Vanity Does Not Pay [Onyx]

[pandoraMisfit]

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!

[Onyxaeon]

Until the day I die,
I'll spill my heart for you.
As years go by, I race the clock with you.
But if you die right now, you know that I die too.
You remind me of the times when I knew who I was.

`'*'`R'taik`'&'`Fremonth`'*'`[/center][/color]


Fremonth was rather absentmindedly fiddling with a stray stone that laid in front of his weyr couch with one large claw. The boredom that occupied the see-through sport was apparent but, at the same time, contentment plague his thoughts. Enough so that, for the while, his rider did not feel the need to intervene and to occupy his dragon with thoughts or words. It was rare to see the dragon not pondering over or plotting something. Apparently the same peace that had visited Fedorath had filtered over their mental link, soothing the black outlined beast and allowing him to let his guard down. His was tending the Mimic's head gear on top of his bed, legs crossed Indian-style as R'taik stitched the leather back together in one place. Fremonth had snagged the material on his brother's claws the previous night during an aerial maneuver where the trio was attempting to do as instructed by the Weyrling Master for a change who had come to congratulate them on their progress. At that time, R'taik was glad they had not been part of the larger group of weyrlings; had it been any other dragon to accidentally strike the Onyx Mimic...

But those thoughts were cast aside quickly, R'taik not wanting to disturb Fremonth with troubling maybes that he did not in anyway care to know the scenario that would have happened had they been with the rest of the group. of course nothing was missed by the Mimic who monitored the thoughts of His like a starved canine. I would have taken the eye that they had tried to claw from myself, Mine. My plans do not include myself with an impairment in the picture, so adjustments would have to have been made accordingly and punishment given. As it stands, Folkvarth was not at fault-his limbs have grown quickly and he is as unaccustomed to their quick growth as I am with the increasing expansiveness of my wings. Of course the Mimic would find nothing his fellow see-through siblings did as a fault; it was an accident if done by them, an assault if done by anyone else. Regardless, the youth flashed a grin to his bonded, a noise of triumph escaping his lips as he offered up the head gear to the light for the Mimic's inspection. He had finished his work while Fremonth had been explaining he distinct differences between one of his siblings injuring him accidentally and one of the others actually attempting to injure him.

Fremonth eyed the dark, stained leather with mild pride. His had done well to engineer a design which drastically reduced the burning from Rukbat and afforded the Mimics the ability to fly within the horus of the day. Despite the fact Fedorath had her objections to such a "waste of fine beast flesh", she had at least conceded it was better than being coated with salve every time she so much as stepped out onto her ledge. Even Folkvarth had grown accustomed to the material, though he found great disdain in His choosing to adorn the material with his and her name along with a variety of other designs. The Emerald Mimic was fine with it remaining plain but, no, His just had to go and dye it to match the sections of his hide which were green.

Fremonth lifted his head before raising himself up from his couch, wandering closer to His to offer the material with more of his attention that he felt it deserved. It is better than before, Mine; you have done well. I believe I shall wear it out within the Weyr now in fact to show it off. I must admit I do like the looks I get from those around for it.-They use the mark to identify me, and I know it makes them shudder. R'taik shook his head simply, a roll of his eyes for his dragon's pride and vanity. He did not object, however, merely complied with latching the black leather straps into place to allow both sections of the dragon mask to rest comfortably in place so that, if Fremonth chose to yawn or snarl at something in the near future, he might do so easily. R'taik had only finished dusting off a stray bit of dirt from a spot above his dragon's eye ridge before a dark, foreboding malice spread through the rider's body.

The hatred was not his own, he knew instantly, but a deep internal seething from within his bonded. Something had disturbed him, his claws digging into the ground of the weyr and creating furrows as Fedorath's frantic thoughts passed over his mind in a blaze. He had seen the flashes the weyrlings as they had entered the baths, had watched their stupidity and seen the blood smear across the floor as they departed in fear. The very same sensation which washed over R'taik now as his dragon pulled him roughly to his feet before the Mimic shoved his way about the weyr, looking for something. He indiscriminately tore through his rider's belongings, R'taik already heading for the door as Fremonth informed him that they were needed in the baths. That Fedorath's was injured and unconscious. "We need to get a healer to him. I'll go-"

