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 Posted: Wed Apr 01, 2009 8:32 pm
The first time Mal said "cockles" one of E'rik's eyebrows quirked up. Like Mal, he was unfamiliar with the term, but he still had an adolescent's mindset in many ways, and his mind was able to supply him with lots of potential - and graphic - definitions, none of which corresponded well anatomically with a heart. The next time Mal said the word E'rik laughed outright. Well, it was closer to a snicker, but not quite. Somewhere in between a snicker and a laugh. He wasn't sure there was a word for that
"I'm so glad your...cockles are warmed," he said, trying not to let his mirth disturb his dozing dragonet, though that was a silly concern, really. Daramulath slept like the dead.
"That's a wonderful attitude, Mal. It's probably a good thing neither of us are Harpers. I don't think either of us would make much of a mediator or deal with petitions very well. I'd make the people cry, and you'd tell them it was their own fault." He said this with a grin which was partly because of what he was presently saying, and partly lingering amusement over "cockles". Mostly lingering amusement over "cockles", actually.
"I guess the long hair could be a tell. I certainly can't see why anyone who's going to fly would want long hair. If you put it under a cap it would snarl, and if you left it loose it would snarl, and...I don't know. It seems like a needless hassle..." He trailed off, noticing Mal's body language. Right then, this wasn't a good topic.
And neither, apparently, was Mal's love life, judging by the laconic response and the reprisal of a shrug. Maybe there was something he'd missed. Probably. Something that happened after Mal left Harper Hall, perhaps. It wasn't likely E'rik would be able to wheedle it out of Mal if he didn't feel like discussing it. But he was curious enough to see if he could maybe draw a little more out of Mal than what he'd been given.
"Romance is great fun, so long as everyone understands that that's all it's meant to be, and forms no entangling attachments. Besides, sex is inarguably worth a little silly fluff." He was quite convinced on this last point. He'd had sex for the first time at seventeen - which some would say was a pretty late start - and since then he'd gone on to have sex as often as he could manage it, except recently. But Mal probably didn't want to discuss E'rik's sex life either.
"When did Aeron hatch?" E'rik asked in an abrupt change of subject.
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Posted: Wed Apr 01, 2009 9:09 pm
Well, at least he managed to make E’rik laugh. Mal always liked making people laugh, especially his friends. “Sex, huh? And fluffy romance? I suppose that’s the connection between cockles and hearts… I’m almost certain it’s a kind of shellfish too. Figures, eh? Dirty-minded little sea critters. You know that they’re totally always thinking about it.” Pfft... right! Because the average human mind was oh-so-pristine and clear! Especially the average teenage male mind. Yep. They totally thought about knitting and stuff all day.
“Yep! Just my reason in staying here, you know. No point in going back to being a Harper if you’re making people cry here.” That and it seemed like there was still a promise of a safe bed and good food here. So long as Mal had those things, he was content to stay. Correction: so long as he had those things and no serious obligation, he was content to stay. One could argue that a dragon was a freaking huge obligation, and he would agree; he would simply point out the odds of him Impressing were incredibly low. Come on… sixty Candidates and just a handful of eggs? There wasn’t a chance for a coward like himself.
“Well, since you said it’s inarguable, I suppose there’s no point in arguing against you, huh?” It was an ambiguous phrase, one that almost suggested that Mal hadn’t quite decided whether or not sex was worth a silly fluffy romance. And that alone suggested a whole lot more about the ex-Harper’s sex life. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it. No teenage boy wanted to admit to being the ‘V-Word’. Not that Mal was; he just wasn’t overly… well, alright. He was overly interested in sex, about as much as the next guy. Just with a certain group of people and he wasn’t quite certain how E’rik would react to that. Better to be a virgin with a good friend than a guy without one, right?
“He actually hatched…” Mal paused for a moment, trying to think about that as he scratched Aeron’s eyeridges. “You know, I think it was shortly before or after the Hatching. I can’t quite remember. Definitely been a few weeks by now. He’s around the same age as Daramulath, if that helps at all.”
