Post by Lothyna on Jan 18, 2011 17:48:15 GMT -5
Who: M'vren, anyone else who wants to find him.
What: Working on craft logs and needs, forgotten dinner.
Where: Kitchens, corner table
When: Late Night
Warnings: Grumpy Miko.
Dusk had fallen some time ago, and Seriath was sound asleep in her new place in the barracks, happily ensconced in warm sand by her beloved, if trying, M’vren. Unbeknownst to the sleeping, determined and demanding green, however, hers was not abed, like she, and had instead waited until the others were asleep. He’d slipped back out and into the dining hall, carrying a bundle of hides and notes, before claiming a table in a shadowed recess for himself, half-heartedly dishing up some of the seemingly ever present stew and bread for himself, before half-falling into the seat. There wasn’t really anyone around to pretend for, at this hour, anyways.
The quiet was soothing to the young man, easing the stresses of long, tiring days as he nibbled at the bread. Despite the emptiness of his stomach, the food was almost more of a chore than he could manage at this point, staring at the work he’d brought. The past few sevendays had shown that unless something changed, he was going to be run ragged-more so than now at any rate, in no time at all. Musing over the changes in his life since the hatching, M’vren frowned thoughtfully, dipping a chunk of bread into the rich, soothing broth before him and eating absently. His mind was turning over the issues at hand, reflected in the weary, set features, the narrow brows, with a tiny crease, and distant gaze.
Bread forgotten and set beside the bowl, he sighed as he admitted the change. Seriath. It was all due to her. (This included the machinations of S’lain and Tess). There was, however, no blame which he could or would direct towards the green hatchling. She had already worked far beneath his guards and facades, hooking her claws into and twining her body about his heart. She was everything, or as close as he could let her be-the center of his universe, forcefully placed so that everything else he once classed as such took second best. Even his duties as a Healer. And that, truly, was the issue, and a rather large one at that. Nudging the food out of the way, M’vren spread the pile of materials he’d brought with him about, fingers tugging a sheet towards him.
There, noted in precise, small marks, was a list of duties he held now, chief most of which was the green slumbering away her last meal-tummy still bulging at odd angles, in the barracks. Which, themselves, were bothering him. Frowning at the list, which held his duties as a healer, and now the chores and lessons of a weyrling-which was mostly what he knew thanks to his profession. He had to admit, though, that some lessons had held tidbits he had either not known or placed before, not having the bond himself. Still, he would be better off going through a sort of apprenticeship, working under another rider who also held his profession. Not that such a plan was really something he’d bring up, especially given the already delicate dance of teasing banter, sharp wit, and simple pranks that plagued his relationship with S’lain.
There, that was another point, though he wasn’t so brazen as to write it down where another might find it. Sighing once, and running a hand through the tatty mess of a braid he had at the end of his day, the healer grumbled to himself, shoving the uneaten food to one side as he sorted out the piles of texts he’d been studying, and yet more lists of things he’d have to find time for somehow. There was a never-ending round of duties for a healer, and unfortunately, thanks to the recent attacks, a greater need for supplies they were almost out of too now. He wondered absently when the next set of supplies would arrive by tithe, before turning his gaze back to the pen in hand and the list before him.
Grumbling under his breath about idiots and chores, he started outlining the day, trying to fit all the responsibilities and requirements into the time they were given, and the time he had. Meals lately had been on the run, already, and he was down several hours of sleep. Knowing it was going to get harder from here, he muttered a curse, and another when he realized he’d have to find time to move. He hated those sharding barracks, though. Not a whit of privacy, and too enclosed with others. Unfortunately, though, Seriath wouldn’t fit in his rooms as a Healer, and he knew that his profession would take second place to duties as a rider-or was assuming such, for the time being. Bent over the table now covered in his mess and forgotten food, M’vren grumbled to himself, unsure if there was a good way to reconcile things or not. All he knew then was that he was far too stressed and busy, and that there was no way he could or would neglect his beloved dragon.
