dancing on golden sands. [tomi/ki]

[tovaana]

T2761 M12

A few days before the Lord Holder vote

Tomilyn;

It’d been easier than she’d thought to get back on a ship after her brother passing away on her father's ship. Maybe it was because it was a different ship, maybe because it was a different crew, or maybe something as simply as how she was treated. Nalyra’s crew was definitely different than her father’s and somehow she felt more comfortable and confident – and maybe it was the simple change of how she was treated. Of course men were men, and some of the looks she got weren’t lost on her – but something about how Nalyra was Captain… a woman, meant that women on her ship had just as much power, if not more than the men. That’s what she wanted to believe, and it was a thrilling feeling. She didn't want to disappoint Nalyra, so she herself as useful as she could without getting distracted by her wandering and excited thoughts.

The approaching cliffs of Mavros had filled her with a sort of awe – and a strange desire to dive into the side of it, like one of the dragons landing in the weyrs. She’d seen dragons occasionally in the turns of being with her father’s crew… but not like this – not so many moving about the cliffs like a colony of bugs. Some were in more unnatural stiff formations and she imagined it was what they would look like with Thread in the sky… her eyes had flicked around nervously at the idea – not that she was truly scared of Thread (though who didn’t shiver of the idea of worm like creatures that ate everything living it touched?), but the idea of not knowing there was Thread in the sky. However, there was no Thread… they must be just, practicing? She’d never thought of that before, that like sparring needed practice, so did dragons practice flying together.

She’d been caught up in this thought when the ship had come to a jerking stop, catching her off guard and nearly toppling her overboard, or she would have had she not been propped against the railing with locked elbows and a stance practiced for coming into shore. Still, her vivid imagination saw herself falling in and people shouting 'man overboard!' and her sputtering and floundering in the water and calling back, 'I'm NO man!'

The next couple of seven-days after her arrival had gone by in bliss, especially after the work had all been done for the trading – now they were just waiting for some vote Nalyra had mentioned. A vote that Tomilyn didn’t care to know more about, but was simply grateful that the vote had stalled the crew so she could properly roam and explore Mavros. Before, she’d never explored past the closest pub to the ports, since her father had always had a brother hovering over her. Now, there were no brothers to stop her, no father to tell her no – she could go where she liked when she pleased, and that in of itself was freeing to her soul, giving her more healing than being stuck at home could have done. What was more – was there were dragons – and all sorts of new things to discover.

Her goal was to touch a dragon – but she wanted to save that for last… and ever since Sularenth’s rising, she’d put it off even more. It had left an unsavory flavor in her mouth being influenced by dragons – and not the mention the gold had killed the other gold… she’d thought dragons couldn’t hurt people, and wouldn’t fight each other – that’s what she’d been told, but the event had her questioning the very little knowledge that she did have about dragons. Were they safe to be around? It spurred unease and a sadistic curiosity that sprouted quietly in her heart, the two warring with each other every time she was ever close to a dragon.

So, she’d mostly stuck to inside the Weyr (quickly discovering which doors led to weyrs) and around the Hold part of Mavros. Now though, she settled for the beach – not much different than the beaches at home – though the ones at home didn’t have looming cliffs with dragons in them. She hadn’t spent much time on them though, since there were so many things to see besides a cold windy beach during the cold season.

She didn’t wear any shoes and her feet made small indents in the rain dampened sand, revealing lighter bits of dry sand under as she went. The drizzle had subsided to quiet threatening clouds, but the breeze didn’t seem so bad – maybe it was the cliffs that shielded her… her eyes drifted to the cliffs in question, watching as a green landed on a ledge above and disappeared within. Some of the weyrs had stairs and ways to get in from the outside and they tempted and taunted her to try climbing and seeing what she’d find within. Dragons. She’d been outside exploring when the golds had risen, so she’d seen the gold fall and disappear… she shuddered, pulling her cream knit sweater that was riddled with holes closer around her. Her shirt was more of a tunic, worn looking gold fabric that started tighter around the bust and fell around her thighs. Her pants were on the tighter side, mostly because they were older – and replacing clothes as she’d grown hadn’t been a priority. All she had to do was roll up the bottoms of them to make them look purposeful in the way they were cropped a little short.

