Post by pandoraMisfit on Apr 28, 2013 14:11:27 GMT -5
Hmm. Yes, it definitely needed something doing to it. M’yran turned this way and that, scrutinising his reflection in the looking glass hanging on the wall of his room in the Barracks. The fuzz part on the back of his head was well past its usual length, tickling his neck, and the bangs at the front were starting to prove problematic. Flying with Fedorath had taught him that anything longer than eyebrow length was incredibly problematic and besides, his longer tails were starting to touch his shoulders. That aside, it was with horror that he noted a good deal of brown, not just peeking through at his roots, but covering quite a lot of the top of his head. Nocturnal lessons and keeping up with daily chores for the most part had kept him occupied since Fedorath’s hatching. He shot the Mimic a dirty look, which she deigned to ignore, before turning back to his reflection.
Yes, something needed to be done about this. Today.
Running through a mental list, M’yran surmised that he could probably put of any chores that needed doing for the hour it would take him to sort this monstrosity out. ~Fedorath I’m only going to the kitchens and I’ll be back in a matter of minutes. You should stay here, you’re getting too big now to be following my every footstep. Especially where the folk working there are concerned~ The last remark was coloured with exasperation as he remembered the last incident. The hustle and bustle meant that too many people were ‘not keeping a respectful distance’ and had ended up with a rather annoyed Mimic and some terrified women. Fedorath, for once, was amenable. ~So long as it is only a few minutes. I will still be keeping watch from here though.~ She shifted on her couch, sure that Hers knew exactly what she meant. He just rolled his eyes, grumbling about ‘silly wherry brained fiends.’
He did however stop to give her eye ridges a good scratch before he left, leaving her rumbling in pleasure. She stretched out on her couch as the boy faded from her sight and her eyelids shuttered in a procession, until all were closed except the top – these remained halfway open, keeping her alert to possible intruders. Making his way over to the kitchens, M’yran felt the familiar weight of Fedorath’s consciousness sharpening as she focussed on his thoughts and emotions. It was unsettling to say the least, but he no longer made the mistake of forcefully shutting her out. The last time, she had stormed her way through the weyr to find him, certain something would happen without her supervision. Not a pretty outcome to say the least, given her less than forgiving attitude to those who got in her way.
Once at his destination, he fluttered his long eyelashes and was able to talk one of the women into sacrificing a few of the redroots still stored away, a bottle of vinegar and some salt. Grabbing a pitcher of hot water take back with him, he had everything he needed. To save Fedorath’s anxiety over his absence, he took them all back to his room, ignoring the strange looks his burden attracted. Slipping back into the room he immediately felt Fedorath’s mental presence ease off. A smug look graced her face for some reason. Ignoring her, M’yran set everything down on the floor. He then grabbed a small box from under his cot, opening it to find his hair equipment in perfect order. He grabbed out a small pestle and began to mash the redroots in their bowl, adding salt as he went. Next he added the hot water to make a thick paste. The process was messy and soon his hands were stained red. Satisfied with the final consistency, he set it aside to cool down. The other items in his box were a pair of scissors and a short razor – these would need honing before he could use them, so he set about doing that. It was a relaxing task that took some time before he was satisfied.
Putting everything he needed in a basket, taking care not to spill the paste bowl, he motioned to Fedorath to follow. “The baths will be empty at this time of day, so you can come with me. Who knows, I may even tint your claws red” This produced an indignant hiss. ~If you so much as try, Mine, I’d be honoured to cut your hair for you~ She shook herself as she stood, sweet tones thinly veiling exactly what she thought of the notion. As there was a bathing area within the barracks itself they forewent donning Fedorath’s ‘armour’ and simply left the room as it was.