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Posted: Fri Apr 03, 2009 7:02 am
"A shellfish?" E'rik repeated. He was unsure about that. Not that he knew anything about what a cockle might really be, but he was incredulous when it came to the idea that a cockle might be a shellfish. "I don't doubt that they've got filthy minds, but I'm not sure if that's got anything to do with human hearts. Maybe they're two separate things?" He shrugged. Unlike Mal, a shrug from him didn't tend to indicate that the subject was closed. He shrugged a great deal.
"We can amuse each other, then," E'rik suggested. "At least until you Impress, and have to do real work. Though I imagine you have a pretty good idea of what that's like with Aeron. He maybe eats less, but he looks to be more demanding than Daramulath." Daramulath could be insistant, but he wasn't usually demanding, and since E'rik tended to feel Daramulath's needs as if they were his own, it was very difficult for him to ignore them for too long.
"And if he's around the same age as Daramulath, you were probably going through the same things I was, but without the support of someone to train you. I don't think I would like to have to figure out all of this without someone else guiding me through it." He really did want Mal to stay, and he offered his friend praise in the unconscious hope that Mal would take some of them to heart and stay. He wasn't in the habit of lying, and he also hoped Mal would remember that.
"And naturally there is no point in arguing against me. Surely you've come to realize that I am always, always right?" Sure. And herdbeasts flew. He was, however, fairly good at covering up when he was mistaken. He also failed to notice the ambiguity of Mal's statement. Sometimes he wasn't as clever, or as observant, as he liked to think he was.
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Posted: Fri Apr 03, 2009 10:52 am
“Are you arguing with a saying now? The saying goes, ‘it warms the cockles of my heart’, right? And there are some things in the sea called cockles. How can the two not be connected?” Maybe it wasn’t a shellfish. It could’ve been anything. Maybe it was actually a reference towards shipfish… but that didn’t make any more sense than shellfish. “Unless we assume the saying was created by someone particularly drunk…” he said slowly, rolling the idea over in his mind. Yeah. People said some pretty weird stuff when tipsy----himself included---so that sounded like a fair assumption.
He snorted at the very idea that he might Impress, clearly demonstrating what he thought it. “E’rik, do you honestly believe that? I hate to burst your bubble of dimglow optimism there, but I’m not going to Impress. Think about it mathematically. There are… what? Some ten eggs on the Sands? For sixty Candidates? It’s not going to be me.” It wasn’t self-deprecation or anything. To Mal, this was a simple fact. Besides, he had to cheat to get even a firelizard’s egg. And it just wasn’t possible to cheat to get a dragon’s egg. Not that he would cheat anyway! From what he understood, dragons were pretty much… well… the word they used was ‘lifemate’. He couldn’t steal someone else’s lifemate. Even he had his limits.
“I’m not going to leave any time soon, though, unless I’ve got no other choice. Leaving Harper Hall was probably the worst idiot decision of all the idiot decisions I’ve ever made. And you know that there’ve been plenty of those.” Traveling alone in Pern was just not on his list of Things To Do. Ever again. Maybe one day he’d actually talk about it, and remind E’rik that all those songs and stories of fun and adventure of Holdless folk were full of wherry-dung. “Besides, it’ll be nice to actually be able to get advice from others about Aeron. Maybe someone else has some ideas on how to get him to stop biting people.”
Pfft… yeah. Always right. “…Remember that time when you were convinced that Cytal had a crush on me but it turned out that she only likes girls? Remember that? I hope you weren’t right then, cause that’ll lead to some serious doubts about my gender identity.”
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Posted: Fri Apr 03, 2009 6:15 pm
E'rik finally recalled the ditty which mentioned cockles, but it was a very vague memory. It went something like "cockles and mussels, alive..." or something like that. The piece was positively ancient, he remembered. He didn't remember much else about it, though, so he decided to let it go.
