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!
21.Mar.12, 09:16 AM
The young Weyrbrat was brought out of her deep thoughts by the soft steps of someone entering the room - though those same steps stopped just as swiftly and while Indivara knew she should feel enraged by such a reaction - should spin around an tear whomever it was apart with her sharp tongue and attitude she was home to - it took all the child's willpower not to burst into tears right on the spot. Obviously, she was now so horrendously marked that even being in the same room as her was terrifying; overwhelmed by all the emotions of the past few days, Indivara was hard pressed not to fall apart at the drop of a hat. Her boast to Valerian weeks earlier had become a past achievement; the girl had spent more time crying over the past three days than she could ever remember giving in to such an act. It was pathetic, and it was disgusting, and yet she hadn't yet been able to make the fire it should ignite stay alight and burn the self pity away with wild fury she was more comfortable with.
The girl brushed cautiously at her right eye, blinking rapidly as she swallowed the lump in her throat and then brushed both hands down her front, smoothing the material of her shirt out. So done, her fingers rose to her hair, the movement stiff and jerking as she fought to enact a motion that was once so easy and natural, as the stitches across her shoulders and chest pulled and objected. Her hands fell in defeat as the other occupant stepped forth and bright blue eyes met amber, the girl's lashes laced with tears, in the reflective glass pane. The right corner of her lips twitched in greeting, the girl resolutely shoving aside her tearful self pity in the face of Kerrin's simple greeting.
"Thanks," her voice was a dry husk, like autumn leaves tumbling in the winter wind, indicating her irked humour at her friend's word choice. The girl barely moved her lips in order to speak, the word slipping out with caution not to what was spoken, or to whom, but how it would affect her physically to say it. Her eyes were narrowed with mild irritation at Kerrin, knowing well and full he was talking about what she was wearing. Were she in a better mood, Indivara might have been inclined to agree that the outfit was nice -- and then follow up with a bland comment about how holes in the knees or dirt on her elbows would make it more comfortable. Except that she couldn't find the energy to do so, and instead she just gave Kerrin a dead, blank look.
Stepping away and crouching down at her pile of clothing (which were much tardier in appearance and hazardously placed in a very Indivara-manner of scrunched up who-gives on the floor) the girl picked up the hairbrush her mother had included and returned to the older weyrbrat's side, her eyes flashing with irritation as a potential frown was warded off by the feeling of unhappily pulled flesh when she moved her arm to brush the dark hair falling in damp tangles down her back. She couldn't even purse her lips - her immediate response - because that hurt too, and Indivara was once more reminded of just how heavily she relied on facial expressions she hadn't been aware she shuffled through so readily.
"Shards!" She hissed quietly, and stamped a foot in sudden and high irritation, thinking better of throwing her arms up in aggravation just before she did so. Frustration darkened her eyes at her inability to express the emotions she wanted to, when she wanted to, and she clenched her teeth. Fighting to keep from kicking her foot through the mirror that reflected so innocently, the cause of her heightened emotions, Indivara threw the brush at it, pulling at those stitches instead.
"I hate dragons!" She hissed vehemently, seeing as clearly through her lie as Kerrin would and knowing full well it wasn't the dragons she hated. She didn't even hold it against the little bronze that had shredded her any more than she regretted sneaking onto the sands. She hated the situation she had found herself in, and she hated it with a wild, burning passion that had previously been struggling to rear its head passed her moping, crying distress. She glared at the brush, having dropped at the base of the mirror as she cradled her arm, sulking angrily as the tender stitching objected to the motion she'd forced it through. The stupid brush hadn't even had the decency to break the glass!
Indivara had no idea how Kerrin would handle her crying. She did, however, know how he'd respond to that her throwing a tantrum - something she'd done regularly since they'd first met - it would be nothing new, for the spirited girl to break things, kick things or swear with words she shouldn't know. That she hadn't managed to break the mirror, or that Kerrin's shins were not being kicked at, would be a far keener indication of her distress than crying, anyway. Indivara glared at herself in the mirror; maybe if she stared hard enough, it would shatter, since she was unwilling to risk cutting her feet open, too, by kicking it.
The girl brushed cautiously at her right eye, blinking rapidly as she swallowed the lump in her throat and then brushed both hands down her front, smoothing the material of her shirt out. So done, her fingers rose to her hair, the movement stiff and jerking as she fought to enact a motion that was once so easy and natural, as the stitches across her shoulders and chest pulled and objected. Her hands fell in defeat as the other occupant stepped forth and bright blue eyes met amber, the girl's lashes laced with tears, in the reflective glass pane. The right corner of her lips twitched in greeting, the girl resolutely shoving aside her tearful self pity in the face of Kerrin's simple greeting.
"Thanks," her voice was a dry husk, like autumn leaves tumbling in the winter wind, indicating her irked humour at her friend's word choice. The girl barely moved her lips in order to speak, the word slipping out with caution not to what was spoken, or to whom, but how it would affect her physically to say it. Her eyes were narrowed with mild irritation at Kerrin, knowing well and full he was talking about what she was wearing. Were she in a better mood, Indivara might have been inclined to agree that the outfit was nice -- and then follow up with a bland comment about how holes in the knees or dirt on her elbows would make it more comfortable. Except that she couldn't find the energy to do so, and instead she just gave Kerrin a dead, blank look.
Stepping away and crouching down at her pile of clothing (which were much tardier in appearance and hazardously placed in a very Indivara-manner of scrunched up who-gives on the floor) the girl picked up the hairbrush her mother had included and returned to the older weyrbrat's side, her eyes flashing with irritation as a potential frown was warded off by the feeling of unhappily pulled flesh when she moved her arm to brush the dark hair falling in damp tangles down her back. She couldn't even purse her lips - her immediate response - because that hurt too, and Indivara was once more reminded of just how heavily she relied on facial expressions she hadn't been aware she shuffled through so readily.
"Shards!" She hissed quietly, and stamped a foot in sudden and high irritation, thinking better of throwing her arms up in aggravation just before she did so. Frustration darkened her eyes at her inability to express the emotions she wanted to, when she wanted to, and she clenched her teeth. Fighting to keep from kicking her foot through the mirror that reflected so innocently, the cause of her heightened emotions, Indivara threw the brush at it, pulling at those stitches instead.
"I hate dragons!" She hissed vehemently, seeing as clearly through her lie as Kerrin would and knowing full well it wasn't the dragons she hated. She didn't even hold it against the little bronze that had shredded her any more than she regretted sneaking onto the sands. She hated the situation she had found herself in, and she hated it with a wild, burning passion that had previously been struggling to rear its head passed her moping, crying distress. She glared at the brush, having dropped at the base of the mirror as she cradled her arm, sulking angrily as the tender stitching objected to the motion she'd forced it through. The stupid brush hadn't even had the decency to break the glass!
Indivara had no idea how Kerrin would handle her crying. She did, however, know how he'd respond to that her throwing a tantrum - something she'd done regularly since they'd first met - it would be nothing new, for the spirited girl to break things, kick things or swear with words she shouldn't know. That she hadn't managed to break the mirror, or that Kerrin's shins were not being kicked at, would be a far keener indication of her distress than crying, anyway. Indivara glared at herself in the mirror; maybe if she stared hard enough, it would shatter, since she was unwilling to risk cutting her feet open, too, by kicking it.
