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!
09.May.13, 04:34 PM
C'vir watched M'din's bulky form disappear into the kitchen, and, finding himself alone, gazed longingly at the hut's front door. If he moved quickly enough, he could get out before the other brownrider returned, escaping the grime and the specials of the day. Besulth could say he'd been called aware on urgent business... or something. C'vir no longer particularly cared. You'd ask me to disappoint our lovely new friend? I wouldn't dream of it. It'd break his little heart. The brownrider rolled his eyes, sinking despondently into his chair as M'din returned, eliminating his small window of opportunity. His "little heart" has plenty of padding.
To his renewed dismay, the man came bearing what appeared to be the entirety of a cooked herdbeast. Despite C'vir's fervent hopes that the spread was the other rider's morning snack, the platter was placed directly in front of him -- not M'din -- on the table. He eyed it uneasily, not the slightest bit interested in chancing his good health on the consumption of a hunk of congealed meat that had been exposed to who-knew-what for who-knew-how-long. The food was further devalued by the fact that it was sharing the table with a dirty flit doll. He smiled tightly, trying not to wrinkle his nose in distaste as he nudged the plate away from him. "Thank you, for the... refreshments, but as I said, I'm not particularly hungry." He took a sip of the water, but not before surreptitiously inspecting the liquid for any floating food particles. He had to assume that M'din's dishes were only as clean as the rest of his home, and thus highly suspect. The water itself was palatable enough; he raised his glass briefly in M'din's direction to indicate his (admittedly limited gratitude), then set the beverage back on the table before him.
Alarmingly, M'din did not remain seated for long. The rider shuffled off into the corner where he'd earlier shoved a mass of soiled clothing and proceeded to dig around in the lump of garish garments. C'vir, for approximately the seventh time in his short encounter with M'din, almost groaned. What the hell is he doing now? You should have let me escape when I had the chance. Besulth, ignoring his rider, chortled mentally at Armath instead.That's not going to go over well. He's already tried to bolt once.
C'vir had started to feel as though he were in the midst of a bad dream, a nightmare in which an overly solicitous man with a distressing amount of body hair tried in numerous unconventional ways to kill him. Disease-ridden living quarters, contaminated foodstuffs, and now, floral tunics distressing enough to potentially trigger seizures. His eyes bulged when M'din deposited the shirt -- bedraggled from the squalor of the surroundings and bedecked with woven golden daisies -- directly into his unprotected lap. He stared, perturbed, at the rumpled wad, refusing to put his hands anywhere near it. He drew in a deep breath, fingers tightening in on themselves until his knuckles were white. Not only was he stuck with this thing on his lap, M'din was suddenly rambling on about weight gain and greenriders, and Besulth's unabashed delight was pressing uncomfortably on the edges of his consciousness. When he finally looked up, he'd conjured the closest semblance of equanimity he was capable of under the circumstances. "You are. Too kind." He took another drink of water, wishing M'din had poured him a bit of something stronger. "I couldn't possibly accept such a generous gift."
Eager to both forget the atrocities lying on his legs and evade any further conversation involving greenriders or his nonexistent love life, he waved a hand dismissively. "I don't date, and I most definitely don't bother myself with greenriders. Or any other riders, for that matter." He wanted to be sure that particular subject came to an emphatic end. "But it sounds like you've a whole horde of offspring. Does that mean you've got a horde of women, too?" C'vir had learned that, in most situations, it was possible to deflect questions about one's own relationships by inquiring into the relationships of others. Though M'din didn't look like a ladies' man, he'd sired enough children for C'vir to assume there would be at least one or two females the other brownrider would be willing to ramble about for awhile, even if he weren't the sort to brag about his conquests. Poor women, the brownrider thought. M'din didn't seem to practice the standard "love 'em and leave 'em" approach, but females were stuck being little more than broodmares for a succession of men nonethless. "I had four sisters," he volunteered, further steering the conversation into the comparatively safe realm of familial ties. "Three of them died in childhood, which meant our family rarely had more than two children around at a time." He rarely thought of his deceased sisters. They'd lived too briefly, and he'd been too young to think of them as real. Even Vecena, his sole surviving sister, had been sent off before they'd been old enough to develop any genuine relationship. He remembered his slightly older sibling as a quiet, obedient girl, who stayed out of their mother's way (and thus also C'vir's) as much as she could manage. They exchanged dry letters lacking warmth and familiarity once a turn; the brownrider thought of her as little more than a polite but distant stranger.