NO! YOU WILL STAY. Right here with me. The violence with which Fremonth spoke gave R'taik pause, the young man halting in the doorway as his dragon pulled a small bag that had been hidden away in a now destroyed trunk. It was his healer bag, one his master had given him before R'taik had decided to pursue another course in his life. WE will go to Hers. WE will fix OUR own. Understood? R'taik considered the implications of this decision as he and his dragon wound their way through the weyrs down into the bathing pools, Fremonth roughly knocking aside anyone who dared to get in his way as he called to his sister. He had been forced to agree with his dragon before they could leave the weyr and, not knowing the extent of M'ryan's injuries...Well, it had been best to go along with Fremonth's wishes before M'yran really needed help. At least he had had training on the matter and the other Mimicrider would not be getting shoddy help.

We are here, Fedorath! Mine will aid Yours, and Folkvarth guards the main entryway lest more ignorant fools trample in here. He peered down to her fallen Mine, eying the blood on the stone floor and the extent of the injuries. He turned then, not offering a croon to his sister as a dragon might normally do but instead offering something better, something he knew she would cherish with all the malice she harbored in her heart. You remember them, Fedorath. Mark their hides and their features; burn them into your brain. There will be blood.

In the meantime R'taik had settled down to cradle M'ryan's head, eyeing the wound that had been inflicted. It was not too bad, all things considered, but he might need stitches, something which the weyrling and former healer in training did not have in his possession but that he felt he could acquire easily enough. A hand reached back to gather up a towel that had been dropped by one of the other weyrlings, R'taik pressing it firmly against the sliced ear tip and section of flesh behind that ear. Best to promote clotting while he worked to reassure Fedorath that Hers was fine and not in any danger of dying or anything even close to the sort.

"Fedorath, M'yran will be fine. It only looks bad because it's a head wound; they tend to bleed a lot regardless if it's a serious gash or a nick. Right now I need you to coax a firelizard, the stupider the better, into getting into the infirmary and stealing some things for me. I don't have anything on me I could use to stich Yours up."


ooc: Fremonth's
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Fedorath's? Minus the vines you intend to add and the gold that's there now.
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[pandoraMisfit]

If she had been a cat, her fur would have been standing completely on end. As it was, Fedorath kept a close watch on hers with one eye, the door with the other, her claws working at the floor in an agitated fashion. No others had yet entered the bathing area. Her thoughts roiled as she stood her guard. Should any enter who were not her brothers and Theirs, well by the ichor in her veins she would rip them apart. Her blood boiled with the thought of it. She would pace, but was loathe to leave the side of her unconscious rider. For now, she made do with tearing the flooring to pieces where it lay underneath her claws.

She felt her brother before she heard him, felt her anger simmering across her connection to him, burning hot enough to rival her own. She noted a slight underlying irritation, directed at the hesitance His had shown. It mattered not. Not now at least. She remained stoically in place as Fremonth and R’taik entered, her muscles in her legs coiled to spring should it be any other. Her mind was not a sharp as it should be, judgement clouded by her anger, hatred and fear. Yes, fear. It was unknown to her, and she detested it with every fibre of her being. It had no place and yet lingered within her like an incipient snake, refusing to budge. Such a small wound was not life threatening, but the fact that it had happened was reason enough to cause the alarm. It would never be allowed to happen again. The appearance of the Mimic pair allowed her to relax marginally, her black tainted brothers assurance that Folkvarth stood guard all the more so. She swung her neck around to give M’yran her undivided attention. He had not moved since losing consciousness, and his breathing was light and fast. R’taik approached and she stepped back. Only half a step but enough to allow room for an examination.

You remember them, Fedorath. Mark their hides and their features; burn them into your brain. There will be blood. Fremonth’s words hastened her heart beat, a growl wrenching itself from her throat. There will be blood indeed. Blood to feast on, blood to bathe in, blood to paint the Weyr red! I mark them and claim them as our own, we three shall see that they do not escape the claws of justice. The tone of her words became more impassioned with each one uttered, as did her restless clawing at the ground. All, the while, her eyes did not leave Hers, not even to greet her brother. Though revenge is a dish that is best served NOW, I would let them linger a while, let them believe that retribution shall not follow them. They will be false in their notions of safety and they will know, when the time comes, what it means to cross us. The thoughts took hold of her, chasing away the fear and replacing it with malevolent glee. She relented in her furrowing of the floor, the shiver passing through her body no longer cold and sickening, but something of a warmer nature. Her mood, if not completely, was at least somewhat restored at the promise just made.

