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!
26.Jan.12, 01:32 AM
Kerrin started a little at the unexpected intrusion, immediately whirling around around to face the bronzerider whose even voice cut easily through the din of conversation surrounding them. He immediately recognized, even through wide, still watering eyes (shards! would the burning never stop?!), that the man who stood before him as someone of relative importance. It wasn't as though the usually scowling old dragonman had ever spoken to him personally, at least never in more than passing. Actually, Kerrin could hazard a guess from his limited observation of the rider and his solitary habits that Ph'yn rarely spoke to anyone at all in anything more than passing. But be they friendly or not, Katila had so few bronzeriders that someone like him - weyr-born son of a brownrider and hoping to Impress someday - would be fool not to at least know the names of every one of them. It occurred to the gasping, coughing youth that Ph'yn deserved some sort of greeting, or at least a sign of some kind that Kerrin recognized him and knew his station at the weyr, but alas the foulness of the wine he had so naively tossed right into his gullet had silenced this usually notorious chatterbox.
Which was why he could only answer Ph'yn with a series of bewildered blinks from behind the sleeve with which he attempted to quiet the worst of his choking fit, as the obviously very experienced-in-the-ways-of-alcohol rider delivered his speech on all of the many ways in which Kerrin had gone astray in his first sampling of the drink that the older man now seemed to savor with long, slow sips. Having now caught his breath by the time the rider had drawn his second sip, Kerrin attempted to process the information. White wine better? And what was that about ale? The boy recognized it as important that this usually silent man was speaking to him, even though he wasn't exactly sure why it was happening after all this time. Was alcohol so important to Ph'yn that he was willing to step outside his usual, fiercely solitary ways in order to educate the obviously uninformed on its merits? Or was he just teasing, the way so many of the older riders had recently taken to doing now that the once-infamous weyrbrat had finally come of age?
Before Kerrin could even open his mouth to ask, the bronzerider gave him his answer - in the form of an introduction as if the two of them had never met. At this, amber eyes narrowed, the boy's lips twisted into a wry smile. Boy, his father wasn't kidding when he'd said bronzeriders were in a class all their own! Or was that level of self-absorption unique to paranoid loners like Ph'yn? Feeling his incredulity rise the more he thought about it, Kerrin wisely bit his tongue, holding back the worst of the choice remarks that sprang to mind as he stared in disbelief at the distinguished-looking, yet obviously quite clueless, rider. Keep it to yourself, Kerrin, the stewing youth reminded himself, his grip on the wineglass tightening with the force of his effort to keep himself quiet in the face of this man who had, for all intents and purposes, done nothing more wrong than ask a simple question. But boy, was it difficult. He's on a Bronze, Kerrin. No reason for him to remember the names of all the brats in this weyr.
But shard it! He wasn't all of the other brats in this weyr! He was different!
"I should hope we have," the boy finally deadpanned with a rise of one brow, and for all of his best efforts to behave himself the tone was more than just a little snide. He could have kicked himself once the words had tumbled from his lips, but it was too late now. May as well finish the thought. "I've only lived here for 10 years."
As if to compensate for what he knew very well to be an impertinent remark, Kerrin gave a quick, deferential bow of greeting to the bronzerider as he very politely introduced himself. "Kerrin, son of B'ker. He's a brownrider," he added the last bit hastily, realizing belatedly that if Ph'yn really did have such a selective memory then he was unlikely to recall his father's name or station either.
Which was why he could only answer Ph'yn with a series of bewildered blinks from behind the sleeve with which he attempted to quiet the worst of his choking fit, as the obviously very experienced-in-the-ways-of-alcohol rider delivered his speech on all of the many ways in which Kerrin had gone astray in his first sampling of the drink that the older man now seemed to savor with long, slow sips. Having now caught his breath by the time the rider had drawn his second sip, Kerrin attempted to process the information. White wine better? And what was that about ale? The boy recognized it as important that this usually silent man was speaking to him, even though he wasn't exactly sure why it was happening after all this time. Was alcohol so important to Ph'yn that he was willing to step outside his usual, fiercely solitary ways in order to educate the obviously uninformed on its merits? Or was he just teasing, the way so many of the older riders had recently taken to doing now that the once-infamous weyrbrat had finally come of age?
Before Kerrin could even open his mouth to ask, the bronzerider gave him his answer - in the form of an introduction as if the two of them had never met. At this, amber eyes narrowed, the boy's lips twisted into a wry smile. Boy, his father wasn't kidding when he'd said bronzeriders were in a class all their own! Or was that level of self-absorption unique to paranoid loners like Ph'yn? Feeling his incredulity rise the more he thought about it, Kerrin wisely bit his tongue, holding back the worst of the choice remarks that sprang to mind as he stared in disbelief at the distinguished-looking, yet obviously quite clueless, rider. Keep it to yourself, Kerrin, the stewing youth reminded himself, his grip on the wineglass tightening with the force of his effort to keep himself quiet in the face of this man who had, for all intents and purposes, done nothing more wrong than ask a simple question. But boy, was it difficult. He's on a Bronze, Kerrin. No reason for him to remember the names of all the brats in this weyr.
But shard it! He wasn't all of the other brats in this weyr! He was different!
"I should hope we have," the boy finally deadpanned with a rise of one brow, and for all of his best efforts to behave himself the tone was more than just a little snide. He could have kicked himself once the words had tumbled from his lips, but it was too late now. May as well finish the thought. "I've only lived here for 10 years."
As if to compensate for what he knew very well to be an impertinent remark, Kerrin gave a quick, deferential bow of greeting to the bronzerider as he very politely introduced himself. "Kerrin, son of B'ker. He's a brownrider," he added the last bit hastily, realizing belatedly that if Ph'yn really did have such a selective memory then he was unlikely to recall his father's name or station either.
