just salt in the wound [open]

[tovaana]

Parlhion;

It was all salt. Salt air, salt water, salty food, salty people… Salt. It clung to his skin, drying it up and making his insides dry too. He was thirsty, wasn’t he? Well, Mavros was in view now, and he didn’t like the idea of going all the way through the trading ship to drink water that tasted like wood and whatever else they’d put in it to kill bacteria from growing.

There was a bell like chirp, a musical note that told him that his flit was approaching. The blue flit floated above him, around him, until he came to a slow and practiced stop on the edge of the ship where Parlhion leaned. An unexpected noise, not at all bell like – almost like a squawk of surprise – followed as his blue slipped on the damp wood and off the side of the ship. Parlhion didn’t flinch, glancing down, almost bored, as his flit quickly caught air before he hit the water. It hadn’t been the first time it had happened, the first time had caused his heart to lurch the smallest bit, but now he knew his flit was capable enough – if not forgetful of the slippery cold ship.

Bell came back, landing on his leather jacket and then crawled over him, pricking small holes in his jacket… maybe before he would have cared more, but now what did holes in a jacket compare with…with... he let out a deep sigh, chewing gently on the inside of his lip to give him something to do, since there wasn’t anything for him to do on the ship to help anymore. He was already beginning to see a dilemma in leaving Mirran, and it was mostly to do with his skill set. There was nothing a trading vessel wanted from an artist, though he had felt the ship call to him – ask him to draw parts of her. It had passed the time… it’d been a whole turn since he’d drawn anything, and a ship seemed to be a good starting point. Surely Mavros would have more use of his talents than a trading vessel, though he’d heard rumors about the rest of the world, that Mirran truly was the epitome of art and class, and Mavros was a hole in the wall compared to other Weyrs, especially Mirran. Still, they’d surely be grateful for some beautiful portraits of their golds and riders? The idea of painting dragons was a stiff idea, one he was willing to do, but he hadn’t seen dragons up close… not since…

He felt warmth against his chest, his blue Bell had crawled into his jacket and through his neck hole to his bare chest. The blue had been careful with his claws, using the man’s shirt as a sort of hammock to nestle against his person.

Parlhion sighed again, resenting the closeness of his flit, but endured it – feeling the blue nudge him mentally, but only gently so. If he remembered anything, it was the intense emotional pain if he neared the black hole in his rider’s mind. So far, he was coping best by just ignoring it, both of them. Still, as much as Parlhion resented the closeness of the firelizard, one hand lifted to press him closer, as if it would protect both of them. He liked to think that Bell missed… missing him too, that his absence had left a hole with his flit as well – that they had that commonality. There was no real way to know if this was true, but the belief in it was enough to give him the slightest comfort.

Slowly, Mavros got larger and larger, and so did the dragons. He had pretended they were flits when they were far away, but the closer they got – the harder was it to pretend that they were none other than dragons flapping overhead. He swallowed thickly and moved to where they would set up the plank to get off – and he wanted off now. He felt an urge to just jump off, surely he could swim faster!

He flinched as a dragon swooped low to gain control as they entered their Weyr, closing his eyes so that he could just… breathe and focus on… salt. It seemed like the only sensation that was getting through. The light streaming through his eyelids dimmed and he reflexively opened them to see what had changed- they had entered a cave. The temperature dropped, but at least there was no more wind.

Eagerly he got off with his pack, Trinikoth’s Semblance peeked through a part of his baggage that he’d purposefully left open so that it wouldn’t get stifled in darkness. Even if he was gone and there was no threat to him, perhaps he'd left it open for his spirit – to make sure that his spirit wasn’t stifled in darkness. He paused, looking around, unsure what a ‘friendly’ face looked like anymore. Everyone in Mirran had been against him, and so he reminded himself that no one knew him here, no one knew that…that...

He licked his lips, they were salty, of course. He decided he was overthinking it, and turned and waved his hand to someone nearby, “excuse me – may I have a moment?” His throat felt dry and his politeness felt gruff as it came out. How long ago had he spoken so many words? Perhaps in trying to get a ride, but even that discussion had been short when he’d shown the marks he’d been willing to pay, which had been all of them. Marks didn’t mean much to him anymore, nothing really did. But, he was determined to make the most of his life, whatever it was spared for, which he knew he had to help dragons… but he’d need to start inside the Weyr, away from the dragons.

