Aivey's new pet rock
What: Aivey and E'sere share a moment mid-day. There is ego boosting involved.
Who: E'sere, Aivey
Where: Exile camp, Their Place
Throughout the second half of the day (just past lunch), Aivey has been absent from the encampment. She's found now, settled into a corner, a blanket half wrapped around her and one leg resting out before her. Her ankle is swollen and a lovely shade of dark purple. The bruise already spreads half way up the lower part of her leg, disappearing just below a pale white bandage. She is reading, or doing a pretty bad job of pretending to.
Having been working hard, E'sere takes his lunch break a little after the rest of the exiles, missing the noon crowd. He has a bowl of stew as he heads through camp, though one of the women he pauses to greet points over toward Aivey. E'sere looks, too, frowns, offers her a few more words before moving off, heading toward Aivey. He starts to offer an easy smile--then stops.
"Do?" Aivey asks, "I didn't do anything. How're you?" Setting aside the book she'd poached from his weyr earlier in the day, Aivey greets him with a frumpy smile, "Are you ready to go home, by any chance? I'd like to get out of the heat."
"Well, what happened, then?" E'sere amends his question with a pointed look at her ankle and no answer to her return question.
"That," Aivey relents, glancing at her ankle as he does, "Did you know that it's a bad idea to go walking on the beach? Apparently, some of those damn holes are still there." And while her tone is moderately rueful at having fallen into one, she doesn't look terribly embarrassed. Only annoyed.
Whatever sympathy and worry E'sere previously displayed vanishes in an instant, a slow smile fighting its way up. "You fell into one of Zoma's holes," he repeats, rather amused. "Can you walk? You're lucky you didn't break your silly neck, you know."
"Not really," Aivey confides, leaning forward to rest her elbows atop her knees, "I fell trying to scale the rocks up to our place. The whole hole story sounds better, though, and Zoma's a convenient excuse." She reaches down to push the book toward him, asking, "No one's asked yet, though, so I still have time to work on my story."
E'sere exhales a breath, just shaking his head. "What's wrong with the truth?" he asks. "I'd rather say I fell off a cliff than in a hole, anyway. It sounds more impressive, less... just plain stupid. Did you see a healer?" Brushing a hand through his hair, he glances back once, briefly, then back to Aivey. "Morelenth will be annoyed with you. He always hates it when you climb down. I suppose I have to carry you, then."
"Right, because climbing a cliff just shouts intelligent." Aivey retorts with a frown, "Morelenth will get over it, eventually. And if not, I'll have a chat with him. Help him see the right way of things. Now help me up... I think something crawled up my pants." Holding her hand out to him, she awaits his assistance, though makes a point of saying, "I can walk... you don't need to carry me."
E'sere smirks. "Should I fetch it out?" he asks, tilting his head and giving her pants a curious look. "And, perhaps you're right. It doesn't sound very smart, especially when one has a willing dragon to carry one up more easily." Though, he does lean over and offer her his hands to tug her easily back up. "
"If you keep talking like that, you're going to find an unwanted object shoved up your pants." Aivey smiles wide enough to show teeth before accepting his hand-up. She hops for a second, re-adjusting her weight to pull a majority of it from the bandaged one, "If you don't say anything to him, I doubt he'll even notice. Where /is/ he anyways?"
E'sere hovers one hand by Aivey's arm, ready to catch her if she does tumple over to one side. "He already knows," E'sere replies with a shrug. "Because I do. He's on his way." And so the dragon is, passing overhead, then gliding lower to land a few yards off, then amble closer.
Aivey's eyes widen for a moment, and there's a soft sound of dissent that never evolves into the curse she wants to give. Setting her jaw and giving him a look that just bodes ill, Aivey sets off toward the space Morelenth lands in. Forced to hobble, her speed isn't what she'd prefer. Idle chit-chat ensues. "How'd things go today?"