Arriving in the bathing area, the Mimic took herself off to one side, far enough away that she felt safe from the threat of becoming tinted like a stupid little Red, but close enough to Hers that she could stretch her neck out to reach him. The boy shook his head at her precise positioning. “I can still speckle you from that distance love, you might have to back up even further to be safe.” She snorted at this, but again, would not dignify a reply. Instead, she curled her head onto her paws and let herself drift into a dozy state. It was unlike her to be so docile, but M’yran had a feeling that the flight manoeuvres they had been practising the night before had actually taken a toll on her. He let it go, thankful to get some peace and quiet. Locating a mirror was easy enough, so he soon stripped to his briefs and got to spreading the redroot paste all over his hair, scrubbing it deep into his roots. He took particular care around his ears, knowing it would stain horrifically. In fact, it had already done so on his hands, having foregone any sort of protection. The effect was gory to say the least, as though he had stuck his hands in a bucket of meat and failed to rinse them off afterwards. Scrunching his hair one last time to ensure it was as even as it was going to get, the lad took himself to sit on the edge of the pool, let his feet dangle in the warm water. Fedorath had done the same with her tail, letting it swish back and forth lazily.
“So, what design were you thinking of for your mask?” The dye needed to set and the design did need sorting out, so now was as good a time as any to discuss it. Fedorath pondered for a moment, toying with this idea and that. ~I think perhaps something like this…~ she sent an image of a vine-like structure with leaves that came off the vines at regular intersections. It may have seemed to clash with the dragons personality, so feminine an image, but she was after all female and there were underlying motives. So innocent and pretty a designed could easily help lull others into a false sense of security, projecting the image of a sweet and calm creature. M’yran had to laugh, but agreed that it did indeed look beautiful. “You’l look even more stunning darling, no more ugly cape for you. We’ll talk with the master leatherworker to see what they can arrange for us.” M’yran smiled at the creature he was bonded to. For all the trouble they gave each other, there was definitely love there.
Fedorath rumbled happily, and even gave Hers a gentle nudge with the tip of her nose. ~You should probably wash that out now, it looks like it is starting to congeal~Gently patting the top of his head, M’yran found that she was right and cursed. It wasn’t supposed to dry out so quickly! Filling a pitcher with water and a splash of vinegar, he hurriedly began to scrub the dye away. Both wrinkled their noses at the smell of the vinegar solution, but M’yran put up with it – he wore by it making the colour stay longer. After several minutes of rinsing, the water was washing away tinged a very pale pink – close enough to clear that the boy was satisfied. He rubbed his hair with a cloth before returning to the mirror to examine the results.
Well, it would do. The roots were a slightly different shade of red, but not many would notice this. After fussing for a while, he decided it would do and retrieved his scissors. With careful precision, he cut the length of his fringe and the longer strands of hair, making sure it was completely even of both sides. He cut upwards into the bangs to thin them a little before discarded them in favour of the razor. Fedorath in turn took to preening herself, nibbling delicately at the skin at the base of her claws, weeding out any flecks of dirt that dared ingrain themselves onto her body.
Just as M’yran took the razor to a chunk of hair behind his ear, several other weyrlings ran into the bathing rooms. Not looking where they were going, one crashed into the freshly red-headed lad causing his hand to slip. Momentarily he was dazed, trying to process what had happened. Before anything registered, Fedorath jolted to her feet, hissing and flaring her wings, pushing the other weyrlings out of the way as she scrambled to Hers. She did not even hesitate to take chunks out of them as they deserved, concern for Hers overrode that now. The boys fled the instant she started making a racket, not wanting end up slashed to ribbons.
M’yran stood there confused, until his nerves sent signals to his brain screaming with pain. His shaking hands dropped the sharp blade. Fedorath screamed as he looked at his hands, and much brighter red than the dye stains trickled across his palms. In that instant, M’yran fell to his knees, overcome by light headedness at the sight of his own blood. He never had coped very well with that. Fedorath stretched her neck to catch his as he fell, blood from his scalp and ear dripping onto her as she lowered him to the ground, his consciousness escaping him as he passed out. ~FREMONTH, FOLKVARTH, WE NEED YOURS IN THE BATHING ROOMS NOW! Her mental voice was panicked and unsteady as it had never been until this point. She searched for M’yrans mind with hers, finding a thread of it and insinuating her own into it. She could not rouse him, but the fact that she could still enter his thoughts with relative ease was a little reassuring at the very least. ~BROTHERS, I NEED YOU TO HURRY!~ Underneath the panic she seethed. How often had she told Hers that they should all remain as a unit? This was but one reason to do so. And oh, by Faranth, somebody would pay when all was well again!