Her curls tumbled around her shoulders, as she preferred they did, not minding the way they flew in front of her face. She started dragging her feet in the damp sand, creating lines and circles, turning this way and that, no longer walking in a linear line and not paying much attention to her surroundings either.

[Zen]

Kisoraz

An icy drizzle had pervaded for most of the morning which was just as well for Kisoraz seeing as there were chores to do and working in the warmth of the kitchens was not entirely unwelcome. The Mavros winter was shaping up to be quite dreary. He was sure Mirran got worse weather, but at least there was art to brighten up the gray. Here… he sighed as he collected his sketchpad, giving a glance around the damp candidate barracks. The longer he spent here the more he determined that Mavros was in desperate need of Mirran’s influence. If he could accomplish what his father wanted, he could be the conduit through which culture was finally brought to this horrid place. There were so many here that seemed to think of art as frivolous. Such dull lives they must lead. Art was nourishment for the soul. At least there was music as often as not in the dining cavern or the commons, or even the candidate barracks thanks to Kekoa, a small mercy.

He had checked on his way back from chores and it seemed the rain had relented for now, so he meant to take advantage of it while he could to do some sketching before lessons this afternoon. Even so many months later, he was still adjusting to how differently things were done at Mavros. His chores, for one thing, were entirely new. The chores he was assigned here would have been for Mirranese candidates back in Mirran. Kitchen duty and laundry and menial things that wasted his talents. In Mirran he assisted other artists with the maintenance of the murals about the Weyr or with the expansion of new ones in new areas. But that task didn’t exist here and there was no separation of chores depending on your status. His ineptitude at the domestic duties he was assigned had often earned him teasing and several of the women that had overseen his work had taken to calling him ‘lordling’. The ‘nickname’ had unfortunately stuck with many of them and it was not as endearing as they thought it was, the blatant disrespect difficult to bear, but if he wanted to win people over he could hardly complain.

He wore a coat out, and his supple gloves for drawing in cold weather, but he took a cloak with as well so he would have a dry place to sit, folding it up to place on one of the boulders strewn along the beach. The wind blowing in from the sea could not compare to the frigid winter winds that blew in off the Azov, winds carried from the southern wastes. It seemed everything at Mavros was somehow a half measure of anything in Mirran… even the weather. Not that he was complaining about this one, at least. For all that he missed from Mirran, the icy Azov winter winds were not part of it. This was nothing in comparison.

As he was casting about for a subject to sketch, he spotted a young woman making her way along the sand. He didn’t take too much note of her at first, his gaze shifting past her, out to sea, up to the sky, seeking a proper subject. The day was so gray it was difficult to feel inspired. The sky was gray and the sea was gray and the cliffs were gray and even the sands which were normally a golden brown seemed grayer today, perhaps from the rain and the reflection of the gray sky in the water the sand retained, who was he to say. It was like all color had been leeched from the world… all color but from those of the dragons that spiraled above. And yet they were too far to be of much use, specks of color in gray that made little difference. Occasionally one would appear from its weyr or disappear into one.

Kisoraz sighed, turned his gaze downward again to settle on the woman as she had drawn closer. He really noticed her then, the way she was dragging her feet in the sand, making some pattern known only to her own mind, no longer just walking down the beach. But more than that, she was a bright spot of color in the day’s gray world. She seemed to flutter like an autumn leaf along the sand, with her auburn hair and golden clothes. There was inspiration. Yes. Without thinking, he began to sketch, his hands working of their volition. He would take a few artistic liberties with the landscape. Much would still be gray to further accent how she stood out among the world, but he would add a sunrise, just peeking above the horizon of the water, casting just a little more color over the land and sky and sea. A promise, a new beginning, for a hopeful young woman trying to bring new life into the world.