[Zen]

Yvinka

Yva had spent the morning with her aunt, because after the last month she’d had, she definitely thought she could use an older female family member to gossip with and maybe get a little advice from. And Nalyra had been the perfect choice. Her aunt sure didn’t hold back on the details. It was difficult to make Yvinka blush but the older woman had managed it. Still, it had been exactly the type of discussion she’d been looking to have, and she was grateful. She really hated how little she knew of intimacy even now having experienced it several times. Nalyra was a wellspring of tips and information.

Eventually, though, the woman had sent her on her way because she had other plans for the day, and so Yva hummed as she walked along the docks, eyeing various faces in the crowd and letting her imagination run wild with any she found even vaguely attractive. There were so many things she wanted to try. She giggled to herself, thinking she ought to make some more rider friends so Sio didn’t get sick of her showing up asking for a quick hop between. Sio must have some rider friends… maybe she could introduce her to some. She’d have to ask next time she saw the greenrider.

She glanced over as a man seemed to be asking for help, then around briefly to see if there was someone else he was speaking to, but no one else stopped, so she paused and somehow managed to pull her mind from its wild imaginings to focus on the man instead. Well, not that that helped much. He was a rugged sort of handsome, wasn’t he? She offered him a smile, looking him over and taking in the bag he had, which seemed to suggest he was in the process of moving. So had he just arrived then?

“Hello there! Let me guess… you’re new here and you need a guide,” she giggled, stepping closer, absolutely trying to snoop and not trying to hide it either, “So why’d you come to Mavros? Did you run away from something?” She grinned, “I did. Seems like a lot of people run away from things to Mavros. It’s a good place to hide when the rest of Pern doesn’t really care about the place, I suppose.” Like her grandfather and father. The longer she’d been at Mavros and met more people and heard their stories, the more it made sense that her uncle had ended up here. “So where can I take you? I don’t know as much about the holdside but I know who to ask about it if that’s where you wanna be. Or I can take you to the Weyr. I’m a candidate there.”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Parlhion;

His voice hit the air and seemed to die, like a wilted flower – no one seemed attracted to that which had no life to it. Parlhion didn’t try again, but just looked around, feeling the gravity of what this move meant to him and his flit. Outcasts; but of the little he heard about Mavros, it seemed Mavros itself was a misfit of sorts, and he could only imagined that it attracted people as such.

As his eyes scanned they came on Yvinka as she began to spew words – like a broken pipe, it didn’t seem to stop. He shifted his bag, making it look like he was just shifting it on his shoulder for more comfort, but her rude prying eyes made him feel uncomfortable, especially since he knew what lay on the top in his unsealed bag. He knew she wouldn’t be able to easily see it, just because he hadn’t closed his bag, didn’t mean that it hung totally open… still, her nosiness made him uncomfortable, what if she found out what he was? An abomination. You are not an abomination! Never think it so! He could almost hear what… he would’ve said to that. Still, it didn’t make it not true.

Her words didn’t help, he felt himself stiffen at the accusation of running away… he had, hadn’t he? Run away, instead of facing the position he deserved in life now. But he just… stared at her at her own confession. Her words confirmed his earlier thoughts about Mavros and he felt himself relax, thinking that his previous life wouldn’t be able to find him at Mavros. He was too self absorbed and self-pitying to wonder what she had run away from. 

He was opening his mouth to speak, but froze, closing it gently as he looked at the dragon candidate – emotions coming to his face that he’d hoped were in better control. That’s why he was there, wasn’t he? For all those involved with dragons, but he hadn’t met anyone, seen anyone that was involved with the Weyr in… a Turn? Had it only been a Turn?

“I’m Parlhion.” The name he’d had as a candidate. He swallowed thickly, clearing the emotion from his face with an empty small smile. He didn’t want to answer her earlier question, so instead he simply added, “and I’m from Mirran.” Neither denying or confirming he had also run away from his home. Though, who would want to leave Mirran for any reason except being dishonored?

He took a quiet deep breath and glanced at the wall of stone and then at the energetic woman. “If you’d be willing, I’d like to talk with the Headwoman, to see if I can make myself useful in the Weyr.” He tried not to think how he would have enjoyed this candidate's company turns ago, how his tongue could have quipped playfully – and now his words felt not… alive. Now, he wished he could have had a quieter guide, but he couldn’t be picky, not in his position.

