07.Dec.12, 10:25 AM
Sometimes, in the middle of a massive mayhem, the best thing one could do was to distance themselves from everything. B’jin, being someone that put far too much weight on something as simple as personal space and privacy, felt that doing that was exactly what was called for as the Weyr was being turned upside down by S’kef, searching for whomever it was that had poisoned D’ren.
The greenrider was unsure what to make of the situation, and if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t particularly keen on delving too deeply into it. The situation and explanation that the Weyrleader had been poisoned with Tansy had sent B’jin’s blood running cold, and the greenrider had fought to dismiss fearful memories of blood and fear and Larrikith with her blood rendering keening as Talian fought to breathe before him. Imagining D’ren – so serious and dignified and professional – with that gut wrenching pain, of puking up his own blood and choking on the simple action of breathing… B’jin shuddered and shook his head, fingers running over the body of his guitar in a motion both old and soothing.
Before him, Larrikith splashed in the river like a Hatchling, chittering to herself as she made waves and played with a stray firelizard (B’jin couldn’t even make out what colour the little creature was, let alone whom it belonged to). The dragon would bore herself and set about actually cleaning herself later, for now B’jin watched her play with a distracted amusement as his thoughts shifted away from D’ren and the chaos in the Weyr, and back again, making the greenrider frown. He wanted to visit the Weyrleader, but with S’kef jumping down everyone’s throats (never mind all his little lackeys running around digging up ‘clues’ from under people’s noses and tossing around blame like a hot potato) B’jin was wary of trying to get in to see the man that he had once considered his shield against monsters like S’kef. Now, the greenrider figured the bronzerider was closer to friend than shield, but that title also didn’t fit right.
B’jin liked titles, and he liked them to fit properly. Talian was his son, R’nd was his lover, Valerian was… another irritating person that wouldn’t fit into B’jin’s nice process of labels. Why did people have to be difficult and make his head hurt? He supposed Valerian fit in the same odd shaped box labelled ‘friend’ as D’ren did, but he fit just as unhappily in there. There was something about the young harper that made that label ill-fitting. B’jin didn’t like things that didn’t fit in his nice and orderly set up. They irked him and his irritation was sung out on a string of unhappy notes as B’jin trailed his fingers across the belly of his guitar and the strings twitched under them.
Titles are over rated. Larrikith put in cheerfully, bouncing up the side of the lake and prancing toward her human. Her hide glittered with water droplets, glowing under the warm springtime sun. B’jin frowned at her critically for a moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she shook herself out (spraying water in every direction; B’jin scrabbled to protect his precious guitar) and then fanned her wings out, letting both the light breeze and the warm sunshine warm her.
“Larrikith?” His voice was riddled with suspicion.
The greenrider was unsure what to make of the situation, and if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t particularly keen on delving too deeply into it. The situation and explanation that the Weyrleader had been poisoned with Tansy had sent B’jin’s blood running cold, and the greenrider had fought to dismiss fearful memories of blood and fear and Larrikith with her blood rendering keening as Talian fought to breathe before him. Imagining D’ren – so serious and dignified and professional – with that gut wrenching pain, of puking up his own blood and choking on the simple action of breathing… B’jin shuddered and shook his head, fingers running over the body of his guitar in a motion both old and soothing.
Before him, Larrikith splashed in the river like a Hatchling, chittering to herself as she made waves and played with a stray firelizard (B’jin couldn’t even make out what colour the little creature was, let alone whom it belonged to). The dragon would bore herself and set about actually cleaning herself later, for now B’jin watched her play with a distracted amusement as his thoughts shifted away from D’ren and the chaos in the Weyr, and back again, making the greenrider frown. He wanted to visit the Weyrleader, but with S’kef jumping down everyone’s throats (never mind all his little lackeys running around digging up ‘clues’ from under people’s noses and tossing around blame like a hot potato) B’jin was wary of trying to get in to see the man that he had once considered his shield against monsters like S’kef. Now, the greenrider figured the bronzerider was closer to friend than shield, but that title also didn’t fit right.
B’jin liked titles, and he liked them to fit properly. Talian was his son, R’nd was his lover, Valerian was… another irritating person that wouldn’t fit into B’jin’s nice process of labels. Why did people have to be difficult and make his head hurt? He supposed Valerian fit in the same odd shaped box labelled ‘friend’ as D’ren did, but he fit just as unhappily in there. There was something about the young harper that made that label ill-fitting. B’jin didn’t like things that didn’t fit in his nice and orderly set up. They irked him and his irritation was sung out on a string of unhappy notes as B’jin trailed his fingers across the belly of his guitar and the strings twitched under them.
Titles are over rated. Larrikith put in cheerfully, bouncing up the side of the lake and prancing toward her human. Her hide glittered with water droplets, glowing under the warm springtime sun. B’jin frowned at her critically for a moment, eyes narrowing suspiciously as she shook herself out (spraying water in every direction; B’jin scrabbled to protect his precious guitar) and then fanned her wings out, letting both the light breeze and the warm sunshine warm her.
“Larrikith?” His voice was riddled with suspicion.