E'sere follows along behind, watching Aivey while Morelenth gives her that promised reproachful look, displeased and disappointed, or at least as much so as a dragon can contort his face. E'sere steps to his side to offer Aivey the usual hand up as he replies, "Reasonably well. The same as ever, really. And you--other than your big adventure?"
"Sometimes, he's worse than you," Aivey informs E'sere, glancing away from Morelenth to pin a displeased frown on the bronzerider, "Can't you like control him or something?" She accepts the hand up before answering the later question, "Wonderfully. I went looking for K'tric to bandage my ankle up, but I came across another healer first. He wasn't half bad looking, though when he offered to give me a full physical I decided it was time I left."
"I think it works the other way around, actually," drawls E'sere, undaunted as he helps Aivey up, then clambers up behind her and lets Morelenth take off, carrying them home. It's not until the dragon has landed again that, as he slides down and reaches back up to offer a hand again, he notes, "Is this someone I should be looking into, then?"
Aivey is not fond of flying. Nor is she fond of landing. Too happy to dismount and hobble away from Morelenth, she makes a straight line for the chair, depositing herself there and settling before providing a reply. "No, no. It's been taken care of. I think he meant well, though who knows with healers. Out of all the crafters, I think they're the least sane."
"Why is that?" E'sere answers as he moves to sit down at the chair's foot--no protest over who gets it today, at least. He moves to lean back against the side of it idly, tilting his head back so he can look up at Aivey. "You should elevate that, you know," he adds after a moment. "I believe that's what the healers usually recommend."
"That's why," Aivey says, jesturing vaugely in his direction, "They've always got these little tips and tricks that make stuff better. And they're just strange... I never liked them." She pauses for a brief moment, adding, "Most of them, at least."
"Really. You don't like people that make things better," E'sere replies drolly, quirking a brow as he peers up at Aivey. "I think that says more about you than them, Aivey dear. They /do/ know what they're talking about. Would you rather I kiss it and make it better?"
"I think... the healer said that'd make it worse," Aivey replies, glancing toward E'sere, "As a matter of fact - yes. He said those exact words: 'Whatever you do, for the love of Faranth, don't let E'sere kiss your ankle or we'll have to chop your leg off.'" She pulls a face, appropriately disappointed, "You can get me something to drink though. I'm parched."
"Bitch," E'sere offers, even as he pushes himself back to his feet--with an exaggerated show of effort, as though he were the injured one instead. He moves over to pick up the skin of water and bring it over, extending it to Aivey with a half-bow and a little flourish, smirking. "At your service, Lady."
"Asshole," is Aivey's unpreturbed reply as she accepts the skin and his mockery with a half-smile, "The only good out of this is that I at least get the rest of the day off. Guess that means you'll be pulling the slack."
"Mm. Means you'll be catching up when you're feeling better," E'sere notes as he moves to perch on a chair arm, sliding one arm along the back for support. "I'm certainly not pulling /your/ dead weight around. That's not why I'm in this relationship."
"I'm not dead," Aivey reminds him, pushing the skin back into his hands as she finishes drinking from it, "Not yet, at least. I figure that's a ways away still... hopefully I finish taking care of a few loose ends..." Trailing off, she reaches up to tug on his arm, seeking to pull one of his hands between her own, "It'll do you good to get a little extra work under your belt, you know. You're starting to look a little weak."
"It's a figure of speech," E'sere replies dryly, "and I do hope you're not planning how that's going to happen already." He arches a brow slightly as she pulls his hand down, and he leans over to prop his shoulder against the edge of the chair back. "I'll have you know," he tells her with mock indignance, "I've worked harder lately than I ever have, in my entire life. Look, I have calluses!"
"Mm," Aivey, in inspecting that hand, doesn't seem terribly impressed. "I've seen larger calluses - and I won't be telling you where because then I'll have more explaining to do," It's all meant to dishearten E'sere, surely, "Either way, you could use a little bulking up. I think you've actually grown /more/ girlish since we left." Drawing his hand up, she kisses his fingers; the affection likely intended to take away the sting of her mockery.