As he finished the rough sketch, he slid from his perch and made his way closer to the young woman, because he didn’t like using people as subjects in his art without their permission, but he also didn’t like to ask before he had begun because he wanted them to be natural and not try to pose or make anything seemed forced. If she didn’t grant her permission, he would adapt it somehow, or leave it behind altogether. It was only a rough sketch, and though the inspiration was in him to complete it, he would just have to find new inspiration if she did not consent. He raised a hand to wave at her as he drew closer, “Excuse me! Hello… forgive me, I came out to find a subject for a new piece of art and, well, you seem to have caught my eye. I would be most grateful if you would consent to my using you as a subject. If you’re uncomfortable with that, I’ll refrain, though not without disappointment.” He offered her a friendly smile to show that there would be no hard feelings either way, “Oh, I’m Kisoraz by the way. A candidate at Mavros. Ah!” He held out his sketch for her to see, “If you’d like to see what I’ve started. I apologize for not asking ahead of time but… well… that tends to put people on edge and make them act unnaturally. I’ll destroy the piece, such as it is, if I’ve offended you. I meant no violation.”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Tomilyn;

If only she could create music and art like a harper. There was music in her mind, a simple tune that her grandfather would sometimes play during the calm parts in his stories. He wasn’t much of a harper, but he could tell a story. She started to tell her own story in the lines – though they didn’t make much sense in the sand, but they did in her mind. She was lost in her story, a love story of course, between a blue and green dragon – imagining what dragons sounded like and what personalities they had… she only knew of humans and animals, so she treated them as humans in her mind, since it made her story more interesting.

She was in a more dramatic part of her story where the green had been hurt during threadfall, when a stranger’s voice inserted itself in the story… wait, no, interrupting her story. Her numb toes stopped curving what she considered to be a ‘sad’ line and she looked up with confusion and bit of frustration at the interruption. However, the man’s polite demeanor and clothes and… knots – like, dragon riders, right? distracted her. Was he a rider? Her brows pulled together with skepticism as she took his words, his eyes drinking in his appearance. She ‘seemed’ to have caught his eye? Well, her hair color was something that seemed to do that, though her being a woman seemed to do the majority of ‘attention’ from men. He sounded like all other men… except in a strange polite way that was rather romantic – like instead of coming right out and saying he was attracted to her and wanted to bed her, he was saying he wanted to do art of her so he could ogle her, right? It was typical, but… polite? She supposed if she was to be flirted with, she’d rather his polite words than the rough sailor speech.

A candidate? She glanced at his knots and frowned momentarily. She supposed a dragon candidate was a rank of sorts, she hadn’t thought of them wearing knots too. He held out the art and she snatched it away from him before he went on in his polite manner of being an artist. His words seemed all fluff until she saw what he’d been working on. Her eyes widened, and she started to walk in a circle around the man, glancing at him every now and then as she looked at the ‘art’.

“This ain’t me.” She retorted with a snort, but her roughness was lost in awe as she looked at how he’d made her look… feminine. Graceful. Light, feathery… weightless, like she could sprout wings and fly. She took a finger and lightly touched one of the details in her curls – of which she was sure didn’t look like that when she moved. They were always in her face and in the way, though she did think they were one of her best attributes.

She then looked at him as she circled him, considering his fine clothes. Did all candidates dress like him? She didn’t want to give the art back yet, she felt like it gave her the power in the situation, and she wasn’t ready to give that back yet. “It’s good though, I guess. Why’re you so apologetic?” She didn’t really understand why someone would be offended by having art done by someone, ever. Isn’t that what those in power got? Art done in large canvases that were hung in Holds or Weyrs. She’d never seen much art, except for some of the things they’d stolen off ships, and it wasn’t like they kept such things, as they were worth more traded for things their small hold needed more.

