him the pillies, but that didn't count. "Somebody got injured by a green?" All he'd managed to hear about was the girl who got mauled by Callistath, but lived to Impress orange. "I don't think it means anything...some dragons are better at Searching than others. Mine claims that all his Candidates Impress." At that reminder, Daymar went a bit deer-in-headlights. If he failed, it would break Girieth's perfect streak, which only made his insecurities rise toward the surface yet again.
"Oh, shards," he muttered, upon noticing a certain cyan out in the waves. Hopefully she would stay out there.
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 18, 2011 9:33:51 GMT -5
"Good to know they will accept new blood," Lexony said, though his tone ran thoroughly noncommittal and his eyes flickered over Sebolaren instead of Daymar. He had not missed the murmurs about the Weyrleadership's child in the aftermath. "Perhaps if I Impress, then when I graduate...I will know for certain my place is here." And he would have plenty of time to evaluate both procedures and customs to determine if such tragedies would be too regular an occurrence for his family.
When the more nervous and seemingly energetic of the two elder Candidates let his voice falter, Lexony studied both men in turn. "Nor should I expect it," he murmured in self-chastisement. "I must apologize again," he continued, fixing his attention on Sebol of Ruatha. The stiff arrangement upon the stool had not escaped him. "For my lack of decorum for this situation." He raised his hand, uncertain what extent of damage was hidden beneath the tall man's clothes, and settled for placing his palm and fingers as lightly as he could over the nearer shoulder in brief reassurance.
He set away his emptied bowl and plate in the sands behind him, imagining the pillie might make fast work of the crumbs once she had finished her authorized meal. "Opened hip to knee, it looked to me," he answered Daymar. Just for him, Lexony reconsidered a jest about hazards of the trade and spoke instead: "Hatchlings have never looked too fast to me. You'll stay ahead of them, no worries." What words of comfort would be appropriate to bolster his apology to Sebolaren he did not know; he could not guarantee to the other Candidate that he would Impress this time, and everything would be alright. He elected to remain silent, the breakfast settled in his long-empty stomach like an iron weight. Within the heated halo of the flames there was no powerful incentive to move, and "chores"-- the dark work of cleaning up the disaster--would not officially command them away for a time yet.
Daymar's mutterings were not honored with a response. He figured Daymar would be the sort to increase in volume when he was well and truly bothered by something.
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Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Aug 18, 2011 12:08:19 GMT -5
The significance of Daymar’s words were not lost on the ex-Herder; after all he had been the one to pull the boy from the flames, but luckily it seemed as if no one else knew—save for those he had told himself. This rendered him exempt from the likely questions asked by curious Weyfolk, or those who loved him. Selfish, perhaps, but it was what it was: He had been the only identifiable corpse remaining in the kitchens when Sebol had returned to them—any who could claim their dead deserved that peace.
It had been only a day, but he had not considered the opinion of a newcomer; easy though it was to look at the whole where the Weyr was concerned, it was less easy to remove himself from the Weyr and be a fresh view: Perhaps Lexony would agree that the Weyr was unsafe. It wasn’t true, of course, and somewhere inside it upset him that such assumptions could be made, but Daymar himself was still hung up on the disappearance of the buckets rather than the twisted bits of metal being pulled from the bodies. No one seemed to notice those.
Wandering thoughts were swept away by the movement near him, and by that unexpected touch: There must have been something different in the water to compel folk to physical contact during uncomfortable new encounters—it was a particular phenomenon he’d encountered here. Curious though it may have been inwardly, outwardly he met the man’s gaze easily and offered a warm—genuine—smile. ”We do not expect you to know everything, stars above know I did not—no harm done, nor offense taken: I’ve been through worse.”
If the last was a lie, it was at least done with the conviction that it would help, at any rate the conversation had turned to less-pleasant venues: Ones of which Daymar had not been informed. Of course the Impression of a man to one of the Queenlings would have superseded information on hatchling mauling—so few had occurred between blood and ichor that it was barely worth remark. Hopefully this Lexony would not suddenly step off into conversations of Flights and dragon’s choice—that would certainly turn this into an awkward situation.