"So maybe I'm not always right. I could be mistaken about the cockles. But Cytal was a simple misinterpretation of signals. I mean, that was when I was involved with Serka, remember, so we both spent a lot of time with her. It's not a huge stretch of the imagination to think the reason Cytal spent so much time looking in our direction was because she was admiring your chiseled features and noble brow."
Were it not for the fiesty firelizard within easy nipping range, he might've knocked Mal's shoulder, but having just discussed with Mal his firelizard's habit of taking bites out of people, he didn't wish to have the tendency demonstrated on him. Seeing it on Mal was sufficient.
"Don't tell me the odds. Never tell me the odds. You, of all people, know how easy they are to beat. And my optimism isn't a dimglow's optimism. I know you're more than worthy of a dragon." Unconsciously his hand shifted to a comfortable placement on Daramulath's neck that vaguely resembled a proprietary claim. He couldn't help it. "You can practice on Aeron."
He was silent for a moment before reaching carefully over and around his dragon toward his guitar case. The much-used latches opened with a snap against the hard case and he pushed the lid up. Looking at the guitar, he shook his head and said, "You know, I meant to practice when I came out here this evening, and I would if I didn't have a dragon on my lap, putting my legs to sleep. I don't think any of the masters at the Hall would accept that as an excuse."
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Posted: Fri Apr 03, 2009 8:53 pm
Ha! Oh, right. Serka! Man… Mal had very nearly forgotten her. Well, parts of her, anyway. There were certain features that distinctly stuck out. He was silent for a moment, before asking, “Were you ever afraid of being suffocated on her chest at all? Ever? Because that was a legitimate fear of mine. She gave really… you know. Powerful hugs.” But what a learning experience that had been! Mostly, he just learned that boobs weren’t as awesome as other boys claimed. In fact, they were kind of gross. And squishy. Not a patch on the male physique. Or, as E’rik said, a noble brow and a chiseled features.
Not that Mal had been any better at picking out the signals or the fact that E’rik wasn’t always correct about such things. A good deal of time had gone into trying to figure out paths to his classes that would allow him to avoid running into Cytal. It was a relief to learn that he wasn’t in any danger to begin with.
“You do realize that you’re talking to Mal, right? I’ve lied, cheated, and even occasionally stole in order to actually survive. Not just in the outside world, but everywhere I’ve gone. If I end up with a dragon, E’rik, it’ll be one as bitter and vicious as little Aeron here.” Still, E’rik had a point… the odds were easy to beat, once you knew what they really were and how to tip them properly. There were no levers with dragons though. “I appreciate the optimism, E’rik, but let’s be reasonable here. They want heroes up there in the skies, not cowards. And I don’t mind if I don’t Impress, honestly. I’m fine with who I am.” Mostly.
He chuckled a little at the comment about how strict the teachers had been. “Yeah. They wouldn’t have even accepted that sort of thing if you were dead. They don’t want excuses; they want results and all that.” A brief pause followed as Mal glanced over at the familiar guitar case, recalling the ‘good ol’ times’. The girls had always loved the guitar.
Aeron was less enthusiastic about the instrument. Since he had never encountered such a thing in his life before, he assumed it was an enemy. His eyes snapped open abruptly and he let out a hiss before scrambling up onto Mal’s shoulder, digging his claws into the shirt. His wings flared and smacked into his owner’s face, but that didn’t deter Aeron! This was HIS, and he was not going to let His be stolen by some… creaky… flappy thing.
“…He’s a bit excitable,” Mal explained lamely, wincing at the claws. They didn’t just go through the shirt, but went into the skin a bit too. “Remind me to start wearing those shoulder pads. Or at least thicker gloves.”
