Post by aliceinwonderland on Mar 20, 2015 23:26:17 GMT -8
It was pushing the Midnight candlemark and deep in the Weyr's Dining Cavern, sitting near the big hearth, in a comfortable chair, made so with a few pillows flirted out of a passing Serving Lad or two, sat a red haired Candidate. Short and willowy as he was, he still had his feet propped up on a stool and was as comfortable as a lazing feline.
He was pushing curfew being out of bed at this late candlemark, as all the other Candidates were asleep in the barracks by now, but he had pleaded a headache to the Candidate Mistress and was supposedly in the Healers Quarters begging a remedy for it.
For once the usually popular Candidate was alone, without his usual court of lovers and friends that seemed to surround him, drawn to his energy and extroverted willingness to start up impromptu music sessions, story telling or dancing. Even his best friend was absent, having recently moved to the Wher barracks and was on Night Shift somewhere.
He appeared to be lazily relaxed, sipping idly at a hot cup of klah in one long fingered hand, dark blue eyes in the customary half-lidded dreamy position. He nibbled at a cheese and meat stuffed bread roll that sat on a plate, that balanced on the chair leg, and idly read through some hand-written letters in his lap. He stretched lazily, rolling his narrow shoulders and elegant, slim torso, his nose wrinkled, scrunched up and released, a habit when he was thinking.
There was a slight puzzled frown between his fine, arched eyebrows and his striking, perfect features were carefully blank, when they would usually be animated and very much the opposite. From time to time he would tap at something on a letter in his lap and stare off into space, his sharp intelligence poking through.
What his foster siblings had said was interesting, how best to put the information together with what else he knew...this new information that came from Igen, his friend who had just Impressed there.
How did dragonets pick their Rider?
He was pushing curfew being out of bed at this late candlemark, as all the other Candidates were asleep in the barracks by now, but he had pleaded a headache to the Candidate Mistress and was supposedly in the Healers Quarters begging a remedy for it.
For once the usually popular Candidate was alone, without his usual court of lovers and friends that seemed to surround him, drawn to his energy and extroverted willingness to start up impromptu music sessions, story telling or dancing. Even his best friend was absent, having recently moved to the Wher barracks and was on Night Shift somewhere.
He appeared to be lazily relaxed, sipping idly at a hot cup of klah in one long fingered hand, dark blue eyes in the customary half-lidded dreamy position. He nibbled at a cheese and meat stuffed bread roll that sat on a plate, that balanced on the chair leg, and idly read through some hand-written letters in his lap. He stretched lazily, rolling his narrow shoulders and elegant, slim torso, his nose wrinkled, scrunched up and released, a habit when he was thinking.
There was a slight puzzled frown between his fine, arched eyebrows and his striking, perfect features were carefully blank, when they would usually be animated and very much the opposite. From time to time he would tap at something on a letter in his lap and stare off into space, his sharp intelligence poking through.
What his foster siblings had said was interesting, how best to put the information together with what else he knew...this new information that came from Igen, his friend who had just Impressed there.
How did dragonets pick their Rider?