“Tomilyn’s m’name.” She glanced back down at the art. In all those fancy words, had he mentioned something about finishing it? The red-head considered it with pulled pursed lips and sighed, holding it out and stopping her circle around the strange candidate. “Alright, you can keep at it, I s’pose.” The art did make her wonder and even question her earlier assumption about him – was this the way artists flirted? Or got women to bed? She couldn’t wrap her mind on how an artist might think of the world in different terms.

[Zen]

Kisoraz

The young woman seemed as if she had been just as lost in whatever she was doing as he had been moments ago in his sketching. At first she didn’t seem terribly pleased to be interrupted. Something about the way she looked at him as he explained himself seemed almost suspicious. It was always rather hit or miss when he approached someone about using them as a subject in his art. Some people were embarrassed, some flattered, and sometimes, women in particular, got offended that he’d been staring at them for so long without their notice, as if his gaze was violating in some way. More often than not, people were happy to allow it, if a bit flustered that they’d been watched unknowingly, afraid they’d done something embarrassing that he had witnessed. But in Mirran, where art was so much more appreciated than here at Mavros, it wasn’t terribly common for anyone to take too much offense.

When he offered for her to see what he’d been drawing, she snatched his sketchbook from his hands rather abruptly. He fought not to try to take it back, indignation flashing through him, along with a bit of fear that he had really offended her and she was about to just throw the whole thing into the sea. He had other sketches in there he didn’t want to lose. Still his hand rose, hanging somewhat awkwardly in the air as he stayed the desire to make a grab for it, “Er… ah-”

”This ain’t me.”

He cleared his throat lightly, forcing his arm back to his side as he watched her continue to circle around him, studying his work. “Well… I have taken some artistic liberty… to heighten the drama a bit,” he explained slowly, wondering if she didn’t like how he saw her. Sometimes women were finicky about how they were portrayed. But then she seemed to grudgingly admit that it was good. He let out a soft sigh of relief that she wasn’t upset after all and gave her a small smile, “One can never be quite certain how people are going to respond to being picked as a subject for artwork. I have known it to make some uncomfortable, which is obviously never my intention. I’m glad you… ah… like it?” He wasn’t really sure if she liked it or not, or if she just thought his ability was decent.

She introduced herself and he offered her a friendly smile, “A pleasure to meet you, Tomilyn.” Her manner of speech was rather rough… unrefined. He could only guess she was some fisher’s new wife, clearly hoping to start a family sooner rather than later. When she held the sketchbook back out to him he took it gratefully, moreso when she granted her consent for him to finish the piece, his smile widening happily, “Oh, thank you. I hope you’ll enjoy it once I’ve added color. It will be quite a vibrant piece once I’ve finished. And best of luck to you in starting your family. May Faranth’s blessings and protection follow you.”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Tomilyn;

Her green eyes narrowed at his words. “Some?” She accused, now was he calling her ugly? Or clumsy? “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

She simply shrugged at his words and curiosity to know if she liked it. The red head didn’t want to give him too much pleasure in knowing he’d done well… maybe he’d give it to her when he was done – but maybe he wouldn’t if he didn’t know she liked it… “Yeah, it’s good.” She said a moment after her shrug, folding her arms and peering at the piece from a corner of her eye as he spoke about putting color to it. She was wondering how he was going to remember what colors to use – or was he going to use ‘some’ artistic liberty there too? – when his last words seemed to… well, they didn’t make sense. She even glanced around, as if there were someone else there he was talking to. Starting a family? Wishing her Faranth’s blessing and protection?

Her hands moved to her stomach for a fraction of a moment and then to her hips as her confusion turned into a hot glare, feeling rather flustered that his strange politeness had turned down an avenue that she didn’t understand. It made her feel silly and unintelligent – or had she missed something? That would be possible if she’d been day dreaming like her father tried to break her of… but she hadn't, she was pretty sure of that.

