I'll Take You All On. (Rii, Open)

[RhiaBlack]

He'd only been here for a measure of sevendays, now. A few of them, enough to have garnered the rough outline of what he was supposed to be doing at any given point throughout the day. Lessons, chores, food, laundry. The former had stood to...illuminate the situation he was in, much more than he had known prior to coming to Dalibor in the first place.

Whers. Czervon knew what they were, of course, but he had never actually seen one in person prior to the Hatching that he had attended, what...six candlemarks or so after his arrival? The Hatching Sands were enormous. That entire cavern was big enough to put a ship inside of, and then some, he suspected. Then again, Golds had to reside in there, and those that he had seen certainly weren't small.

Of all the things whose bad side he didn't want to get on. Right up there was Ausk and Kalesk. Both females were rather aggressive when it came to things that irked them, and he didn't want to be one of those things. He'd felt the power in the latter's tail when she had moved him away from that boy. The one that had touched him.

Czervon's grey-green eyes narrowed against the reflection on the water's surface. Of all the things he hated most, people touching him without permission had to be one of the top ones. Violation of his personal space, by people who he didn't know or trust. Everyone he trusted was either dead or back home at Tillek, so that left a measure of irritation to him that had seen him recluse himself to his room. Thankfully, no room-mates. Yet.

With any luck, he wouldn't get stuck with one, and if he did, it would be someone just as anti-social-butterfly and willing to keep to themselves as he was. Czervon didn't suspect he had that sort of luck, however.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat to guard against the chill in the air, he peered from the water to the skies overhead. Clear for this evening, so it appeared, but it was almost as if the moonlight itself were adding to the frigid temperatures. Probably snow soon, he suspected. It had been a long time since he'd seen snow.

Been a long time since he was out alone at night, too. It was almost peaceful, if he got past the feeling that he was an outsider here. Not unwanted, of course, he worked too hard not to be an asset to this place after all. Certainly still trying to find his niche in the Weyr, as it were.

Audren had told him those bug-like Pillie things lived in this lake, and not to go skipping stones unless he found himself at odds with several of them. Frowning slightly, he looked back across the water. Well, it certainly was quiet enough, if one didn't count the Watchdragons and Watchwhers. Not much sound beyond that. The occasional wild Wher, some wherries, people milling about far behind him at the Weyr itself. Over two-hundred people and their Bondeds here, was bound to be some noise in one form or another.

Czervon watched, and waited. People never left him alone long. Given he didn't really make the effort to interact with anyone here, and how...annoyingly easygoing most of them seemed to be, he didn't doubt someone would spot him and come to talk sooner or later, if he stood here long enough.

Not that he particularly -wanted- that. He was all right being left alone.

His back stiffened, his arms flexed to warm himself and ward against the cold. Bring your worst. I'll take you all on.

[Rii]

“We don’t have patrol, and you don’t even like the cold. Why do you want to go out tonight of all nights? It’ll probably snow.” Der didn’t mind the cold nearly as much as his sometimes-go-getting, sometimes-lazy wher did, and he certainly wasn’t against having a good ramble around the Bowl while they still could get around easily. No, he was arguing because he knew Desk, knew her like he knew himself. If she wanted to go out into a chill night like this, it was because she had some ulterior motive.

He didn’t trust her ulterior motives.

Lazy Der is lazy, she taunted dryly. We go. See things. Maybe new things, the grey added in a sly tone, well-acquainted with her bonded’s fondness for exploration.

Der grumbled. She had him there. “I don’t see what new things we can find inside the Weyr, but alright. Since you insist.” He found a jacket first, hauling it on before treading out of the handlers’ quarters and across the Bowl. “So where are we going?”

Lake, Desk responded laconically.

“And why…?”

Because. I want.

He heaved a resigned sigh. They were well-matched when it came to stubbornness; sometimes he out-stubborned her, and sometimes it just wasn’t worth trying. “Alright, to the lake it is.” The grey took off at a brisk pace, one Der could match out of practice and chose not to; she couldn’t make that much trouble in the Weyr. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, the short-statured man meandered after his even shorter-statured wher. At least it was a nice night for a walk: crisp air, plenty of moonlight to see by, not really any people out and about aside from the watchdragons and scheduled patrols.

