i'll never grow up [parlhion boyhood]

[tovaana]

Parlhion; as a young boy

“…but, why?”

The thin lips of his guide set in a tight line, the only sign that the man was starting to wear at the boy’s consistent questions and complaining.

“I told you…”

“Yes, but...why?”

“It’s an honor.” The words were said one at a time, firmly emphasizing each own tensely, and they still didn't satisfy the boy's intense need to know the reason for everything. Then the man shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the annoyance that was clinging to him. He didn’t normally deal with kids so young, but the crèche workers were convinced that the boy had enough talent to start lessons with older children. Talent – sure, but discipline? He glanced down at the boy, “it’s something to be proud of, I’m sure your parents will be proud to have an artist in the family.”

“My mother was an artist, the best. The best painter and best pottery maker. Dad says I get my hands from her, or something. Oh! that I have my momma’s hands. Did you ever meet her?”

The man had realized his mistake at once, his wide eyes watching the boy as he looked up at him expectantly. Of course, if the mother had been alive, she would probably be the one proudly taking him to his first class. All he could muster was a shake of his head at the boy. He actually probably would know her if he asked the name of the woman, if she was as good as the boy insisted, but he'd already shaken his head and didn't want to confuse the boy further. 

Parlhion sighed, “but she was the best, how could you not know her? Anyways, art is fine, but, I want to be a dragonrider. That’s why I don’t see why I have to take lessons. I’m going to get a dragon. Do you have a dragon?”

Perhaps he should not have pressed earlier, but it was too late, and now the boy wouldn’t keep quiet. He only shook his head again, now just glancing at the boy, hoping he would leave it at that. They still had a few minutes of walking he was missing the angry silence, or maybe even the repetitive ‘why’.

“Well, my dad is. A brown too. A big one, the biggest and best brown there is! His name is Ku’mon, do you know him?” The man shook his head and the boy sighed, “Ku’mon of Brown Gulolth? Ring bells?” The man shook his head and this time Parlhion sighed dramatically. “What? He’s only the best dragon rider ever! You don’t remember the best artist and you don’t the best brown rider…Do you even know anything?”

The man was losing his patience, he was hoping that he wouldn’t be teaching too many of this boy’s classes. “I know a great deal.” The man’s pride losing rational thought, since obviously he didn’t need to prove himself to a mere boy. “…about art. Painting and colors, especially.”

“Oh, well, I know all about colors. I might be the best at that. Ualian said I was really good with colors, and they're really smart.”

The man opened his mouth to explain that there was more to colors than just identifying them – and there were more colors than just the basic ones they learned in crèche, but he closed his mouth… realizing finally that it really would do no good, especially if he hoped for any sort of silence between that moment and when they’d get to the indoor classroom.

“What about dragons? Can I learn how to draw those?” Parlhion looked up hopefully into the man’s face that was actively trying to ignore the boy at his side. He wanted to make his father proud, but he wanted to be a rider, not stinkin’ artist. He was good though, not just Ualian had said so. The girls ooed and awed over the flowers he painted for them, he’d gotten really good at that, since he’d liked the attention it’d gotten him. The crèche workers too had watched him and asked him to draw different things than they’d asked of the others to draw, he supposed now that it was a good thing, not just weird.

The pale man finally nodded, feeling it was better to not feed the boy with words that contained ammo that would just ricochet back to him. “Good! I’ll be the best at that.”

[tovaana]

Parlhion;

He trotted alongside his guide to class, looking up at them casually, running his hand along the cool Weyr wall. In his other hand was an art folder he kept with him almost always. There was a smudge on the outside of it from a boy in the crèche stealing it and throwing it on the ground. Joke was on him though, he’d learn better than to deal with an artist! With that thought, he gave his shoe a good twist on the ground, wishing all the bad luck on his foe for the evil he had done. Then he went back to skipping, hugging his art stack to himself and coming back to an energetic trot.

“Oh, I know the way from here, I can go myself.”