“Excuse me?” She blinked, cleared her throat, and tried to hold herself a little more like she had confidence in a situation where she was at a loss. “Start… a family? Are you calling me fat? And I don’t need no protection, thank you very much. You can go ahead and keep that protection, you might need it, goin’ around and calling women fat.” She took a step toward him, her fists balled tightly at her hips. Tomilyn knew she had a temper sometimes, but she was more confused than angry, because he hadn’t called her fat, not really – but starting a family meant… getting married maybe? Or having a baby? Or… or… She huffed and pursed her lips, eyes wide in waiting for a proper explanation.

[Zen]

Kisoraz

Shells, she was touchy, wasn’t she? Was she so used to being mocked that she just expected it? Well, she was a redhead, that was a possibility. Kisoraz rather thought it a misnomer, as most redheads had hair more orange than red, but it was enough for most to mutter and tease. Orange was a far less sinister color, and though he had no want to find himself a redheaded partner who may pass on the trait to any of his children, as he didn’t want to see them shunned and bullied for it, he didn’t place too much stock in it being as bad as some people thought.

“Nothing, I assure you,” he insisted in response to her accusing question, “Just that I may have… embellished some traits, accentuated a bit, here and there….” Shells that probably didn’t sound any better, and now he was getting flustered trying to figure out how to explain it without causing further offense, “What I mean to say is, accuracy was not really my goal, as in portrait work, you simply sparked my muse, gave me inspiration, and so I was more using you as a loose sort of… guide. Not that I don’t find you lovely as you are, sometimes my hands just… create on their own, and….” He trailed off, wondering if he was only digging himself a deeper hole with the woman.

She still seemed rather noncommittal in her admission that it was good, but he didn’t think she would say so if it wasn’t true. She didn’t seem like the sort to offer platitudes just to be polite. But suddenly her hands were on her hips and she was glaring at him and he had no idea what he had said wrong this time. His eyes widened in surprise as she accused him of calling her fat and he waved his free hand rather frantically, “No! No, no… that’s not what I meant at all! I would never…. You… you’re wearing quite a bit of yellow.” He gestured to her, indicating her clothing, as that ought to be a perfectly decent explanation. Had she forgotten what she was wearing?

He was at a bit of a loss as he’d never heard anyone outright reject Faranth’s protection before. Who would refuse the protection of the mother of all dragons? She was quite a feisty woman, wasn’t she? Perhaps it did have something to do with her red hair. Were redheads normally this quarrelsome? Maybe that’s where their negative reputation came from. He took a half step back as she took a step toward him, giving ground to show he meant no harm and had no desire to continue this fight, “Forgive me, I… there was a misunderstanding, somewhere. I certainly meant no offense.”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Tomilyn;

She opened her mouth, offended at the idea that he needed to ‘embellish’ any traits of hers, even if she did think they probably needed embellishing… that was for her to decide, not some artist! Her curled fists moved to cross in front of her chest defensively, gawking in disgust.

“…and??” She asked, feeling her face hot with the anger and embarrassment he was stirring in her. “And you seem to really know how to make a girl feel pretty!” She said in a raised and very sarcastic voice. “Why, I outta’ teach you a lesson, give your eye a pretty black color. Maybe someone else will be inspired by your beauty.” But her arms stayed firmly against her chest, hiding her fists, though her eyes threw daggers of their own. She swallowed back emotion was that bubbling to the brim of her boiling pot, just waiting for the last straw to spill it over.

“Oh, no?” She asked as he started to back track and deny her accusation. No matter how angry she got, he kept throwing bits of confusing ammo that had her thinking more on what he was saying rather than what she was feeling – like a hunter trying to confuse its prey. “Yella?” She asked, a bit dazed, her arms falling away as she glanced at herself. “So, the color yellow makes me look fat? You’re not splainin' yourself really well.” Maybe artists weren’t all that intelligent.