"More? /More/?" says E'sere, sounding outraged as he reaches to pull his hand away. "I'm tan, unshaven, dirty, and dressed in rags. And don't you forget this, either." He offers his right palm, displaying the still pink and half-healed scar forming there. "That is not girly." Sulk.
One eyebrow raises in an inelegant arch. Its soon followed by the other as Aivey clasps his right hand, drawing it down to press both of his together, "It's not girlish in the least, E'sere. I just... think it might benefit you /somewhat/ to... you know, work on your-" Her lips twitch as a wry smile forms around her words, "Appearance."
E'sere eyes Aivey. "What are you talking about?" he asks warily. "Because if you're wanting to cut me open again just for kicks--"
"No, no, no," Aivey assures E'sere promptly, "I'm talking about you getting a little more muscle. Have you seen some of the other men around here?" Sober and serious, she frees one of his hands and rubs the other, "I can't say I've seen a one with babysmooth skin, though... what do you do, put some kind of cream on your hands at night, after I've fallen asleep?"
"Well. I can't help it," E'sere answers on the subject of his weight, frowning and glancing away--it's another one of those sensitive subjects, apparently. "You might as well tell Morelenth to." Sniff.
"Now that you mention it.." Aivey, oblivious to the shitstorm that is /that/ topic, ventures forth into it with a tiny smile, "He could use a few more pounds himself."
Sliding off the edge of the chair, E'sere paces the few steps over to the bed to sit down on it. "I got accused, when we were weyrlings, of not feeding him enough," he retorts from there. "No one understands that's just the way he is. He can't help it, either."
"I-" Aivey makes another face, this time it's sincerely apologetic. "I was only kidding, E'sere. You know that I know very well you wouldn't skimp on anything where he's concerned. You take care of yours."
E'sere brushes at his hair, frowns, and finally nods once to Aivey. "I know," he agrees reluctantly. "I still hate hearing it. He's not... He doesn't look like a typical bronze."
"You're not a typical bronzerider. He matches you." Aivey says, matter-of-fact, "I like how he looks. I said it before. Out of all the bronzes at the 'Reaches..." Trailing off with another half smile, she reaches out with a hand, beckoning him back, "You shouldn't sulk. It's not very pretty."
"I'm not typical?" asks E'sere, glancing around at Aivey suspiciously. His brows knit, lips purse, but after a moment he answers her gesture to return, if reluctantly. "It's pretty when I do it," he notes, very sulkily indeed.
"Not everything you do is pretty." Aivey replies, dropping her head atop a closed fist while still watching him, "But yes. You're not and he's not and that's what's good about you two. I didn't like the rest of them at the 'Reaches. You were borderline."
"How am I not typical?" presses E'sere, as he drifts back over, less grudgingly, to Aivey in the chair. Narcissist that he is, Aivey has his attention now. "And yes, it is. Possibly /less/ pretty, but still. Have you /seen/ the way other people look?"
"No, I usually walk around with only thoughts of you dancing in my head," Aivey replies in a soft drawl, "How do you think I got hurt?" She straightens and eases out of the chair just long enough for E'sere to claim it, then drops into his lap, "You're not typical because you do things they don't do," Pause, "Like scowling because you think it makes you look pretty, or crying like a little girl when you get dirty."
"Mm. I'm surprised you don't get hurt more often, then," muses E'sere, with a quick smirk as he slides into the chair and lets Aivey settle across him. "I do not," he says, only marginally indignant at her description of him. "I don't cry. Or scowl, either. It makes frown lines, and those are unattractive. Distinguished, perhaps, if you're very old, but not /pretty/."
"Oh, well thank you for correcting me. I'll jot it down later so I don't forget." Aivey responds, "Though you do that too, and that's really not normal for a bronzerider." Because Aivey knows these sorts of things.
