23.Aug.13, 06:47 PM
Z'jan was nearly to the point of scrubbing his intimates, when S'cer turned cold. Z'jan halted, raising his gaze in utter bewilderment. What just happened? Z'jan fixed his eyes on S'cer, trying to figure out what'd just triggered that reaction. Ghalath would know he thought to himself. But his green was too far away to provide him any useful coaching or commentary. Z'jan would just have to figure it out on his own. Not exactly his strong suit.
He'd stopped washing himself at this point, and had straightened, still staring unapologetically at S'cer. The other man was scrubbing his flesh to the bone. Z'jan cringed, his face an open book. "Take it easy, man." While the statement was technically ambiguous, it was obviously directed at the jr. weyrling's washing technique. "If I scrubbed Ghalath that hard she'd be as pale as Pistoth. And she'd probably bite me."
But while S'cer's verbal snarl had surprised him, it hadn't really offended him. Why would it? "I'm not sure I'm Katilan, or Telgarian or whatever. Aren't we all our own thing, when it comes down to it?" he began sudsing again, though more slowly. His own anger only rose incrementally when S'cer accused him of rolling over and taking it. "That's pretty bold. I mean, you don't know a damn thing about me." But his tone was matter-of-fact.
Then, as though the whole thing had been a big joke, Z'jan sidled over the nudged S'cer's shoulder conspiratorially with his elbow. "Besides, we're goddamn greenies, man. Rolling over and taking? It's kinda our MO." He smirked, with a 'what can you do?' raise of the brows. Like the fish with the five second memory, Z'jan went back to washing himself as though tension hadn't passed between him at all.
Had it?
He'd stopped washing himself at this point, and had straightened, still staring unapologetically at S'cer. The other man was scrubbing his flesh to the bone. Z'jan cringed, his face an open book. "Take it easy, man." While the statement was technically ambiguous, it was obviously directed at the jr. weyrling's washing technique. "If I scrubbed Ghalath that hard she'd be as pale as Pistoth. And she'd probably bite me."
But while S'cer's verbal snarl had surprised him, it hadn't really offended him. Why would it? "I'm not sure I'm Katilan, or Telgarian or whatever. Aren't we all our own thing, when it comes down to it?" he began sudsing again, though more slowly. His own anger only rose incrementally when S'cer accused him of rolling over and taking it. "That's pretty bold. I mean, you don't know a damn thing about me." But his tone was matter-of-fact.
Then, as though the whole thing had been a big joke, Z'jan sidled over the nudged S'cer's shoulder conspiratorially with his elbow. "Besides, we're goddamn greenies, man. Rolling over and taking? It's kinda our MO." He smirked, with a 'what can you do?' raise of the brows. Like the fish with the five second memory, Z'jan went back to washing himself as though tension hadn't passed between him at all.
Had it?