Like Fire Around the Brim [Fide]

[kyrillion]

Mine, are you sure?[/color]
For the fifth time, Rip, I'm positive.
But your arm, MineOwn. It still hurts, and what if you hurt it again?[/color] Concern was evident in the blue's tone, but not so much as his characteristic, overriding calm. He was worried for her, of course; he had always been protective of her, just as they were both fiercely protective of those they cared about. It was a big part of the common ground that had drawn them together in the first place. And yet he knew full well that working himself into a state (or an outright panic like the one her accident had provoked) wouldn't help either of them. It would only serve to distract her, which had been the big issue last time, and he knew now from experience that it would thoroughly exhaust him. And so, recognizing that his rider was not about to back down from her decision to finally return to the forge, and acknowledging that he himself still needed time to recuperate from the several wounds sustained during the fight with the renegades, he had relented and even allowed himself to be persuaded to stay at their weyr to soak up some sun out on the ledge. If anyone could out-stubborn him, it was Kyrillion.

As far as his rider was concerned, being back in the forge was a pleasant relief. It was comfortable, familiar - she knew the place, and the job, inside and out. And while she might have felt a little nervousness, returning after sustaining a semi-serious injury, she discovered that the only thing she really felt was annoyance. Her projects had been set back by months, and for what? Stupid tongs hadn't gotten a decent grip on the knife, which had practically jumped out of her hands at the first opportunity... And yet, what it all boiled down to were her rules. If she hadn't broken them, like the wherry-brained fool that she was, she might have caught her mistake in time. In all probability, she might not have made such a rookie mistake to begin with.

Mistake? It was an accident, Mine.[/color]
Accidents don't happen to people who're paying attention, Rip. The all-too familiar quote provoked a scowl, and it stayed with her as she traipsed around the forge gathering things she'd need. Last time, it had been her preoccupation that had been the problem. She'd been distracted, and that distraction had led to the accident. Now, however, she was throwing herself back into the forge and using her work as the distraction. The battle, no more than a few days past, had stayed with her. The knowledge of what they'd done, even though it was justified in their eyes, was a heavy burden. The numbness had taken some time to subside, but in its place had blossomed a mute frustration and purposeless anger. An anger she was now pinning on her injury, because it sure as shells beat facing the real source; she and Rip were killers. They had taken lives. When it all boiled down to it, she was angry at herself; if it had just been the accident, she would have dealt with it by now and moved on. But coupled with the aftermath of the battle, she didn't think she was prepared to face the music just yet. She needed more time.

It took her several minutes to gather the materials she'd need - goggles, gloves, a mallet, her personal, precisely-worked steel - and amass them on a clear workbench. And because she was feeling a bit less rational than usual, most of that pent-up anger seemed to be focused on the knife responsible; just looking at it made her arm itch and burn, and the angry red scar was plainly visible with her rolled-up sleeves. It was too hot to leave them down in a place like this, particularly during the summer, even if she thought for a moment that it was healed enough to not be affected by fabric rubbing up against it. At least she didn't have to bandage it anymore.

Once she'd collected the necessary tools, she took a moment to step back and evaluate. Where to start? Her emotions were only just under control, which was unusual for her; but the forge was empty, and it was always easier to just roll with the tides when there wasn't a definitive reason to keep them in check. She was resolutely focused; why not let some of that frustration out? This, after all, was supposed to be the distraction. The art to channel all of that emotion into.

In light of her decision to take a therapy-by-art approach, she quickly determined that starting right back in with that knife was a little ambitious. It was meant to be a gift, anyway; no use risking damaging it because she was still angry with the sharding thing. Placing it to the side to effectively remove the temptation altogether, she mulled over her other options before settling on runnershoes. They were always in demand - a bit tricky, but simple enough once you got the hang of them. And over the years she'd made more of the things than she could count. It would require focus, but nothing innovative or particularly difficult. She certainly wouldn't be using her own steel, though - it'd taken weeks to get it up to the standards she and her grandfather had set. Course, the new alloy still needed to be tested in the field; but knife fights weren't exactly things you set up in advance.

