Post by pandoraMisfit on Mar 13, 2011 22:36:51 GMT -5
Crash!!!
Silvate glared at the young boy who now hung between her grasp and the wall. Suspended slightly off the ground by the strength of the woman alone, the poor lad gasped and choked for breath as the alabaster hand around his throat convulsed as his captor shook with anger. His feet scrabbled uselessly as the hovered inches from the floor. Needless to say, his friends had skittered away pretty quickly. Eyes wide with fear, he couldn’t look away from the force of her gaze. And oh, did they burn with a wrath that was almost inhuman! Letting a snarl rip from her throat, Silvate bared her teeth in a feral grimace before she released her grip. No longer supported by the strength of the taller woman, the boy fell to a heap on the floor; his spluttering, uneven gasps breaking the petrified silence present in the narrow corridor.
It was pretty evident that the ex-wherhandler was having a bad day.
She wheeled on the two candidates who hovered uncertainly in the background of the scene. Evidently they hadn’t been certain whether it was more important to make sure their friend was safe, or to save their own hides. Silvate growled again, her voice sounding more animalistic with her anger than anything. “Fucking scar-face!” She said, voice low at first, then rising in volume as she continued. “I’ll give you more than a fucking scarred face you little bastards!” The pair only hesitated for a moment before they turned and fled from the fury of the psycho woman standing before them. It really wasn’t worth a beating over. The boy who had borne the brunt of her attack had managed to stagger to his feet, still wheezing. Already the imprint of her grip was beginning to show signs of blossoming into bruises around his neck. He stammered an apology then fled the scene. Seething, Silvate continued to shout abuse after them – they were cowardly sons-of-whores with no more courage than a tunnel snake seemed to be the gist of it. Or at least, a tamer translation of what was said. “Stay the fuck out of my sight then!” she finally relented, her face turned blotchy and red in her rage.
Huffing, she turned and stalked down the corridor. The angry scars on her face itched and burned something fierce, protesting at having been contorted into such expressions of hatred. Silvate snorted. That’s what the whole escapade had been about – her scars. Supposedly it was fine for the younger brats to have a gawk at her, joke at her expense, and make fun of her behind her back. And sometimes they didn’t even have the respect to hide what they were saying from her. And she, being an ‘adult’ , was supposed to take it with a pinch of salt, let it fly over her head. Yeah right, she thought grimly. The people who told her such things should try spending a day in her shoes. They wouldn’t like being the freak show either. Oh, it wasn’t just her disfigurement that was a point of hilarity – the fact that she used to be a wher-handler was apparently a right laugh to some! That she had been companion to such a low creature, and now aspired to be among the great and mighty dragon riders was just comical! Never mind, she thought with a scowl, that she hadn’t gotten up and made her way here on a whim. Never mind that she ached for her lowly watchwher. It was all just a big laugh to some of the inhabitants of the weyr. Scar-face, blind-eye, she-man, wher-bitch. She’d heard all these names float after her at some point. Indeed, why should she meekly lie down in the face of these insults? Bah and anyway, who in the name of Faranth were these brats to take the piss out of her? Especially since they were cowards, too frightened to deal with the consequences.
And so the mental tirade continued as she stomped through the halls of the weyr. If anyone had been able to listen to her thoughts, they would have thought the weyr a terrible place, full of bullies and idiots. However, this really wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, Silvate had a way of being able to make a mountain out of a molehill. The truth of the matter was that most people had been nothing but lovely towards her. It was just that children can be cruel. And adults sometimes gossip a little too much about who said this or that. Silvate’s mind had taken all of the bad things in and amplified them to the point of absurdity. And her retaliation, as usual, was with anger.
With a face like thunder, most gave her a wide berth as she stormed her way towards the outskirts of the weyr. At least there, she thought, few people would bother her. Especially given that it was getting around the twilight time of day – most people had other things to be doing than going out for a run. Despite the change in time zone, Silvate had still secluded herself during the daylight however, dozing here and there as best she could. Not having been assigned to any particular task as of yet, she had the liberty to keep her hours as she wished.