[Zen]

Yvinka

It seemed to take the man a moment to find his words, and Yva shifted impatiently in the brief silence, nearly opened her mouth to fill it herself before it drew out too long, but then he introduced himself. She clasped her hands over her mouth and giggled once more, “Oh, shells… I forgot! I’m so sorry. I’m Yvinka. Welcome to Mavros, Parlhion!” She tilted her head curiously at his mention of being from Mirran. “Oh, do you know Kisoraz? Wait, no, that’s silly. It’s not like everyone that’s from a place knows each other, right? Pff. Nevermind.” She waved her hand dismissively, another soft giggle escaping her at the way her mouth ran off with her thoughts before she could stop them sometimes.

“If you’d be willing, I’d like to talk with the Headwoman, to see if I can make myself useful in the Weyr.”

“Oh good! I know the Weyr much better. I’ve been exploring all over since I arrived to get my bearings. It’s so strange living in caves, you know? Well maybe not to you. But I’m not used to it at all. Or I wasn’t. I’m getting there. Anyway!” She clapped her hands together suddenly as she realized she was going off on a tangent, more to focus her own attention than anything, “The Weyr. This way!” She waved for him to follow her as she set off, “We’ll take the beach. I’m still not exactly sure how to get from the harbor to the Weyr through the caverns but the beach is pretty straightforward. Ummmm but the Headwoman…. You know I’m not really sure where she would be about now… but Mindara might know, so that’s probably a good place to start? I think she has an office somewhere but I’ve never been there. Shennah, I mean. The Headwoman. Mindara runs the kitchens.”

She’d had chores in the kitchens plenty since becoming a candidate so she’d interacted with Mindara quite a bit. Shennah not so much, though she had seen her come through the kitchens now and then to talk to Mindara. She glanced back at him, “What did you hope to be doing here, anyway? To be useful? You’re not a crafter, are you?” Surely he would have said as much if he was, when he’d introduced himself? It wasn’t exactly lost on her that he hadn’t really responded to her inquiry about running away from something, but though she was curious she knew he wasn’t likely to tell her if she prompted him, or he would have said something about it to begin with. It wasn’t like there was much reason to come to Mavros unless you were running from something, honestly. So even though she was curious, she didn’t ask again. “How was your trip? Had you ever sailed before? I grew up on a ship. I kinda miss it sometimes, but I think it would be quite wonderful to be able to fly whenever I want so I thought maybe I’d see if a dragon would have me. I can always go back to sailing if it doesn’t work out, but it didn’t seem like a chance I should turn down.” She glanced back at him, “Did you ever stand in Mirran?”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Parlhion;

‘You forgot your name?’ The voice in his head was a faraway memory, the voice of his previous-self answering in his devilish manner. Perhaps even with a little grin to accompany it…but the voice died on the salty wind and his mouth didn’t move to interject some witty banter. Instead he just stared, biting the inside of his lip as he tried not to drown in her words, forgetting to be polite and at least tell her they were well met.

“Kisoraz?” He echoed when she said the name, shaking his head – more in bewilderment than denying that he knew the man. From the same place? His stomach rolled uncomfortably and he felt himself tense at the thought of others from Mirran at Mavros. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, Mirran had dealings with Mavros – including candidates that were sent over… he tried to let her last phrase comfort her… no, it wasn’t like everyone from the same place would know each other, or recognize him… they wouldn’t know what had happened, unless they’d met him, maybe recognize his artwork… his mind started to wonder if there would be a way to tiptoe around those from Mirran. The last thing he needed was to end up in a conversation with one of them… and them finding out who or what he was. A disgrace. The memory of his dragon’s tsk’ing him, denying his self-deprecation and seemed to echo in his mind distantly and finally drowned in the loud voice of the young woman. Her words seemed like the sound of the ocean, waves on the beach, not so much soothing and more like waves during a storm that didn’t allow him to think so much.

The clap of her hands brought him back to the present, nodding stiffly as she offered to show the way. But he relaxed, realizing that he now had a guide, or more rather, a force of nature that would drag him into the Weyr. His steps fell behind her own and off to the side, his steps came easily, but the closer to the entrance, it felt like the air was getting thicker, that his soul was having a hard time moving through the air – that it was getting left behind as his body moved on. It was as if he could see himself moving automatically behind the girl, listening to her go on about the Weyr and who they should talk to. It was as if he could see himself nod to her mutely about her decision of who to talk to, how could he make himself feel whole. It wasn’t as if they were in the caverns yet…

He forced his eyes to look at Yvinka, forcing himself to look at her dark hair and the details of her face and the quirks as she walked lightheartedly down to the beach. Her question had his heart hitch and the corner of one of his lips lifted half-heartedly. Yes, he did want to be useful. “I’m an artist.” He offered quietly, but the rumor that art wasn’t as appreciated outside of Mirran worried him. “But, yes… to be useful would be good. In whatever capacity… the Weyr needs.”