"How many bronzeriders do you know, Aivey dear?" asks E'sere then, tilting his head slightly.
"That's not a very fair question to ask, dearest," Aivey counters, her pleasantness gone.
"Isn't it, Aivey dear?" asks E'sere, his tone still light. "Why not?"
Aiming for dignified and dropping the insulted act, Aivey says, "I can't count and you know it. Now if you want /names/... that I can do."
"You /still/ haven't figured out numbers," tsks E'sere with a shake of his head. "Fine, names it is. I'll count for you."
"It's not like they're easy," Aivey replies, edging a knuckle toward his side - then, "There were the two bronzeriders - D'mgul and E'tran... I think that was what they called themselves, and then there's R'vain and D'ven - I know they're not the greatest but they're oh-so-special to me.... " She pauses, "G'thon /was/, though I don't suppose that counts, does it? There's the one who rides here even if I haven't really met him yet. But honestly, I figure once you've met one bronzerider, you've met them all."
"We'll call him half of one," E'sere says of Ganathon as he ticks the others off on his fingers. A shrug, then. "Except for me. I'm different. I suppose... Well. I was going to say you've no knowledge of normal for a bronzerider, but. The rest of them are, really, the same person, I suppose."
"How many?" Aivey asks, glancing once at his fingers before focusing more on him, "Those /are/ normal bronzeriders. All the girls at the hold use to make you guys out to be something special. I don't see it. I really don't."
E'sere says, "You named five, plus Ganathon, and of course there's me, too," says E'sere, smirking. "And... We are special. We're bronzeriders. We can be wingleaders, Weyrleaders, clutchsires... No one else can do that. Now, not all the bronze/riders/ are quite so special, but. Some of us are. And by some I mean me.""
"Right. You're quite humble too... I meant to mention that. In fact, it's one of your better traits," Aivey says, unable to not look amused, "I'll let you in on a little secret, though."
E'sere arches a brow, then asks, "What's that, dear?"
"You bronzeriders, every last one of you, bleed just as easily as any other person. Sometimes easier." Her lips curl into a tight, pleased smile as she jabs him in the chest.
"No more bleeding me," E'sere says, as sternly as he can imagine. "Save that for... the rest of them. I don't care who, just not me."
"Oh, I've got plans for them and it involves bleeding. A good deal of bleeding at that," Aivey confirms happily, "And I have no intention of letting you bleed so you'd /best/ get it through that head of yours that you're going to be patient until the time is right."
"I know, I know," says E'sere, with a melodramatic sigh. "Really, what do you think I'm going to do? I /have/ to wait, I know--I'm not a fool. I just... It's just going to be frustrating doing it."
"Trust me, I know. It's going to be a while yet, but it'll work out in the end." Kissing his cheek and patting it afterward, Aivey says, "You'll come straight home, right? I'm going to be bored out of my mind by then."
"Of course," agrees E'sere, nodding once. "I'll send Morelenth back to keep you company--he's very good at that, you know."
"Hm. I can imagine how much we have to talk about," Aivey says, unconvinced, "-I spent two days with him, remember? All he did was sulk and sleep."
"Well, talk to him," says E'sere with a shrug. "He listens well, at least, and he sulks almost as prettily as I do, you know." He smirks.
"I could always just talk to a rock. It's about the same thing as far as conversation goes," Aivey replies before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "You two really /do/ belong together."
E'sere eyes Aivey. "At least he makes faces back," he sniffs loftily then, though he doesn't completely squelch his smirk. "And grunts, sometimes. Well, be that way--I'm certainly not going to hang about as interpreter for you two."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." Aivey confirms, moving to stand, "What do you have for chores before you're through for the day anyways?"
"Gathering more seaweed," notes E'sere with a grimaces as he idly rubs his legs when Aivey
stands. He doesn't move to get up himself. "Though I figure I can leave a little early, considering I was working harder than any of the rest of them this morning."
