Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
17.Apr.19, 04:18 AM
With a soft noncommittal ‘hmn’ F’drel curled up further into the bed. He tried to balance keeping an eye on Z’rin in order to make sure the bluerider just got his things and left, and not being creepy and staring at him get dressed. F’drel wasn’t interested in the slightest and the man was mated. To a bronzerider. No thanks. He did not want Z’rin to be able to misinterpret anything. He didn’t need that in his life.
Even with F’drel only watching Z’rin from the corner of his eye, he still noticed the burn scars, but he didn’t say a word about them. It was decidedly not his business. F’drel thankfully didn’t have many physical markers from his past, at least not noticeable ones, but he had plenty of things he never wanted people to pry into. He wasn’t going to be that nosy asshole who asked personal questions of essentially a complete stranger. Still, he couldn’t help noticing they seemed fairly new, and F’drel could hardly forget the fires of the summer before. If he had to guess — which he didn’t, no one would ever ask him about it — F’drel would guess they were from that extraordinarily stressful week. He and Miri had escaped without scars — Miri’s wing had knit together seamlessly with all the oiling he gave the healing membrane — but many people hadn’t. Z’rin seemed like he was one of them. But it didn’t matter. There was no reason F’drel needed to know about them, and beyond idle curiosity he didn’t care — learning would mean having weirdly intimate conversations, which, again, back to him not being interested and not wanting to deal with this shit, was not something F’drel wanted to deal with.
“Better than losing something important in a stranger’s weyr,” F’drel said, a beat late after Z’rin joked about packing light. If he weren’t in his own weyr, he’d want as little as possible to have to collect — it meant he could get the fuck out faster. He ‘hmn’ed again, filing away the information about a late lunch.
As soon as F’drel heard the door close, he reluctantly pushed himself up from the bed, wrapping a sheet around himself before heading to the front door to lock it behind the bluerider. He heard voices in the hallway, and didn’t want to leave anything to chance. The plan was go back to his bed and pass the fuck out for as long as he could get away with. A locked door would make that easier.
Even with F’drel only watching Z’rin from the corner of his eye, he still noticed the burn scars, but he didn’t say a word about them. It was decidedly not his business. F’drel thankfully didn’t have many physical markers from his past, at least not noticeable ones, but he had plenty of things he never wanted people to pry into. He wasn’t going to be that nosy asshole who asked personal questions of essentially a complete stranger. Still, he couldn’t help noticing they seemed fairly new, and F’drel could hardly forget the fires of the summer before. If he had to guess — which he didn’t, no one would ever ask him about it — F’drel would guess they were from that extraordinarily stressful week. He and Miri had escaped without scars — Miri’s wing had knit together seamlessly with all the oiling he gave the healing membrane — but many people hadn’t. Z’rin seemed like he was one of them. But it didn’t matter. There was no reason F’drel needed to know about them, and beyond idle curiosity he didn’t care — learning would mean having weirdly intimate conversations, which, again, back to him not being interested and not wanting to deal with this shit, was not something F’drel wanted to deal with.
“Better than losing something important in a stranger’s weyr,” F’drel said, a beat late after Z’rin joked about packing light. If he weren’t in his own weyr, he’d want as little as possible to have to collect — it meant he could get the fuck out faster. He ‘hmn’ed again, filing away the information about a late lunch.
As soon as F’drel heard the door close, he reluctantly pushed himself up from the bed, wrapping a sheet around himself before heading to the front door to lock it behind the bluerider. He heard voices in the hallway, and didn’t want to leave anything to chance. The plan was go back to his bed and pass the fuck out for as long as he could get away with. A locked door would make that easier.