Well, there was at least one exception to the ‘no people around’, because Desk had already found him. Loping up to the man standing at the water’s edge, the wher halted to look up - waaay up - at Czervon. Settling back on her haunches, four compact feet of stone-grey nightdweller studied the man. He wasn’t at all like her bonded, and yet he was. Interesting. She’d claimed they’d find something new, and so she had. Ha, so there. Considering her options while her slowpoke handler caught up, Desk offered her curt first impression of the man to his face - or rather, to his… knee.

Tall.

[RhiaBlack]

Czervon had been fully dissolved in his thoughts, and the sounds of footfalls behind him hadn't truly surpassed the noise of the milling-about of Weyrbound people beyond his immediate area. It was a bit of a startling when a voice was suddenly there, right in his ears, yet he had no indication of a person anywhere around him.

Tall.

Czervon peered around himself, and became suddenly aware of something much smaller than himself down around his feet. He took a step to one side, putting some space between himself and this new...Wher. It was certainly a Wher; and from the lessons he had gotten up to now, he knew feral ones didn't speak. At least, didn't bespeak any person. So this one had to have a keeper somewhere.

He looked around the immediate area, only to spy what he could assume was the indicated person coming up to follow his - it was definitely male, judging by the build, though Czervon was somewhat amused at his...lack of stature - bonded. At first glance, it could have passed for an Iron, but a quick reminder of size hit him full force in the frontal lobe. It was too small to be an Iron. Had to be a Gray, on that account, but he wasn't sure if it was male or female. Oh well. Czervon was certain he would be informed soon enough.

A short snort of a breath through his nostrils, though there was nothing short of the whisper of air to accompany the movement as far as sound, before he peered back down at the Gray at his feet. There was no other movement from him, no indication of acknowledgement to the Priderunner coming up on them from behind, though Czervon was loathe to balk at being at least mannerly to those who now outranked him. For now, at least.

He turned his body somewhat, so that Der would not be presented with his back - Czervon didn't know this man, and while he understood that Candidates were lower on the proverbial totem pole, he also understood that there was pretty close to nobody in this place he knew, or that knew him. The only ones to now that he had interacted with were Audren, and those responsible for giving him lessons and chore duties. He'd done his best to do his chores without companionship, when possible, and when he had to work with another, not a word had been said between them. Nothing beyond formalities.

And so, a one-word greeting served to receive a one-word response.

"Short."

[Rii]

Not short. Small. Desk returned in her clipped fashion, amused. Yes, she was small and it was stupid because everything overlooked her. Well. That just meant she could be extra sneaky at need. They’d overlook her amidst the stones and shadows and then BAM! Tiny ball of teeth and claws and muscle to the stomach. She had it all planned out. Didn’t mean she shouldn’t have been an orange or something, though.

Der lengthened his stride when he saw that Desk had somehow managed to find someone out enjoying the relative quiet of the night. Someone that, surprisingly, she’d chosen not to ignore. Apparently this was her idea of entertainment tonight - forcing him to be somewhat social. She took the occasional fit of deciding Der needed company outside of his patrols; the last time, he’d ended up signed up on a blind date with a healer. It had been awkward. He caught the quick, amused flick of the man’s gaze from tiny wher to short, lean handler, and his dusky cheeks flushed slightly. Okay, so he wasn’t tall either! So what? Who was this guy, anyway?

Coming to a halt at the lake’s shore, he stuffed his hands a little more firmly into his pockets. “Hey. If she’s bothering you, just say so. We can leave.” Anytime now, we can leave. The wher exhaled a short huff through her snout. He would choose to be difficult. Well, she could fix that.

Meet tallperson, the grey directed her handler, making an exception and allowing Czervon to hear her. New tallperson. Meet for you. Der eyed his wher for a moment silently. Just you wait until we’re back alone in our quarters, you scheming little wench. Making him break his reclusive habits on a whim. We’re going to have a talk, you and I. And since when did you talk to strangers?

Since always. When need, she returned privately, the words oozing smugness.

I can count on my hands the number of times you’ve decided there’s -need- to… argh, never mind. Unfortunately, there was no way he could just leave without at least a few minutes of awkward conversation. Trapped into doing the mannerly thing, Der pulled a hand from his pocket to offer to the much taller man, tilting his head back to look up at him. “Der, handler of Desk. I’m surprised. Desk doesn’t usually find other people all that interesting.”