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Posted: Sat Apr 04, 2009 11:08 am
E'rik remembered Serka's hugs a little differently than Mal did, but he wasn't going to argue the dangerous element they had held, what with her pillowy chest and her tendency to hold a person much too tightly and much too close. Powerful was a diplomatic way to put it. Even for someone as fond of breasts as E'rik was, it was hard to enjoy an embrace when said breasts were mashed against his chest so hard he couldn't really tell they were supposed to be soft.
"The thought occurred to me once or twice," E'rik admitted. "But you know, Serka was such a tactile person, I'm sure she would have been horrified if I'd mentioned it to her. Or furious." He'd actually ended that relationship because she was too fond of physical contact, always having to have a hand on his elbow, or her head on his shoulder, or something. Even in a love interest, E'rik did not appreciate casual contact like that. He was excessively fond of his personal space.
Thinking of the Hall, E'rik replied, "You're probably right. Death probably wouldn't deter them from demanding excellence."
Not that E'rik had ever really minded practicing. It actually made him feel good to practice, working hard to achieve a specific goal. He liked being able to tell when he was making progress by looking at a piece that had once been difficult and then being able to sing it as a warm-up. Even with guitar, he enjoyed the diminishing time delays between different fingerings as his hands and fingers grew accustomed to the task. Part of the reason he didn't mind practicing was because he rarely practiced with anything less than his full effort, and so when he was done he usually felt exhausted enough to sleep through the night, though not always accomplished. Sleeping through the night was a rarity for him, and he was always glad when he could manage it.
"You and your sordid past. Maybe you'll end up with the sweetest-tempered dragon the Weyr's ever seen. Probably named Warmth or something. And he'll be a nuzzler, and even Aeron will like him. A little." He wasn't sure Aeron would ever be fond of a dragon that Impressed to Mal. "Or you could look at it this way: if you have all these flaws, and a dragon's supposed to be the other half of the person it Impresses to, you won't need to be a hero. Your dragon will do all the heroics, and, being a dragon, insist that you take credit."
He rested the back of his head against the wall. "I really don't mean to imply that who you are isn't good enough, and that it's essential to have a dragon. It's just...I don't know. Maybe I'm not as immune to the doting tendencies of dragonriders as I thought." There was no way he was going to have anything like a conversation about feelings and finding other halves and such. Not even with Mal.
"Stop that, you," E'rik said, breaking off from his thoughts about Impression to scold Aeron. "It's just a guitar, and it's not going to hurt you. I'm not even going to play it. Like I said, there's a dragon in my lap."
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Posted: Sat Apr 04, 2009 1:34 pm
“Tactile? Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” Man, E’rik was really good at the euphemism game! Mal was pretty sharding certain that the only thing that had stopped Serka from slipping a hand down E’rik’s pants had been the boy’s curious obsession with personal space. Not that Mal was exactly touchy-feely himself. Personal space: they has it. And Serka loved to hug everyone, no matter who they were.
“If anything, death would only make them demand more. You know how they are: ‘To be a great artist, you must suffer!’. They’d consider death to be the greatest suffering and all and expect it to fully motivate you even more. They’d probably deliver the most scathing eulogy at the funeral, talking about how disappointed they are with you. Maybe they’d include imagery. Something like, ‘Oh, our poor E’rik was but a flower, dying before he could truly bloom. He failed to take advantage of this tremendous opportunity. We are so disappointed in him.’.” Mal shook his head mockingly, like a teacher with a bright, but lazy, student. My, was he used to seeing that sort of look on someone’s face.
Mal felt somewhat lucky that he had never been particularly gifted with instruments. Theoretically, it was possible that, with enough time, perseverance, and practice, he could become a passable player… but merely ‘passable’. And Mal just wasn’t the type of guy to do things unless he was certain he’d win or at least be ‘above average’. But watching E’rik look down at the guitar made him wonder what he was missing. Maybe he ought to try some small instrument. He could even practice in privacy or something, until he was really good at it… but that would involve actual work!
