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!
01.Jun.13, 12:59 PM
Jisralna rounded the corner, burdened with what appeared to be a water skin and a plethora of fabrics, and M'din's face lit up. He desperately needed her input concerning his clothing and Armath would be no help in the fashion department for all of his suggestions. He waved back enthusiastically as she approached.
She is with child, it seems, Armath commented, blue eyes curiously surveying the humans beneath him.
She is not, Armath! M'din mentally shouted. His heart sunk, hoping Armath hadn't projected the semi-insulting assumption to Jisralna. He hastily added, And don’t you ask her about it. Ladies don’t like for others to imply they’re gaining weight, even if they are, and Jisralna is not pregnant. M’din frowned at his dragon’s complete lack of concern for the lovely redhead’s feelings. Maybe she just ate a large lunch. Armath noncommittally huffed overhead, but did not respond to his rider.
"Please, take a seat," M'din called out. He truly hoped she wasn't pregnant, but the more he looked at her the more doubtful he became of his original certainty that she wasn't. She didn't look pregnant, but it would be just like him to be thoughtless enough to put a woman with child to work outside in the heat of summer. "I tried to find some shade, but we can certainly move somewhere cooler if you need to rest-- or, uhm- if you need to not be sweaty for your health?" His offer ended awkwardly, inflection rising in pitch, voice betraying his terror that Jisralna would know Armath's offhanded comment.
Smooth, as per usual, the brown told M'din dryly. He jumped from the rooftop, wings unfurled in his quick drop to the ground, and turned his chocolate head to the weaver as he landed. Hi there, Jisralna, he greeted her familiarly, although they had only met face-to-face once before. You have to come save my bumbling rider. He needs to look fancy for his daughter's nameday party and all of his clothes are just atrocious.
"They're not atrocious," M'din mumbled, cracking his knuckles shamefacedly. "They're just sort of plain."
Don't listen to him. They're terrible. He needs some embroidered flowers or dragons and such. Gemmidendra would like that, Armath replied to both of them brusquely. He needs to look like a pretty princess, he told Jisralna privately. The potential to have his rider wear a pink skirt with woven rose veil was simply too delectable to resist.
She is not, Armath! M'din mentally shouted. His heart sunk, hoping Armath hadn't projected the semi-insulting assumption to Jisralna. He hastily added, And don’t you ask her about it. Ladies don’t like for others to imply they’re gaining weight, even if they are, and Jisralna is not pregnant. M’din frowned at his dragon’s complete lack of concern for the lovely redhead’s feelings. Maybe she just ate a large lunch. Armath noncommittally huffed overhead, but did not respond to his rider.
"Please, take a seat," M'din called out. He truly hoped she wasn't pregnant, but the more he looked at her the more doubtful he became of his original certainty that she wasn't. She didn't look pregnant, but it would be just like him to be thoughtless enough to put a woman with child to work outside in the heat of summer. "I tried to find some shade, but we can certainly move somewhere cooler if you need to rest-- or, uhm- if you need to not be sweaty for your health?" His offer ended awkwardly, inflection rising in pitch, voice betraying his terror that Jisralna would know Armath's offhanded comment.
"They're not atrocious," M'din mumbled, cracking his knuckles shamefacedly. "They're just sort of plain."
