[ prp ] bronze boys bronze boys watcha gonna do (Arc/K'rou)

[medigel]

That morning's training had really tuckered Alquemieth out. Well, it was called "training," but most of it had been about bonding with their fellow weyrlings and strengthening the bonds with their dragons. It had seemed too much of a game at first: a small obstacle course had been built, and while the dragons went in blind, their riders had to give mental directions to reach the finish line. Given the variety of personalities, it was a colorful race to be sure, and there had been more than a few bumps into objects or other dragonets. In the free period afterwards, many of the clutchsiblings had taken to racing about or creating their own competitions in the snow, or otherwise gathering to socialize now that class was done. Alquemieth had only participated partially in that he had chased several away from him, and now he came back to Ar'din looking winded and annoyed.

Some days I wish Mother had smothered a few eggs deep in the sand, never to be seen again.

Okay, Edge Lord Holder. He tried not to look amused as they went to get their things. Do me a favor. Keep an eye out for that....Crow, I think? With your killer cousin.

Alquemieth sat on his haunches and cloaked himself in his wings, half to keep himself warm and half to hide his panting. K'rou. Why? ...Ah. You're interested in speaking to them.

Our homework was to get to know people outside of class, after all. And Ar'din was curious. Not just because the guy had impressed to Cadereth, though that played a part in it, but because K'rou looked almost the complete opposite of himself. Ar'din was stoic, as charismatic as sandpaper, and had a skin complexion that was 60% scarred or tattooed. K'rou looked like a prissy noble. In another lifetime, Ar'din would have never bothered. But here, as junior weyrlings, he had dug up one of his old instincts: scoping out the weight bracket before the fight began.

And he knew Alquemieth wanted to know about his cousin more, too. Given how the bronze was, it was either going to go swimmingly, or they'd have to add to the list of people and dragons that wouldn't piss on them if they caught fire.

I think they're on the chores list with us for this shift, Ar'din said. Grab their attention and we can walk together. He could only hope K'rou wasn't as punchable as his face implied, because Faranth knew cleaning the barracks was going to be boring.

Shaking a little bit of snow off, Alquemieth reached out to Cadereth. Cousin, ours share duties this morning. Come join us.

Teiha

idk...........

 

[Teiha]

Bonding. That’s what they’d called it. Running around like fool wherries through a maze, more like. Cadereth was fine working with his rider, but could have done without other dragonets blundering into him. He’d hissed, snapped, flared his wings, whatever it took to send them packing in another direction. And he’d enjoyed every moment of terrorizing them—especially that patronizing blue who’d tried to talk him down into some sort of apology. He’d simply bowled the smaller male right over onto his back and walked away, laughing at the blue’s sputtering objections and his rider’s yelp of alarm. When K’rou, prompted by one of the assistant Weyrlingmasters, tried to explain why he shouldn’t have done that, Cadereth just looked at him with eyes half-lidded, paws contentedly kneading the snow beneath them. As far as the bronze was concerned, his rider was just going through the required motions.

As far as K’rou was concerned, this was just pointless. Cadereth was merely establishing dominance, and doing it in a way that hurt no one. He was familiar with the way some people cried about their feelings being hurt, though. As if they were all still children, expecting everyone else to play fair. In his experience, life was decidedly unfair. With an internal eye roll, he switched on his Gather-face and apologized for his awful dragon. That seemed to satisfy everyone concerned, and he and Cadereth were released to go to their next assignment.

The bronze, head held high as usual, turned toward another bronze. Of course, cousin. To his rider: K’rou, let’s walk with Alquemieth and his. They should certainly be better company than the sad majority of our siblings.

They’d had enough conversations by now that K’rou mostly understood Cadereth’s opinions regarding his clutchmates, though it still felt almost alien in a way. The man was unable to comprehend how the dragon was able to separate himself from his own flesh and blood—ichor?—so easily. Not after he’d fought so hard and so long to reunite his own family, and… well… he’d failed at that, really. Until Cadereth had arrived, the future was looking mediocre at best.

He glanced to the side, a wry comment about that last on the tip of his tongue, but no one was there. That was… different. It made him feel a bit off-balance.

Running tapered fingers through his hair, the familiar motion acting as a sort of mental reset, he went with Cadereth toward the other pair.

medigel

ur guess is good as mine

 

[medigel]

As the pair drew closer, Alquemieth straightened, forced his breathing to be softer, regulated, and certainly not at all like he had been winded not two minutes before. The bronzes in their group were in general too patchwork for his tastes: some would have been better browns, or blues, or a green or two even for the lack of self-respect some had. He had to rise above that, remind them how a proper metallic acted, even if the majority of clutchsibs didn’t give a forktail in their youth. Cadereth, who stood out in his own way time and again it seemed, wouldn’t intimidate him like he could others. Two hands would be extended today, and while Alque preferred a mutual agreement in a handshake for the sake of establishing connections, a scornful fist would not go unpunished if it came to pass.

Ar’din, who for better or for worse felt no need to cover any part of himself up, and quite honestly thought it a little funny that his (baby) dragon was always so serious about these things, slung his small bag of things over his tattooed shoulder and turned to greet them. Well, eye them first with an unreadable look—then greet with a tug of his lips that was really the closest the young man got to smiling most days.

“Cleaning time,” he said. “Very important weyrling work and all.” Ar’din couldn’t help it; small talk was not a skill he knew, other than the fact that complaints were an easy way to gauge people through their reactions. He was slowly getting better via Alquemieth’s more...open communication policies, but carving a work of art from stone didn’t happen in a day.

Better that than another round of ice breakers, the bronze groused.

Teiha