“…Sorted?” Mal repeated the word, thinking that it sounded rather odd in this sort of conversation. “Nah… I don’t think I’ve ever sorted out my past. You know that, E’rik. The past is past so it should stay past.” Although, he had to admit. Being a hero did sound pretty nice. Lots of attention, that. People loved heroes, on account of them being, you know, heroes. But, then again, there was also that element of dying. And, if you died, people would read silly stuff at your funeral. Mal planned to outlive all of his friends for that very purpose. “Judging Aeron here, I’d say I’m more likely to end up with a bitter ol’ dragon who thinks eating ponies is good fun.”
Aeron was not amused. He turned his ire on E’rik and hissed at him too, just for good measure. Oh, no! The Bronze wasn’t about to allow HIM to steal His either! No one would. It had yet to dawn on Aeron that no one actually wanted to steal Mal. They were quite happy to let the angry firelizard have him all to himself.
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Posted: Sat Apr 04, 2009 7:12 pm
E'rik chuckled. "That's what they were calling it the last I heard, but I've been out of the know since coming to the Weyr. I haven't quite gotten a firm grasp of the language yet."
"I hadn't considered that. But you're right. Particularly Master Emoll. All those dismal songs he wrote about the pain of existence, and how death would be both sweet release and the ultimate suffering. I think he forgot that he was not a master of composition, but of wind instruments. Those pieces were the worst dirges. Morose and melancholy and long. I do not want any of them sung at my funeral." Because he had a deep voice and was quick to learn vocal scores, E'rik had been forced to sing through a number of them until he had at last appealed to the master he was apprenticed to, and been saved from further torture.
"I'm sure I was and am a colossal disappointment to everyone at the Hall. But I suppose there's enough glory in riding dragons that I can console myself over my lost future as a Harper. Not that I ever had the hands for playing a harp. I am barely able to play guitar, even after months of mostly dedicated practice. My fingers simply aren't clever enough. Going by that, a person would think you ought to be incredibly gifted at it."
It took him a moment to realize that Mal had misunderstood the word he had chosen to describe Mal's secretive past, but once he figured it out, he was torn between the thought that he should probably correct his friend in order that he not find himself similarly mistaken in the future, and the fact that it would be simpler just to let it go. He quickly decided on the second option. It wasn't as if Mal's choice of substitutionary words was completely out of place, though it would sound somewhat odd.
"I try to accept that with you, at least, the past is past, and should stay thus, Mal. But I'd hazard a guess that your past can be well and easily divided between what is good and ethical, and what was less so. At any rate, even if you get a nasty little sniper like an enlarged version of Aeron, it wouldn't be so bad. Except that his nibbles could take large chunks out of a person. You should encourage him to eat ponies."
As he said this, E'rik regarded Aeron's fierce display from the corner of his eyes as he turned his face away in an effort to protect it, should Aeron decide to make good on what he had so far only threatened. Daramulath, despite his valiant claims, was so soundly asleep that he would be poor protection against the firelizard, and E'rik would not want him to try at any rate. If he was concerned that he would be taken to task for allowing Daramulath to become exhausted, he didn't want to think what the consequences would be if he let his dragonet get in a fight with a firelizard. He might have let Aeron's behavior pass, bearing that concern in mind, but he got a marginally wicked idea that he had to try.
He reached over with one hand to stroke the guitar's wooden body, and as he did it, he very deliberately caressed the strings, in essence strumming as one would if he was fingering a chord. He just wanted to see how the bronze firelizard would react. Daramulath's only reaction was to twitch his tail.
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Posted: Sat Apr 04, 2009 7:59 pm
Mal let out a groan at the mention of the infamously dour man. “You know, I half think he made the class so boring deliberately, just to see if songs could be implemented as a method of death. Mark my words, my boy; one day, his songs will be used as a torture technique all across the lands. Master Emoll may very well weep with delight at the news. But then he’d probably implode through the sheer contradictions of emotions. Possibly exploding orphans will be involved.” Mal counted himself as lucky that his voice had never been as deep as E’rik’s; he at least got away mostly unscathed from the Master’s curious enthusiasm for funeral dirges.
