Sketches of the Heart [Tov/Parlhion]

[kevna]

Vanisha - Green Sabellath

She tilted her head and scrunched her eyes. Her hair had fallen from it’s normal part to one side in a cascade of wavy auburn lockes as she studied the green (who in turn was studying the sketch she had made) from the bed of blanket and coat she had made for her and her bonded. It was near impossible to have privacy in the barracks, and some of her fellow weyrlings were… rambunctious. In addition, she had such a hard time relaxing, finally feeling like herself without the years of training for proprietary in her brain. Around other people, she just couldn’t seem to turn it off. So she had decided after feeding Sabellath that they would escape for a little while. She had decided there was no where better on a warm spring day then the little grove where Parlhion had painted her.

The experience had been exciting, and a little mortifying. She’d had people looking at her her whole life, she’d had painters study her for portraits, but for some reason, Parlhion’s study of her had made her feel alive, and exposed. His dark eyes… She shivered and refocused on her task at hand. She freely chewed on her lip without fear of proprietary. She merely brushed the paper with her fingers, considering the crude drawing of her dragonet before her.

It can’t be as bad as you think it is.

I believe in this, you may be incorrect in this. Correcting anyone other then littles was extremely inappropriate behavior, but in this case, Sabellath was a little one, just out of the shell, and learning and growing. She was growing so fast. A soft, genuine smile fluttered over her lips as she realized they were only days from her hatching, yet so much had changed already.

Then we will need others to help verify this, since we do not agree. Her green’s face was so close to the paper as she peered at the rough outline of her own body. The wings weren’t the right scale in comparison to the body, and the tale didn’t look right either. The body’s shape, which she had definitely misshapen, was at least proportional to the neck and head. Isha chuckled, a soft sound that relaxed her face.

Perhaps we do. Though you are biased, and you can hardly know what you look like as well as I do. Especially considering how she had run reverent hands over the dragon numerous times to oil her and bathe her. No one knew her dragon, not as well as she.

I am not biased. How about the sad artist?

Vanisha’s eyebrows rose, and she looked at the green. He would be a good outside source. Sabellath had taken to calling Parhlion that almost immediately after meeting him. Privately, blessedly. She also hadn’t forgotten him, though she believed that was due to how often Vanisha thought of him. Which was often enough.

Vanisha had taken up sketching only within the last few months. Parhlion had recommended it during the gather they had attended together, as a great first initial step before painting, and she was taking it in stride as best she could. It had given her reason to see him regularly. He had been a patient and willing mentor, and she an eager and besotted student. Parhlion was the kind of man who made her feel as if she was and had always been just another person. Valued, but normal. He didn’t see title, or her looks, or judge her off of actions made unwittingly. He just accepted her company and treated her with kindness and curiosity. Not many men were genuine in curiosity towards women, she had learned that young. It hadn’t taken her long to notice how he often forgot to feed himself, especially during the afternoon meal, and she had taken it upon herself to bring him klah and a meal at least thrice in a sevenday. She hadn’t realized the utter fall she had taken to him until she started wondering when else she could see him.

Why do you say he is sad?

Do you think he is not? Her green answered with a question, looking to her with earnest inquiry. Vanisha started worrying her lip as she considered. Parlhion had always seemed… more sober then most. She was generally quick to bring a smile or a laugh to other’s eyes. It was part of her training during her upbringing, but with Parhlion, it was far more difficult just to bring a genuine smile that reached his eyes. She had seen grief flash through his dark eyes, perceived his somberness, noted how he avoided speaking of his home and his life before Mavros. Of his family. He was an age he could have been married, had children… surely some trauma had befallen him or a loved one, one that had driven him here, far where memory could be reignited by place or face of another. It was the only conclusion she could comprehend. And one she couldn’t bring up in the face of harming him.

I do. Sabellath seemed to take that as an end to the conversation, and she wasn’t willing to push it. Especially because she didn’t want to drive her dragon’s curiosity towards that thought. She was far too outspoken and Vanisha wanted to discover this truth herself.

I am tired.

Isha chuckled again. You are stuffed.

I am both. We are not alone.

Isha pushed herself up into a sitting position on their bed of blanket and cloak hurriedly, trying to reposition her dress in a more proper manner, before giving up on the tangles and standing instead and running her hands down the plain blue gown, bought by her mother a turn ago because it matched her icy blue eyes. She glanced briefly at her sketchbook before rubbing her lip, and reminding herself not to worry it in company as she looked to see who approached, forgetting her askew hair in her panic at being found in such a state.

Her eyes widened as their previous focus of their conversation came into view. “Parhlion.” Her heart sped up as she looked up into his dark features. Her thoughts were a whirl. She stepped back onto the makeshift laying area, providing more room for the taller, broader figure, looking down to hide the emotions running through her body as she fought with her surprise at him finding them, technically in his painting spot. They were intruding in his space. “Forgive us for intruding on your space, I was just showing Sabellath how peaceful it is here.” Her voice was soft.

We were just talking about you.

Sabellath provided, and Vanisha felt lightheaded, surely Sabellath wouldn’t-

Mine believes she has lost my semblance in her working of the paper.

Still embarrassing, but Faranth was looking down on her, at least it wasn’t about the other topic of their discussion.

“I-” She paused, still reeling with relief as she glanced up at him, her cheeks aflame. “It is… Quite atrocious.” She smiled and had to consciously remind herself not to worry her lip. She smoothed her hands down her skirts again. “But surely we shouldn’t intrude on your time, should we leave you to your art?”