A few more minutes of rummaging through the spare iron pieces and she found one that she deemed suitable. Back to the table, and she wasted no time prepping her station and tossing the piece into the forge itself. Careful observation would tell her when it reached the temperature she wanted; the color of the metal betrayed such details to a trained eye. When the time came, she moved quickly but precisely, her movements carrying the ease of experience. Tongs in hand, she placed them with more careful attention than, perhaps, she'd given in the past, and then levered the now-glowing iron to the anvil, setting it down in the center. Then the mallet found its way into her other hand. One strike, two, three; the clang of metal against metal was like music to her ears, and the wash of sparks that exploded around her was a comfort; and that, too, could be used as an indicator. The sparks became less frequent as the temperature fell, of course, but a careful observer might notice that the sound changed, as well. And when the sound hit a certain pitch, she knew to move it back into the forge. Forge, hammer, repeat. Forge, hammer, repeat. And the shape of the metal changed, subtly, every time. Her mind was blank, focused on the task; and yet her subconscious was still seething, tormenting and leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. One she couldn't help but compare to the taste of the ichor in Ripariath's, when he'd delivered that last fatal blow...

And so each time she cycled through the pattern, her mallet-strokes became rougher, quicker, more... well, aggressive. Soon, she was hammering the living daylights out of the thing, and if the odd mixture of a scowl and satisfied grin were any indication she was rather enjoying herself. She could feel Rip's faint amusement and stronger sympathy, but she studiously ignored it. Art by therapy, indeed - though in this case it also doubled as a workout. The heavy mallet was becoming a strain on her arm, but she ignored that, too. She just wanted all the pent-up frustration out of her system; she wasn't sure of any other way to do that, but this.[/size]

[fidelli]

Hatoter was busy. Mind you, he was always busy, because the wild and slightly crazy boy was one of those teenagers who hated to sit still, but Hat was even more busy today than most days. He had accidentally ticked the Headwoman off, and she was now after his blood. What fun! If you heard his side of the story, you would have believed that it really wasn't his fault, but a sane adult may have realized that borrowing the trays from the kitchen to go sliding across the shallow water of the lake was probably not the best idea. He had promised he would bring them back, but after some girl he hadn't met - Pratyba, was that her name? After she had done something like, one of the drudges had mumbled about no utensils at all, steal something? Well, after he "borrowed" the trays with all intense purposes of returning them, the headwoman had come hunting for his head.

He really did have to meet this Pratyba chick.

Anyway.

At the moment, Hat was very carefully avoiding the Headwoman, and if that meant roaming the lower caverns, that was what it would be. He was sure if he laid low for the next day or so, he would be fine... But the Headwoman was known for being rather... Spicy, so they would see. Still, even as he knew it would save his skin, he was debating going up for air. No one was down here! It was really boring, actually, and left to his own silence was actually slightly depressing. Especially with the fight having been so close - it had only been a day or so. It was risky stealing the trays, but few male candidates left in the barracks... They needed that fun moment, the chance to get the harsh keens of death out of their ears.

So, he was roaming the empty halls, rolling his every present hat up and down his arms and playing around with it, while debating the pros and cons of trying to sneak up and past the Headwoman. The thing is, that damned woman seemed to just know when and where he would appear. As he was musing, and walking into the deeper parts of the Weyr, he began to hear a noise. The cool thing about Hat was that he was curious - and he had tried many things. He had once gotten to play with blacksmiths, when he was younger - it was a woman who had taken amusement with the young excited boy who wanted to know "why." So, he had gotten a crash, brief, course in Blacksmithing. He could never make anything, but he had enjoyed the sparks.

And, to come of the rant, Hatoter had heard the banging. As curious as a kitten, he followed the sound, peaking into where he found the forge. It was only occupied by one person - and by the dim fires, a Rider. A Bluerider, young looking body, but muscles - he was positive he could not lift that mallet as many times as he had heard her. He walked in on quiet feet, scooping up a pair of goggles and snapping them over his own eyes. He came up behind her - careful to make sure it wasn't the mallet hand - and peeked at the piece of steel that she had beaten so much it looked like a leaf, and the sparks were fading. "I don't think that the poor piece of metal every did anything to you, pretty miss." He smiled over and down at her - he was taller than her - with a cheeky grin even as he tipped his hat to her. "Hi!"

