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 Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 5:48 pm
Nightfall brought many things to Warden’s Weyr. Like biting insects, cold, and the endless dark sky, but those things could’ve been gotten anywhere. In Warden’s Weyr, what the night mainly brought, was whers patrolling the halls of prisoners.
“I’m not any happier about this than you are, Gus,” Taavi muttered, only partially mindful to the prisoners trying to sleep. “’S not like I’ve got happy memories of this place. Granted, I wasn’t here-here, but see one cell, see them all. Granted, some have got differently shaped cracks than the others, but that bit of entertainment is seriously overrated. At least on proper patrols there were interesting things to see.” And, he didn’t say, company outside of one particularly un-talkative wher. Talking to Gustav was a lot like talking to a wall.
A wall that was wher-shaped and had a certain wher-like personality as well as many traits that could only be described as ‘wher-ish’.
Kettle, was Gustav’s response, along with a burning searing feeling in Taavi’s hands. Just a reminder that it wasn’t the brown wher’s fault that they were in the halls instead of running around in the wilds, like they ought to have been.
“Shards, stop doing that. Just use words like any other dragonkind!” Taavi responded, immediately checking the bandages that swathed his hands. If there was one thing he’d never get used to, it was the feeling of something else in his head that was, nonetheless, still there. His words had absolutely no effect on Gustav.
Sorrow, the wher sent, sarcasm leaking off of the false emotion.
“Yeah, yeah, you’re a riot. And by that, I mean you make people want to grab the scythes, torches, and pitchforks,” the handler muttered, his heart obviously not in the words at all. All avenues of conversation with Gustav closed, he peered around the dark cells. “Wonder if anyone else’s awake…”
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Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 6:46 pm
I, rightly should be asleep, Oliver mused, sprawled half off what served as a bed. He had in perhaps two seven days, likely less: ran from the watch, resisted being brought to court, been interrogated, sentenced, dragged to the Weyr and forcibly scrubbed and shaved- Hollin was sulking about his hair- left in some cell, dragged in front of the Warden and lodged in a cell, which perhaps some pity on the second's part had lodged Hollin in the cell across to his.
Exhaustion should have caught up with him. He should be sleeping like the dead. But, the prison wasn't right. Not that it wasn't prisonany enough, large, imposing, plenty of cranky looking staff, bar... general stuff one would imagine to be in a prison. It didn't smell right. There was no dried herbs scenting the air above him or the slight tang of washed wool underneath. No younger brother curled nearby. None of the usual creaks and shifts of the wooden building, groaning under a wind or the faint sounds of voices.
Warden's hadn't been his home for twenty six turns and attempting to sleep somewhere new... it was problematic. Oliver was jittery and bored, tapping his feet against the wall, and watching his brother sulk in a huddle ball about the lost of his hair. Poor half-pint. And... noise?
He shifted, oddly graceful considering the he was all sharp angular lanky limbs and the lack of stretch in the obnoxious color prison uniform. Oliver had never wore red, it was bad enough his arms were stained from using redwort, the shade of uniform was blindingly ugh. He leaned against the bars, letting his arms slid outside and tipped his head, cheek resting against the cool metal.
Wher handler meant guard, didn't it?
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Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 7:25 pm
Ah! Some limbs poked out of a cell between bars, like bookmarks in pages. Er. If pages were made of large metal bars. And if bookmarks were made of limbs. Perhaps Taavi’s decision to go into writing was a bit over-ambitious… he perked up anyway, glad to see some sign of someone else being awake, even if the individual was on Murderer’s Row. He had Gus, didn’t he? And the killer was on the other side of the bars, which was officially Taavi’s favorite place for killers to be.
“Evening,” he said cheerfully enough, studying the other man. Not a face he recognized, but that wasn’t unusual; the wherhandler only rarely patrolled Murderer’s Row, preferring instead to be given outside duty. But the man’s short hair certainly indicated a new arrival. Well, newish. Behind the cheerful guard, loomed Gus, eyes swirling dark, rusty red.
“New here, are you? Only, I don’t remember seeing you before. Name’s Taavetti, call me Taavi. And this here is Gustav. Call him Gus, if you absolutely have to. Only, I don’t recommend you do as Gus isn’t called ‘murderbeast’ for irony purposes.” It was probably tactless, commenting on the ‘M’ word in that particular block.
Thankfully, Taavi was backed up by a large wher.