[RhiaBlack]

Czervon's otherwise cold expression warmed slightly - though not nearly enough to be ascertained by anyone but a creature used to seeing such a minute change. Well, the Whers in this place seemed personable enough. This one hadn't backed down, and hadn't shown any measure of recoil when he had restated the opposite to it. It also wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, so it appeared. It was also revealed, soon enough, to be a she.

His eyes shifted from Desk, back to the water's surface. His hands remained in his pockets, and when Der offered his own, Czervon took several long minutes to finally turn his attention from the water to the offered appendage. Great. So he's one of those.

Heedless to the prospect of being bothered - as anyone who spoke to him essentially bothered him, but that went without saying, he was used to it by now - he blew a long breath out into the world beyond his stubble-clad face, reaching up to pull the fleece cap a bit further down across his ears, atop the bandanna that kept his hair out of his eyes and face.

Czervon frowned. So he did have rank, though that, too, went without saying. They wouldn't bond a Wher to just anyone, after all - so he figured, anyway, and so lessons had said. Begrudged, he retracted a gloved hand from within his coat pocket, and a fisher's and sailor's grip returned a short, blunt handshake to the Priderunner.

Your name, you unmannered cur. Tell him your sharding name.

"Czervon. Candidate, for now." He looked down towards Desk, as if to wordlessly introduce the same, before shoving his hand back into his pocket once more and reverting his eyes to the waterline.

"Given this Weyr's past...problems, I can't say I'm surprised she hasn't come looking around someone new. Interesting or not."

The man's cheeks had colored, and Czervon wasn't so daft to not notice it - though it could attribute to any number of things. Someone had, in their chattering at him during chores, mentioned that some Wherhandlers were reclusive or even shy at Impression. Something that Czervon couldn't precisely wrap his mind around, but even at that he understood how being confined to night-time territories would leave anyone relatively reluctant to socialize. That was something he -could- understand. Perhaps it was simply the weather, or the exercise in not-so-swiftly chasing down his Gray. Czervon's eyes hardened. He wasn't hideous, but he wasn't particularly or overly handsome, either. He refused to believe it was anything close to that neighborhood of emotions. Not for him.

He could see from being closer than he was, that while Der was smaller-statured, the man was by no means small-built. At least, from what Czervon could see for his clothing. Darker skinned like most Pernese, though a bit darker than he remembered seeing anywhere but some of the warmer climates. His eyes narrowed against their focus on the water, feeding off a mental snapshot taken when he had shaken the other man's hand. He was sturdy, perhaps more than most his size that the Fisher had encountered prior. He'd have done well on a boat. Maybe cage-baiting, perhaps net-trolling.

Nothing distracted him fully, however. Not the stars he was studying, not the water's surface, not Desk or Hers. No, even though his eyes were elsewhere, there was no question that his attention was still fully on the pair in his immediate area.

[Rii]

Perhaps surprisingly, perhaps not, Der was just as quick as Czervon to retract his hand, returning it to his pocket. Could have been temperature, except for the short-statured handler didn’t seem that bothered by the cold. Which seemed to indicate that he wasn’t particularly fond of casual contact either. No, manners had required him to offer the handshake, but quite frankly he would have been just as happy to have skipped that pleasantry. Maybe skipped running into anyone out here, but that was not contending with Desk.

The handler considered that short grasp of hands. Almost too quick for politeness (which made it more than long enough for him), the hesitation beforehand… he wondered if he could have perhaps forgone the handshake after all. And yet, it had been a firm grasp. Maybe that’s an ‘if I have to do it, I’ll do it right’? I don’t even know… Der gave up on the analysis. He wasn’t that good at interpreting the subtle nuances of body language and social interaction, courtesy of only really engaging in said interactions when he had to. And it wasn’t like there was a way to undo the handshake and try again to see if the other way would have been better.

Too bad. It certainly would be interesting, to have the ability to go back and redo.

Dismissing the whimsical idea, Der returned to the matter at hand. “I’m going to guess wher candidate, given the time of night.” He also looked a little old for dragons, but it was hard to say for sure; he wasn’t going to wager any marks on being able to accurately peg someone’s age by looking at them. “If you’re a candidate, you can’t be all that bad - you got past the candidatemasters.” If he was actually a dragon candidate, some dragon found him worthwhile; if he was a wher candidate like Der assumed, well… he had to get past Audren and Ausk, which wasn’t always easy. “Although I’ll grant that Desk wouldn’t be able to tell that by looking at you.”