What: Working on craft logs and needs, forgotten dinner.
Where: Kitchens, corner table
When: Late Night
Warnings: Grumpy Miko.
Dusk had fallen some time ago, and Seriath was sound asleep in her new place in the barracks, happily ensconced in warm sand by her beloved, if trying, M’vren. Unbeknownst to the sleeping, determined and demanding green, however, hers was not abed, like she, and had instead waited until the others were asleep. He’d slipped back out and into the dining hall, carrying a bundle of hides and notes, before claiming a table in a shadowed recess for himself, half-heartedly dishing up some of the seemingly ever present stew and bread for himself, before half-falling into the seat. There wasn’t really anyone around to pretend for, at this hour, anyways.
The quiet was soothing to the young man, easing the stresses of long, tiring days as he nibbled at the bread. Despite the emptiness of his stomach, the food was almost more of a chore than he could manage at this point, staring at the work he’d brought. The past few sevendays had shown that unless something changed, he was going to be run ragged-more so than now at any rate, in no time at all. Musing over the changes in his life since the hatching, M’vren frowned thoughtfully, dipping a chunk of bread into the rich, soothing broth before him and eating absently. His mind was turning over the issues at hand, reflected in the weary, set features, the narrow brows, with a tiny crease, and distant gaze.
Bread forgotten and set beside the bowl, he sighed as he admitted the change. Seriath. It was all due to her. (This included the machinations of S’lain and Tess). There was, however, no blame which he could or would direct towards the green hatchling. She had already worked far beneath his guards and facades, hooking her claws into and twining her body about his heart. She was everything, or as close as he could let her be-the center of his universe, forcefully placed so that everything else he once classed as such took second best. Even his duties as a Healer. And that, truly, was the issue, and a rather large one at that. Nudging the food out of the way, M’vren spread the pile of materials he’d brought with him about, fingers tugging a sheet towards him.
There, noted in precise, small marks, was a list of duties he held now, chief most of which was the green slumbering away her last meal-tummy still bulging at odd angles, in the barracks. Which, themselves, were bothering him. Frowning at the list, which held his duties as a healer, and now the chores and lessons of a weyrling-which was mostly what he knew thanks to his profession. He had to admit, though, that some lessons had held tidbits he had either not known or placed before, not having the bond himself. Still, he would be better off going through a sort of apprenticeship, working under another rider who also held his profession. Not that such a plan was really something he’d bring up, especially given the already delicate dance of teasing banter, sharp wit, and simple pranks that plagued his relationship with S’lain.
There, that was another point, though he wasn’t so brazen as to write it down where another might find it. Sighing once, and running a hand through the tatty mess of a braid he had at the end of his day, the healer grumbled to himself, shoving the uneaten food to one side as he sorted out the piles of texts he’d been studying, and yet more lists of things he’d have to find time for somehow. There was a never-ending round of duties for a healer, and unfortunately, thanks to the recent attacks, a greater need for supplies they were almost out of too now. He wondered absently when the next set of supplies would arrive by tithe, before turning his gaze back to the pen in hand and the list before him.
Grumbling under his breath about idiots and chores, he started outlining the day, trying to fit all the responsibilities and requirements into the time they were given, and the time he had. Meals lately had been on the run, already, and he was down several hours of sleep. Knowing it was going to get harder from here, he muttered a curse, and another when he realized he’d have to find time to move. He hated those sharding barracks, though. Not a whit of privacy, and too enclosed with others. Unfortunately, though, Seriath wouldn’t fit in his rooms as a Healer, and he knew that his profession would take second place to duties as a rider-or was assuming such, for the time being. Bent over the table now covered in his mess and forgotten food, M’vren grumbled to himself, unsure if there was a good way to reconcile things or not. All he knew then was that he was far too stressed and busy, and that there was no way he could or would neglect his beloved dragon.