M’yran though, still had not roused from his faint. Not so much as a fevered murmur had escaped his lips. She regarded him as R’taik stemmed the flow of blood from his wounds. She was sorely tempted to delve into his mind, draw him from the depths of whatever half-dream held him, but the healer boys’ voice pricked her ears before she could make the decision. She swung her head to glance at Fremonth, before addressing the boy himself. In essence he offered her platitudes, words that would likely soothe lesser beings, but served only to make her wrinkle her nose slightly. Now that her panic had abated, she was able to see things more clearly. Of course M’yran was going to be alright, but she conceded to dip her head in acknowledgement.

The plan was simple enough, and she glimpsed from his mind the exact items that he required. Oh, I shall have no trouble finding such a creature as you describe, they are all stupid to one degree or another. With that, she looked up to the ceiling and the high windows therein. The lizards that usually lazed there enjoying the steam had all fled when she had bellowed to the heavens. There were a few however, now that the noise had abated, that were poking their noses back in. The nasty little things were too nosey for their own good, she decided and muffled a snort. Cocking her head, she let out a sweet trill, a sound such that one would never expect to pass her lips. This perked a couple of the intruders up, their interest piqued. Someone wanted to sing to them? Joy of joys! A little green, a young brown and a slightly chubby blue chirped back, daring to come a little further into the room. Sweet things, I am so very sorry I scared you away earlier! I would have you return, enjoy the warmth down here with me. They all flew in at her reassurances, though one more warily than the others. The green seemed to be hesitant. Oh do please come join me! I intend to bring down a juicy fat wherry later on for my meal, I would so love to share it with you. You see, I never eat the whole thing, I would burst my hide! Here she preened a little, mocking air-headed vanity. It was working on the little fat one, but the green seemed to be holding her ground, taking in a good eyeful of the Mimic below. She squeaked before winking between, her alarm sending the brown zipping back out of the window, to peer worriedly in. Evidently, that one had met with the morsel she had been playing with weeks earlier.

The blue however, was drawn in by the promise of a free meal, his eyes wheeling contented colours. Stupid, indeed. Fedorath huffed a little as she settled on her front paw. Putting her nose to meet the little things, she sent promises of a meal, if only he would help her! The blue chirped, inquisitive. He had not expected to be asked to do anything, but if it meant wherry meat, he do it. He crooned lovingly at her, as if serenading her beauty. It was all Fedorath could do to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She met the slow mind of the flit with her own, and gently yet firmly placed the image of the suture kit than R’taik needed. Encouraging croons dripped from her maw as he took flight and blinked between. As soon as he left, she met her brother’s gaze. Well that was even easier than expected. That one is such a dimglow that I’m sure he’ll even be along later to claim his prized meat. Ah well, a light snack before dinner won’t ruin our appetite. She gave the draconic equivalent of a chuckle, settling herself closer to her brother. She nestled into his side as they waited for the blue to return.

It was only a few minutes before a small packaged landed on the floor not far from the still unconscious M’yran and his carer. The obnoxious blue even flew back over to Fedorath to nuzzle up to her cheek, broadcasting his happiness at a job well done. She let him land on her shoulder, pointedly ignoring him. Not that he cared, he had done what he had been asked! He would be getting food later! Fedorath just turned her cold watch to Hers. Would you suggest rousing him, or keeping him under for this? Given this particular squeamishness over blood, I would suggest the latter but it is in your hands. She would comply with whichever command was given, but in was evident in her tone that she was anxious to redeem her full mental connection with Hers.

[Onyxaeon]

ooc: Sorry this is gonna be short. >.> Such a long day and my brain is so tired from stress.

