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 Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 5:13 pm
Faranth, he hated this so much.
In the dead of night, F’sey had slipped into B’lin’s weyr. Both bronze and his rider were sound asleep. Ialluth was curled up safely, not the slightest bit aware Hers was up to no good. Well, in his defense, that wasn’t totally true. The greenrider had the best intentions, even if his methods were slightly… Slightly…
You know what, F’sey didn’t even want to think about how this looked. The former Weyrlingmaster brought his oil rag and the pot he kept the leather conditioner in, there was no use rummaging around the new Wingleader’s room and waking him up in search. (Of course B’lin didn’t have anything out to take care of his riding straps. Why would he? He only almost fell to his death a fortnight ago, but he has new straps! Why take care of them!)
Another night, another success. B’lin might never know, but F’sey would be satisfied that at least the foolish man would never fall again. Standing to replace the riding gear on its hook, the greenrider stumbled over the chair he’d borrowed, falling down with a clatter.
“Damnit!”
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 6:30 pm
B'lin needed more than just diaphanous doomsayer's bemoaning to change his habitual routine except when their babbling concerned him careening to his death via having his riding straps snap and falling off his dragon. Again. He'd tried his best with the stupid things, he really had, but he just wasn't naturally skilled with their upkeep. He knew and F'sey knew - and J'aro had come to learn through observation - that the incident had less to do with his knowing when straps were in acceptable condition and more to do with not wanting to ride Ialluth. With F'sey. Awkward.
Awkward enough to warrant risking death by the means he feared most. Xanthoth had sold him that everything would be fine - that he would be fine. Physically, he'd emerged from the crisis without more than a bruise from J'aro having to grab his arm so tightly when he caught him. In turn, Xanthoth had been more or less correct. A small price to pay if only it were just that.
B'lin couldn't bring himself to fly again. A sevenday passed and half another and he thought only Xanthoth and J'aro noticed. Of course Xanthoth would notice; J'aro had been unavoidable when past the fifth day when he'd started nagging him about picking wingriders.
B'lin had muttered each and every time he was still deciding. A sorry excuse for a sorry rider with an absolutely pathetic excuse for a poker face someone so perceptive of other people saw right through. J'aro had the best of intentions - he always did, the poor fool - but suggesting he garner help from F'sey did more harm than good. (J'aro, unfortunately, had a bad habit of doing that, too.)
He would have hoped that F'sey hadn't noticed, but he hadn't gotten to a point where he was willing to admit to himself he had such a weak personality he couldn't work through his demons yet to stop and think someone else might. Every morning, he would climb atop his bronze, go nowhere, make some excuse; climb back down and go back to his living quarters where he busied himself with something else. Anything else.
Every afternoon, he patched up his equipment.
Every night, F'sey did it again.
They were both acting out of fear, when you got right down to it; B'lin hadn't been doing that bad of a job since his fall. F'sey's work was better, but his was up to standards -- normal standards. Not 'F'sey standards'.
"Damnit!"
"Go back to sleep," B'lin grumbled, and did his best to hide his face with whatever bedding he'd been provided.
When had Bakin started cursing? That wasn't like him. (He'd said 'shards' once and acted like a sinner for it.)
Bachi wouldn't have come running to him just for a nightmare.
Realization hit B'lin like a hammer to the skull and he pushed himself up one arm, awkwardly angled and only partially facing the... what was he? Intruder? He'd thought so, but F'sey had a lot of reasons to be here. Just not in the middle of the night.
Groggy, the infamous heavy sleeper rubbed his eyes with one hand and inhaled deeply.
"Are you all right?" was the first thing he thought to ask, though it wasn't long until he had a more predictable follow-up. "What are you doing?"
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 7:10 pm
Go back to sleep? Hmm. Perhaps he’d get away with this after all. Gingerly, F’sey pulled himself away from the fallen piece of furniture and tried to step over it. All he had to do was go over and get the tack on the hook and-
Damnit!
How did B’lin know it was him?
“How many nighttime visitors do you have, Balin?” he grunted in response. Was he alright? Really? Is that really what he asked people stumbling around his weyr in the middle of the night? But still, the greenrider couldn’t let the younger man see what he was doing. There was no way he’d be able to care for the straps again if the bronze rider knew what he was up to. And if he couldn’t, well…
There was no protecting B’lin, then. F’sey would be damned if he lived through the same nightmare twice.