“I’d say.” She huffed as he spoke of a misunderstanding, feeling a confusion of feelings that made her want to just leave. Still, as upsetting as the experience was, her curiosity of what the art would look like colored… and her as an inspiration! If only the artist hadn’t been so insulting. He’d ruined it all. Her nice evening on the beach and her mood.

“So, you going to apologize or something? Because ‘forgive me’ doesn’t sound like much of one, just that you’re sorry you got caught or somethin’.”

[Zen]

Kisoraz

Kisoraz took another half step back at her threat. He had no desire to get into a physical altercation with anyone, least of all a woman. Perhaps it would be best if he just forgot the painting and took his leave before she followed through on that threat. He really didn’t know how to better explain himself without it coming off just… wrong. Everything just kept getting worse the more he opened his mouth.

”So, the color yellow makes me look fat?”

He raised his free hand as if to ward off an oncoming charge, “No! That’s not it at all, it just… it’s just… yellow.” He was so at a loss. Did she truly not know what it meant? Was that yet another thing that differed here from Mirran? Shells, what if all the colors had different meanings at each different place on Pern? How confusing this was. How was he meant to navigate social interactions properly outside of Mirran when everything was so very different. He had never thought himself so inept at communication back in Mirran, in fact he figured he had a knack for eloquence, but there was nothing eloquent about his interaction with this woman. Tomilyn, he reminded himself.

She demanded further apology, his request for forgiveness apparently not enough, and Kisoraz tried to figure out just what he could say to her that wouldn’t just dig this mortifying hole deeper. He drew in a deep breath, “Tomilyn… I am so very sorry I’ve upset you so. It seems… you see, where I’m from, women often wear yellow when they’re… trying to conceive a child. So I thought… well, that doesn’t appear to be the case here? I never meant to imply that you were… overweight. You most certainly do not look pregnant, I just assumed that you were… trying.” What a horrifying situation he had gotten himself into. It was so normal in Mirran to offer well wishes to women in yellow, he hadn’t thought anything of it. He had never thought he would have to think anything of it.

“What I said, it is normal… in Mirran, where I come from. It was meant with only the best intent, I assure you. It never occurred to me that it might not mean the same thing here. I had never left Mirran before coming to Mavros, so I’m afraid, it seems I still have much to learn… I deeply apologize for offending you.” He glanced down at the image he’d been working on and sighed. So much misunderstanding over so little. It was like speaking an entirely different language, somehow. He just couldn’t seem to properly get his meaning across at all. “If you’ve changed your mind about my completing the piece, I understand. This misunderstanding has gotten terribly out of hand.” How many more ways could he make a complete and utter fool of himself here?

tovaana

[tovaana]

Tomilyn;

“Yeah, we’ve established my shirt is yella!” She said with a confused shocked expression at the terrible way he was explaining himself. “Y’know, it almost sounds like you’re talkin’ in code, and I thought women-folk were the only ones to do that.” She scoffed; feeling like she’d stepped into another world completely – was it just this artist or were all Mavrosi men like him?

Finally, as she watched him with her eyebrows hiked up and with expectation, he finally attempted at a proper apology. She still felt like punching him, but he didn’t seem crude like most men, so it would have felt like punching a girl – not like she hadn’t punched a girl before… but she’d deserved it, and been more like a man anyways. But again, she was mystified and kept still by the way he was talking… where he was from? Did that mean he wasn’t from Mavros? Thank Faranth. Men were obnoxious enough, let alone having them go around and calling her fat when she was wearing one of the few shirts she had. Her eyes narrowed at his explanation… it seemed… fantastical – were there places that really did silly things like wear a color to announce one was attempting to start a family? Why would one want to do that anyways, starting a family was boring enough, and it was usually through accident where she was from.

“Yeah, sure, so what of the colors you’re wearin’? Do they ward off getting beat from stupidity?” His answer had seemed genuine, but it didn’t mean she was inclined to believe such a tale, even if it made his words make much more sense.