The crèche worker gave him a sideways look and made a “Mmm-Hmmm.” Sort of sound that told him she knew better than to trust him. It wasn’t like he ever lied, he could go himself, he was capable, but he also knew his father would be flying his brown for exercise at this time, and he wanted to try sketching the dragon in flight. But the average height woman wasn’t going to let him slip away just now – not yet. She stopped before they reached the door, watching him till he got to the door – and he made a movement as if to go in and then stopped, side-glancing and noticing the crèche worker retreating. He carefully closed the door, glancing inside to make sure no one had noticed, before slipping away at a run toward an exit that would spill into the Weyr bowl.

If the crèche worker knew just how boring it was to sketch and paint pieces of fruit and other still objects, surely she would have aided him. Maybe he should have pleaded his case a bit more, but it was better she’d thought he’d given up the idea when she’d shot down the idea of him going to class by himself.

His brisk walk turned into a run, knowing well he wouldn’t have much time before someone noticed that the best artist in his class was missing. Maybe he should have faked being sick, but then he’d have to go to the healers and he'd be found out…

Sunlight burned his eyes as he burst out into the bowl and he blinked away the pain, the quiet of the Weyr tunnels contrasted vastly with the sound of wings and wind. A silly grin appeared on his face, his longer hair blowing everywhere – even in his face. He tried to move the larger chunks of his hair out of the way so he could get a better look at the sky, desperately trying to spot the ruddy hide of his father’s brown. He stood there for many minutes squinting against the sky before he thought to have spotted Gulolth.

He waved wildly and jumped up and down before stopping, realizing that his dad probably couldn’t see him or was too busy doing whatever it was riders did. He’d be up there, flying with his dad one day. It took a few more moments before he remembered he’d wanted to sketch his father’s dragon. He found a place in the shade so he didn’t have to strain his eyes… then realized his plan had a fault – a large fault. He was too far away from the dragons to get a proper look at one, especially the larger dragons high in the sky. His face scrunched in disappointment, his eyes trailing to a few dragons that swooped lower and tried to capture the pose – but he’d been too slow. He grumbled and erased his page multiple times before he quickly jotted down the angles he could remember from another dragon that swooped in a low arc… then he erased that, realizing it would probably be bad luck to use a green’s dragon in his art. So, he waited till there was a brown that swooped lower, unfortunately not his father’s, but it would work.

In the end what he drew hadn’t been very good, not by a professional’s standard. It looked rather cartoony, but he’d paint it the colors of his father’s dragon, even though he hadn’t really been fashioned after it…not that it really looked like one specific dragon anyways, but to Parlhion, it was Gulolth – the spitting image of his dad’s perfect brown.

---

He had gotten in trouble, but it had been worth the reprimand when he finally showed up for classes later. Apparently they’d been looking for him, but they hadn’t looked very hard, Parlhion thought, since it hadn’t been like he’d been hiding. Afraid they’d take his dragon sketch away as punishment, he kept it tucked away and painted it on his own time.

Parlhion waited and waited – he looked for him in hallways and other times, but it seemed like centuries to the young boy who looked for the opportunity to give his painted drawing to his father. He shrugged off the fact that other parents came more frequently to visit and take their kids from the crèche than his father did to see him. His father was an important brown rider, he was busy, of course he didn’t have time to visit Parlhion all the time. Still, couldn’t he hurry up?

Finally his father showed up and he smoothed out the painting that had been bent in the corner. He had worried at the paper when thinking of his father, but he hoped his dad wouldn’t notice.

“Look! Look what I made the bestest brownrider ever!”

“Let me see that there…Hmmm, even painted the background. That in the Weyrbowl, eh? A spittin’ image. Why, I’ve got one talented son, I do.”

Parlhion beamed. “Will you show it to Gulolth? Please? It’s a gift for him too.”