At this rate Sebolaren would need to force the nervous Candidate onto the Sands—if he didn’t completely abandon the Weyr when the Queen Clutched: Yet another possibility. Sea-grey eyes flickered between the men with considerable curiosity, but it was Daymar’s oath that drew his attention back out to sea—what his eyes had glossed over in thought now came into sharper focus. So the Catdragon was a Catfish today? Interesting.
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 18, 2011 15:35:07 GMT -5
Hopefully Lexony would not find Dalibor wanting; Daymar did not, and he was a canary in the coal mine of dangerous places. If the pillies and the fire and the realization that the rumors of assassins back at the Hold were real hadn't driven him off yet, the place must be worth staying at, surely? Then again, it was perhaps merely that this was the first place in many turns he'd had friends, belonged, and that emotional pull was worth more than total security.
Regardless, disasters like these were rare, and he nodded along to Lexony's words. "There would be no point in bringing them if you were only going to leave later," he said. "But I'm sure you'll Impress." Assuming, of course, he was only an unwitting puppet in the current goings-on, and not deliberately malicious. No hatchling would touch the perpetrator of the fire, Daymar was certain. Except crazy Tigreath; his eyes strayed back to her, again and again. Xiro'el was a dangerous person...could he have had a hand in this?
But Daymar didn't dare say it aloud, nor did he mention the small, twisted bit of metal that weighed down his pocket. He'd snagged it during chores today; Sebol must not have heard any of the whispers about the explosion. And it was a good thing Daymar himself hadn't heard that the metal was being pulled from corpses, too - but he had a feeling what he held now was the key to the mystery. Or just a broken bit of pot. That could be.
"They're fast, all right," he muttered, leaving aside that he'd never seen a hatchling pre-Impression; maybe they were different once they had their bondeds. "And we're not supposed to move, did you know that? They say we're in more danger if we try to get out of the way, but what if a red were to hatch? What then? Reds are not nice."
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 20, 2011 10:35:57 GMT -5
Lexony kept his mouth shut to keep a tactless "You have?" from slipping out in Sebol's direction. Though the full impact of the tragedy had been lost on him, one swift review of the beachfront where riders, Weyrfolk and Candidates alike huddled like so many holdless exiles marked a great blasphemy settling into place in the fire's wake. Dragonriders having proper sustenance and shelter seemed just one more tradition awaiting its fall at the hands of a suitable disaster. In this case, time was the cure. A man could only contain the revulsion in his heart till conditions eased.
"Then you are my friend," Lexony observed. "The first to bring me this good news of my Impression." He smiled, for the notion surely had not occurred to poor Daymar. Both the other Candidates seemed fascinated with the stripey miniature dragon he had pointed out, but Tigreath did not turn on attention and swim in to shore. She remained as tantalizingly out-of-reach as the rest of the dragon flock. Though they were relaxed, Lexony noticed few of them played or splashed. That was left to the dolphins, of which he finally spotted a few cruising amongst the dragons. Even they did not spin or flip, visible only as the occasional surfacing of slick backs and protruding dorsals.
He crossed his legs, turning his head to regard Daymar. "I am sure no one will begrudge you a sidestep." Fleeing a hungry animal never yielded favorable consequences, but a slow enough escape would not trigger violence. "You could see a Red as a bolt of lightning. She strikes where she will, you cannot stop her, and so there is no reason to worry. Why fear what cannot be controlled?" Of course he had not heard of Reds post-Impression, but assumed they calmed accordingly. No Weyr had ever turned them out or culled them. But before that, force of nature was an entirely adequate description. "They unfortunately expend most of their efforts on siblings."
Lex had not thought it would be progressively more difficult to engage the stronger, less-temperamental of the other two Candidates, but a side-effect of Daymar's nervousness was an inclination to chatter. This non-conversational reflection by Sebolaren might not have been so uncomfortable by comparison if the Weyr's harpers had visited the beach with an appropriate ballad. But Lexony heard such music upset the dragons, and incited them to far less soothing dirges.