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Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 7:38 pm
Well, he was a chatty thing wasn't he? Oliver's lips twitched into a somewhat amused smile at the prattle and took a moment to look the guard down and lingered on the bulky looking bandages and flickered to the large wher. "I," he started, amused leaking in his tone, "thankfully have metal between me and your murder beast." He tapped the bars with a nail and folded his arms, giving the looming wher a level stare of 'what?'
"So, what did you do to your hands?" He inquired, continuing to stare down the large wher.
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Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 7:49 pm
“Funny story, but an important lesson for a young man such as yourself,” Taavi started. Well, the other man was younger than him anyway. Far as the handler was concerned, that gave him the ability to use phrases like ‘young man’ at the prisoner with impunity. “It turns out hot things are hot and shouldn’t be touched. Especially things such as kettles. Just let them fall, that’s my advice.” Not that the prisoner was likely to come across many hot kettles.
But you never knew. Sharding things could attack at any time. Taavi certainly hadn’t been expecting his accident.
At least this prisoner seemed willing to chat. That immediately elevated him above others, far as Taavi was concerned. “Other important lessons include not getting between a wher and his food. Iron bars might’ve helped me then, but probably not much. Would’ve just added some minerals to this lump’s diet.”
The wher didn’t seem impressed by any turns of phrase or by the prisoner’s stare.
That was alright.
He could outwait iron.
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Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 8:08 pm
" Kettles," Oliver repeated and snorted, eyes crinkling slightly in restraining laughter. Considering that he A. didn't have to treat said guard for idiocy of catching hot metal and b. had been called young man, yes, he could express his enjoyment. "I'll keep it in mind. Don't bribe treehoppers into the cell in hopes of raising a mass of vermin to overrun the guards. It makes you and your cell seem like a tasty buffet." Not that the food could possibly raise an army of treehoppers. The little vermin were in the running of things more edible then what was on my plate list.
"Do you have to antagonize the wher?" Hollin questioned, settling a foot or so from his bars. He fully trust his brother to handle himself among people, snarky tone and tendency of sarcasm taken in account. Large, pebbly skin, sharp claws and teeth and likely five times his brother's weight. Not so much.
"We are having a civilized conversation, all in eye contact that we both likely hate each other," Oliver replied, flashing a sharp grin at Taavi. "At first sight to.... did you at least remember to gets some willow bark tea for the pain?" Wait, he was not going to treat guards that were silly enough to grab hot kettles like patients. Bad idea.
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Posted: Tue Jan 01, 2013 9:07 pm
“Yeah, not one of my brighter moments. It was just instinct, you know? You see something falling in a kitchen, of course you try to catch it. See, normally I’m a baker. During the day anyway. Baker by day, wherhandler by night.” He actually laughed at the man’s next comment, about turning his cell into a lovely wher buffet. “Yeah. That and a vermin army is surprisingly costly. It never helps you with friends either. They come to your cell and see your vermin and suddenly remember a great number of other places they really ought to be.”
Ohh, another night wher! This really was Taavi’s lucky night, wasn’… i… oh. A kid. A short sharp shock of surprise went through the handler, ending up somewhere in the vicinity of his eyes. Of course, there had been kids back in Gen. Street kids who hadn’t been fast enough lifting a purse, for example, or who had stolen a loaf of bread.
But this was Murderer’s Row.
That was just tragic.
“Aw, don’t worry about him bothering Gus. Gustav doesn’t get bothered, not really. Not as people understand it. He just gets hungry.”
blood-hungry-tear- throat
“Just hungry. Yeah, I went to the Healer and everything. He put numbweed on them and everything. So, you were a Healer on the outside, yeah? Never lose that instinct for helping, I guess.” Although, considering how he was a killer and all, perhaps… well, Taavi tried not to think about it. You didn’t ask about crimes here. You kept your head down and did your time.
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Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2013 4:51 am
Hollin snorted softly, reading the guards body language as it shifted from surprise to pity. He didn't want or need any pity from the man and his large creature of teeth. "Hungry," Hollin muttered and looked over the wher, large imposing heavy creature that it was and then his brother. "I don't think he is overly picky about how he satisfies his hunger."
"And here I was thinking you were solely going to spend the night sulking over your hair," Oliver called out, a tad louder then he needed, but what elder brother didn't tease their younger sibling? Oliver glanced over Gustav and nodded mildly. "Well the army probably out but treehoppers might make a small morsel for your friend. Tasty when you cook them right."
"Healer is more for officials who actually went to the hall and learned from teacher that were not grumpy alcoholics or dust manufacturers." Oliver hummed softly, numbweed, redwort, and likely aloe. "Did he tell you to air them or to wiggle them? With injured joints, you want to flex them or they'll stiffen up and you will end up with mangled mitts just for clawing people or slapping people."
