Riddle Me This [C'vir]

C'vir exhaled gratefully when M'din removed the wrinkled tunic from his lap, sliding into a noticeably more relaxed position in his chair. His fingers unfolded themselves; he flared them out and stretched them back in a few times underneath the table, restoring the circulation. He smiled weakly at the older brownrider, halfway hoping that M'din, predisposed as he was to see only what he liked in his guests, would mistake C'vir's relief at the shirt's removal for appreciative approval of the man's unwarranted, unasked-for, and entirely undesired offer. If he'd wanted to dress like his new acquaintance, he'd have taken up dressing in the dark. He'll fare a bit better now that the clothes are off -- so to speak, the brown remarked to his companion, rolling an amused blue eye up at the other dragon. Care to wager on how long he lasts before there's another escape attempt?

C'vir's brow furrowed when M'din's mouth dropped open; he'd hate to be the one to have to provide impromptu aid to the rotund man were his slack jaw the first signs of a medical criss. Thankfully for both of them, the younger brownrider soon realized that his companion was expressing his astonishment, albeit a bit melodramatically. Any show of feeling is melodramatic in your book. The brown had broken his silence. C'vir, distracted by the barrage of gifts and conversation from his companion had forgotten that his dragon was also lurking outside. Don't do this to me now. Play with your friend. I can't deal with all of you at once. The dragon decided to show mercy, satisfied that the strain of M'din's effusive company was enough torture to keep his rider on his toes.

The brownrider, comforted by the smug silence inside his mind, caught M'din scratching his beard -- again. He felt the corners of his mouth drape downward, drawing the firm line of his lips into  a stern frown of distaste. Judging from the frequency of the itches originating in the older man's facial hair, some sort of insect/infection had taken up permanent residence in the unruly beard. C'vir unconsciously reached to run the back of his hand over his own stubble, checking for signs of infestation in the closely cropped whiskers. He found nothing, aside from a renewed desire to examine the cleanliness of his surroundings.

If he could say nothing else for M'din, the man clearly respected women -- an unpopular attitude among Katilans, but one that raised him slightly in C'vir's estimations. Though he wouldn't encourage the man to procreate further (he had questionable genetics and had already done his fair share to populate Pern), the older rider's focus on his family was refreshing in its rarity. C'vir graced him with a curt, assening nod, but found the hint of approval fading as soon as he felt the weight of the man's hand on his shoulder. The gesture, meant to be comforting, returned the brownrider's jaw to its former degree of stiffness. It was bad enough that the man kept giving him things -- now he insisted on touching him, too?

He'd hit on the wrong topic; now he owed obligatory condolences to M'din, who evidently had a deceased sister of his own for whom he still felt considerable fondness. "Ah, yes, terrible, tragic." He wasn't certain how to respond to the comparison to K'dra, though the comment did perhaps explain the untoward level of familiarity M'din had automatically assumed towards him. Don't flatter yourself. I'm sure he tries to feed and clothe everyone he meets.

"Ah. The love for women is a family trait, I see." It was as close as C'vir would come to acknowledging the woman's sexuality -- another topic he preferred to gracelessly gloss over. "Does it appear your sons will follow in their father's footsteps?"