[kyrillion]

The sudden exertion had her breathing in quiet, shallow gasps; the mallet was heavier than she remembered it. Or perhaps it was merely her extended absence from the forge - in any event, by the time the sound of footsteps registered over the sharp clang of metal-on-metal, she was about spent. Letting the mallet rest on the anvil, directly beside the now-pulverized steel, her free hand snaked up (albeit carefully, so as not to brush the burn against anything) to wipe at a bit of sweat on her brow. She'd assumed that the footsteps belonged to another forge worker, who no doubt would be absorbed in their own project soon enough; she certainly wasn't expecting the quiet, cheeky greeting that followed moments later.

A small, nearly imperceptible gasp and a slight widening of the eyes betrayed her surprise, though neither lasted longer than a moment. She found a cheeky grin and handsome face in far closer proximity than she'd been expecting when she relinquished the mallet and spun around, but by that time she'd carefully schooled her expression into one of cool nonchalance - though she could not keep her eyes from expressing her own curiosity. After all, the forge wasn't exactly a popular hangout in the weyr - too hot, too noisy, and usually filled up with busy, abrasive crafters trying to make a deadline. It hadn't been business as usual since the battle, however, and a quick survey of the room told her that they were the only occupants. And she didn't recognize this intruder, when by now she'd loved at Dalibor long enough to at least know faces, if not names. Still, she held off replying long enough to pick up the tongs, scoop up the still-smoldering leaf of steel, and toss it with practiced ease into the bucket of water set out next to the work table. It sizzled and hissed angrily as it clunked to the bottom, and as she waited for the noise to subside she took the opportunity to scrutinize the man before her.

He was young, about her age, with a grin she wasn't sure she trusted - and if he'd hoped to flatter her with that 'pretty miss' bit, it just wasn't happening. Still, he seemed an interesting enough fellow, and had obviously known enough to grab a pair of goggles on his way in. And it wasn't every day one greeted her with such originality - or with such a hat! Her interest piqued, she belatedly returned his smile with a soft, faintly amused one of her own, and his tip-of-the-hat with a brief nod. A single eyebrow arched, she shrugged casually and leaned back against the table. "And what if I were to tell you that it was a nasty, vindictive little piece of metal that had it coming?" Her voice was colored with amusement, but carried traces of her former frustration; which was actually quite a lot better, now that she'd taken a moment to thoroughly beat on something. She felt much more relaxed than she had in days. "Hello, yourself." Her eyes narrowed slightly in curiosity, but was tempered by the smile that was still in place. She was just pondering whether or not to introduce herself first - after all, he'd been the one to strike up conversation - when she was distracted by a flash of brilliant purple in the peripheries of her vision.

Ladies and gentlemen, the one and only Warren has arrived! Gliding onto the scene with a few twirls and spins (he could be quite the showoff, now and then), he meandered his way leisurely over to his human. He'd sensed that she was speaking with someone, someone new, and of course this meant that they must immediately be introduced. Everyone, after all, was entitled to some time with the lilac-and-lavender 'lizard! He settled briefly on Kyril's shoulder, just long enough to nuzzle her cheek affectionately, before he pounced at the strange boy with the hat. How delightful! Climbing quickly up his arm and onto his shoulder, he reached out a little purple paw to pat at the cap, clearly quite taken by it. Why didn't His have something like this? It was really quite fabulous. Chattering quietly in Hatoter's ear, he didn't make to steal the thing or otherwise remove it from the boy's head, but he nevertheless continued to study it quite closely.

Kyril, who had at first moved to keep Warren from accosting this next unsuspecting victim, had soon realized any attempt at removing him would be futile. Sighing, she rolled her eyes and her smile turned apologetic. Crazy animals - the both of them! They were both inclined to follow her around at all hours of the day, and because they both loved the heat, even the forge couldn't provide an escape. Speaking of which, that cat was probably around here somewhere, and if she made an appearance, Kyril would have to apologize for both of them.

"Sorry, about him. Just give him a moment, he'll calm down." She assured, feeling ever-so-slightly embarrassed. She could feel Rip's silent question in the back of her mind; he was checking up on her, but subtly. She sent him a quick reassurance, but didn't elaborate. Her focus remained on the conversation at hand, and on the mumbling purple firelizard who was busy introducing himself.