Amused still, Aivey smiles. "Alright. I'll be here, unless I get /really/ bored and decide to head away with Morelenth somewhere."
"Mmhmm," says E'sere, standing then and straightening his clothes. "Have fun with that," he tells her as he leans down to offer a brief kiss, then head out to the ledge and his waiting dragon.
Aivey, either one to have the last word or one up, pulls E'sere back in for a -second- kiss right after the first. It's not brief, either. Drawing away and sinking back to the chair, Aivey says, "Have fun with gathering seaweed."
"Oh, I will," offers E'sere smirkily in parting, before he steps up onto Morelenth and heads down with him to the beach.
Who: E'sere, Aivey
Where: Exile camp, Their Place
Throughout the second half of the day (just past lunch), Aivey has been absent from the encampment. She's found now, settled into a corner, a blanket half wrapped around her and one leg resting out before her. Her ankle is swollen and a lovely shade of dark purple. The bruise already spreads half way up the lower part of her leg, disappearing just below a pale white bandage. She is reading, or doing a pretty bad job of pretending to.
Having been working hard, E'sere takes his lunch break a little after the rest of the exiles, missing the noon crowd. He has a bowl of stew as he heads through camp, though one of the women he pauses to greet points over toward Aivey. E'sere looks, too, frowns, offers her a few more words before moving off, heading toward Aivey. He starts to offer an easy smile--then stops.
"Do?" Aivey asks, "I didn't do anything. How're you?" Setting aside the book she'd poached from his weyr earlier in the day, Aivey greets him with a frumpy smile, "Are you ready to go home, by any chance? I'd like to get out of the heat."
"Well, what happened, then?" E'sere amends his question with a pointed look at her ankle and no answer to her return question.
"That," Aivey relents, glancing at her ankle as he does, "Did you know that it's a bad idea to go walking on the beach? Apparently, some of those damn holes are still there." And while her tone is moderately rueful at having fallen into one, she doesn't look terribly embarrassed. Only annoyed.
Whatever sympathy and worry E'sere previously displayed vanishes in an instant, a slow smile fighting its way up. "You fell into one of Zoma's holes," he repeats, rather amused. "Can you walk? You're lucky you didn't break your silly neck, you know."
"Not really," Aivey confides, leaning forward to rest her elbows atop her knees, "I fell trying to scale the rocks up to our place. The whole hole story sounds better, though, and Zoma's a convenient excuse." She reaches down to push the book toward him, asking, "No one's asked yet, though, so I still have time to work on my story."
E'sere exhales a breath, just shaking his head. "What's wrong with the truth?" he asks. "I'd rather say I fell off a cliff than in a hole, anyway. It sounds more impressive, less... just plain stupid. Did you see a healer?" Brushing a hand through his hair, he glances back once, briefly, then back to Aivey. "Morelenth will be annoyed with you. He always hates it when you climb down. I suppose I have to carry you, then."
"Right, because climbing a cliff just shouts intelligent." Aivey retorts with a frown, "Morelenth will get over it, eventually. And if not, I'll have a chat with him. Help him see the right way of things. Now help me up... I think something crawled up my pants." Holding her hand out to him, she awaits his assistance, though makes a point of saying, "I can walk... you don't need to carry me."
E'sere smirks. "Should I fetch it out?" he asks, tilting his head and giving her pants a curious look. "And, perhaps you're right. It doesn't sound very smart, especially when one has a willing dragon to carry one up more easily." Though, he does lean over and offer her his hands to tug her easily back up. "
"If you keep talking like that, you're going to find an unwanted object shoved up your pants." Aivey smiles wide enough to show teeth before accepting his hand-up. She hops for a second, re-adjusting her weight to pull a majority of it from the bandaged one, "If you don't say anything to him, I doubt he'll even notice. Where /is/ he anyways?"
E'sere hovers one hand by Aivey's arm, ready to catch her if she does tumple over to one side. "He already knows," E'sere replies with a shrug. "Because I do. He's on his way." And so the dragon is, passing overhead, then gliding lower to land a few yards off, then amble closer.