Could. Have rope things. Not that she knew one of the rope-things from another, but why point out something that would weaken her own argument? It kept her handler on his toes.

Der tilted his head down to look at the wher at their feet. “Desk points out that there’s rank knots to look at, but since people don’t always wear them” he fixed the wher with a stern sort of look, “it’s a moot point.” So there. Never mind that even if they were wearing them, you had to see the right arm, which wasn’t possible if that side was turned away. He kept his head down, gaze shifting to look sidelong at the much taller man next to him. “So what brought you to Dalibor?” was his next blunt inquiry.

[RhiaBlack]

Czervon seemed unphased by the chatter; it wasn't as if he was really saying much of anything to start with. He adjusted his hands in his pockets, eyes remaining where they had been for most of the makeshift conversation, and most of the time he had been out here - on the waterline. Der wasn't standing right on top of him, which stood to reason that perhaps the smaller man was just as prone to avoid social interactions as he was. Had the Wher instigated it? It appeared to be the case. Czervon's stubble-clad lips etched a frown. Could there be a chance that his own Wher, when he obtained one, would do the same thing?

Czervon wasn't keen on the idea of being forced into anything, let alone social situations with people he hadn't any desire to speak with. It was plausible to work on a team without saying many words - his ship had made use of that. It made the words that were said all the more meaningful, at least he gathered.

"Wher, yes."

He looked upwards towards the stars. Counted out the span of several, found the constellations among them. Pieced them together, tried to think of where his ship would be right now, if it hadn't sunk.

All hail the Northern Star!
Bring aft and stern to near and far!
Sweep the gailing winds to port,
The seawhers and the storms to thwart!
What do you do with a drunken sailor!
Throw him over, hang him sober!
Haul him up, set him on bailer,
Never sail without a jailer!

So sing you now your shanty songs,
Til sea and wind are all but gone,
Sea legs never fade away,
As stars will do in Rukbat's day....

Czervon's eyes narrowed. He'd be lying if he said he didn't miss it. He had lived his entire life on the sea, and to have it taken from him by bad luck had soured his entire demeanor. Being bound to the earth, never to sail another vessel had borderline destroyed him, but he was struggling to make the best of it.

"They seem to appreciate someone willing to work, must be a lack of those around here that do that if they're willing to take me on. I've noticed some of those Candidates are little more than weyrbrats with a need to feel important. Too busy worrying about who's rolling in the furs with whom and who's friends with who to pick up a bucket and a mop without being forced."

It took a considerable effort to drag his vision from the skies, back to the water, before those cold-toned grey-green orbs settled on Desk, then back - finally - to her Handler.

"Work. Usefulness. Unwilling to sit on my backside in a sea port and suit myself with trying to get Master knots in a place where there's ten thousand trying to do the same thing. Lost the vessel I was on board with, came back injured, got slighted, and next thing I know they're telling me about a Plague and saying that there's a need for more Wherhandlers at Dalibor. Never heard of the place more than a name before I started looking into it, outside of some rumors about twin dragons and some catastrophe at a Hold Gather."

[Rii]

Der considered himself lucky that Desk didn’t often take a social fit. For the most part, his grey was content to mind her own business, talking to him only when necessary and carrying out their duties with the concentration of a perfectionist. And yet, perhaps once a Turn or so, Desk decided to try something different, like volunteering for a new duty or approaching a complete stranger to see what would happen. Der still hadn’t decided if it was for her entertainment and personal goals, or to push him in new directions; it might even have been a little of both. As fond of novelty as he was, he really could do without that novelty being people.

At least Czervon didn’t seem as tiresome as the average person could be. Reticent, which he could very much appreciate; Der suspected that the candidate, should he bond to a wher and stay at Dalibor after finishing his training, would be the type of priderunner that would complete a night’s patrol without the need of (shudder) small talk. Can we have more of those? he spared a moment for the wistful thought. Some of his fellow priderunners could be… more friendly than he preferred, to put it nicely.