[fidelli]

Standing so near her was the only way he had heard her gasp, and even then he thought it might have been a slightly bigger intake of breath. She did - thankfully - drop the mallet that had been employed in killing the little piece of steel, and he met her own eyes with his amiable ones, grinning as he saw the curiosity. He did love curiosity. He didn't move back, but only waited as she shifted around him and scooped up the tongs, dumping them in the water that danced as she dropped the heated metal away. The noise gave him a chance to not worry that she was going to speak and study her more carefully - they looked to be about the same age, but she was so serious... She smiled though, a softly painted on, but a smile all the same. She was casual as well, leaning back, and he flipped the goggles up as she casually retorted back. Oh oh! Look, a live one!

He was suddenly so much more excited about this one.

'And what if I were to tell you that it was a nasty, vindictive little piece of metal that had it coming?' He tasted amusement, but also frustration - she was bothered about something. And Hatoter, as he always did, wanted to know WHY. It didn't matter that he didn't know her - he wanted to know why, and didn't like the ugly color in her voice. He would fix it, if he could. ''Hello, yourself.'

"Then I would say that the nasty, vindictive little piece of metal deserved to be beaten into nothing more than a sheet of unusable steel." His grin broadened for a moment as he watched her - but his eye was caught by a flash of purple that made him jerk around, already searching for the color.

It was a flitter, and Hatoter smiled softly at the flashy Purple. He was impressed in spite of himself - he did wish he could flip like that. Hat watched, quite amused - he thought they were fun little creatures, but he didn't want one. Pains. Just as he thought that the Purple was settling on her shoulder and he could extract the girl's name, the Purple pounced on him. Looking down in shock at the creature crawling up his arm and balancing on his shoulder, the man eyed the Purple as the Purple inspected his hat. Why did all firelizards like his hat so much? But this one didn't try to steal it - instead his paw reached out to tap the brim, and the Purple started to chatter in his ear. "I don't understand a word you are saying, my handsome fellow," he told him jovially, but Hat jauntily angled it down so that the Purple could inspect it better anyway.

Only then did he turn to Kyril, smiling like a madman, eyebrows up as he laughed quietly at her apologetic smile. 'Sorry, about him. Just give him a moment, he'll calm down.' The man grinned again, and reached up to gently remove the hat from his windswept hair, carefully dropping it right over the Purple's neck and back so that only the head popped out, something like a turtle. "Naw, it's okay. He's cute - all the lizards seem really taken with it. Though he is quite polite... The other's steal it." His smile, ever the harper, turned depressingly sad - although you could indeed tell that he was play-acting. Just as fast his smile turned back to the sneaky, happy one, and he spoke. "But I've misplaced my manners! I am Hatoter - but you may call me Hat, oh mistress of the forge." He managed to elegantly bow with out ever moving his shoulders, and grinned at her wryly, a challenge and a sweetness in his growing ever larger grin. "But you must enlighten me, fire flower. How does one hello yourself?"

[kyrillion]

She could see that her curiosity was reciprocated, if not surpassed by the man's own. But then, he didn't seem to be going to any effort to conceal it, as she was usually inclined to do; his emotions could be clearly read on his face, and they seemed refreshingly genuine - apart from when he was being deliberately dramatic, of course. Then again, he looked clever enough that she wouldn't dismiss the possibility of it being a front. There were, in her experience, many different kinds of masks, though she was beginning to relax hers some - his reply had her smile looking all the more genuine, and pleasantly amused. "Then I would say that the nasty, vindictive little piece of metal deserved to be beaten..." Crossing her arms before her, and regarding him still with a critical, appraising eye, she spared only the briefest of glances to where the now pulverized ingot lay forlornly at the bottom of the dousing bucket. She felt even more of the past days' tension fade away, and a brief sigh of relief escaped her. It'd been a while since she'd engaged in an good, interesting conversation, and she hoped she wouldn't be disappointed by this one. "Well, I'm glad we're in agreement, then." She returned, arching a single eyebrow in what might have been a subtle challenge - or rather an acceptance of his own. And though the stress hadn't entirely left her voice, it was much better concealed now. And about time, too.