She went on about ships, asking questions and leaving none for him to ask in return, offering information as if he had asked them. For all that she was talking, he couldn’t complain about that. Though, her conversation about sailing was starting to turn toward candidacy and he could feel himself tensing as they walked, making heavy steps in the sand. ’if it doesn’t work out’… he hadn’t had the luxury of that worry, there was a very quick thought – one that flitted in and then was ashamed of. ‘Would it have been better if he had never impressed?’ Yes, for…for /him/ it would have been better, but for Parlhion, the idea was unbearable. No, he couldn't offer her any comfort that surely she'd impress! Or better, he couldn't tell her, 'it could be worse.'

Parlhion caught her mahogany gaze with his darker brown eyes momentarily, very briefly until his brain registered her question. His whole body stiffened and his steps stopped suddenly, his bad swinging from the stopped motion. His gaze dropped to the sand, but stared at some imagined spot between the ground and his eyes. His heart was loud and he felt emotion swell within his chest and he was breathing through his nose mostly, his jaw clenched. If he was going to live in a Weyr, he was going to have to get used to answering questions like a normal person, without having a breakdown… part of him wondered if he should have stayed in Mirran as an outcast where people had generally left him alone, ignoring his existence. This… it was too…

After a moment he rolled his shoulders, shifting the bag habitually on his shoulder, a hand going to it to make sure nothing had spilled and started to walk – in doing so suggesting with his actions that Yvinka keep walking if she had paused too.

"Yes… I did.” His voice was low and quiet, a story brimming behind it, a story he couldn’t bear surfacing. So, he changed the subject back to ships, hoping she’d stick with that. His heart was still loud and he spoke a tad louder, as if trying to speak over the noise within his chest and ears. “It was my first time on a ship.” He hadn’t needed ships with a dragon. His jaw tightened, then loosed to continue. “My trip was fine, thank you. Though, I was sick the first few days.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at the woman so soon again, embarrassed at the reaction his body and mind had had to her question.

He tried to think of something to encourage her to talk about, but he had barely recovered with stiff replies, and he imagined she’d come up with something to talk about… he hoped she would, how awkward had he made it for the first encounter in his new home?

Zen

[Zen]

Yvinka

“An artist?” Yvinka turned to face him, intrigued, and took to walking backwards as they had reached the beach and she didn’t have to worry about running into anyone in the crowded caverns anymore. Vaguely amused at the thought, she couldn’t help but playfully ask, “Shells, is everyone from Mirran an artist?” Now she would be a little less surprised if he did indeed know Kisoraz. She giggled, as clearly the answer was no. He was only the second person from Mirran she had met at Mavros, at least that she knew of, but it was amusing that they were both artists. She wasn’t sure what use Shennah would have for an artist.

Her question about candidacy had him stopping suddenly, and had she not been turned around to face him she might have kept walking without him. Instead she stumbled to a halt herself, watching him curiously for a moment. Had he had a bad experience in candidacy for him to have such a reaction? Eventually he started walking again, and she kept up her backward walking to study him as he gave a slow, simple answer and nothing more. “Didn’t work out, huh? Is that why-” She cut herself off with a quick shake of her head, her mouth getting ahead of her mind again. Her curiosity often got the best of her and though she didn’t often care all that much how her nosiness might make others feel, she was also intelligent enough to understand that he very clearly didn’t want to talk about why he had left Mirran and pushing the subject would likely just make him clam up entirely and probably try to find himself a new guide. She sighed lightly. She had so many questions that she couldn’t ask. It wasn’t natural for her to hold anything back, but she knew how, thanks to her training as a trader. A good trader had to be shrewd, after all. She knew how, she just preferred to be more openly herself.

He continued on about his trip and Yvinka was glad for the distraction from her wondering. She grinned back at him as he stated that he had been sick initially, “As sailors like to say, there are three types of people: the living, the dead, and the seasick.” She giggled softly, as it was something she heard often when her father would take on passengers, and most who had never been on a ship before got sick. The sailors liked to poke fun about it amongst each other, but never where their paying passengers could hear. She’d gotten used to dealing with it as the job of seeing to their passengers’ needs generally fell to her and her mother. Her father’s reasoning was that women are inclined to take care of others. Besides it wasn’t like they were allowed to be much help elsewhere on the ship, other than preparing meals. She huffed to herself at the thought, glad to be rid of her father and his backwards notions.