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Ruin
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Post by Ruin on Aug 22, 2011 17:45:00 GMT -5
Stormy grey eyes didn’t focus on that distant Cyan for long, in fact he had nearly zoned out into deeper thoughts while watching her play—none of which involved the striped hide. The shipfish went unnoticed entirely, which would be no surprise to anyone who knew him: Having spent many a free hour hunting the beasts, it was entirely possible he would never lay eyes upon them. In the very least he had an applicable excuse—the fire.
Death, injuries, and so much work to do. Which brought his thoughts right around to the fact that he was sitting here socializing (or perhaps doing very little of that) when he should be back inside that destroyed skeleton. Standing—and though he had meant the motion to be abrupt it was done with the graces of a man twice his turns in age—Sebolaren offered to two men who sat by his feet a soft smile.
”I fear I must return to work. Thank you for the company, and well met Lex: If you have need of anything during your stay here, you have only to ask.” He had managed to nudge the stool back into its previous position while speaking, and having bid his farewells he took his leave—bowl in hand with none of what had been taken removed from it. Once he was out of sight he would pass it off to someone who possessed more appetite than he: The food would not be wasted.
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 23, 2011 21:06:36 GMT -5
"Well, you never know," Daymar said with a sigh. "People might, you know...disapprove of a Candidate not being brave enough to face down a rampaging dragonet, or think I'm interfering with their free choice of Impression, or...something. I don't think the dragonets will even be able to see me, frankly. Sebol's going to stand right at the front." And quite obviously, the tall, well-muscled Herder dwarfed Daymar, who was skinny and habitually made himself out to be smaller than he actually was.
He finished scooping the fish out of the roll and ate the breading, while Starfall hissed; it sounded a bit more like a purr than her usual noises, especially in his head. For a moment, all seemed well; then Sebol went crazy and decided to leave. No! He couldn't! He was leaving Daymar alone with a slate-sabotaging murderer and Tigreath was right there and also he really ought to finish his breakfast!
Yet Daymar had never been much good at being deliberately rude, and all such words died in his throat; all he actually managed was a tiny "Bye." Then Sebol was gone, and he was alone with...this...person. This person he didn't know or understand who might be dangerous.
Managing a tight smile, he told Lex, "So, er...cleaning the ash off the walls. You're going to want to protect your throat and lungs. A lot of people are having serious breathing problems already."
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 23, 2011 23:53:06 GMT -5
It was impossible to miss that exit: the mobile monolith of Sebolaren was dwarfed only by his own shadow. If Rukbat had only risen high enough, it would have surely crafted a fiery halo for the giant's head when he blocked it out. But it was the words that caught Lexony, the polite detachment, and the wry cast to that stubbled smile. Lex tried to smear his bewildered expression to something more welcoming, in the event the epic figure decided he had mortal pains to contend with later. But the blond suspected that if Sebol required support, he would seek it out from other than the newest recruit.
"Goodbye," he bid the other Candidate, watching him trace back toward the Weyr. The hissing of Daymar's pillie was the only ballad to the scene. Lexony could not help but inherit the notion of brooding, dark gaze drifting to the sands around his legs. His eyes took in the warm glimmer of the bonfire when they rose at Daymar's words. The kindness touched, even when the pale man's lips strained to supply it. Lexony provided an effortless return on the investment, a smile with lifted brow and relaxed cheeks. "Thank you. I will get a cloth." He made a covering gesture over his nose and mouth. "And whatever other recommendations are there, I'll follow. I am sure the Weyrfolk know their Weyr best, even when she's hurting."
He tipped his head thoughtfully toward Daymar's unfinished food, if only to encourage the other to finish his meal. "I can only hope Sebol takes care of himself as well," he said, suggestively this time. Daymar might be one of those with adequate influence. Lexony hoped he did not sound too nosy, caring so for the stranger he had met only thirty minutes prior. "He might very well Impress the first egg that breaks, at which time he will have to guard his hatchling instead of...the rest of us. The babies are so hungry. I could hear them squealing even as far up in the Stands as I was last time." Lexony thought this reason to grin, but he tempered his anticipation in the very likely event Daymar did not share it. "And if that ends up being the case, and Sebol leaves, those that are left will see you very well."
