01.May.13, 06:05 PM
C'vir, arriving at the conclusion that a roll of his eyes would only further incite the antics of incorrigible Armath, once again blinked stonily at the dragon's clamor. Don't let him encourage you, he preemptively warned Besulth, sensing his dragon's amusement. He referred to me as an "almond princeling" and you ask me not to be encouraged? You act as if you don't know me at all. The rider exhaled audibly, rapidly losing any hopes he may have held for a peaceful lunch. Two intractable browns and a gregarious bear-man did not a relaxing mealtime make.
Reservations, he followed M'din, eager to get inside before Besulth arrived. He couldn't will himself into being deaf to the dragons -- especially not with Armath consistently attempting to "speak" to everyone within a kilometer radius --, but he could escape being forced to look at the smug brown bastards. Unfortunately, when it came M'din's hut, it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Confronted with the clutter, his eyes widened and he unconsciously rocked back a step. He watched, silently, as the other brownrider hastily gathered handfulls of alarmingly hued clothing, balling them together to shove into a corner at which C'vir would be compelled to glance distastefully at sporadic intervals for the remainder of his stay. He took the chair M'din supplied, drawing it gingerly towards him with two fingers for closer inspection. He brushed off the seat, hoping not to come into contact with any crumbs, and sat quickly, placing his folded hands in his lap. Occupied with an anguished appraisal of his surroundings, M'din's words registered only following Armath's aside. Something about -- Faranth forbid -- a large brood of children that the brownrider habitually used for labor.
C'vir's finger's tightened as his companion ducked to retrieve a faded fabric firelizard and set it on the table. On the table. The table meant for food. He swallowed forcefully, smiling wanly as M'din babbled on about books. He appeasingly shifted his gaze to the shelf, making no attempt to move closer. He could see everything he needed to see from his seated position. "Thirty-two," he repeated in a tone he thought may narrowly pass for interest. M'din hadn't struck him as a reader.
The other brownrider finally sat, seemingly satisfied with the slapdash job he'd done of tidying up the still-sloppy environs. C'vir's eyes flickered to the clothes-corner, then back to M'din, who was rattling off a rather elaborate list of edibles. While he was hungry -- he'd been on his way to the dining hall before being delayed by a draconic roadblock -- he wasn't confident enough to entrust his stomach with anything that had was on hand in the disorder of M'din's hut. He had started emphatically shaking his head when Besulth landed, heralded (unsurprisingly) by the waiting Armath. Block the path and I'll use your hide for a wall-hanging, C'vir threatened, earning the mental equivalent of a chuckle from the unphased brown.It'd be far better looking than the one you've got up now, he quipped, obligingly ambling towards Armath's hollow. Make room for my "enormous girth," handsome, he purred to the other brown.
C'vir released a disgruntled sigh, no longer capable -- if he'd ever been to start with -- of concealing his discomfort. "Thank you, but no thank you, on all counts," he managed, holding up a hand to keep the man from picking up where he'd left off. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a reader, and I'm sure there will plenty left for me to pick through when I get to the dining hall. I'd hate to eat all of the... lovely things your son has prepared." M'din was clearly quite the family man, and thus a bit of an oddity to C'vir. His own siblings had been short-lived or shipped off, and if he had any progeny, he prayed he'd never be made aware of them. "It is quite a collection you've got," he continued uncertainly, nodding toward the bookshelf. As much as it pained him, he couldn't completely reject the man's avid attempts at hospitality.
Reservations, he followed M'din, eager to get inside before Besulth arrived. He couldn't will himself into being deaf to the dragons -- especially not with Armath consistently attempting to "speak" to everyone within a kilometer radius --, but he could escape being forced to look at the smug brown bastards. Unfortunately, when it came M'din's hut, it was out of the frying pan and into the fire. Confronted with the clutter, his eyes widened and he unconsciously rocked back a step. He watched, silently, as the other brownrider hastily gathered handfulls of alarmingly hued clothing, balling them together to shove into a corner at which C'vir would be compelled to glance distastefully at sporadic intervals for the remainder of his stay. He took the chair M'din supplied, drawing it gingerly towards him with two fingers for closer inspection. He brushed off the seat, hoping not to come into contact with any crumbs, and sat quickly, placing his folded hands in his lap. Occupied with an anguished appraisal of his surroundings, M'din's words registered only following Armath's aside. Something about -- Faranth forbid -- a large brood of children that the brownrider habitually used for labor.
C'vir's finger's tightened as his companion ducked to retrieve a faded fabric firelizard and set it on the table. On the table. The table meant for food. He swallowed forcefully, smiling wanly as M'din babbled on about books. He appeasingly shifted his gaze to the shelf, making no attempt to move closer. He could see everything he needed to see from his seated position. "Thirty-two," he repeated in a tone he thought may narrowly pass for interest. M'din hadn't struck him as a reader.
The other brownrider finally sat, seemingly satisfied with the slapdash job he'd done of tidying up the still-sloppy environs. C'vir's eyes flickered to the clothes-corner, then back to M'din, who was rattling off a rather elaborate list of edibles. While he was hungry -- he'd been on his way to the dining hall before being delayed by a draconic roadblock -- he wasn't confident enough to entrust his stomach with anything that had was on hand in the disorder of M'din's hut. He had started emphatically shaking his head when Besulth landed, heralded (unsurprisingly) by the waiting Armath. Block the path and I'll use your hide for a wall-hanging, C'vir threatened, earning the mental equivalent of a chuckle from the unphased brown.
C'vir released a disgruntled sigh, no longer capable -- if he'd ever been to start with -- of concealing his discomfort. "Thank you, but no thank you, on all counts," he managed, holding up a hand to keep the man from picking up where he'd left off. "I'm afraid I'm not much of a reader, and I'm sure there will plenty left for me to pick through when I get to the dining hall. I'd hate to eat all of the... lovely things your son has prepared." M'din was clearly quite the family man, and thus a bit of an oddity to C'vir. His own siblings had been short-lived or shipped off, and if he had any progeny, he prayed he'd never be made aware of them. "It is quite a collection you've got," he continued uncertainly, nodding toward the bookshelf. As much as it pained him, he couldn't completely reject the man's avid attempts at hospitality.