Mirran? Her eyebrows pulled together at the name. While it also started with an ‘M’, he definitely wasn’t from Mavros. Good. She felt like she learned a lot about the world from the folk that came through her grandfather’s pub, so she still felt rather stupid not knowing this strange custom of Mirran… though she’d never heard of it. She kept quiet, pursing her lips a little, her arms folded against her, as she contemplated whether the apology had been enough.

“Aye, well, I think you learned your lesson.” Though she still thought punching him would instill the lesson deeper. “I accept your apology…and… you can continue the piece.” She felt rather in power in that moment, deeming him worthy of continuing the art of herself, even if she should possibly be thanking him of finding her a worthy center of his piece. The thought of gratitude definitely didn’t touch her mind.

She considered him a heart beat longer. “Mayhaps we can start over.” Though she had no plan in forgetting what had happened. “Though you better be learnin’ the different customs here.” She said, as if she knew Mavros was nothing like his home and more like her own. “Better not go around wishin’ Faranth’s blessing on every girl wearin’ yellow. Hear me?” She offered a little smile. “Don’t tell me you got other colors that got meaning where you’re from?”

[Zen]

Kisoraz

Talking in code? It wasn’t a terrible way to put it. It was almost like he was talking in code without even realizing it for all that she continued to misunderstand everything he was trying to say. He couldn’t comprehend how two Pernese people could misunderstand each other so much. He had never imagined language, customs, could differ this much across the planet. They were all Pernese. It just didn’t make sense.

At her comment about the colors he was wearing, he couldn’t help but glance down at himself. He wore Mirran’s colors, warm woolen pants dyed a deep black, a pale blue button up shirt with mother of pearl buttons, a hint of white, embellished with black embroidery in the form of stylized dragons just below the shoulder, their tails trailing down the center of his chest, two small chips of blue topaz set in for their eyes. Black was a Weyr color, generally, though the Minecraft also used it, but when coupled with a secondary color it denoted Weyr affiliation. The pale icy blue was a clear association with the sea of Azov, with the Azovite Harpers, with Mirran. At least, he had imagined so. Now he thought he’d best not assume anything he knew was common knowledge outside of Mirran.

Still, he managed a small, hesitant smile at her clearly sarcastic question, “Perhaps they do. You’ve stayed your hand so far.” Kisoraz thought it rather lucky he hadn’t even gotten a slap yet, considering she had thought he was calling her fat. She seemed to consider his apology for a moment longer, but eventually came to accept it and he breathed a sigh of relief. That she would still allow him to finish his work was surprising, but he was grateful, and his smile broadened, “Thank you. You’re most gracious, Tomilyn.” It would be such a shame for the work to die in his mind, to never breathe life into it with color.

She spoke of starting over and a light laugh escaped him, “There is nothing I would like more….” A warning followed, and he sighed, “Yes… I have certainly learned that lesson well.” Next he saw a woman wearing yellow, he was going to keep his sharding mouth shut. He had no desire to repeat today’s mortifying mishap. Did that mean red also did not have the same meaning here? His gaze flicked to the woman’s hair for a moment, further wondering if red hair did not have the same negative associations then. Having to rethink everything he knew, everything that was so ingrained in him, was beginning to get exhausting.

Even as he thought on the possibility that colors had different meanings here, she asked if there were other colors that had special connotations in Mirran. He gave another soft laugh, “Ah… yes. Red, for one… it is the color of the Red Star, so… it is unlucky.” His eyes flicked to her hair again, wondering if he ought to bring that up or if it would only offend her. He didn’t subscribe to that particular superstition himself, but many in Mirran did. He cleared his throat uncertainly, “Red hair… is often, ah… seen as a bad omen. I don’t believe it, personally… red hair is often so much more orange, than red, after all….” He continued on quickly, hoping not to dwell on that too long so she could get angry again, “White is lucky. Because of white dragons.” He was assuming again, and he considered that for a moment. He had never imagined he would ever have to explain the importance of white dragons to anyone, and yet with the way Joia did not command the respect of everyone at Mavros, he felt that Mirran might very well be the only place that respected them so highly. And that was just… baffling.