(Drawing from real life experience... unless broken, never baby your joints, they stiffen and then it hurts more when you attempt to move it )
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Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2013 11:40 am
“Awww, Gus is just a big ol’ soppy,” Taavi said, scratching the wher’s eye ridges affectionately. This elicited absolutely no response from the brown wher besides a slow blink that could have been measured using geological terms. Apparently even his doting handler realized that this… wasn’t really working. “Ah well. Least he’s not outwardly aggressive, most of the time. Anyway, don’t worry too much about your hair. It grows back, eventually. I’m proof of that.”
To make his point, Taavi ran his fingers through his long hair. Why, yes! He did enjoy primping. Nothing wrong with making sure you looked good, that was his motto (along with, ‘always be out of the Hold when you see smoke’ and ‘never look a Healer directly in the eye’). “Most treehoppers, sure,” he said, in the tones of a man who’d eaten quite a few things in his life, and not all of them strictly speaking, were edible. “A lot of the ones around here are poisonous though. It’s the jungle. It’s like everything is extremely poisonous and hateful. Pretty, though. Gus misses it terribly, don’t you?”
missing hunt missing kill missing life
Taavi went back to simply ignoring the wher as best he could. Well, as much as he could ignore a very large animal who occupied his skull.
“Yeah. Don’t mess with the blisters, don’t do anything strenuous, but keep flexing, pretty much. Personally, I think the man just wants me healthy for my cookies.”
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Posted: Wed Jan 02, 2013 2:48 pm
"You might want to consider pulping a cucumber before you start any work in the kitchen next time. It is more to sooth sunburns but for minor singes it works well enough," Oliver drawled. "If this is a common occurrence and to help the healer receive his cookies." He sighed softly. "It is a disappointment about the hoppers. I take it the tunnel snakes are just as poisonous and hazardous to my health."
"I guess I should introduce myself. I'm Oliver and the half- pint is my kid brother, Hollin." He waved cheerfully between the bars and smiled as he got a wave back. "He'll get over it... eventually." Five or six turns had passed before his brother's hair had got the length he wanted and more to scrounge up the beads and ties.
"They shaved it and I didn't even have any pests." Hollin grumbled, brushing a hand over the short black stubble and mourning his braids.
"They are shaving everyone because they can't tell who is a crackhead," Oliver replied tone mild before looking back at Taavi. "So what ended you in with the general population? Thievery or a con
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 9:19 am
"Learned that trick early on. Actually, what I learned was 'don't make suggestive gestures with cucumbers', and then my master decided to withhold cucumbers whenever I got burned. 'Don't want you getting the wrong idea, Taavi', she said. Still, I learned the right lesson, eventually." Which was, 'don't annoy anyone who has power over you'. Make them laugh instead; people liked laughing and, if you ever got into trouble, they'd remember those fun times.
"Nice to meet the pair of you." All of Taavi's sisters were older than Hollin. Logically, he knew that. But Emotion had a way of bursting down Logic's walls and making thoughts his own. The one that dominated Taavi's mind was... well, his little sisters, really. "Well, it's like people say: 'if you don't like it here, don't come back'."
Not that he could say he followed that advice. He came back, because he found he couldn't survive on the outside world. The prison walls were less physical, but still oh-so-there.
Surprise flickered across Taavi's face before he broke into a grin that he wasn't sure he felt. Damn, he thought. The man's not bad.
"Con, in fact. Running the fiddle game and the Watch happened to get my partner before I could come back. Still, not all bad. I got Gus out of the entire thing."
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Posted: Fri Jan 04, 2013 10:25 am
"A rule, just so you know... Cucumbers and suggestive gestures are one thing, actually doing it is a other." Oliver snorted, torn between amusement and disgust. Cucumbers, squash, carrots, vegetables in general should not be used for sexual stimulation.
Fiddle game.. "Not the old, Robison fiddle one?" Oliver asked, remembering the con artist with a broken nose, his drunken laughing friend, a lot of cussing and a shiny looking fiddle. "No, I don't have any money, hold my fiddle ... don't you know this fiddle is a Robison? " Oliver snickered slightly. "Isn't that con rather old?" Okay, he was prodding at the guard's age but he had been called young man. He wasn't that young.
"Isn't there another scam proclaiming these are so and so boots, he was a great bronze rider. Something about luck." Hollin questioned, attempting to recall who's lucky boots someone had attempted to sell a merchant. It had been an amusing conversation to listen in on.
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