Frowning slightly, he glanced down at his fingers now, trying to imagine them carrying a harp. So far, he hadn’t tried that. Most of the Masters had been too worried to actually attempt it, mostly because of Mal’s unending bad luck for breaking strings and the like. Lots of strings to break on even a small harp… but maybe he ought to try it one day, if only to keep his hands busy. As much fun as it was to idly produce coins from seemingly nothing----or capture them from passing purses----he felt that playing the harp would be more acceptable. And, for once, he did care about being acceptable, at least a little. No sense in getting his a** thrown out yet. Not that he’d be able to find a harp any time soon, of course. But maybe, after the next Gather, he’d manage to make enough Marks to buy one.
“Does it count as a division if one side is considerably larger than the other? Not that I’m admitting anything, of course. Cause I always figured a division was more, you know. Equal.” Alright, so maybe things could be sorted out… but not easily. “And there’s also the whole idea of shades of gray. Is it really considered unethical to steal if I’m starving? Just sayin.” Not that he had ever been starving at Harper Hall; they didn’t let people starve! How were they supposed to sing if they were falling over from hunger? Admittedly, Master Emoll---or Master Dismal, as some students called him----might withhold meals to teach them about suffering, but the other Masters looked poorly upon such behavior.
For his part, Mal attempted to keep Aeron quiet, scratching his eyeridges and just trying to keep him calm. He even made the usual absurd noises that pet owners made at their precious pets. Things along the lines of, ‘Oh, shush, baby. Come on, Aeron; it’s alright. I promise you, the mean ol’ guitar won’t attack you…” this was rather less-than-effective. Mostly, it just ended with Aeron’s little jaws attempting to fix themselves around Mal’s fingers. Mal quickly pulled his hand back. His reflexes really were improving.
Aeron’s reaction to the guitar was predictable. His talons tightened around Mal’s shoulder and he hissed more loudly and clicked his jaws, as if threatening a bite. His eyes whirled more quickly with red and orange, a clear threat.
“…I guess this means I shouldn’t take up any instrument.”
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Posted: Mon Apr 06, 2009 5:26 am
E'rik grinned at Mal's cautioning that Emoll's songs would be used as torture devices. "I have no doubt of that. Not that we hold with torture on Pern. Officially. Which makes Emoll's songs rather ideal in that capacity. Who, without having heard the things, would suspect that merely being sung at - or asked to sing - could have deadly consequences? Those poor, poor orphans." He shook his head slowly, making his feigned regret evident.
He thought about the hunching figure of Master Emoll, his hair combed through with what looked like grease to blacken it and cut oddly so that it swept down over his face, covering one eye completely so that he could stare balefully at his students with his visible eye. The hunching was not the result of a physical deformity, according to the Hall's healers, and Emoll tended to agree: it was the weight of all the sorrows of the world, particularly his own, pressing down on his shoulders and bending his spine. Privately, E'rik suspected he simply had poor posture, and no interest in correcting it. He hadn't been particularly impressed with the Master, who had also been a very poor teacher.
"I'm in no position to dictate how a person ought to divide up his life. Shells. Mine's pretty simple: Hold, Hall, Weyr. Though I guess I could divvy up my acquaintances between People I've Made Cry and People I haven't Yet Made Cry." Mal's ethical question regarding theft when starving was unexpected. Sure, Mal was excellent at arguing the opposite side of things just to be contrary, but somehow the question seemed a bit out of character. E'rik filed it away and wondered if it maybe related to the period of time in Mal's life between Hall and Weyr.
"I have no idea how to answer that," E'rik said. The question might have been rhetorical, but it didn't really make much difference, since E'rik really didn't know how to answer it. There were a lot of shades of grey in that one.