The wherhandler tilted his head back to meet Czervon’s gaze squarely, dark brown to grey-green, refusing to be cowed by the disparity in their heights. He pursed his lips for a moment, considering the candidate’s assessment of his fellow candidates. Admittedly, he had very little to do with them, dragon or wher, but he had yet to forget his own candidate days, Turns ago as they were. The antics that some of them got up to - alright, so he’d been up to a few of his own, back then. But I was a lot younger, then.

Some babies. Get otherself, grow up. Desk’s tail flicked, the twin tips tapping gently against the ground.

Der blinked, breaking eye contact long enough to look at his wher. “True enough,” he murmured, sending a quick query to the grey at his feet. That, it seemed, had been just to him. “Desk says that some of the candidates are children still, no matter what their age is. Bonding - to a wher or a dragon - matures them. Or as I would say,” he offered a cynical smile, “surviving the discipline required of a weyrling or wherling does. The best ones have that discipline before they start. There’s always at least a few mature ones in a batch, luckily. Odd as it is, it’s not always the oldest ones, either.”

Well, what do you know. Someone wasn’t caught up in the frivolities - apparently, Czervon was one of the more mature ones that he’d spoken of. “Well, there’s work enough here,” he confirmed with a shrug, looking out at the ripples on the lake’s surface contemplatively. “It’s an odd place - but a good one,” he corrected himself quickly. “Of course, some people don’t see it that way. We’re different, we spawn new color mutations, we buck traditions sometimes, so they write us off.” Der shook his head, muttering, “or try to get rid of us entirely.”

[RhiaBlack]

He had to admit, it was somewhat reassuring to see that Der was just as reluctant to have any sort of physical contact with him, as he was with the Priderunner. Some people did seem to have a sense for when they were standing uncomfortably close, and it appeared the Grayhandler indeed possessed it.

Something to be grateful for, at least.

The night air coursed across his face, drew a chill in his bones that he hadn't felt in some time. Not since he had spent long candlemarks on the deck of a ship. It never really got this nippy anywhere else that he had gone; land-based, at least. The seas got cold when one ventured far enough one way or the other. Reaching up, Czervon pulled his hat down further on his head, across his ears.

"Knew more than a few people who I suspect wouldn't grow up even if someone told them they'd die if it didn't happen. Even at that, it's a little concerning that they would act the way they do when they're responsible for more than just themselves. Probably harder to corral an irresponsible person when they've got a giant creature with claws and teeth to back up their antics. Then again, Audren and Kalenna seem pretty good at screening for the Whers, at least. I don't know a thing about the whole Searching process with Dragons, but it seems like there's more children - both in mind and body - who are trying to Stand for those. One of the ones I had to work with the other afternoon said something about Dragons pick them."

He exhaled a slow, shallow breath, rubbing his face before he shoved his hands back into his pockets. No matter how cold it got, Czervon found a sense of comfort in being close to large bodies of water. Well, relatively, anyway. He hadn't asked Audren or any of the other higher-ups than himself if he was permitted to venture down to the beaches or not. He hadn't seen any other Candidates head that way, and most of them seemed inclined to stay close; not to mention he'd heard the rules about ten different times from different people so far, and all of them felt the need to push that they weren't allowed out without being accompanied. Czervon cracked a small smirk. Like he needed an escort. Please. It took everything he had to stifle the snort.

"It's my last shot," he shrugged, when Der mentioned Dalibor being an odd but good place. "I screw up here and get kicked out, it's back to Tillek and spending the rest of my life working in my grandfather's shop. Sitting on the docks and piers wishing someone would give me a shot on another boat, but it'll never happen. I'm a marked man, as far as they're concerned. If I don't get a Wher, there's nothing else left but Master knots for me. I'd rather do something productive with the some sixty or so years I probably have left on this world."

He wasn't the sort of person to do things when he was idle. No rocking back on his heels, no fiddling or twitching or bad habits. Nothing outside of the hard stare of a man who had looked down the barrel of death's flamethrower twice now, and lived to tell about it. Every time he thought about going overboard, it made his side hurt. The nightmares came back, sometimes. Changed, depending on what had happened. He remembered the fear he felt, when that first breath missing air and made entirely of water rushed past his nose and into his lungs. Panic. The feel of helplessness when you were drowning and there was nothing to save you.

Czervon closed his eyes, blew a breath out without a sound out of habit. It had been silent. He was surprised, that had been the biggest sensation. Raging storm above the waterline, but the moment he'd sunk with the ship about 3 meters down, everything had been silent. The only sound was the pounding of his heart in his eardrums.