bic:Patience I realize is hard, dear one, but necessary for the while. There will come a time, a perfect one, to exact your well deserved revenge and to delight in their pain, to hear them cry out and to take blood for blood. For now trouble yourself not with thoughts of the fools who do not deserve the grace of the dirt beneath your claws much less your thoughts. Yours is of more importance, and he will need your thoughts here and now for the time being. One wing extended, the tips of the thin membranes brushing lightly against the other Mimic' hide as a form of reassurance. That said, you will have the plotting for this event. Lead me and I shall follow your vengeful wishes to the tee. I have no doubt Folkvarth will delight in aiding your revenge as well. He turned to regard his sibling then, seeming pleased that she was contented with this offering before she was asked by His to coax a firelizard to retrieve a kit for his work. She was quick, her tongue skilled in its manipulations of the stupid beast, and it blinked between to fetch her desired kit with but the simplest of promises of food which would no doubt not be given. His suspicions were confirmed when she spoke again, and the Mimic could only rumble in response as the beast returned, dropping the needed supplies before His and settling upon the shoulder of his sister. He eyed the flit with disdain, contemplating her offer to aid in ripping it apart but thinking better of the matter. He had a feline only a candlemark earlier that had attempted to disrupt the peace and quiet of his weyr with its incessant mewling.

R'taik had taken to shifting ever so slightly with M'ryan's head cradled in his lap, leaning carefully over him to dip his hands in the warm waters to wash off any debris that would otherwise get into the lad's head wound. With this precaution taken, he set to removing his needed equipment from its case and his hands were quick to locate the wound and begin the process of stitching him up. First the ear which would be the hardest part and the most likely to cause problems if M'ryan was awake as opposed to remaining unconscious.

"If you could wait to rouse him until I at least have his ear fixed up, then he should be fine to sit still while I work on his head. This part is just so delicate I don't want to risk it being made worse by him squirming accidentally."

[pandoraMisfit]

Shifting closer into her brothers touch, Fedorath was much heartened. Oh, she would plot and she would plan. And they three would wreak havoc upon those who dared cause injury to Hers. Of course Fremonth was right though, now was not the time for that. She nodded her acquiescence at the boy’s words when he suggested that M’yran stay unconscious for the time being. The movement dislodged the fire lizard who chirped a little at the disturbance. The Mimic flicked her tail towards him, causing him to soar back up to the rafters. No matter, he would be a welcome snack later. She rumbled at the thought of picking him apart as she had not had chance to do to the other on the beach those moons ago.

M’yran however, did not seem to be in the staying unconscious mood. The first few stitches in his ear were enough to prick his consciousness, wherever it had been hiding. It was long before his eyelids were fluttering as he struggled to come back up to reality, arms waving this way and that, knocking the needle out of R’taik’s hand.

Fedorath would have startled at this if it were not for her brothers close presence. Instead, she firmly asserted herself into M’yran’s mind. She forced her way through the fog, her presence becoming all encompassing in his thoughts. M’yran mine, listen to my voice. Back to your dreams a little while, R’taik is not causing you any harm, indeed quite the opposite, he is fixing it. M’yran stilled, his breath evening out as the Mimic insinuated herself through his being. His confusion was evident, but he settled a little. What is happening? There was blood and then I don’t remember… His mental voice trailed off. Hush. We will fill you in when you wake. Now do as I ask and return to the realm of slumber. She was putting a lot of effort into keeping the irritation from her tone. He was resisting her efforts and attempting to remain awake, his mind becoming less clouded with every passing second.

She grumbled audibly at this. Listen to me, Mine. You are hurt. Stop fighting me, you will damage yourself more. You have already jarred R’taik’s hand, do you wish more harm to befall you? No? Well then, listen and do as I say. The dazed redhead finally fell completely still at that. What am I to do, lay here like a sleeping fool? He was certainly growing bolder as his mind came back to him and it served only to irritate Fedorath even more. She dropped all semblance of nicety when she next bespoke him. Yes you will lay there like a fool. You would dance around the bowl naked if I wished it. And now you will finally do as I say and Go. Back. To. Sleep. With the last she forcefully pushed his mind back into the place it had just returned from. She was cruel in doing so and he would be boorish when he woke up, but it was not of her concern at this time. For now, she erected mental walls to keep him there. They were flimsy, enough that she could break them down at a whim, but enough to keep his mind from his body and allow R’taik to work.

Coming back to herself she snorted. Well that was more trouble than I expected. He shouldn’t be able to resist me so. Now she addressed R’taik once more. You can expect no more trouble out of him. When you desire him woken, I will know it and he will come back to himself. If he is going to cause such as nuisance with himself, I will support him while you tend is head if it will make it any easier. She rose and moved closer, ready to be of assistance should it be needed. Oh yes, M’yran was going to be fuming when he awoke, but his rage would never dream of matching hers. She would have to work on beating the moodiness out of the boy, she decided – it was one of his less desirable traits and all of them suffered when he was sulking.