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sparkindarknessI have fic! I have fic for Spark in Darkness, fic for Light & Dark, fic for Werewolf, Mage and even Angel...
Problem? There on paper. Actual dead tree (well multiply recycled tree) paper. One of these days I must actually do law work at law school - NOT write fiction in the margins of austere, traditional and incredibly formal tomes. Heh, I could probably sell it as an interesting example of modern/performance/ideological/satirical art.
Anyway, the first, owed to Meredae because I said I would, albeit late.
And it's only the first half.
Time management? What's that?
S’tan rolled over in his warm bed furs, luxuriating in the sheer comfort of it. He idly amused himself with a plan for the day. Lie in bed for another hour, maybe two. Get up and have a long bath, long and hot. He pitied the holders who didn’t have hot running water like the Weyr, nothing beat a hot bath. Then he’d probably wander down to the kitchens, grab some klah and bread, get something for Mirithanth, must be nearly three days since she ate. Then check in on T’rell, see if he was up for a tumble or two. Or maybe that Green rider up from Southern Weyr, he looked well worth a turn or two. Tall, massively muscular, he looked almost too big for his Green to lift, with really short brown hair, almost shaved except for his fringe he’d let grow into bangs. Heh, maybe he’ll be able to convince M’sen that guys were wroth a try too, the Brown rider was way too stuffy, holder bred of course.
S’tan rolled over and grinned, contemplating luring all of them into a liaison. The idea of that mass tangle of beautiful limbs was going to stay with him all day. No wonder even his Green dragon thought he was incorrigible, he was worse than usual today!
It was no good, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep this morning. Not that he’d have much chance anyway, Menora didn’t approve of people lying around all day, power mad wherry that she was. He blinked. That was really unfair really, unlike him.
He sighed irritably and pulled himself out of his nest of furs, that no longer felt comfortable, but stifling. He stalked irritably to the bath and restricted himself to a quick wash, suddenly no longer in the mood to laze around in the hot water. Like he had time for it!
He virtually slung his clothes on and stomped out of his Weyr, before stopping abruptly outside the door. All that hurry and he hadn’t the slightest idea what he was going to do. Shards, maybe he was going mad. He decided to go down to the kitchen cavern, nearly running down the lethally vertical stairs, trying to burn off all the frustrated energy he seemed to have gained.
He stormed into the cavern. Liandra, one of the kitchen staff turned and looked at him in shock. They had grown up together in the Weyr and this must be the first time she had seen him get up early when he didn’t have to, usually one of them had to virtually drag him out of his furs bodily.
“Shells, S’tan, what are you doing here at this time?!”
He glared at her, like he had no right to! “I came to get some food, or is there a new rule against me eating?”
She blinked at him, a little surprised, he was normally fun... “Are you feeling OK?”
He growled, “fine, perfectly alright, except for people fussing. Oh, and I’m slowly dying of hunger here, if you care at all.”
She looked at him for a long time before filling up a bowl of porridge, a mug of klah and passing him some fresh baked bread looking a little hurt. She opened her mouth to say something, then suddenly she blinked and grinned.
“Ok, S’tan, I guess you’ll need your strength!”
She passed him the food and ran back into the kitchen cavern giggling.
He grabbed them without a second look and stamped his way to a seat. The klah was good, a rich warm pick me up that made him feel better. For all of five seconds anyway. After a couple of mouthfuls he slammed his spoon back into his porridge bowl with a massive thud. A few of his fellow early diners looked at him in surprise. He glared at them furiously, causing many people’s surprise to turn into shock. Couldn't understand it, haven’t they ever seen anyone eat before? Of course he didn’t feel even remotely hungry. Why had he let Liandra press so much food on him. He hated it when people fussed so.
He jerked out of his seat, knocking it over as he stood. He swore under his breath, wooden furniture! It was ridiculous, stone would do just as well and not fall over every time you looked at it. And they wouldn't have to spend so much time protecting all the forests! Risking their lives for wood! He gave the chair a hefty kick before dragging it upright and slamming it down again. He gave the room one more glare where more than a few people were staring at him, either in shock or amusement, and stormed out, muttering to himself under his breath at all times.
He ran into his wingleader as he left the cavern, greeting the old man with a fierce glare. The old man blinked in surprise. “Mirithanth in a mood, S’tan?”
S’tan snarled at the old man “She’s fine, why? Looking for a dragon as decrepit as Relioth?” S’tan tried to pull it back, but it was too late. He had to admit that was a bit over the top, but in the mood he was in he wasn’t even sure he cared.