E'rik's eyebrows quirked in amusement at Mal's attempts to soothe Aeron. It hadn't been nice of him to bait the firelizard with the guitar. He was glad that Aeron's teeth didn't manage to catch Mal's fingers as a result of his teasing. Good for Mal.
"You could give it a try. Maybe he won't mind it so much if you're the one playing it," E'rik suggested, only a little slyly.
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Posted: Mon Apr 06, 2009 11:39 am
“If you’ve ever heard a five turn old child belting his or her way through The Golden Egg of Faranth, you’ll live to regret those words. Singing can indeed bring distress, E’rik. Lots and lots of it. Especially in a song that’s just loaded with opportunities to replace certain key words with bodily functions.” And, to a five turn old child, nothing was funnier than a fart.
The bad posture had always been a bit of a mystery for Mal. In Harper Hall, they had always been all about posture: if you played the violin, you had to aim the instrument perfectly. If you sung, sitting up perfectly was the absolute key to success. But Master Emoll had apparently found a way around that. Not that anyone even remembered what the man did besides composing. Maybe that explained it. Too much huddling over the desk, sort of thing. Not that Mal’s posture was much better. Despite much yelling and correcting, he simply had an internal scruffiness field that could rumple just about anything.
“There’s also the question of whether or not it is morally appropriate to divide things between making people cry and not making people cry, you know. Now, I think that’s a good example of a moral gray area. It’s not your fault you keep encountering people who go to tears over every little thing. But, there you are. Making them cry anyway, with your sharp wit and cunning observations of, ‘no, that doesn’t make your butt look fat. Your butt makes you look fat’.” Actually, Mal couldn’t remember if that had been one of E’rik’s. It might have been one of his own.
And now his best friend was trying to kill him. Mal sent E’rik a distinctly wounded puppy-dog look, all big eyes. “And now look at what my life has come to. My own friend is trying to get me to play guitar, thus resulting in my own firelizard mauling me. You know, I bet that’s what happened to Master Dismal. Suddenly, I am a’filled with the desire to write depressing melodies and chants of death. Don’t worry; it’ll be poetical and mention hearts and everything.”
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Posted: Mon Apr 06, 2009 3:16 pm
"Mm. You're right. I've not had the privilege of hearing anyone from that age group attempt song, except when I was attending lessons, myself, and I was fairly oblivious at the time. Probably one of the belters, in my pretty, childish soprano." He shrugged. He'd learned better eventually.
"I seem to remember, though, that you came up with some pretty creative lyrics to replace more boring, traditional ones. And you were much older than five." That was, of course, leaving himself open to criticism. He couldn't recall that he'd ever re-worded any of the Teaching Ballads as a youngling, but he knew that it had been a favorite past time of his as he'd gotten older. Particularly in choral work, where there were two distinct advantages: no one could be sure who had done it, if it was heard at all, and there was always the possibility of getting whoever sang beside him in trouble for laughing. Of course, that could result in the person finking, and then there'd be no question about who had done it, but finks weren't well-liked in the Hall.
"I don't think I ever told anyone their butt made them look fat. That must have been you," E'rik said. He didn't tend to make comments like that to people's faces. He was more about making people feel stupid and awed by his cleverness than ripping into a person's physique. Which wasn't to say he wouldn't mutter cruelties under his breath to an appreciative companion, but he wouldn't say them aloud. There were better reasons to dislike people than their physical appearance, even if the physical appearance was the easiest thing to spot about a person.
Mal's wounded puppy-dog look hadn't lost any of its effectiveness, E'rik noted, as he felt almost instantly guilty, even knowing that he had no good reason to feel guilty except that Mal thought he should. He'd never managed to perfect that look to the point Mal had. He could look innocent, but he couldn't generate spontaneous feelings of guilt. He narrowed his eyes in slight fortification against his friend's emotional offensive. It was probably a survival tactic or coping method or something that had developed in Mal at birth. Surely someone would have murdered him by now otherwise.