Lex tipped his head back to spy on Starfall as she ate her fish. "I think your life will be more important than someone scolding you. And the dragon. And all Pern..." His voice rose as if proud already, but the ex-guard shook his head. Such honors soared beyond him most of the time. The notion of warding a planet was too unreachable to provide motivation. He had to think of his son. He had to think of the little things. "You will stay well no matter what you or others do, because you have to take care of Starfall," he offered, half-joking, because of course Daymar had people more precious to him than his pet, right?
The sun was not getting any closer to cresting over the Weyr caldera, but Lexony could see its fingers gliding across the sea towards the dragons. Already the shadows on their long necks and beneath their wings blackened, and for all the contrast he could almost make out the ridges above their eyes and the solid lines of their jaws. "You can ask me anything else about where I was yesterday now, if you want," he said, arresting his attention back on Daymar. The other Candidate had a certain inherent drama to the structure of his face too, even outside the full glare of Rukbat.
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 24, 2011 0:15:04 GMT -5
Daymar nodded vaguely to that; he was hardly an expert on fire recovery, after all. "I suppose watch your footing," he suggested. "And be sure to take frequent breaks." His eyes strayed after the shrinking form of Sebolaren, and his lips thinned. Of course his friend, despite the injuries he bore and the fact that he could barely eat, would not be taking any breaks unless a healer actually forced him to do so. He would work until he dropped, and then work some more from a prone position. Noble, but stupid.
Oh, right. Not like Daymar had finished his own breakfast, so consumed had he been in Starfall's demands. He took a bite of his porridge and made a face at it. "It's not our usual fare, of course," he explained to Lexony. "I mean, several cooks...died. And they lost most of their equipment and such. I imagine the Holds will be sending things, but in the meantime..." In the meantime it was a true marvel that those who remained had pulled this together, and he made a mental note to offer them praise if he happened to run into them. Not that he would, Avoidance being his nickname. Not really. But it should be. Snapping his attention to the mention of Sebol, he said firmly, "He takes care of himself, mostly. He works a lot. And...well, I think a lot of the people who were at the heart of the fire really aren't hungry now." But Daymar was seeing to it that Sebol didn't starve. This stranger was throwing him off his game!
He smiled a bit at that. "He certainly deserves the first to break shell, for how long he's been waiting," he said firmly. But the mention of the dragonets' hunger only sparked a shudder from him. "Ugh, I know. And they eat raw meat, of course. Bloody and...ugh. And maybe being seen wouldn't be such a good thing, if a violent one were to hatch..."
Pointless to speculate, maybe; the hatching would be what it would be. Yet it was at the forefront of the Candidates' minds, and would only become moreso. Couineth would fly soon, everyone said. There would be eggs soon. "Yes," he agreed. "And I have to look after my sister." Of course, if Reylia Impressed and he didn't, it would be that much harder. She wouldn't need him then; she hardly needed him now, even. "It's important not to get mauled. I just don't know quite how to prevent it. Sebol has a way with animals and I just...hate them." Frank words, and they made him blush.
Daymar gazed out at the swimming dragons, then averted his eyes back to his bowl. "Pointless," he said. "If you were up to no good, then you will lie, and if you were not, then I have no need to know what you were doing with yourself at the time. I will conduct my own investigations. But thanks for the offer," he added. Politely.
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Azhdarchid
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Post by Azhdarchid on Aug 25, 2011 9:17:42 GMT -5
"You are most helpful." Lexony was starting to wonder if Daymar did not keep up this apparent kindness for other reasons entirely. Nothing sinister, but maybe a kind of automatic response, not as intentional as he initially interpreted. One of those smiles helpless in the face of the strange and confusing crossed his lips with all politeness. No dislike grew from his uncertainty. Curiosity surfaced instead.
The luxury of complaining about what food was provided to him had never been available to Lexony. Perhaps he should get used to being a critic; luxury was a dragonrider specialty, even in an Interval where they survived only on the promise of Thread. Lexony corrected the thought as it emerged: the certainty of Thread. Dragonriders deserved all support no matter the Turn. The Ballads taught well. Steering himself out of contemplation, he answered, "The first egg and a fortuitous clutch." Everyone knew what color broke shell first when the Hatching was to be great!