Warren, for his part, didn't seem discouraged by Hatoter's lack of understanding; on the contrary, he seemed quite thrilled to be addressed. Taking a moment to preen, and to puff out his almost too-purple chest, he returned his attention to the man just in time for the hat he'd been admiring to land squarely on his back. Chirping in surprise, he threw his head back to examine the decoration, and after a moment's inspection appeared to be very pleased with the effect. Turning to glance back at his human, he whistled sharply at her, and she grinned back at him with abandon. "I know, my dear. You look quite handsome." She assured him and, gratified, he finally settled down on Hatoter's shoulder and fell silent.

The grin that the man sent her then was one of a madman, but strangely infectious. "Naw, it's okay. He's cute-... His description of Warren as 'polite' elicited a quiet, disbelieving scoff from her (that purple thing? polite?), but she was glad he hadn't been offended by her 'lizard's antics. And just like that, he was back to the sneaky, happy smile that she didn't quite know what to make of, and he was launching into a very artistic introduction. Hatoter, was it? Ah, and that would explain the hat, wouldn't it? His 'mistress of the forge' comment did not go unnoticed, either, but it was meant with amusement rather than the flattery she assumed he was going for. She had to admit, though, the bow was a nice touch. He was quite the charmer, wasn't he? And he certainly knew it. But she was determined not to be charmed so easily - and to find out what his endgame might be. Even if it was something as simple as a bit of gossip, or good conversation.

Calling her 'fire flower', though, was just too much, and she allowed herself a small but indulgent chuckle. Did these sorts of lines really work on other women? Or was it the laugh he'd been after? Nevertheless, the laugh itself had been quite good-natured, and her eyes were smiling in kind. "Name's Kyrillion," no bow, from her, but she did give a slight nod, "but I go by Kyril, mostly. And the little monster on your shoulder will be quite offended, I'm sure, if I don't tell you his name is Warren. It's quite nice to meet you, Hat."

[fidelli]

Hatoter was a curious kitten - he enjoyed everything, and found nothing to be boring when he first tried it. He worked hard at being open - he did conceal things, but his mask was one of gay enjoyment with life and never being annoyed. He did dislike things, but he couldn't show that to people - it wasn't nice! He would make his judgments in time, but for now he settled back and enjoyed talking to the new girl. She was even smiling now, giving him the "I'm amused but you are obnoxious" grin that he had been on the receiving end before and would most likely receive it again. His eyes followed her's down as he crossed his own arms in a mock imitation, lounging back against nothing at all and managing to look right in place while doing it. 'Well, I'm glad we're in agreement, then.' Oh, a challenge! He lifted an eyebrow back up, grin taking on a new, slightly feral look. This would be interesting.

He was amused with the `Lizard on his shoulder, however. He liked the little creatures, but at the same time did not – they often almost got him caught when pickpocketing. He just preferred to admire them from a distance and not deal with them himself, but when he had to – like now, he didn’t mind them. And the Purple didn’t seem that bad, preening under the hat after he got over his surprise. He was quite an amusing little fellow, actually. ‘I know, my dear. You look quite handsome.’ He reached over and lightly stroked the top of the Purple’s head, telling him, “She’s quite right. You’ll gather all of the ladies now, with that right there.”

But the flit was merely a pawn in the game, one that she apparently knew how to play. She was not falling so easily into his charms, and he didn’t mind that, not at all. He did love a good game, after all, and he was amused as she took him in stride. Interesting girl, her. And she was laughing at him! He took a moment to be affronted, looking wounded – laughing at him. He was quite enjoying the term “fire flower” – he usually didn’t get a chance to call girls that. But he didn’t mind the laugh, really – that was important, and her eyes were smiling. He smiled back, that roguish smile of his that earned him names and games. ‘Name's Kyrillion, but I go by Kyril, mostly. And the little monster on your shoulder will be quite offended, I'm sure, if I don't tell you his name is Warren. It's quite nice to meet you, Hat.’

Ah, a name! He tasted it, sounding it out slowly. “Kyrillion. Kyril. Its very pretty.” He was happy now, enjoying a name and a new playmate. “So, Kyril – your knots say Rider… Who are you Bonded too?” He was settled back now, testing her out, pushing the waters. He wanted to see her, see what she was… Besides loads of fun.