"I wish you luck with that," E'rik said, trying to sound heartless. "But there are few words that rhyme with 'heart' so you'll have to bury it in the line. Art. Cart. Dart. Part. Tart."
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Posted: Mon Apr 06, 2009 5:21 pm
“Ah well… we were all belters at that age,” Mal pointed out. He knew he had been one, must have been one, since he was fairly certain his love of showmanship had developed early. “We can only pray that no one ever reminds us of this fact. You know, unless you’re like me and utterly devoid of shame.” Well, not completely devoid of shame. But mostly without that nasty little hampering emotion that tended to hold so many others back. “And my habit of changing words? That was artistic license, E’rik, not mockery! Always remember that. I’ll never forget that choral session where you decided to change all the music sheets with something of your own devising…” not that Mal hadn’t helped with that little prank, but most of it had been E’rik’s hand at work.
The statement that there weren’t very many words that rhymed with heart was met with a derisive wave of one hand. “Typical Harper talk! That’s only if you’re limiting yourself to just one syllable. I’m also very disappointed that you didn’t point out ‘fart’. Or ‘smart’. I think I’ll go with… hmm… fresh start, perhaps. It could be a tale of redemption and betrayal. Master Dismal always loved those.”
Mal took particular delight in noting the effect of his wounded stare. It was good to know that it had lost little of its potency. Perhaps if E’rik had really punched him that day at the Gather he could have turned the look on him or even the bystanders. Come on… who could resist that sort of look? It was a survival technique, really, to disarm predators. Some people tried to look big and tough. Mal tried to look innocent, which he rarely was. But at least he could pretend to be thus.
He dropped it quickly enough, because he didn’t want his friend to take it too seriously. “Ah, crackdust… I can’t stay mad at a guy with a sleeping dragonet in his lap. How big is he going to get, by the way?” he nodded towards Daramulath, just in case E’rik wasn’t sure which sleeping dragonet in his lap Mal was talking about.
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Posted: Wed Apr 08, 2009 8:52 am
"You're lucky to have such a void in your emotional spectrum. Shame is not fun."
Unlike Mal, E'rik wasn't particularly difficult to shame. Simply implying that he had been remiss in some duty, or catching him in one of his infrequent lies was enough to make him cringe. Of course, that only worked if he cared about his accuser's opinion, or the opinion of someone present. Mal was actually one of the people who was capable of making him feel guilty, though he'd taken care not to let Mal know. A few of the Masters at the Hall could have that effect on him. He suspected Daramulath would develop the ability, though he also suspected the dragon would never use it. He didn't seem like the type.
"That was worth it, though. Especially since no one had the correct words memorized, and had no choice but to sing what was written." He grinned at the memory, still pleased with how well that had worked out. Of course, he'd been implicated right away, since all the lyrical changes were written in his script. "I wouldn't have called that anything as serious as artistic license, though. It was just fun."
"Would this redemption and betrayal happen to involve a fart? By the way, I left that out because I figured you would notice. But I've got a perfect idea: Two friends are together, and both hope to impress a certain girl. Then one farts and blames it on the other, and she chooses the liar. I don't know how to work redemption into it. Are you sure that part's necessary?"
He wasn't much good at thinking up stories, for all that he was clever and could be very creative. He preferred to leave that sort of thing up to Mal, though that could lead to completely outrageous tale-telling which no one ended up believing. Sometimes they were amusing enough to get the pair out of trouble anyway. Unless they'd done something spectacularly bad. Apparently amusing stories weren't the only way out of trouble. Sleeping dragons seemed to be another way.
"I'm glad to see Daramulath serves some purpose, other than putting my legs to sleep and waking me up at obscene hours of the morning - though he's very good at both. As for size...I don't know. He's the largest brown in his clutch, almost as large as the bronzes, so if he continues to stay the same size, proportionately, he's going to get pretty damn big. Much too large for laps."
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