She glanced at his bag again, “So what do you draw, usually? Or paint? Whatever you do. Could you draw me? Or is it that you only draw dragons and that’s why you want to work in the Weyr?” She finally spun back around to continue walking normally, still itching to ask him more about his time as a candidate. He must have really had a bad time of it to react like that. She was becoming more and more convinced that it had something to do with his coming to Mavros, but she sighed lightly to herself because that was probably all she would ever know about it, so better to focus on something else so the wondering didn’t drive her crazy. “Maybe you could help the harpers or something. It would certainly make records much more interesting if there were pictures.” Not that she knew a lot about the recordkeeping of the Weyr, but she imagined it was as boring as inventory. She wasn’t sure what else an artist could do for the Weyr, really, but the Headwoman would surely have a better idea. She grinned back at him, teasing, “Or maybe you’re just not very good and that’s why you came to Mavros, where they take whatever they can get.”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Parlhion;

He glanced at her quickly, but realized and remembered the name she had offered earlier. She made it sound like there were many from Mirran at Mavros, but surely she was just talking about the name from moments before? He nodded, admitting that he was an artist, even if her first question had been more of surprise than actually confirming. Then he made a slight shrugging motion to her second question. Shouldn’t everyone be an artist in their own right? Creating art in whatever they chose to do with their life?

“Didn’t work out, huh? Is that why –“

It was easy to understand why she misunderstood his emotion. That would be the assumption most dragonriders would make. That he had stood for turns after turns without impressing, leaving him ashamed and terribly lost. Or perhaps he’d been wounded, though obviously he wasn’t handicapped. Or perhaps he’d had some other experience on the sands, anything except actually impressing. Maybe it would be better to let everyone think that about himself, claim that the blue statue was his father’s dragon… or something… but lying to others and ultimately, himself… You have nothing to be ashamed of. The voiced echoed eerily in his mind, but back when…he…had said it, had been to the fact that he had impressed to blue, not that Parlhion had lived and his dragon part hadn't.

He was glad she had stopped her following question, had dropped it. He heard the soft sight, but he was not going to admit to what he was, not yet. No one needed to know…

The change of subject was welcoming, and his lips pulled in a wry and lifeless half smile at her talk of sailors and the seasick. It had certainly been a new experience, and it had been so foreign, that it had been a good distraction from…everything.

Then she moved back to the subject of art and it was something he was comfortable with, something he could endure. “Paint, draw, carve or mold – and I can do people or dragons. Anything.” He hadn’t done everything, but his arrogance told him he could in fact do anything he set his mind to. “I could do something for you, if you’d like.” His eyes moved over her briefly and then back up at her face. He wasn’t sure what Mavros was like, whether she’d want a nude or clothed piece, but he supposed when the time came she’d let him know what she wanted. She was a candidate, so it wasn’t like she had a dragon for him to immortalize.

He nodded at the idea of harpers, though the youth in him cringed. Parlhion couldn’t imagine spending endless candle marks and days copying music and history and documents and… he swallowed back the bitterness of this thought, that his talent should be wasted with such menial work, the thought of… him, remembering him to both humiliate and humble himself before whatever work was placed before him in the Weyr. While Yva had meant her note about pictures in records to make things more interesting as a humorous comment, he found it hopeful. Anything but recording, but had he really expected of small and hardly establish Mavros?

He stopped in the sand again, this time slowing before he did so, staring at her right before the entrance of the Weyr on the beach. The dark hole in the wall of stone was like the hole in his heart – black and endless. The air felt thicker, and he felt himself focus on her words, instead of the act of entering the Weyr.

He glanced at her momentarily with her teasing voice and humor in the air. He ached to return to hearty and flirtatious manner, but it felt buried in between. “Is Mavros so desperate for culture?” He wasn’t looking at her anymore, but at the entrance with a tired expression, he glanced at her with a weary smile, suddenly aware of his flit against his chest as the blue moved under his shirt, poking up and crawling out and curling around his shoulders, chirping at Yvinka – though Parlhion seemed oblivious to Bell after he had settled down.

“In any case, I’d enjoy proving the quality of my ability.” And it did create the smallest spark within him, a floating ember on the wind – in terrible danger of being put out. The ember moved, and he moved to enter the Weyr, his body tense and ridged as he went.