Aivey's eyes widen for a moment, and there's a soft sound of dissent that never evolves into the curse she wants to give. Setting her jaw and giving him a look that just bodes ill, Aivey sets off toward the space Morelenth lands in. Forced to hobble, her speed isn't what she'd prefer. Idle chit-chat ensues. "How'd things go today?"
E'sere follows along behind, watching Aivey while Morelenth gives her that promised reproachful look, displeased and disappointed, or at least as much so as a dragon can contort his face. E'sere steps to his side to offer Aivey the usual hand up as he replies, "Reasonably well. The same as ever, really. And you--other than your big adventure?"
"Sometimes, he's worse than you," Aivey informs E'sere, glancing away from Morelenth to pin a displeased frown on the bronzerider, "Can't you like control him or something?" She accepts the hand up before answering the later question, "Wonderfully. I went looking for K'tric to bandage my ankle up, but I came across another healer first. He wasn't half bad looking, though when he offered to give me a full physical I decided it was time I left."
"I think it works the other way around, actually," drawls E'sere, undaunted as he helps Aivey up, then clambers up behind her and lets Morelenth take off, carrying them home. It's not until the dragon has landed again that, as he slides down and reaches back up to offer a hand again, he notes, "Is this someone I should be looking into, then?"
Aivey is not fond of flying. Nor is she fond of landing. Too happy to dismount and hobble away from Morelenth, she makes a straight line for the chair, depositing herself there and settling before providing a reply. "No, no. It's been taken care of. I think he meant well, though who knows with healers. Out of all the crafters, I think they're the least sane."
"Why is that?" E'sere answers as he moves to sit down at the chair's foot--no protest over who gets it today, at least. He moves to lean back against the side of it idly, tilting his head back so he can look up at Aivey. "You should elevate that, you know," he adds after a moment. "I believe that's what the healers usually recommend."
"That's why," Aivey says, jesturing vaugely in his direction, "They've always got these little tips and tricks that make stuff better. And they're just strange... I never liked them." She pauses for a brief moment, adding, "Most of them, at least."
"Really. You don't like people that make things better," E'sere replies drolly, quirking a brow as he peers up at Aivey. "I think that says more about you than them, Aivey dear. They /do/ know what they're talking about. Would you rather I kiss it and make it better?"
"I think... the healer said that'd make it worse," Aivey replies, glancing toward E'sere, "As a matter of fact - yes. He said those exact words: 'Whatever you do, for the love of Faranth, don't let E'sere kiss your ankle or we'll have to chop your leg off.'" She pulls a face, appropriately disappointed, "You can get me something to drink though. I'm parched."
"Bitch," E'sere offers, even as he pushes himself back to his feet--with an exaggerated show of effort, as though he were the injured one instead. He moves over to pick up the skin of water and bring it over, extending it to Aivey with a half-bow and a little flourish, smirking. "At your service, Lady."
"Asshole," is Aivey's unpreturbed reply as she accepts the skin and his mockery with a half-smile, "The only good out of this is that I at least get the rest of the day off. Guess that means you'll be pulling the slack."
"Mm. Means you'll be catching up when you're feeling better," E'sere notes as he moves to perch on a chair arm, sliding one arm along the back for support. "I'm certainly not pulling /your/ dead weight around. That's not why I'm in this relationship."
"I'm not dead," Aivey reminds him, pushing the skin back into his hands as she finishes drinking from it, "Not yet, at least. I figure that's a ways away still... hopefully I finish taking care of a few loose ends..." Trailing off, she reaches up to tug on his arm, seeking to pull one of his hands between her own, "It'll do you good to get a little extra work under your belt, you know. You're starting to look a little weak."