Yes, something needed to be done about this. Today.
Running through a mental list, M’yran surmised that he could probably put of any chores that needed doing for the hour it would take him to sort this monstrosity out. ~Fedorath I’m only going to the kitchens and I’ll be back in a matter of minutes. You should stay here, you’re getting too big now to be following my every footstep. Especially where the folk working there are concerned~ The last remark was coloured with exasperation as he remembered the last incident. The hustle and bustle meant that too many people were ‘not keeping a respectful distance’ and had ended up with a rather annoyed Mimic and some terrified women. Fedorath, for once, was amenable. ~So long as it is only a few minutes. I will still be keeping watch from here though.~ She shifted on her couch, sure that Hers knew exactly what she meant. He just rolled his eyes, grumbling about ‘silly wherry brained fiends.’
He did however stop to give her eye ridges a good scratch before he left, leaving her rumbling in pleasure. She stretched out on her couch as the boy faded from her sight and her eyelids shuttered in a procession, until all were closed except the top – these remained halfway open, keeping her alert to possible intruders. Making his way over to the kitchens, M’yran felt the familiar weight of Fedorath’s consciousness sharpening as she focussed on his thoughts and emotions. It was unsettling to say the least, but he no longer made the mistake of forcefully shutting her out. The last time, she had stormed her way through the weyr to find him, certain something would happen without her supervision. Not a pretty outcome to say the least, given her less than forgiving attitude to those who got in her way.
Once at his destination, he fluttered his long eyelashes and was able to talk one of the women into sacrificing a few of the redroots still stored away, a bottle of vinegar and some salt. Grabbing a pitcher of hot water take back with him, he had everything he needed. To save Fedorath’s anxiety over his absence, he took them all back to his room, ignoring the strange looks his burden attracted. Slipping back into the room he immediately felt Fedorath’s mental presence ease off. A smug look graced her face for some reason. Ignoring her, M’yran set everything down on the floor. He then grabbed a small box from under his cot, opening it to find his hair equipment in perfect order. He grabbed out a small pestle and began to mash the redroots in their bowl, adding salt as he went. Next he added the hot water to make a thick paste. The process was messy and soon his hands were stained red. Satisfied with the final consistency, he set it aside to cool down. The other items in his box were a pair of scissors and a short razor – these would need honing before he could use them, so he set about doing that. It was a relaxing task that took some time before he was satisfied.
Putting everything he needed in a basket, taking care not to spill the paste bowl, he motioned to Fedorath to follow. “The baths will be empty at this time of day, so you can come with me. Who knows, I may even tint your claws red” This produced an indignant hiss. ~If you so much as try, Mine, I’d be honoured to cut your hair for you~ She shook herself as she stood, sweet tones thinly veiling exactly what she thought of the notion. As there was a bathing area within the barracks itself they forewent donning Fedorath’s ‘armour’ and simply left the room as it was.
Arriving in the bathing area, the Mimic took herself off to one side, far enough away that she felt safe from the threat of becoming tinted like a stupid little Red, but close enough to Hers that she could stretch her neck out to reach him. The boy shook his head at her precise positioning. “I can still speckle you from that distance love, you might have to back up even further to be safe.” She snorted at this, but again, would not dignify a reply. Instead, she curled her head onto her paws and let herself drift into a dozy state. It was unlike her to be so docile, but M’yran had a feeling that the flight manoeuvres they had been practising the night before had actually taken a toll on her. He let it go, thankful to get some peace and quiet. Locating a mirror was easy enough, so he soon stripped to his briefs and got to spreading the redroot paste all over his hair, scrubbing it deep into his roots. He took particular care around his ears, knowing it would stain horrifically. In fact, it had already done so on his hands, having foregone any sort of protection. The effect was gory to say the least, as though he had stuck his hands in a bucket of meat and failed to rinse them off afterwards. Scrunching his hair one last time to ensure it was as even as it was going to get, the lad took himself to sit on the edge of the pool, let his feet dangle in the warm water. Fedorath had done the same with her tail, letting it swish back and forth lazily.
