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 Posted: Mon Aug 31, 2009 5:50 pm
M'rik was sitting in the dining hall, having pushed a table way up against the back wall in order to lean back and kick up his feet while he worked. He was humming a terribly off-key version of the Duty Song, fingers stitching two straps of leather together in a deft whirl that didn't quite seem befitting of the klutziness the rest of his body was always exemplifying. Hasufeth was lying on the ground near him, head resting on the bench, a bit miffed that he'd recently grown too large to just sleep under the table.
The Blue would much rather have been doing this work in their barracks, though they were far from an upstanding example of privacy. His Weyrling, on the other hand, very much enjoyed being in the most bustling room in the lower caverns. It was sharding hot outside; this was just as good as working in the Weyrbowl. If not better: here it smelled like food! He stopped humming for a second to suck in a deep nose-full of klah-and-not-yet-cooked-wherry-smell.
There was a notably more relaxed feeling around the two of them these days, though Hasufeth was still never comfortable and M'rik still found himself incapable of scowling. He'd fallen into Weyrlife without missing a step. Not a very talented pair of students, maybe, but undoubtedly devoted. And he certainly knew how to handle a huge workload.
Mine, please don't stitch flowers into that! I have to wear it, you know.
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Posted: Mon Sep 14, 2009 9:57 pm
Time had flown. Life had, thankfully, gone back to routine. . . sort of. His first hatching (horrendous as it had been) was now a thing of the past and something Darcir did his best to forget about. He got along decently enough with his two room mates, though when Bachi left for Igen he certainly hadn't lost any sleep over such a thing. Varran and he were still practical strangers, but it wasn't unusual. . . The dark haired lad threw himself in to his chores and still tried to keep to himself.
Ista had yet to rub off on him and Darcir still found himself strangely isolated and unsure. He hadn't recieved any word about his family, but didn't bother asking either; when and if they wanted to make themselves known, they would, but while his father still sulked over his son's choice to stay it might be months if not turns before he 'got over it'. C'est la vie.
On the fortunate side of things, Darcir was able to find routine within Ista's embrace. He still scowled at the drudgery and absolutely loathed being forced to get his hands dirty. . . . but it was work and he refused to let some one think him too good for such a task. He might have been born in privilege but he'd be damned if some one believed him idle or lazy. No, he'd been raise better than that.
As it was, the boy often kept to himself and struggled to make any friends. He didn't really need them though, or so he reminded himself. Sticking around Ista was purely business, so it was difficult getting close to those whom might not suit his needs. Allies were what he was supposed to find, but Darcir didn't have much intention of searching. It was just an excuse to stay. . . an excuse to silently enjoy the small freedoms the Weyr offered (and further delay a future marriage to . . .a . . woman. Meh!).
Today wasn't to be that different. Morning chores had left them to their own devices after lunch, and Darcir found himself pushing his way through the over-crowded Dining Hall. It was ridiculously hot outside, and he had thought that seeking shelter within the confines of the Dining Hall might provide a bit more shade and cool temperature than the crowded barracks. Apparently, every other living being aside from the dragons had taken up such a thought too.
Shard it all. . . Carrying a tray of meat rolls in one hand, and a cup of fruit juice in the other, and Liu clinging desperately to his shoulder and neck Darcir just wanted to find a blasted seat and sit down! He didn't care by who so long as he could eat and find some where less crowded to enjoy his few hours off. . . .
Looking slightly more disheveled than when he first arrived (his hair was *shockgaspsurprise* actually rather frazzled with a few strands loose and out of place and his pristine clothing had stains from sevendays of work) Darcir flopped down on the edge of a table. Though his appearance had been broken in ever so gingerly, with the lad now sporting a farmers tan and a seemingly endless burn on his nose and cheeks (something he personally LOATHED) his endless scowl had yet to change.
"Strange how even with another Weyr opening its doors, things still seem as crowded as ever." He spoke mostly to himself, not bothering to listen if the one he sat next to heard or not.
Liu, on the other hand, wasn't so rude as to ignore M'rik or the pretty dragonet on the opposite side of the table. Trilling happily, creeling with delight, she swiftly sent positive pictures to both dragon and weyrling! Good times she remembered of M'rik and Darcir as room mates, of the blond helping feed her, and of him Impressing at the Hatching!
Darcir's scowled deepend at his fire-lizards antics. "Stop harassing others," he gently chided, reaching out to offer his lady a meat roll. Glancing over to M'rik, he started to apologize before stopping. . .
Oh for Faranth's sake it was him! Of all the people he could have flopped down beside, his old room mate was now twiddling before him. And was that a dragonet beside him? Oh yes, that blue looked familiar enough and young enough to confirm that it was indeed Ha. . . something or other 'ith' . . .
Clearing his throat, his surprise was apparent. He'd meant to congratulate both B'lin and M'rik after the hatching, but life reared its ugly head and kept him rather distracted for most of the night. Wounded pride and humility had kept him at bay even further until the lad assumed both weyrlings had forgotten about him or chalked him up as rude and uncaring. It wouldn't be surprising, after all. "Uh . . . M'rik. It's. . . been awhile." What a coincidence, really. . .
Maybe he'd lost his insane hyper activity and cheerful mood. One like Darcir could only hope.
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