It didn’t take long to reach her destination, the inclining slopes on the outer side of the weyrbowl. Out here, the breeze was brisk enough to make the woman shiver with pleasure – she found the climate in the East a bit stuffier than the one she had enjoyed in the Northern continent. Therefore, the chill, while to others a deterrent, to her was a welcome gift. Now that she had gotten here, all desire to run and forget the events of the day had left her. The transfer had seemed to drain the energy that was usually so abundant within her. Or maybe it was that the confrontation with the weyrbrats had sapped her. Whichever it was, she wanted nothing more than to find a secluded spot to watch the world go by, even if only for a little while.
Casting her gaze about like a fishing net, she surveyed her surroundings until a suitable ledge caught her eye. It looked empty at least. And so she began her hike. It was an easy stretch, not really testing her sporting ability, but she was able to take some small amount of pleasure in it despite the fact. And thank Faranth; she hadn’t seen a soul since exiting the weyrbowl through one of its myriad tunnels. Her breathing fell into a regular rhythm as she climbed. It was so nice to be away from "civilisation" for a short while, no matter how close it actually was. Flipping the hair that had fallen into her vision out of the way, Silvate saw that she had already gotten to the ledge she had sighted out. Funny, it had seemed farther away than that. Sighing, she realised it was probably to do with the fact that her distance perception wasn’t as good as it used to be any more. Everything seemed to revolve around her injury. Pushing the thought out of her head, along with any other such self-pitying feelings, she settled down on the rock, stretching out to view the sky above her. It seemed as endless as time itself, although she had heard people talking of how there were planets and stars and the like beyond the sky. But right now that wasn’t her contemplation so she let it slip by. Comfortable, she let her mind drift off, taking in the sunset as it came.
((Gold stars for anyone who knows the artist of the song I borrowed the title from ^_^))
Silvate glared at the young boy who now hung between her grasp and the wall. Suspended slightly off the ground by the strength of the woman alone, the poor lad gasped and choked for breath as the alabaster hand around his throat convulsed as his captor shook with anger. His feet scrabbled uselessly as the hovered inches from the floor. Needless to say, his friends had skittered away pretty quickly. Eyes wide with fear, he couldn’t look away from the force of her gaze. And oh, did they burn with a wrath that was almost inhuman! Letting a snarl rip from her throat, Silvate bared her teeth in a feral grimace before she released her grip. No longer supported by the strength of the taller woman, the boy fell to a heap on the floor; his spluttering, uneven gasps breaking the petrified silence present in the narrow corridor.
It was pretty evident that the ex-wherhandler was having a bad day.
She wheeled on the two candidates who hovered uncertainly in the background of the scene. Evidently they hadn’t been certain whether it was more important to make sure their friend was safe, or to save their own hides. Silvate growled again, her voice sounding more animalistic with her anger than anything. “Fucking scar-face!” She said, voice low at first, then rising in volume as she continued. “I’ll give you more than a fucking scarred face you little bastards!” The pair only hesitated for a moment before they turned and fled from the fury of the psycho woman standing before them. It really wasn’t worth a beating over. The boy who had borne the brunt of her attack had managed to stagger to his feet, still wheezing. Already the imprint of her grip was beginning to show signs of blossoming into bruises around his neck. He stammered an apology then fled the scene. Seething, Silvate continued to shout abuse after them – they were cowardly sons-of-whores with no more courage than a tunnel snake seemed to be the gist of it. Or at least, a tamer translation of what was said. “Stay the fuck out of my sight then!” she finally relented, her face turned blotchy and red in her rage.
