Post by RhiaBlack on Nov 20, 2013 17:35:11 GMT -5
{desc=Czervon}((OOC: Czervon is rather difficult to approach without a form of icebreaker (there's a reason behind it, promise), so to speak. While not overly talkative, he isn't generally hostile unless someone touches him without asking / warning him.))
Czervon had finally finished his chore list. With so many injured from past Hatchings still...well, the one Hatching, at least...there was no shortage of things for him to do. He found it oddly soothing, to have something - anything - to occupy his time and keep him out of harm's way, at least where 'harm's way' meant 'talking to people he didn't want to talk to'. All the same, Priderunner Der hadn't seemed too bad. Desk wasn't as reclusive as he had expected Whers to be; he hadn't expected the little Gray to be nearly as friendly as she came across, but even at that Czervon found himself unwilling to actually open up to anyone here. He would work fine with them on a team, of course, but if they wanted personal relationships, they could look elsewhere.
The thought weighed on him. Would this affect who he became, when he bonded? Would it create an issue between himself and his Wher, if one that was less-reclusive than he was, more outspoken, perhaps, if such a thing was possible - if one found him? Was he destined to be bound to a creature who was more socially ept than he was?
Czervon pulled his plate closer to himself; part of him would have been grateful for the lack of herdbeast and wherry in the kitchen at the cost of the poisonings, were he of the morbid mind to be grateful for horrible things happening. As it stood, he would probably have to fish for himself when suitable beasts were brought in. He was a shoddy hunter of anything land-based, and wasn't particularly prone to eating it; or vegetables that came from underground. Carrots and Tubers, primarily, though he would eat them if given no option. Fruit was more his cup of Klah, and he didn't mind a good tomato or other such over-ground vegetable. One had to stave off Scurvy somehow, after all.
These had been steamed, along with his fish - battered and fried, he dug into his meal with a sea-farer's ferocity, though there were obvious manners as to how he ate. His grandfather had taught him well enough. Elbows off the table, use your napkin, don't drop crumbs everywhere. Then again, with as many firelizards as the denizens of this Weyr held, crumbs and larger bits never lasted long.
Gray-green eyes swept the dining hall, as he washed down a mouthful of fish with an equal mouthful of Klah. Nobody on the map yet, no threat to his immediate promises of eating alone. Nobody seemed to bother him, at least they hadn't since Der had spoken to him with Desk at the lake. He wasn't sure if it was size that warded them off or not. Who knew. He wasn't about to start asking.
Even at that, Der and Desk coming to speak to him proved he wasn't as unapproachable as he tried to make himself. Part of him didn't really care; if people wanted to come up and talk to him, he of course wasn't going to stop them. Even though it annoyed him in some aspects, the Weyr was a place where communication was vital. It was no different than being on a ship. He had to talk to his shipmates, whether he could tolerate them or not - Czervon never admitted to actually liking anyone - and that stood true here.
Another mouthful of fish, followed by more Klah. He could tell this fish wasn't as fresh as some - caught last night, perhaps, but iced down so it wouldn't spoil, which wasn't hard to do given how sharding cold it was outside - and it didn't compare to Tillek. Nothing would, he garnered. His home Hold was known for it's Fishercrafting, the catches there weren't rivaled, as far as he was concerned, by anywhere else on Pern.
The Klah was pretty top-notch, though. He peered into the mug, running the napkin across his dark-auburn-stubbled chin. Hmmm.
Czervon had finally finished his chore list. With so many injured from past Hatchings still...well, the one Hatching, at least...there was no shortage of things for him to do. He found it oddly soothing, to have something - anything - to occupy his time and keep him out of harm's way, at least where 'harm's way' meant 'talking to people he didn't want to talk to'. All the same, Priderunner Der hadn't seemed too bad. Desk wasn't as reclusive as he had expected Whers to be; he hadn't expected the little Gray to be nearly as friendly as she came across, but even at that Czervon found himself unwilling to actually open up to anyone here. He would work fine with them on a team, of course, but if they wanted personal relationships, they could look elsewhere.
The thought weighed on him. Would this affect who he became, when he bonded? Would it create an issue between himself and his Wher, if one that was less-reclusive than he was, more outspoken, perhaps, if such a thing was possible - if one found him? Was he destined to be bound to a creature who was more socially ept than he was?
Czervon pulled his plate closer to himself; part of him would have been grateful for the lack of herdbeast and wherry in the kitchen at the cost of the poisonings, were he of the morbid mind to be grateful for horrible things happening. As it stood, he would probably have to fish for himself when suitable beasts were brought in. He was a shoddy hunter of anything land-based, and wasn't particularly prone to eating it; or vegetables that came from underground. Carrots and Tubers, primarily, though he would eat them if given no option. Fruit was more his cup of Klah, and he didn't mind a good tomato or other such over-ground vegetable. One had to stave off Scurvy somehow, after all.
These had been steamed, along with his fish - battered and fried, he dug into his meal with a sea-farer's ferocity, though there were obvious manners as to how he ate. His grandfather had taught him well enough. Elbows off the table, use your napkin, don't drop crumbs everywhere. Then again, with as many firelizards as the denizens of this Weyr held, crumbs and larger bits never lasted long.
Gray-green eyes swept the dining hall, as he washed down a mouthful of fish with an equal mouthful of Klah. Nobody on the map yet, no threat to his immediate promises of eating alone. Nobody seemed to bother him, at least they hadn't since Der had spoken to him with Desk at the lake. He wasn't sure if it was size that warded them off or not. Who knew. He wasn't about to start asking.
Even at that, Der and Desk coming to speak to him proved he wasn't as unapproachable as he tried to make himself. Part of him didn't really care; if people wanted to come up and talk to him, he of course wasn't going to stop them. Even though it annoyed him in some aspects, the Weyr was a place where communication was vital. It was no different than being on a ship. He had to talk to his shipmates, whether he could tolerate them or not - Czervon never admitted to actually liking anyone - and that stood true here.
Another mouthful of fish, followed by more Klah. He could tell this fish wasn't as fresh as some - caught last night, perhaps, but iced down so it wouldn't spoil, which wasn't hard to do given how sharding cold it was outside - and it didn't compare to Tillek. Nothing would, he garnered. His home Hold was known for it's Fishercrafting, the catches there weren't rivaled, as far as he was concerned, by anywhere else on Pern.
The Klah was pretty top-notch, though. He peered into the mug, running the napkin across his dark-auburn-stubbled chin. Hmmm.