“Go back to sleep, kid. Don’t worry about it.” Maybe, he’d get lucky, and the youth would think he was dreaming. With a great stretch, he finally hung the riding gear up where he’d found it, and slowly began to work his way across the weyr. Wingleader’s weyrs were a bit bigger, eh? F’sey had almost made it when-
“DAMNIT ALL!” he roared, falling over that sharding chair for a second time. Nursing his shin, he hissed, “Go back to sleep, boy. Nothin’ to see, go to sleep.”
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 7:47 pm
B'lin did take into account he could have been dreaming. How difficult to fathom someone could sneak into your weyr, trip over a chair - twice - then expect to walk away without any interrogation to be had. Then again, it was just as difficult to grasp the concept someone would let them, and B'lin planned to do just that. He brought both hands up, ran both across his eyes then took to massaging his temples.
His mind had not shaken the mental fog, but in that fog, a boat with a lot of suspicious cargo was sailing along. Had it been the grouchy bluerider he'd met earlier or one of the younger residents he'd encountered -- well, B'lin wouldn't have recognized them, but in the event he had he would have thought himself the victim of vandalizing or a prank.
He was torn between assuming something out of ignorance of certain issues (although, to be fair, they did have some support to back them up) and feeling like he was being too ego-centric to assume anyone would be that interested in him. No matter who it was or what they were.
An irascible man he was not. Annoyed? You bet. The invader could have been the most drop-dead gorgeous woman on the island come to woo him and he'd have been frustrated. Far less so, but still.
B'linmine, Xanthoth piped up.
His rider responded warily: "Mmm?"
I was itchy so I called for him. You have been sleeping so little I did not want to wake you. This is his job to help you.
B'lin was awake now. "Xanthoth," he scolded, voice just bleeding disapproval, "I--you don't..."
Sorry, B'linmine. He does not know where anything is.
B'lin groaned like he'd just been told his son was responsible for accidentally killing the first gold egg in sixty turns. Dramatic, perhaps, but abuse of power was not a lighthearted issue. His dragon had a reputation as a bully back home among males he didn't want starting up here. (Compared to rumors that were going to start, thinking them both jerks would be a blessing.)
"I'm sorry about that," he spoke so sincerely.
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 8:24 pm
F'sey stood in silence. He was so close to the door. So close. But B'lin was most definitely awake now, and there would be no running out the door like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He was a man, a grown man! He could face the music talk his way out of this, because a big boy.
When the bronzerider finally finished having a conversation with his dragon, the greenrider cleared his throat awkwardly, just trying to make sure he was actually the one being addressed.
"Sorry? Sorry about what, B'lin?
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 8:45 pm
"For not accepting your advances after you went through the trouble of sneaking in here."
If it seemed like J'aro always came in at the perfect moment to a) make things more awkward, b) add in some zesty one-liner or c) all of the above, it definitely was not - and he'd repeat, was not - because he lingered out in the hallway waiting for that grand opportunity. But if he had - if he had, mind you - what place did a bronzerider afraid of heights and some washed up Weyrlingmaster (slash male cougar) have to judge him?
J'aro had plans for a restful night's sleep. Plans that were destroyed by one thing and one thing only: "Damnit!" Who could sleep with such a racket next door?! And he'd admit (to himself) he'd taken a shine to these strange, all too entertaining foreigners.
Speaking of shine...
B'lin shielded his eyes as his senses were assaulted by the vibrant, coruscating glow of the baskets J'aro had brought with him. One alone was a merciful light source, but crowded together like he was holding them they were blinding.
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 8:54 pm
Faranth help him, he'd only been living here a fornight and a half, and F'sey was quite ready to throttle the whiterider. He always showed up when least expected (and least wanted, though, his presence was never desired), and he was never shy on witty remarks that seemed to render B'lin completely useless. Clapping a palm to his face, the greenrider turned and actually growled at the true invader.
"Put out your damn glows and get the shards out before I put you out, you nosy gossip," he hissed, baring his teeth like a feral animal. What was J'aro doing in here, anyways? Just waltzing into bronzerider's weyrs whenever he felt like? What kind of weyr were they running here? (F'sey was going to ignore the fact he had totally done the same, because he hadn't intended on waking up the man inside. He just wanted to keep the silly boy safe, not torment him!)
"Go to sleep, B'lin. J'aro and I were just leaving." Turning on his heel, the older man stormed towards the beaming basket of light, and grabbed the arm attached to it. "I swear, I have never been so tempted to commit murder in all my life..."