Amazingly T’kal didn’t blow up, didn't even give him a whack across the ear-hole, most other riders would have knocked him to the floor for that. He just turned his head to one side, looking at him strangely, before smiling slightly.
“Ah, I wondered why you were up so early in such fine spirits. Well, enjoy.” He started to walk off into the cavern. S’tan could hardly believe it, maybe the old idiot really was going senile. Not his problem, let the old man go dribble in his porridge.
He turned to walk out and ran straight into someone, so hard he fell to the floor with a painful thud. He spent several minutes swearing in fury “Alright, what wherry brained fool decided to leave his eyes in his Weyr? Or was it just your brain?!”
T’rell stood in shock, his cheeks bright red. “Eh... S’tan... um, sorry...” He reached out a hand to help the Green Rider up. The Green rider just glared back, furiously and pulled himself up without help, still cursing furiously.
“So, seems you keep your brains in your groin? Glad I’m not female, I'd hate my kid to be this retarded.”
T’rell took a couple of steps back, utterly shocked. “Shards, S’tan! I didn’t mean... I was just...” tears pricked his eyes. His parents had always said that Weyr folk were casual about relationships, but he’d never really believed it. He’d thought S’tan had liked him, he’d thought he’d been more than... Shards, he thought S’tan was this great noble hero!
“Ease up lad, it’s not his fault.”
S’tan turned, opening his mouth furiously. T’kal held up a hand though, which managed to quell even the furious Green rider. There was a reason the old man was a Wingleader.
T’rell was utterly lost, still trying to hold back tears. Still really hurt.
“C’mon, the pair of you, to the lake.” He didn't allow any argument, grabbing each of them firmly, practically dragging them bodily to the central crate of the Weyr, T’rell stammering and S’tan snarling every step.
He stopped at the bowl of the Weyr, looking down at the bowl of the Weyr. Several dragons had gathered, eyes swirling a rich, rapid red, all fixed on one target.
Mirithanth coiled sensually by the water, her eyes a burning crimson of mating urge. Her emerald green skin shone, bringing out an almost bronze undertone in the morning light. She growled, deep and challenging, raking the assembled larger dragons with a haughty stare.
S’tan froze, his steady stream of curses bitten off short. “I... I thought she was sleeping.” He rocked back in shock as he opened his mind to the raging emotions tearing through his dragon, the heat of her passion burning through his veins.
The old wingleader snorted. “You’re the same every time she’s feeling proddy. Not fit to live with ‘till she’s flown. Knew it first thing this morning. Now, attend to business, I’ve got to give the Weyrling master the news, in case he hasn’t heard. We’ve got new riders in the Weyr, last thing we need is a lot of hold bred children driving their dragonets mad with remorse.”
The old man hurried off, leaving S’tan staring at Mirithanth... and T’rell staring at the Green rider, a sudden light in his eyes.
“Soooo... you’re a moody Green rider then.” He leaned casually against the wall, grinning so widely it looked like the top of his head was going to fall off.
“In Fort they always said a moody Green was more passionate during the mating flight. I look forward to testing that...”
S’tan finally pulled his eyes from his dragon to smile at the Blue rider the challenge in his eyes equal to that in the eyes of Mirithanth. “Confident thing aren’t you?”
T’rell hesitated again, looking a lot more uncertain. “I... I thought you liked me...”
S’tan grimaced. “Shards, Holder, this is a bad time for a summary, but Weyrfolk aren’t generally monogamous.” He glanced down quickly at Mirithanth. “Look, short version. When she flies, SHE will be the one who chooses her mate, or it’ll go to which ever dragon’s strong enough to catch her - if any can.”
“Bu-”
S’tan shuddered. “No buts, want to test your theory, you better hope Gongorath is up for it.”
“He is. He’ll fly her.”
S’tan grinned. His blood sang with Mirithanth’s
He’ll have to catch me first.
Problem? There on paper. Actual dead tree (well multiply recycled tree) paper. One of these days I must actually do law work at law school - NOT write fiction in the margins of austere, traditional and incredibly formal tomes. Heh, I could probably sell it as an interesting example of modern/performance/ideological/satirical art.
Anyway, the first, owed to Meredae because I said I would, albeit late.
And it's only the first half.
Time management? What's that?