“White dragons are held in incredibly high regard in Mirran, you see. They have perfect betweening abilities, so… particularly during betweening lessons and Threadfall, riders wear plenty of white, for protection from getting lost between.” It was rare for someone NOT to be wearing at least a little bit of white at all times, to be honest, but in those situations, the more the better. “There are some that believe green attracts Thread but, well…,” he waved his hand dismissively, “In that case no green dragon would ever live long, would they?” Still, few riders tempted fate by wearing anything green come Threadfall. He glanced down at himself again, “Blue doesn’t have a particular connotation, really, but… perhaps I shall start associating it with protection from my own ignorance?”

tovaana

[tovaana]

Tomilyn;

Her nose wrinkled momentarily in reaction to being called ‘gracious’. The more she thought about it, the more she reacted – her face twisting as she thought of herself as ‘gracious’. Her head shook, her curls moving slightly- the wind being a larger factor as they pulled away and in her face. “No… uhm, don’t… just… no.” She said, slightly groaning at the idea. “I’m not that word – gracious.” That was a word for nobles, like leaders and the such – or anyone well off. She was not and could not come to terms with her being any sort of ‘gracious’ person. She didn’t deserve that sort of praise, besides, it sounded rather silly, even if he was trying to be genuine (which she was still unsure of at that point).

“Good.” She simply said in that he had learned his lesson. Even if they were ‘starting all over’ she wasn’t sure she could totally forget what had happened. Still, it was better he thought they were starting all over, if anything.

When he started explaining the color red, she didn’t think of her hair at all, she glanced to the side of where she thought he was looking – not quite realizing it was her hair until he brought it up directly. “My… my hair?” she blinked at him, the feeling of irritation rising up in her. Her hair (and maybe her freckles) was one of the only things she thought pretty about herself, but even her hair was considered a bad omen? Well, maybe it made sense, nothing about her life had seemed to go right until Nalyra had invited her to leave. Maybe it meant that her whole life was doomed to be unlucky, because of her hair. She hardly heard him explaining that red hair was more orange than red anyways, her mind stuck on the fact that her hair and the red star had something in common… what if she started wearing white? Her eyes were wide as she listened to him, wondering if wearing the color of white dragon would combat her unlucky hair.

Her mind came back around when he started talking about white dragons – something she was completely unfamiliar with. What did ‘having perfect betweening abilities’ even mean? Couldn’t all dragons between well? She pretty much missed what green meant, but her eyes trailed to his fine clothing when he looked down at himself. Blue? Oh, he was being funny. She was still caught up with her red hair, and she pushed it behind an ear self-consciously.

“Oh yeah, sounds like a good color to wear far from your strange home.” She offered a chuckle and then sighed. She was being silly, wasn’t she? Hadn’t the artist said something about the red hair thing not being super accurate or something? He didn’t believe it, and yet he had believed that she was trying to start a family, just because she was wearing yellow. Even if she could talk herself out of the whole red thing, it still sat uneasily in the back of her mind.

“And, you know, it does sound really strange. Not sure I’d ever want to visit this… Ma- Mirran? place. Not if they think my hair is some sorta omen or somethin’.” She scoffed, folding her arms as if to hide her insecurities. “I mean, it’s silly, right? Stupid, really. What kind of place would doom someone just because they were born a certain way? It’s not like they can help it. Right? Who comes up with these rules in Mirran anyways? They can’t be very smart, basing things off of colors instead of something like, my personality or… or… I dunno, something else.” She huffed, flustered, feeling like punching the guy really would make her feel better, as if it would be punishing Mirran as a whole rather than just the person.