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Posted: Mon Dec 06, 2010 9:10 pm
J'aro shared a lot in common with F'sey -- much that he didn't know then and most of which he would know it time. B'lin was another story. He was too withdrawn, too politically correct and too afraid. J'aro had no time for fear. A fearful whiterider was a bad whiterider. The first lesson he taught any of his candidates was that.
The truth? Any whiterider was a bad whiterider. To be a whiterider was to be bad. To have a white made you, by matter of association, some level of awful. That part he'd only told one of them, and shards if that boy would listen to a word of it.
"You're sure the word you want is murder?" he challenged.
A hand touched F'sey's that wasn't his. B'lin forcibly separated them, took three of the six - was it six? so bright! - baskets, then got to work strategically placing them about his weyr.
He provided, "I'm used to your yelling. If Xanthoth wakes you for this again just ignore him. This isn't your job."
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 7:08 am
"Quite sure," F'sey snapped in response. He wasn't about to be intimidated by a man who needed six glowbaskets to navigate the halls at night (he'd done so in the pitch dark!), whitemaster or not. It was probably true the former Weyrlingmaster hadn't quite come to respect the true strength that had to come with riding one of those white dragons. As far as he was concerned, they were simply abnormal. Feral. Rejects. (Much like J'aro, he liked to tell himself, no matter how socially well-adapted the man seemed.)
Growling as he was forcibly pulled away from J'aro, the older redhead whipped around to glare daggers at B'lin. If he was going to try and play peacemaker, he may as well just stay out of it. The greenrider was not going to tiptoe around the problem at hand: namely, J'aro. Clearly, Xanthoth had gotten him off the hook as far as sneaking into the weyr was concerned. Now, he just needed to get out, and take the whiterider with him.
"For the last time, B'lin, go back to bed and stay out of it." Some Wingleader, allowing the Wingsecond and the Whitemaster to squabble like children in his weyr when normal people would be trying to sleep. F'sey was even more convinced; the young rider hadn't an ounce of leadership anywhere in him.
"You, whiterider, are truly the most irritating person I have ever had this misfortune to meet. What I do with my free time is none of your business, and you have to right to just...burst into B'lin's weyr, full of glows." Neither did he, but at least he wasn't being nosy. He was just being helpful. "Out. Of with you, to bed," F'sey scolded, as though J'aro were just a wayward weyrbrat.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 7:48 am
Sleep? Sleep with two grown men arguing like toddlers that had one toy ball tossed between them and made to fight over it? Shards, if only. Besides--
"Xanthoth is itching," B'lin groused, buzzing around the room like a bee living only to act as a servant to his dragon. (All riders really did feel like that at some point, he imagined.)
It was too late into the night to worry. Tomorrow, he would worry. Maybe. If he could really bring himself to wonder about matters such as these. A bunch of men showing up at his room... not exactly his fantasy. He did wonder one thing that he couldn't help but question: "What are you doing over here? The white weyrs..."
"Are entirely optional for one such as myself," J'aro announced, delighted. "I was going to ask to be moved--but, then, I realized: who am I going to ask? I decide where the weyrs are." And as he revealed that little tidbit, he shot F'sey a stare.
This stare said something his voice did not: You should be thanking me I housed you next to him, grouchy old man.
B'lin made no noise, gave no hint of recognition, but he'd heard him. That was why his bluerider neighbor had been so hostile toward him earlier. He'd been forced out of his weyr -- no wonder. Honestly. No wonder!
"Would you two mind leaving?"
Leave it to B'lin to kick someone out politely.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 8:44 am
Growling again, F'sey was beginning to look more like a starving canine with a bone than a toddler with a coveted plaything. After all, how many small children did you know that threatened you with murder?
Why did J'aro not know where he wasn't wanted?
Glaring right back at the younger redhead, he made a rude gesture. "Oh, so you thought you'd stay near by? Keep an eye on us, hmm?" It was late, and the greenrider was clearly cranky (it was well past his bedtime, and he'd been caught and now, now B'lin was going to stay up, because he wasn't sleep deprived enough already).
"B'lin. Go to bed. What did I tell you about letting that dragon push you around?" Honestly, what was he thinking? Oiling Xanthoth in the middle of the night! The dragon could wait. "You. J'aro. Whatever your name is." Was he getting forgetful? No! He was just tired!
He grabbed the whiterider's arm again, much more firmly this time. "We're going. The Wingleader needs some quiet time."