[tovaana]

Parlhion;

His steps were purposeful, they even had some force behind them as he stalked away from the harpers he’d been speaking to. He had understood that Mavros was… poor, rough around all its edges, but this… His lips pressed hard together, his fists curling into fists. He even understood that he deserved to live in a pit like Mavros, but just because they were uncultured, didn’t mean they had to live so… barbarically. So… disrespectfully. He was still dumbfounded by their own dumbfounded expressions. Semblance? They’d asked. Statues? They’d even glanced each other with what he could only fathom as repressed amusement as they shook their heads. Then he’d tried to give them the benefit of doubt, perhaps there was some other tradition they held… but no, nothing, no gifts, not even for the bronzes. They deserved one surely, but they all did… well, except for maybe the weird gold mutation. He’d come to believe that it was not a good omen, especially since the hatching had started with greens. The green tainted the gold. No, he wasn’t sure he could make one for her… yet, she was still a dragon. If there was a proper gold from Mirran he could ask...

Parlhion pushed the worry from his mind, if he couldn’t convince anyone to help him with the task, then the feat of carving a semblance for all of the new weyrlings was a large one… he had time to consider the gold green later.

He moved into his living quarters with a presence of a storm, his cloak billowing behind him like a cloud. He knew where he stored things, so he gathered the tools he would need, mostly some parchment and graphite to make sketches of Vanisha’s dragon. There was a part of him that realized he should do the bronzes and browns first, but a rebellious side of him pushed it aside, trying to feign ignorance. Besides, hadn’t he already planned to do all of them?

The artist considered his colored chalks, grabbing them on a whim. He wouldn’t need the green’s colors for a while, yet the idea of seeing the green as few times as possible appealed to his subconscious (not really realizing in the moment that meant seeing Vanisha just as less while the dragon was so young).

With the art supplies in his possession, he felt some of his anger ripple off of him. He had a plan now, he would make it better, and he would teach Mavros the importance of culture. Even if the semblances didn’t take, perhaps they’d adopt their own version, though he cringed at what crude version they’d come up for themselves. These thoughts rolled through his mind as he almost subconsciously checked areas that he hoped he’d find Vanisha, only finally coming to realize he was checking in areas she would have been found in before her impression. He swallowed, frozen as he listened to the sounds of new dragons and their new riders, he just… couldn’t think too much about. Couldn’t think about… He clenched his teeth, took brisk steps into the weyrling barracks and asked the closest person if Vanisha was there – no? And he was gone as quick as he had come.

But now where to? What if she was in a lesson? It wasn’t vital that he found her just then, as much as he wanted to resolve Mavros’ culture issue right then and there...no – he could wait. He didn’t want to, but he could. He fingered the art supplies and thought about going outside, it would be good to get comfortable with dragons flying about anyways. Vanisha had given him a reason to start, though the sounds of dragons wasn’t even close to a comfort yet. Not quite ‘home’ yet.

Before he knew it he had wandered to a spot he came to often for solitude and sketching or painting, but sounds made him look up and he froze. Vanisha. Surprise, then… his frows furrowed momentarily as he looked at her as she shifted and smoothed out dress and hair. Well, it wasn’t like understanding women had gotten any easier, he had only enjoyed it a lot more a long time ago.

At the sound of his name he took another couple of steps toward them, but more leisurely and froze again, stiffening as the dragon’s voice filled his mind. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to having dragons in his mind again, he wasn’t sure he wanted to – it wasn’t like they should be talking to him. Surely if this tender green only knew… well, better it be a green talking to him than gold or bronze.

He finally grasped onto what the green was saying, his eyebrows raising and looking at Vanisha for clarification. He moved again and settled down next to Vanisha as she worried about intruding on his time. Parhlion had to chuckle dryly, “isn’t it me, intruding on you?” But his attention was on the paper and sketch, not looking up at her as he reached in question if he could look closer at it, “may I?” His other hand put his tools down, forgetting the original reason he had them in the first place.

There was something inside him that warmed that his only student on Mavros was still practicing, even after impression.

[kevna]

Vanisha - Green Sabellath

He moved in closer when she acknowledged him, and couldn’t help but notice the way he froze at Sabellath’s words to him. She couldn’t blame him, it was hardly appropriate to speak about someone behind their back, and he had just found out that’s what had happened. Another reason to feel embarrassed. At least he was polite enough not to mention or correct her. He settled next to her, and she did her best to arrange her skirts. Skirts were not designed with sitting on the ground in mind, and she ended up showing off the freckles on her ankles.

The rumble of laugh he emitted couldn’t be called joyous, but it still stirred her. How could she lull a real laugh out of him? She opened her mouth to deny him-Sabellath of course was quicker.

Only if you consider it in the way that you came upon us. But seeing as we need your expertise, then it can hardly be an intrusion. Of course, perhaps then it would merely be a welcome intrusion? Her green’s eyes seemed to whirl as she considered that to herself. Vanisha could feel her placing the idea of intrusion.

Parlhion was reaching for the sketch, placing him closer to her as she held her breath and surrendered it willingly, responding to his polite inquiry with a simple “Of course.” Her voice was soft, and she could only see the sketch as atrocious, which was an affront to all he had sought to teach her. “I couldn’t seem to get the proportions, and the body and wings-.” She shook her head minutely, taking a breath to hide the frustration at her lack with a calm facade.

Her dragon was slowly spiraling into sleep-her cycling through what an intrusion versus not was lulling her. That and her full belly. Still, even before sleep could completely take her, Sabellath added, Mine is quite frustrated. This is her fifth attempt. It doesn't seem so bad to me. I am quite tired, perhaps a nap will give a better subject?

Warring between chagrin at her feelings broadcasted to Parhlion, and endearment for her concerned dragon, and murmured, "You can sleep, my dear. You are a fine subject asleep or awake."