“That’s a mighty gift from my golden son.” The man smiled gently at the boy, thinking about the boy’s mother with a little regret that she wasn’t there to mother him, as he deserved. He paused thoughtfully, looking at him and rubbing the scruff on his face. “I think you need some payment for such a nice gift...How about…”

“A ride? A ride? Can I ride on Gulolth?” The boy interrupted, as it was one of the finest gifts that his dad gave him and lasted him a whole seven-day of patience as he waited for the next time he’d see them.

The man chuckled, “alright, alright, if that’s all you want.”

His eyes widened, what more was there? “There’s more?”

“Well, I hear there’s a gather coming up, I was thinking of taking you, but if all you want is a dragon ride.”

The boy considered this eagerly, did he have to choose? “Can I have both? A ride and the gather? Or must I chose?”

“You want to go to the gather with me?”

The dark brown eyes beamed up at his father, “I do! Please, can I?”

The man nodded once. “It’s settled, a ride from Gulolth and a gather from me, a worthy trade I think, for a piece of art like this.”

[tovaana]

Parlhion; 9 turns at a gather

He chewed on the edges of his bubbly pie, at first intent on getting it to last as long as possible. A few nibbles into the hot juices, and it had disappeared, leaving midnight purple stains on around his lips and fingers- a crumble above his lip. He licked his fingers, going through the crowds and getting jostled. He wasn’t a short kid, but people still disregarded him as if he wasn’t even there. It was a good thing his bubbly pie had put him in a good mood, and he shifted to the outskirts where there were less people – but also less cool stuff.

Parlhion had spent time watching his father do some betting on dragon racing, but had gotten bored since he hadn't understood what he'd been doing. He wanted to see the races already! He asked if he could go wander the stalls until the races started and his father gave him a few marks and let him wander off.

Something bright blinded him momentarily and he squinted, but it had lasted only a moment… he turned in the direction the shine had come from and noticed a stall with gems. Intrigued, he went over. There was mostly more well off people looking at the diamonds and other beautiful jewelry pieces, a few others were obviously just looking to admire the jewels.

After looking a while, admiring the gems and other stones, there was a quiet moment where it was just him and one other person at a time glancing at the work. A girl, maybe a couple turns older than him, had been put in charge while the owner and a couple customers went back to pack up and pay for what they’d been bartering for. Most of the nicest things were diamond set or with gems with yellowish, golden tints. They were beautiful, but too girly – so he spent more time ogling the rocks and stones that had been made into jewelry.

Then he saw it, his rock. It was his lucky rock. The stone was inky dark with bright white streaks through it – even the smallest hint of glitter…small crystals, he pressed his nose closer into the precious glass, his breath fogging the glass.

“Ew, get your nose off that. I’ll have to clean it now, thanks a lot.”

He whirled on the girl, she may have seemed older, but she wasn’t taller and that made him feel good.

“You aren’t supposed to talk to customers like that.” He said, tilting his face haughtily up, realizing that this girl had to be Mirranese, just like the adults running the stall.

She smirked, her eyes and silence saying more than words ever could.

“I want this stone- but I don’t want a chain all that girly…” Or expensive. The stone had a silver piece attached that allowed the fine silver chain to thread through it – the could easily be taken off or replaced.

When she stated the price his fingers went to the pouch slung over his shoulder. It also had some of his art things. He’d meant to use his marks for more art supplies, not a rock… And the price was over what his father had given him. Instead of betraying that he didn’t have that many marks, he faked a thoughtful look, looking at the precious stone as if he hadn’t really liked it all that much anyways.

“Uhm, nevermind. I’d rather some nice paints.” He lied; as many nine turn old boys would to keep face. And he left, quickly spotting a stall where he could create his own pigments and made his sure he didn't glance back, because it was as if he could feel the girl’s blue eyes bore into his retreating figure.

---

The gather had been exciting. He’d loved the races, his father had let him hold one of the bets as if it were his own. His father had even won the bet, and let Parlhion cash it in. His eyes were wide at the whole marks he was given, his father pounding his back proudly as if Parlhion had done the betting himself. You could do that? Could he give people marks, and get more in return? He’d asked his father about this and he’d laughed, and told him that he’d let him do it next time there was racing at a gather, or other sports.

