Post by Deleted on Apr 3, 2015 22:37:47 GMT -5
Ki'var of Bronze Rhomarth
It was a very nice day. Pleasant weather, pleasant temperature, perfect for a dragon that might feel like sunning it's hefty hide somewhere sunny and get a good sandbath in. A dragon, like, say, the rather elegant beast that was settling down on the beach looking quite pleased with himself. He craned his neck around to make sure he had the optimal patch of sand to settle his hindquarters down on (a rock here, no good; a strip of debris there, to be tossed out of the way with an affronted huff) giving a satisfied little flick of his tail. Good, very good. He kneaded at the sand like a humongous feline, making a soft cool place to rest his forequarters, and then it was a massive whole-body wiggle as he got himself perfectly situated. It was a long process, easily a half-candlemark as the dragon got himself quite comfortable and hunkered down for a nice long afternoon of sunning and relaxation. He swished his tail over the damper sand the long limb could reach, sending up a spray of wet sand clods to sprinkle out behind him just because it was quite satisfying. He let out a long thrum of deep personal contentment and let his eyes fall half-lidded; the picture of draconic bliss.
"How long is this going to take?" The low, growling voice came from somewhere near the bronze's shoulder, and the dragon heaved a great sigh and glared at his rider. (Who happened to be glaring right back.) "Half a bloody candlemark to lay your giant rear down. And the weyrledge wasn't good enough for you. Are you about done?" Ki'var crossed his arms and leveled a stern look at his dragon. It was a very serious look that probably could have scared a number of weyrlings into their chores. A very guilt-inducing glare. Rhomarth was completely immune.
I don't know. Are you going to keep complaining? The bronze stretched out luxuriously and gave a little shimmy as he settled in.
"Rhomarth."
Yes? The dragon's voice was like hot and. A little too warm to be comfortable, and with a tone of laughter bubbling up underneath. Just for good measure, he flicked his tail again, sending a spray of sand up toward his rider.
Ki'var made a grunted sound of alarm, and threw up his hands in instinct, sand showering down over him. "RHOMARTH!" He sputtered, looking angry and trying to shake sand out of his hair as he glared at his dragon. He had work to do, shaffit. "You giant shiny pain in the-"
You're too serious right now. Rhomarth informed him with the dragon equivalent of a chuckle. Lighten up! Enjoy the weather. Relax. Take a breather while we still have a spare moment outside of threadfall.
"I'm worried about threadfall! I could be studying old fall charts. Old drill patterns. Anything And you insist on lazing about like a-"
Quit being so uptight. And with that, Rhomarth snaked out a foreleg to knock his rider into the sand and pin him there, fully intent on keeping the man there until the tide came in and they both got wet.
Ki'var swore a blue streak and tried his best to get free. It was mostly ineffectual, and other than making a loud, grumpy fuss, he was getting nowhere. At least yelling made him feel a little better. (Though they probably made quite the sight. The smugly content bronze and his struggling, grouchy rider, making a fuss on the beach.)
It was a very nice day. Pleasant weather, pleasant temperature, perfect for a dragon that might feel like sunning it's hefty hide somewhere sunny and get a good sandbath in. A dragon, like, say, the rather elegant beast that was settling down on the beach looking quite pleased with himself. He craned his neck around to make sure he had the optimal patch of sand to settle his hindquarters down on (a rock here, no good; a strip of debris there, to be tossed out of the way with an affronted huff) giving a satisfied little flick of his tail. Good, very good. He kneaded at the sand like a humongous feline, making a soft cool place to rest his forequarters, and then it was a massive whole-body wiggle as he got himself perfectly situated. It was a long process, easily a half-candlemark as the dragon got himself quite comfortable and hunkered down for a nice long afternoon of sunning and relaxation. He swished his tail over the damper sand the long limb could reach, sending up a spray of wet sand clods to sprinkle out behind him just because it was quite satisfying. He let out a long thrum of deep personal contentment and let his eyes fall half-lidded; the picture of draconic bliss.
"How long is this going to take?" The low, growling voice came from somewhere near the bronze's shoulder, and the dragon heaved a great sigh and glared at his rider. (Who happened to be glaring right back.) "Half a bloody candlemark to lay your giant rear down. And the weyrledge wasn't good enough for you. Are you about done?" Ki'var crossed his arms and leveled a stern look at his dragon. It was a very serious look that probably could have scared a number of weyrlings into their chores. A very guilt-inducing glare. Rhomarth was completely immune.
I don't know. Are you going to keep complaining? The bronze stretched out luxuriously and gave a little shimmy as he settled in.
"Rhomarth."
Yes? The dragon's voice was like hot and. A little too warm to be comfortable, and with a tone of laughter bubbling up underneath. Just for good measure, he flicked his tail again, sending a spray of sand up toward his rider.
Ki'var made a grunted sound of alarm, and threw up his hands in instinct, sand showering down over him. "RHOMARTH!" He sputtered, looking angry and trying to shake sand out of his hair as he glared at his dragon. He had work to do, shaffit. "You giant shiny pain in the-"
You're too serious right now. Rhomarth informed him with the dragon equivalent of a chuckle. Lighten up! Enjoy the weather. Relax. Take a breather while we still have a spare moment outside of threadfall.
"I'm worried about threadfall! I could be studying old fall charts. Old drill patterns. Anything And you insist on lazing about like a-"
Quit being so uptight. And with that, Rhomarth snaked out a foreleg to knock his rider into the sand and pin him there, fully intent on keeping the man there until the tide came in and they both got wet.
Ki'var swore a blue streak and tried his best to get free. It was mostly ineffectual, and other than making a loud, grumpy fuss, he was getting nowhere. At least yelling made him feel a little better. (Though they probably made quite the sight. The smugly content bronze and his struggling, grouchy rider, making a fuss on the beach.)