The boat had rolled as it went down, and he'd caught the edge of a hole in the hull. As it rolled over, it pushed him up. He'd breathed in that lungful of water, and coughed half of it up, adrenaline forcing him to--

No. No, don't think about it. That's all you'll think about. That's all you'll ever think about.

"I heard there's been a lot of stuff happen here. Fires, poisonings, mauling deaths, plagues. Powers that be have it in for you lot, don't they, but then again I suppose you don't get stronger and more resilient sitting on your backside all day and waiting on other people to fly Thread for you."

Czervon knew what Thread was. Anyone who lived on Pern knew what Thread was, but he'd never seen it until the time had come. Until he'd had to learn to fight it on a ship, in the middle of the ocean, with no Dragons to sweep overhead and save them. It made him hard, it made his crew hard. It made anyone outside a Hold or a Weyr hard. He wasn't afraid of it. If anything, it should be afraid of him.

He met Der's gaze, and there was nothing meant to stare the other male down behind his half of the engagement. Czervon's eyes tended to hold the expression of nonchalance. He didn't really care about Der's size, or who he was beyond his rank. No personal attachments, that had been - and for as long as he hoped, would always be - his motto. He could be civil enough, he could even creep towards that edge of friendliness when people found a shared interest or common ground with him; and Der had, both with Desk (as he was Standing for Whers, which would mean eventually they would be somewhere close to the same rank), as well as his no-touch mannerisms.

Czervon looked away from him, back to Desk, before pulling his eyes back to the lake.

"Does it usually snow a lot here?"

[Rii]

“Yeah, well, you act like that here - out on patrol, or up there fighting Thread,” he jabbed a thumb upwards at the sky, “it’ll come down to that. You smarten up or you’re dead.” He shifted his weight, suddenly overaware of his phrasing. “Well. Not you you. Just a general you. It just… it does happen. Not a lot, but some people somehow manage to get through weyrlinghood or wherlinghood and get themselves killed out of sheer immaturity. Or worse, someone else.”

Had that been too blunt? Too critical? People, he recalled belatedly, didn’t like it so much when you implied they were idiots. Or that the people around them were idiots. Der didn’t suffer fools gladly, though, and it showed - and he hadn’t much fostered his people skills, and that showed too. Shard it, shard it, shard it. Who knows what he thinks of me now. See this? This is why I avoid people when I can.

Worry less. Is truth. Truth best. Desk didn’t see much point in coating things with sweetener. If people acted like idiots and got themselves killed, then they were dead idiots. Simple.

“Wher candidates mostly volunteer, and they’re usually older, which helps,” Der explained, glad to have an easy escape from his awkwardly blunt statement. “Then they get screened, so no one criminal or unsound of mind gets in. Not so much on sound of body - we’ve got a couple people missing hands and so on, and there’s a blind girl. You don’t get that on the dragon side of things.” Now that it was something that was more fact and less opinion, the words came easier. “Candidates for dragons get Searched - dragons can sense whatever it is that makes them good for Impression, some better than others. They have to be physically whole - no missing parts, no disabilities - and between ten and twenty Turns old. I guess they think if a dragon thinks you’re worthwhile, it’s all the character voucher that you need.”

He shrugged. He didn’t necessarily agree that everyone who a dragon found merit in would make a good rider, but it wasn’t really his decision. “Some people get Searched for dragons, then decide to go for whers instead, or for both. Happened that way for me - got Searched with another from my hold and decided when I was at the Weyr that I really preferred being up at night and Standing for whers over going after a dragon instead. Didn’t really figure on it being Desk, but she’s mine. I wouldn’t change it now.”

Der considered. It was true, Dalibor had seen a lot. “And giant, man-eating fish - in this lake, actually. Assassins, too, once,” he offered. “That was a mess. But does it really matter, about luck? So we’ve been unlucky, so some pretty bad things have happened. Could sit and wallow in it and angst, but it doesn’t change anything. We move forward.” It occurred to him that Czervon might appreciate that sentiment, if he’d lost his ship. He didn’t have the details, but from the candidate’s sideways comments, that loss was hung around his neck like his lost ship’s anchor. A marked man, he’d said. Like no one would take him back. Seemed like he could do with some moving forward, too.