Honestly. B'lin was such a child.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 9:05 am
B'lin saved his energy like he saved his money - and that frugal bronzerider had a container of marks stashed under his bed. (What else would a young man his age keep under there?) Bucket in one hand and brush in the other, he decided it best to just center on the chore and leave them to work it out. Oh, and ignore F'sey. He liked the idea of that.
"I think quiet time is exactly what he doesn't need." J'aro's voice was the proper context for 'needing to be quiet'. He'd torn his eyes away from the younger one for the older one -- did they realize how alike they looked when they scowled? That happened from spending too much time together. Sadly, it wasn't enough. "Or have you not noticed your boy hasn't been in the air since he fell?"
He inclined his face closer to F'sey's. Shards, even he'd thought when this happened he'd have a different goal in mind, but this was just out of the goodness of his heart. Concern drew him closer, and tact - which he did possess - wanted his voice as low as it was. Nothing more. Nothing less.
J'aro whispered, "I'm not going to pretend I know him better than his Weyrlingmaster, but this is no good for any dragonrider. I like him, but I can't have a Wingleader - or a Wingrider - that is too afraid to fly. How much good do you think sneaking in here for this is going to do if he won't ride his dragon to begin with?"
Recited almost like he'd planned for this to happen.
How odd.
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 9:16 am
"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT!?" F'sey erupted, grabbing J'aro by his collar. Of course he'd noticed, of course. Ialluth made a daily note, and it didn't escape him he never saw B'lin in the air, not after the accident. Of course the boy was scared, but what was he supposed to do about it, tie B'lin to Xanthoth and slap the dragon on the backside? He couldn't make the young bronzerider do anything.
He couldn't even be there to catch the boy if he fell, it seemed. (Maybe, maybe, a tiny part of him didn't mind that B'lin was terrified. At least he was safe, on the ground.)
(...but that was wrong. A dragonman belonged in the sky. That was a selfish wish, he had.)
(Still. He'd rather X'doc be a coward and still be around to punch him in the shoulder rather than...)
(No. If he was a coward, he wouldn't be X'doc.)
It took the older rider a moment to shake off the rapid-fire memories. Sniffing, he tried to gather whatever shards of his dignity he might actually have left. "I do what a can. But he is a grown man," and he sneered at that, remembering the stab J'aro took at him only a fortnight and a half ago, "and there is only so much I can do. I can't make him do a sharding thing. B'lin is stubborn." A blazing idiot. "I don't know what you think I should be doing."
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 10:13 am
"For starters--"
Thump!
The glowbaskets hit the floor.
Thud!
F'sey hit the wall.
J'aro had snatched his hand and thrown him into the carved stone - not hard, but as hard as he had to - twisted his arm behind him and held the other limb against the cold surface. "--be very careful who you hassle around here. The other whiteriders aren't all so gentle. You may have been a frightening person to cross back home, but until you know the life of being connected with a dragon that would murder you if only it could, you have no idea the true means of terrorizing someone."
He'd almost said F'sey didn't know the true feeling of being terrified, but he stopped himself. The heat of the moment was too scolding for him to remain as still as B'lin would have, yet he managed to hold himself back at least that much. Just another reason he was so much more like F'sey. Neither did as well as that boy at being so calm.
Maybe they were too much alike.
Except F'sey would never understand what it meant to carry two persona as he had to; one the Whitemaster, the other J'aro - the real one. And him? He prayed he'd never know the feeling of watching his 'favorite' Weyrling nearly die. Horrifying didn't do it justice.
J'aro released him and stepped back, anticipating his manhandling was going to start a very violent chain reaction. "One of your herd is lost, F'sey."
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Posted: Tue Dec 07, 2010 10:33 am
"Gnnuh."
F'sey's face hit the wall. Everything went blank for a moment, his ears ringing as he struggled to regain his train of thought. J'aro's voice was the first thing he heard, and the smaller man snarled softly. Craning his head, the greenrider did his best to glower over his shoulder. The whitemaster was right, he was a fairly terrifying person at home. (Was is still home, if he couldn't go back?)
He waited, still as a stone, until J'aro finally let him go. He turned on his heel in one fluid motion, stepping after the taller man and swinging for the young rider's face. He had had enough of the man's prodding. Enough of bringing up every flaw. Enough of...enough of J'aro. (It was like looking in a broken mirror, so similar, and so foreign all at once.)
"What is lost can still be found."
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