Ever since his pockets were heavy with marks, he thought about the stone with shimmering white crystals streaking through it. His father had his own white good luck charm that he wore while flying and going between, that meant Parlhion would need one too, for when he impressed. Those white beady crystals would be his good luck charm. It was late in the day and there was mostly dancing and eating, most stalls were packing up, would it be too late?

He ran through the dimming light and sparse crowd, but stopped short at the sight of the empty spot where the stall had been. “Ah, shards.” He cursed, using a quiet voice because his father said it was uncomely, even if he did it all the time. He kicked at a stone on the ground and continued down the stalls, hoping he’d find one open where he could get something else as his good luck charm. He’d seen a few things, but nothing like his stone. Exasperated he started back, and heard giggles behind some empty stalls.

“Oh, come on Willodi, aren’t you having fun?”

“No! Stop!...Please.”

He peeked around a flap and saw a familiar head of blonde surrounded by four other girls that dressed in very nice clothing, better than the blonde in the center was wearing.

“Joerge loves this game, maybe we should get him to come play. I saw the way he was looking at you.” There was no apparent menace in the words, but he could see the main speaker’s face and there was a fury in her face that she couldn’t quiet keep reeled in.

Suddenly the girl speaking gave a subtle nod to a brunette across from her and as the main speaker shoved the blonde, the brunette moved out of the way and the speaker gave a maliciously harder push. The girl fell in a heap, her body shaking with quiet sobs. It didn’t seem too strange to Parlhion, he’d watched some of the older Mirrish crèche boys do similar, if not rougher things to Mirranese. He still didn’t quiet understand the difference, but there was one, and he instinctively knew he shouldn’t help the girl… except… that girl – he realized why it was familiar, she had his stone! 

“Hey!” He stepped out, talking without thinking of any strategy except to distract the girls. They all looked at him, the gaggle of girls had startled at his entry, but relaxed when they didn’t recognize him as anyone they deemed important. He was Mirrish though, his father made sure to dress him in a way that was both uncomfortable, but also undeniably Mirrish. “Uhm… I just…” He took a moment, realizing the girls were pretty much done with the blonde anyways.

“That rock, can I see it?” The girl stood up, taking the moment of distraction to run away. He hadn’t seen her face covered by her hands, but the bits of her face he had seen had been dirty, and her dress looked ripped - a piece of it dragging behind her. There'd been a stain in the front, and down the back - bright red juice that had been poured on her earlier on 'accident' and the girls had insisted they help 'clean it off'. 

“That’s right, run along like the Mirranese mutt you are!” Then quieter she muttered something about her not deserving anyone like Joerge, whoever that was. She gave a last look at the boy, far too young for her attention and turned away, beckoning her friends back toward the dancing.

He sighed. He kicked at the dirt thoughtfully, alone for a few minutes as he wondered what he should do. He glanced in the direction the girl had gone, disappointed that he'd missed his chance. That’d been his last chance to get his lucky – “Ow!” His winced as something hit the back of his head. He rubbed the spot, thinking he was glad his darker hair would cover whatever bruise it would leave. He looked down and there was a little black sack at his feet, no bigger than his palm. He picked it up and looked around, but there was no one to be seen. He opened it and dropped the contents into his other hand, his eyes widening and looking around again, but then back down at the stone in his hand. His fingers lightly brushed the white crevices in awe and then realized with indignation that he had the marks for these.

“I don’t need no stinkin’ gift, I got the marks to pay for it now!” He said in a not too loud voice, but hopefully loud enough for the girl to hear. His pride demanded that he pay for the stone, especially because she'd bruised more than his ego. His hand rubbed the back of his head, but his pride didn't want her to know it'd hurt, so he didn't complain again outloud. At least he had his stone now. His fingers curled around the cool stone and he smiled. Now he’d be a proper rider for sure.