To his renewed dismay, the man came bearing what appeared to be the entirety of a cooked herdbeast. Despite C'vir's fervent hopes that the spread was the other rider's morning snack, the platter was placed directly in front of him -- not M'din -- on the table. He eyed it uneasily, not the slightest bit interested in chancing his good health on the consumption of a hunk of congealed meat that had been exposed to who-knew-what for who-knew-how-long. The food was further devalued by the fact that it was sharing the table with a dirty flit doll. He smiled tightly, trying not to wrinkle his nose in distaste as he nudged the plate away from him. "Thank you, for the... refreshments, but as I said, I'm not particularly hungry." He took a sip of the water, but not before surreptitiously inspecting the liquid for any floating food particles. He had to assume that M'din's dishes were only as clean as the rest of his home, and thus highly suspect. The water itself was palatable enough; he raised his glass briefly in M'din's direction to indicate his (admittedly limited gratitude), then set the beverage back on the table before him.
Alarmingly, M'din did not remain seated for long. The rider shuffled off into the corner where he'd earlier shoved a mass of soiled clothing and proceeded to dig around in the lump of garish garments. C'vir, for approximately the seventh time in his short encounter with M'din, almost groaned. What the hell is he doing now? You should have let me escape when I had the chance. Besulth, ignoring his rider, chortled mentally at Armath instead.
C'vir had started to feel as though he were in the midst of a bad dream, a nightmare in which an overly solicitous man with a distressing amount of body hair tried in numerous unconventional ways to kill him. Disease-ridden living quarters, contaminated foodstuffs, and now, floral tunics distressing enough to potentially trigger seizures. His eyes bulged when M'din deposited the shirt -- bedraggled from the squalor of the surroundings and bedecked with woven golden daisies -- directly into his unprotected lap. He stared, perturbed, at the rumpled wad, refusing to put his hands anywhere near it. He drew in a deep breath, fingers tightening in on themselves until his knuckles were white. Not only was he stuck with this thing on his lap, M'din was suddenly rambling on about weight gain and greenriders, and Besulth's unabashed delight was pressing uncomfortably on the edges of his consciousness. When he finally looked up, he'd conjured the closest semblance of equanimity he was capable of under the circumstances. "You are. Too kind." He took another drink of water, wishing M'din had poured him a bit of something stronger. "I couldn't possibly accept such a generous gift."
Eager to both forget the atrocities lying on his legs and evade any further conversation involving greenriders or his nonexistent love life, he waved a hand dismissively. "I don't date, and I most definitely don't bother myself with greenriders. Or any other riders, for that matter." He wanted to be sure that particular subject came to an emphatic end. "But it sounds like you've a whole horde of offspring. Does that mean you've got a horde of women, too?" C'vir had learned that, in most situations, it was possible to deflect questions about one's own relationships by inquiring into the relationships of others. Though M'din didn't look like a ladies' man, he'd sired enough children for C'vir to assume there would be at least one or two females the other brownrider would be willing to ramble about for awhile, even if he weren't the sort to brag about his conquests. Poor women, the brownrider thought. M'din didn't seem to practice the standard "love 'em and leave 'em" approach, but females were stuck being little more than broodmares for a succession of men nonethless. "I had four sisters," he volunteered, further steering the conversation into the comparatively safe realm of familial ties. "Three of them died in childhood, which meant our family rarely had more than two children around at a time." He rarely thought of his deceased sisters. They'd lived too briefly, and he'd been too young to think of them as real. Even Vecena, his sole surviving sister, had been sent off before they'd been old enough to develop any genuine relationship. He remembered his slightly older sibling as a quiet, obedient girl, who stayed out of their mother's way (and thus also C'vir's) as much as she could manage. They exchanged dry letters lacking warmth and familiarity once a turn; the brownrider thought of her as little more than a polite but distant stranger.