“So, what design were you thinking of for your mask?” The dye needed to set and the design did need sorting out, so now was as good a time as any to discuss it. Fedorath pondered for a moment, toying with this idea and that. ~I think perhaps something like this…~ she sent an image of a vine-like structure with leaves that came off the vines at regular intersections. It may have seemed to clash with the dragons personality, so feminine an image, but she was after all female and there were underlying motives. So innocent and pretty a designed could easily help lull others into a false sense of security, projecting the image of a sweet and calm creature. M’yran had to laugh, but agreed that it did indeed look beautiful. “You’l look even more stunning darling, no more ugly cape for you. We’ll talk with the master leatherworker to see what they can arrange for us.” M’yran smiled at the creature he was bonded to. For all the trouble they gave each other, there was definitely love there.
Fedorath rumbled happily, and even gave Hers a gentle nudge with the tip of her nose. ~You should probably wash that out now, it looks like it is starting to congeal~Gently patting the top of his head, M’yran found that she was right and cursed. It wasn’t supposed to dry out so quickly! Filling a pitcher with water and a splash of vinegar, he hurriedly began to scrub the dye away. Both wrinkled their noses at the smell of the vinegar solution, but M’yran put up with it – he wore by it making the colour stay longer. After several minutes of rinsing, the water was washing away tinged a very pale pink – close enough to clear that the boy was satisfied. He rubbed his hair with a cloth before returning to the mirror to examine the results.
Well, it would do. The roots were a slightly different shade of red, but not many would notice this. After fussing for a while, he decided it would do and retrieved his scissors. With careful precision, he cut the length of his fringe and the longer strands of hair, making sure it was completely even of both sides. He cut upwards into the bangs to thin them a little before discarded them in favour of the razor. Fedorath in turn took to preening herself, nibbling delicately at the skin at the base of her claws, weeding out any flecks of dirt that dared ingrain themselves onto her body.
Just as M’yran took the razor to a chunk of hair behind his ear, several other weyrlings ran into the bathing rooms. Not looking where they were going, one crashed into the freshly red-headed lad causing his hand to slip. Momentarily he was dazed, trying to process what had happened. Before anything registered, Fedorath jolted to her feet, hissing and flaring her wings, pushing the other weyrlings out of the way as she scrambled to Hers. She did not even hesitate to take chunks out of them as they deserved, concern for Hers overrode that now. The boys fled the instant she started making a racket, not wanting end up slashed to ribbons.
M’yran stood there confused, until his nerves sent signals to his brain screaming with pain. His shaking hands dropped the sharp blade. Fedorath screamed as he looked at his hands, and much brighter red than the dye stains trickled across his palms. In that instant, M’yran fell to his knees, overcome by light headedness at the sight of his own blood. He never had coped very well with that. Fedorath stretched her neck to catch his as he fell, blood from his scalp and ear dripping onto her as she lowered him to the ground, his consciousness escaping him as he passed out. ~FREMONTH, FOLKVARTH, WE NEED YOURS IN THE BATHING ROOMS NOW! Her mental voice was panicked and unsteady as it had never been until this point. She searched for M’yrans mind with hers, finding a thread of it and insinuating her own into it. She could not rouse him, but the fact that she could still enter his thoughts with relative ease was a little reassuring at the very least. ~BROTHERS, I NEED YOU TO HURRY!~ Underneath the panic she seethed. How often had she told Hers that they should all remain as a unit? This was but one reason to do so. And oh, by Faranth, somebody would pay when all was well again!
