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!
23.Aug.13, 12:23 AM
S'cer didn't startle, exactly, as the door to his bathing room was pushed in; he tensed, visible in the ramrod straight posture as he straightened up to his full height, pausing to wipe errant suds as they slipped down his forehead with the inside of his wrist. But when he saw that it wasn't a woman, the tenseness abated--S'cer was hardly a prude, and had been brought up with brothers and then with all the boys in the Farmcrafthall. Whatever modesty he had possessed had died long ago, and he was just about to rinse the suds out of his hair when the new arrival spoke.
S'cer was still uncomfortable with all the new interactions; his fellow clutchmates were one thing, but it seemed that once you Impressed people decided to chat more often. He, being used to the many Turns of simply ducking out of conversations with dragonriders, wasn't sure what to even think anymore, let alone say. He would likely never get over his being Stolen, but his resentment would have to take a back seat for the forseeable future--for Quelseth's sake, but also his own.
But the face looked familiar, though S'cer couldn't put a name to it. Not a Farmcrafter, else it would have come immediately, and he frowned. "No," he replied after a long moment, tone clipped. "Although you look familiar." S'cer couldn't help the distinctly wary look he shot the rider; the sheer amount of dirt that had been tracked in pointed to a trouble-maker, for who could get that dirty in a day unless they went looking for trouble? At any rate, it would take a lot of soap sand to get rid of all that dirt, and S'cer was of a mind to hurry up so the water he washed in wouldn't be so filthy.
"I'm S'cer, formerly Isscer. I Impressed Quelseth at the last Hatching, but I used to be a Farmcrafter." Used to be, he thought bitterly, and that still hurt--his dreams dashed, but replaced with a tiny green dragon who loved him with every fiber of her being. And Faranth help him, but he loved her too; it was enough,it had to be, and S'cer reminded himself of that every time he doubted her choice in him as a rider.
He sloshed over towards the side of the bath, wet fingers curling around the bag of soap sand. Scooping out a generous handful and setting it aside for himself, S'cer drew closer, dropping the bag on the side of the bath so it was situated closer to Z'jan. "You'll be needing this, I reckon." And from his closer vantage point, S'cer frowned, eyes narrowing. "You look familiar. You're not in the Weyrling Barracks, are you?" There were so many of them that it was hard to keep names straight, plus all the older weyrlings were scattered in huts.
S'cer knew he didn't have a chance of remembering a name, so he waited patiently for an answer, eventually giving up on standing still. The suds were beginning to make his head itch, and he scowled. S'cer made his way back over to his pile of soap sand, bending slightly at the waist to rinse the suds out of his hair, occasionally shooting Z'jan curious looks every now and again.
S'cer was still uncomfortable with all the new interactions; his fellow clutchmates were one thing, but it seemed that once you Impressed people decided to chat more often. He, being used to the many Turns of simply ducking out of conversations with dragonriders, wasn't sure what to even think anymore, let alone say. He would likely never get over his being Stolen, but his resentment would have to take a back seat for the forseeable future--for Quelseth's sake, but also his own.
But the face looked familiar, though S'cer couldn't put a name to it. Not a Farmcrafter, else it would have come immediately, and he frowned. "No," he replied after a long moment, tone clipped. "Although you look familiar." S'cer couldn't help the distinctly wary look he shot the rider; the sheer amount of dirt that had been tracked in pointed to a trouble-maker, for who could get that dirty in a day unless they went looking for trouble? At any rate, it would take a lot of soap sand to get rid of all that dirt, and S'cer was of a mind to hurry up so the water he washed in wouldn't be so filthy.
"I'm S'cer, formerly Isscer. I Impressed Quelseth at the last Hatching, but I used to be a Farmcrafter." Used to be, he thought bitterly, and that still hurt--his dreams dashed, but replaced with a tiny green dragon who loved him with every fiber of her being. And Faranth help him, but he loved her too; it was enough,it had to be, and S'cer reminded himself of that every time he doubted her choice in him as a rider.
He sloshed over towards the side of the bath, wet fingers curling around the bag of soap sand. Scooping out a generous handful and setting it aside for himself, S'cer drew closer, dropping the bag on the side of the bath so it was situated closer to Z'jan. "You'll be needing this, I reckon." And from his closer vantage point, S'cer frowned, eyes narrowing. "You look familiar. You're not in the Weyrling Barracks, are you?" There were so many of them that it was hard to keep names straight, plus all the older weyrlings were scattered in huts.
S'cer knew he didn't have a chance of remembering a name, so he waited patiently for an answer, eventually giving up on standing still. The suds were beginning to make his head itch, and he scowled. S'cer made his way back over to his pile of soap sand, bending slightly at the waist to rinse the suds out of his hair, occasionally shooting Z'jan curious looks every now and again.