"It's a figure of speech," E'sere replies dryly, "and I do hope you're not planning how that's going to happen already." He arches a brow slightly as she pulls his hand down, and he leans over to prop his shoulder against the edge of the chair back. "I'll have you know," he tells her with mock indignance, "I've worked harder lately than I ever have, in my entire life. Look, I have calluses!"
"Mm," Aivey, in inspecting that hand, doesn't seem terribly impressed. "I've seen larger calluses - and I won't be telling you where because then I'll have more explaining to do," It's all meant to dishearten E'sere, surely, "Either way, you could use a little bulking up. I think you've actually grown /more/ girlish since we left." Drawing his hand up, she kisses his fingers; the affection likely intended to take away the sting of her mockery.
"More? /More/?" says E'sere, sounding outraged as he reaches to pull his hand away. "I'm tan, unshaven, dirty, and dressed in rags. And don't you forget this, either." He offers his right palm, displaying the still pink and half-healed scar forming there. "That is not girly." Sulk.
One eyebrow raises in an inelegant arch. Its soon followed by the other as Aivey clasps his right hand, drawing it down to press both of his together, "It's not girlish in the least, E'sere. I just... think it might benefit you /somewhat/ to... you know, work on your-" Her lips twitch as a wry smile forms around her words, "Appearance."
E'sere eyes Aivey. "What are you talking about?" he asks warily. "Because if you're wanting to cut me open again just for kicks--"
"No, no, no," Aivey assures E'sere promptly, "I'm talking about you getting a little more muscle. Have you seen some of the other men around here?" Sober and serious, she frees one of his hands and rubs the other, "I can't say I've seen a one with babysmooth skin, though... what do you do, put some kind of cream on your hands at night, after I've fallen asleep?"
"Well. I can't help it," E'sere answers on the subject of his weight, frowning and glancing away--it's another one of those sensitive subjects, apparently. "You might as well tell Morelenth to." Sniff.
"Now that you mention it.." Aivey, oblivious to the shitstorm that is /that/ topic, ventures forth into it with a tiny smile, "He could use a few more pounds himself."
Sliding off the edge of the chair, E'sere paces the few steps over to the bed to sit down on it. "I got accused, when we were weyrlings, of not feeding him enough," he retorts from there. "No one understands that's just the way he is. He can't help it, either."
"I-" Aivey makes another face, this time it's sincerely apologetic. "I was only kidding, E'sere. You know that I know very well you wouldn't skimp on anything where he's concerned. You take care of yours."
E'sere brushes at his hair, frowns, and finally nods once to Aivey. "I know," he agrees reluctantly. "I still hate hearing it. He's not... He doesn't look like a typical bronze."
"You're not a typical bronzerider. He matches you." Aivey says, matter-of-fact, "I like how he looks. I said it before. Out of all the bronzes at the 'Reaches..." Trailing off with another half smile, she reaches out with a hand, beckoning him back, "You shouldn't sulk. It's not very pretty."
"I'm not typical?" asks E'sere, glancing around at Aivey suspiciously. His brows knit, lips purse, but after a moment he answers her gesture to return, if reluctantly. "It's pretty when I do it," he notes, very sulkily indeed.
"Not everything you do is pretty." Aivey replies, dropping her head atop a closed fist while still watching him, "But yes. You're not and he's not and that's what's good about you two. I didn't like the rest of them at the 'Reaches. You were borderline."
"How am I not typical?" presses E'sere, as he drifts back over, less grudgingly, to Aivey in the chair. Narcissist that he is, Aivey has his attention now. "And yes, it is. Possibly /less/ pretty, but still. Have you /seen/ the way other people look?"
"No, I usually walk around with only thoughts of you dancing in my head," Aivey replies in a soft drawl, "How do you think I got hurt?" She straightens and eases out of the chair just long enough for E'sere to claim it, then drops into his lap, "You're not typical because you do things they don't do," Pause, "Like scowling because you think it makes you look pretty, or crying like a little girl when you get dirty."