S’tan rolled over in his warm bed furs, luxuriating in the sheer comfort of it. He idly amused himself with a plan for the day. Lie in bed for another hour, maybe two. Get up and have a long bath, long and hot. He pitied the holders who didn’t have hot running water like the Weyr, nothing beat a hot bath. Then he’d probably wander down to the kitchens, grab some klah and bread, get something for Mirithanth, must be nearly three days since she ate. Then check in on T’rell, see if he was up for a tumble or two. Or maybe that Green rider up from Southern Weyr, he looked well worth a turn or two. Tall, massively muscular, he looked almost too big for his Green to lift, with really short brown hair, almost shaved except for his fringe he’d let grow into bangs. Heh, maybe he’ll be able to convince M’sen that guys were wroth a try too, the Brown rider was way too stuffy, holder bred of course.
S’tan rolled over and grinned, contemplating luring all of them into a liaison. The idea of that mass tangle of beautiful limbs was going to stay with him all day. No wonder even his Green dragon thought he was incorrigible, he was worse than usual today!
It was no good, he wasn’t going to be able to sleep this morning. Not that he’d have much chance anyway, Menora didn’t approve of people lying around all day, power mad wherry that she was. He blinked. That was really unfair really, unlike him.
He sighed irritably and pulled himself out of his nest of furs, that no longer felt comfortable, but stifling. He stalked irritably to the bath and restricted himself to a quick wash, suddenly no longer in the mood to laze around in the hot water. Like he had time for it!
He virtually slung his clothes on and stomped out of his Weyr, before stopping abruptly outside the door. All that hurry and he hadn’t the slightest idea what he was going to do. Shards, maybe he was going mad. He decided to go down to the kitchen cavern, nearly running down the lethally vertical stairs, trying to burn off all the frustrated energy he seemed to have gained.
He stormed into the cavern. Liandra, one of the kitchen staff turned and looked at him in shock. They had grown up together in the Weyr and this must be the first time she had seen him get up early when he didn’t have to, usually one of them had to virtually drag him out of his furs bodily.
“Shells, S’tan, what are you doing here at this time?!”
He glared at her, like he had no right to! “I came to get some food, or is there a new rule against me eating?”
She blinked at him, a little surprised, he was normally fun... “Are you feeling OK?”
He growled, “fine, perfectly alright, except for people fussing. Oh, and I’m slowly dying of hunger here, if you care at all.”
She looked at him for a long time before filling up a bowl of porridge, a mug of klah and passing him some fresh baked bread looking a little hurt. She opened her mouth to say something, then suddenly she blinked and grinned.
“Ok, S’tan, I guess you’ll need your strength!”
She passed him the food and ran back into the kitchen cavern giggling.
He grabbed them without a second look and stamped his way to a seat. The klah was good, a rich warm pick me up that made him feel better. For all of five seconds anyway. After a couple of mouthfuls he slammed his spoon back into his porridge bowl with a massive thud. A few of his fellow early diners looked at him in surprise. He glared at them furiously, causing many people’s surprise to turn into shock. Couldn't understand it, haven’t they ever seen anyone eat before? Of course he didn’t feel even remotely hungry. Why had he let Liandra press so much food on him. He hated it when people fussed so.
He jerked out of his seat, knocking it over as he stood. He swore under his breath, wooden furniture! It was ridiculous, stone would do just as well and not fall over every time you looked at it. And they wouldn't have to spend so much time protecting all the forests! Risking their lives for wood! He gave the chair a hefty kick before dragging it upright and slamming it down again. He gave the room one more glare where more than a few people were staring at him, either in shock or amusement, and stormed out, muttering to himself under his breath at all times.
He ran into his wingleader as he left the cavern, greeting the old man with a fierce glare. The old man blinked in surprise. “Mirithanth in a mood, S’tan?”
S’tan snarled at the old man “She’s fine, why? Looking for a dragon as decrepit as Relioth?” S’tan tried to pull it back, but it was too late. He had to admit that was a bit over the top, but in the mood he was in he wasn’t even sure he cared.
Amazingly T’kal didn’t blow up, didn't even give him a whack across the ear-hole, most other riders would have knocked him to the floor for that. He just turned his head to one side, looking at him strangely, before smiling slightly.
“Ah, I wondered why you were up so early in such fine spirits. Well, enjoy.” He started to walk off into the cavern. S’tan could hardly believe it, maybe the old idiot really was going senile. Not his problem, let the old man go dribble in his porridge.
He turned to walk out and ran straight into someone, so hard he fell to the floor with a painful thud. He spent several minutes swearing in fury “Alright, what wherry brained fool decided to leave his eyes in his Weyr? Or was it just your brain?!”
T’rell stood in shock, his cheeks bright red. “Eh... S’tan... um, sorry...” He reached out a hand to help the Green Rider up. The Green rider just glared back, furiously and pulled himself up without help, still cursing furiously.