“It can. We can get it knee-depth or more, not counting the drifts. Not as bad as… well, Telgar, say, or High Reaches, from what I hear. Not sure if you’d call it a lot or not. I used to, but I’m from down south, where it doesn’t snow at all.” He smirked in self-derisive humor. He’d gotten used to it.

[RhiaBlack]

There it was. The elusive, brief, shard-it-all, did-it-actually-exist smirk. A small tug at the corners of his lips, a hint of amusement that was gone like a snowflake in a blizzard; lost among the deluge of what was the same color as everything else. If one looked hard enough, it was there, but if you blinked, you missed it.

Enough that it was obvious that Czervon had understood what he meant, and wasn't offended. The more Der talked to him, and the more they had their conversation out here in the chill, the more Czervon found himself warming up to the idea that there was at least one other person outside of Audren and Kalenna here who wasn't a complete imbecile and who had the personality Faranth didn't give a wherry.

"Always worst when it happens to someone that isn't the one that deserves it most."

It was an almost dark comment, in some respects. In others, it was like him; blunt, honest, and without any measure of sugar-coating.

"Worst sharding thing about it, is it seems like the bad stuff always happens to good people. I don't put much stock in anyone's worthiness until I work with them, but seen my share of people get shafted when they've done everything they could do to break their back for others. It's not fair, but then again, that's life, I suppose."

He let the conversation lapse for a moment or two, at least from his end, while his attention was grasped by someone - rather, a group of someones - venture out from the dining hall and head down the side of the Bowl. He watched them like a hawk, and when it became obvious they had no interest in bothering the trio by the lake, he turned his attention back to just that.

"Makes sense, I suppose. From what I gather, we don't have to worry about flying, so it would make sense that we don't have to have all our limbs and what not. Though I imagine the blindness is a little hard. Oh well. Things that don't kill us..."

He had contemplated Standing for a Dragon, once. Even suspected he could, until he discovered there was an age limit. One he was well beyond at this point. Part of him was curious to know what flying was like. He'd never had his feet off the ground outside of being on a ship in the middle of the sea, so it was something that would be a purely brand-new discovery for him. He'd always wanted to know if the heights would scare him, or anything like that. Something he would probably never know. He didn't have any intentions on going anywhere he couldn't walk, not anymore. Or maybe anywhere he couldn't get to by Runner, at that. A potential investment, when he sorted getting a Wher. Maybe he'd get a Runner. It would be something to occupy his time when he wasn't worrying about Thread and what not with his Wher.

He listened to Der as he contemplated, the Priderunner's assertion of moving forward certainly something he could get behind. Something he understood.

"Seems like a sound decision, if you ask me. No point in wallowing in the past. Learn from it, sure, certainly, but spend ages moping and whining because Faranth gave us the short end of the stick? Char it and write out something with it. No point in being useless. I figure I might be a little blunt, maybe a little hard to get along with if someone's looking for some sort of best-friend-sort or some sharding shells like that, but I'm not a bad person. Have a lot to give this place, just need the chance to prove it. Hopefully it won't take long to get a Wher and I can start. The less time I'm stuck working with those mindless brats, the better. Some of them, I have no idea what a Dragon would see in them, they spend more time yammering at me about stuff I don't care about, than doing any work. It's a bit irritating."

He sighed resolutely, shifting his weight and adjusting his hands within his pockets. Otherwise, Czervon was still as stone, and twice as immovable.

"I've only seen it a handful of times. Stuck to the coastlines, mostly, and it seems like most of the storms get blown inland. If you all get a decent amount here, this will be the first time I've actually had to deal with it. Dealt with ice, and then Thread. Bad storms, hot days, cold days. Just about everything. Sort of looking forward to see what's going to get chucked at me here." He peered down at Desk. "How long have you had her?"

Der was making him open up. He was still guarded, but the fact that the Priderunner nor Desk had specifically pushed him into any sort of personal questions or been overly nosy, and answered his inquiries with matter-of-factness that he found lacking from most other people here had served to ease his reservations. He was warming up to the notion that maybe Der was worth talking to. Maybe he wasn't as bad as most people seemed to be. Maybe Czervon could tolerate having him around. It would be interesting to find out, all the same. Maybe he might even answer some of those personal questions, if Der chose to ask. Maybe. He hadn't quite decided yet.