Huffing, she turned and stalked down the corridor. The angry scars on her face itched and burned something fierce, protesting at having been contorted into such expressions of hatred. Silvate snorted. That’s what the whole escapade had been about – her scars. Supposedly it was fine for the younger brats to have a gawk at her, joke at her expense, and make fun of her behind her back. And sometimes they didn’t even have the respect to hide what they were saying from her. And she, being an ‘adult’ , was supposed to take it with a pinch of salt, let it fly over her head. Yeah right, she thought grimly. The people who told her such things should try spending a day in her shoes. They wouldn’t like being the freak show either. Oh, it wasn’t just her disfigurement that was a point of hilarity – the fact that she used to be a wher-handler was apparently a right laugh to some! That she had been companion to such a low creature, and now aspired to be among the great and mighty dragon riders was just comical! Never mind, she thought with a scowl, that she hadn’t gotten up and made her way here on a whim. Never mind that she ached for her lowly watchwher. It was all just a big laugh to some of the inhabitants of the weyr. Scar-face, blind-eye, she-man, wher-bitch. She’d heard all these names float after her at some point. Indeed, why should she meekly lie down in the face of these insults? Bah and anyway, who in the name of Faranth were these brats to take the piss out of her? Especially since they were cowards, too frightened to deal with the consequences.
And so the mental tirade continued as she stomped through the halls of the weyr. If anyone had been able to listen to her thoughts, they would have thought the weyr a terrible place, full of bullies and idiots. However, this really wasn’t the case. Unfortunately, Silvate had a way of being able to make a mountain out of a molehill. The truth of the matter was that most people had been nothing but lovely towards her. It was just that children can be cruel. And adults sometimes gossip a little too much about who said this or that. Silvate’s mind had taken all of the bad things in and amplified them to the point of absurdity. And her retaliation, as usual, was with anger.
With a face like thunder, most gave her a wide berth as she stormed her way towards the outskirts of the weyr. At least there, she thought, few people would bother her. Especially given that it was getting around the twilight time of day – most people had other things to be doing than going out for a run. Despite the change in time zone, Silvate had still secluded herself during the daylight however, dozing here and there as best she could. Not having been assigned to any particular task as of yet, she had the liberty to keep her hours as she wished.
It didn’t take long to reach her destination, the inclining slopes on the outer side of the weyrbowl. Out here, the breeze was brisk enough to make the woman shiver with pleasure – she found the climate in the East a bit stuffier than the one she had enjoyed in the Northern continent. Therefore, the chill, while to others a deterrent, to her was a welcome gift. Now that she had gotten here, all desire to run and forget the events of the day had left her. The transfer had seemed to drain the energy that was usually so abundant within her. Or maybe it was that the confrontation with the weyrbrats had sapped her. Whichever it was, she wanted nothing more than to find a secluded spot to watch the world go by, even if only for a little while.
Casting her gaze about like a fishing net, she surveyed her surroundings until a suitable ledge caught her eye. It looked empty at least. And so she began her hike. It was an easy stretch, not really testing her sporting ability, but she was able to take some small amount of pleasure in it despite the fact. And thank Faranth; she hadn’t seen a soul since exiting the weyrbowl through one of its myriad tunnels. Her breathing fell into a regular rhythm as she climbed. It was so nice to be away from "civilisation" for a short while, no matter how close it actually was. Flipping the hair that had fallen into her vision out of the way, Silvate saw that she had already gotten to the ledge she had sighted out. Funny, it had seemed farther away than that. Sighing, she realised it was probably to do with the fact that her distance perception wasn’t as good as it used to be any more. Everything seemed to revolve around her injury. Pushing the thought out of her head, along with any other such self-pitying feelings, she settled down on the rock, stretching out to view the sky above her. It seemed as endless as time itself, although she had heard people talking of how there were planets and stars and the like beyond the sky. But right now that wasn’t her contemplation so she let it slip by. Comfortable, she let her mind drift off, taking in the sunset as it came.
((Gold stars for anyone who knows the artist of the song I borrowed the title from ^_^))