He listened to Daymar, not because it was better than trying to talk him out of anxiety or from some special concern, but because he thought the other Candidate's words worth his time. Daymar was his immediate senior in this dragon business, and Sebol had remained unapproachable even when he did linger. "Perhaps when you become a dragonman you have a little more preference to meat fresh off the beast. The Candidates-- Weyrlings, rather --who Impressed have always looked entranced to me when they fed their dragons. Happy. The blood meant less. Dragon hunger is greater than our own."
He was not sure he quite liked the idea of an alien instinct superseding his. The more retrospective end of his mind thought that funny, when he had really done little more in life than follow orders. Lexony's pride-- he did have some --would not let that cynicism stand, fiercely but silently recalling those events that were under his own helming. The sentiment passed without a single accompanying word or twitch. When he looked over, Daymar seemed to have gone through a similar cycle of denial and acceptance, both of them mourning their own flaws.
When the other Candidate found his lack of talent worthy of coloring his cheeks, even with Starfall crouched on his shoulder as evidence to the contrary, Lexony watched the pink ascend that frightfully white skin. He rubbed the back of his ear thoughtfully. "I would teach you how to turn a man's charge to your advantage if it would help, but those dragonets are very low to the ground. Most of their force would come at your legs and hips rather than your chest. Their wings act like a cloak to box you in. Plus I suppose flipping one on its back might be viewed as a little more outrageous than simply stepping away." He elbowed Daymar's arm to gently emphasize the last point.
Never had he experienced such distrust. Lex could only put on his most innocent look, which might have been a good deal more mischievous than intended for all his enthusiasm to prove himself. His gaze was always steady on though, and his chest fell in a sigh. "If your heart is in it, then follow till you discover the truth."
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Cathaline
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Post by Cathaline on Aug 26, 2011 17:22:53 GMT -5
Politeness was what Daymar knew, growing up as he had; being deliberately rude was almost unthinkable to him unless it was truly deserved. That, and it was a defense mechanism. Be polite, quiet, helpful, uninteresting, and eventually people would leave you alone and forget you'd ever existed. Sebol's unapproachable mystique - not to mention his height - would draw far more stares than Daymar ever did, despite his quirks. At least...that was the idea. "I'm glad to help," he said. Politely. "I'm sorry things have to be in such disarray. Usually one of the Candidatemasters would be able to offer more help, or they would assign another Candidate to show you the ropes, but obviously all hands are needed elsewhere today." Unless Lexony was deliberately avoiding the Masters for some reason...hmm. Suspicious.
"Fortuitous, yes," Daymar said, though privately he thought his own presence and anti-luck would mean that even if a queen were to hatch and Impress right off, something terrible was bound to happen. To him, most likely. He happened to be a great deal more superstitious about himself than he was about age-old traditions like that, okay?
Daymar nearly gagged at the thought of becoming inured to it. "They're touched with Impression. In the head," he said firmly. "Which is good, and perhaps it gets them through the first meal, but then you have to keep doing it and there's blood and things everywhere. I've been to the feeding pens, against my will. Dreadful stuff." Especially during the time they were too young to hunt on their own, and had to be hand-fed. And even once they could hunt, there was bathing...ugh.
Strangely enough, the melding of the minds - apart from the occasional hiccup like eating raw meat - was the very thing that kept Daymar in Candidacy when every illusion seemed to be stripped away. The concept of having just one person - creature - in the world that understood him completely, that would never be disappointed in him or disapprove of his choices...it was too good to pass up. Too necessary. He just hoped that a dragonet could see past his flaws and choose him.
Hey, Starfall wasn't an animal. Not really. Daymar's expression contorted through horror (at the idea of practice fighting with someone he didn't trust, or anyone, really), to amusement (at the idea of a dragonet wriggling around on its back), to mild shock (at being touched). He shied away from Lexony's elbow and squeaked out, half-laughing, "I don't fight! Practice or otherwise."
What was that look? Suspicious, that's what. "The truth will come out," Daymar said firmly. "I know it will. And those deaths will be properly avenged."
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