“So, seems you keep your brains in your groin? Glad I’m not female, I'd hate my kid to be this retarded.”
T’rell took a couple of steps back, utterly shocked. “Shards, S’tan! I didn’t mean... I was just...” tears pricked his eyes. His parents had always said that Weyr folk were casual about relationships, but he’d never really believed it. He’d thought S’tan had liked him, he’d thought he’d been more than... Shards, he thought S’tan was this great noble hero!
“Ease up lad, it’s not his fault.”
S’tan turned, opening his mouth furiously. T’kal held up a hand though, which managed to quell even the furious Green rider. There was a reason the old man was a Wingleader.
T’rell was utterly lost, still trying to hold back tears. Still really hurt.
“C’mon, the pair of you, to the lake.” He didn't allow any argument, grabbing each of them firmly, practically dragging them bodily to the central crate of the Weyr, T’rell stammering and S’tan snarling every step.
He stopped at the bowl of the Weyr, looking down at the bowl of the Weyr. Several dragons had gathered, eyes swirling a rich, rapid red, all fixed on one target.
Mirithanth coiled sensually by the water, her eyes a burning crimson of mating urge. Her emerald green skin shone, bringing out an almost bronze undertone in the morning light. She growled, deep and challenging, raking the assembled larger dragons with a haughty stare.
S’tan froze, his steady stream of curses bitten off short. “I... I thought she was sleeping.” He rocked back in shock as he opened his mind to the raging emotions tearing through his dragon, the heat of her passion burning through his veins.
The old wingleader snorted. “You’re the same every time she’s feeling proddy. Not fit to live with ‘till she’s flown. Knew it first thing this morning. Now, attend to business, I’ve got to give the Weyrling master the news, in case he hasn’t heard. We’ve got new riders in the Weyr, last thing we need is a lot of hold bred children driving their dragonets mad with remorse.”
The old man hurried off, leaving S’tan staring at Mirithanth... and T’rell staring at the Green rider, a sudden light in his eyes.
“Soooo... you’re a moody Green rider then.” He leaned casually against the wall, grinning so widely it looked like the top of his head was going to fall off.
“In Fort they always said a moody Green was more passionate during the mating flight. I look forward to testing that...”
S’tan finally pulled his eyes from his dragon to smile at the Blue rider the challenge in his eyes equal to that in the eyes of Mirithanth. “Confident thing aren’t you?”
T’rell hesitated again, looking a lot more uncertain. “I... I thought you liked me...”
S’tan grimaced. “Shards, Holder, this is a bad time for a summary, but Weyrfolk aren’t generally monogamous.” He glanced down quickly at Mirithanth. “Look, short version. When she flies, SHE will be the one who chooses her mate, or it’ll go to which ever dragon’s strong enough to catch her - if any can.”
“Bu-”
S’tan shuddered. “No buts, want to test your theory, you better hope Gongorath is up for it.”
“He is. He’ll fly her.”
S’tan grinned. His blood sang with Mirithanth’s
He’ll have to catch me first.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-12 09:32 pm (UTC)So, when are you going to post it? *bounce* The rest of this, and the other stuff?
And why would you want to do work while you're supposed to be doing work? That's no fun...
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-13 04:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-13 11:07 am (UTC)Well, I'm going to put up some tonight, either Light & Dark or Generation Gap. POSSIBLY (no promises) both. And I want to move Spark in Darkness on so we can return to "normal life" with a hair bondage fic.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-13 11:11 am (UTC)Snarky greens! Poor green riders, their dragons are soooo distracting.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-13 11:36 am (UTC)You know, it's funny - but my favorites were always the blue riders. Heeee.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-13 01:29 pm (UTC)Greens... well greens are like short men, they have something to prove. They're passionate, fiery, mercurial (love that word), stubborn and overly devil-may-care. And when they're dragon's in heat they're... well, all over the place. Of course they have female dragon's and some of them are women *pouts* waste of an opportunity to put in more sexy pretty boys.
At least you ALWAYS know where yoy stand orientation wise with the greens, you don't always with Blue and Brown has always been a major query for me.
{side note: F'lar/F'nor slash is just wrong and should never be perpetrated. Partly because it becomes FULL BLOWN fanfic not just basis, but mainly because they're brothers. Ick.}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-21 12:16 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-11-21 04:44 pm (UTC)It'd help if this wretched computer would sort itself out *kicks computer*
Computer: *growls*
*waves holy water threateningly*