"Mm. I'm surprised you don't get hurt more often, then," muses E'sere, with a quick smirk as he slides into the chair and lets Aivey settle across him. "I do not," he says, only marginally indignant at her description of him. "I don't cry. Or scowl, either. It makes frown lines, and those are unattractive. Distinguished, perhaps, if you're very old, but not /pretty/."
"Oh, well thank you for correcting me. I'll jot it down later so I don't forget." Aivey responds, "Though you do that too, and that's really not normal for a bronzerider." Because Aivey knows these sorts of things.
"How many bronzeriders do you know, Aivey dear?" asks E'sere then, tilting his head slightly.
"That's not a very fair question to ask, dearest," Aivey counters, her pleasantness gone.
"Isn't it, Aivey dear?" asks E'sere, his tone still light. "Why not?"
Aiming for dignified and dropping the insulted act, Aivey says, "I can't count and you know it. Now if you want /names/... that I can do."
"You /still/ haven't figured out numbers," tsks E'sere with a shake of his head. "Fine, names it is. I'll count for you."
"It's not like they're easy," Aivey replies, edging a knuckle toward his side - then, "There were the two bronzeriders - D'mgul and E'tran... I think that was what they called themselves, and then there's R'vain and D'ven - I know they're not the greatest but they're oh-so-special to me.... " She pauses, "G'thon /was/, though I don't suppose that counts, does it? There's the one who rides here even if I haven't really met him yet. But honestly, I figure once you've met one bronzerider, you've met them all."
"We'll call him half of one," E'sere says of Ganathon as he ticks the others off on his fingers. A shrug, then. "Except for me. I'm different. I suppose... Well. I was going to say you've no knowledge of normal for a bronzerider, but. The rest of them are, really, the same person, I suppose."
"How many?" Aivey asks, glancing once at his fingers before focusing more on him, "Those /are/ normal bronzeriders. All the girls at the hold use to make you guys out to be something special. I don't see it. I really don't."
E'sere says, "You named five, plus Ganathon, and of course there's me, too," says E'sere, smirking. "And... We are special. We're bronzeriders. We can be wingleaders, Weyrleaders, clutchsires... No one else can do that. Now, not all the bronze/riders/ are quite so special, but. Some of us are. And by some I mean me.""
"Right. You're quite humble too... I meant to mention that. In fact, it's one of your better traits," Aivey says, unable to not look amused, "I'll let you in on a little secret, though."
E'sere arches a brow, then asks, "What's that, dear?"
"You bronzeriders, every last one of you, bleed just as easily as any other person. Sometimes easier." Her lips curl into a tight, pleased smile as she jabs him in the chest.
"No more bleeding me," E'sere says, as sternly as he can imagine. "Save that for... the rest of them. I don't care who, just not me."
"Oh, I've got plans for them and it involves bleeding. A good deal of bleeding at that," Aivey confirms happily, "And I have no intention of letting you bleed so you'd /best/ get it through that head of yours that you're going to be patient until the time is right."
"I know, I know," says E'sere, with a melodramatic sigh. "Really, what do you think I'm going to do? I /have/ to wait, I know--I'm not a fool. I just... It's just going to be frustrating doing it."
"Trust me, I know. It's going to be a while yet, but it'll work out in the end." Kissing his cheek and patting it afterward, Aivey says, "You'll come straight home, right? I'm going to be bored out of my mind by then."
"Of course," agrees E'sere, nodding once. "I'll send Morelenth back to keep you company--he's very good at that, you know."
"Hm. I can imagine how much we have to talk about," Aivey says, unconvinced, "-I spent two days with him, remember? All he did was sulk and sleep."
"Well, talk to him," says E'sere with a shrug. "He listens well, at least, and he sulks almost as prettily as I do, you know." He smirks.
"I could always just talk to a rock. It's about the same thing as far as conversation goes," Aivey replies before rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "You two really /do/ belong together."
E'sere eyes Aivey. "At least he makes faces back," he sniffs loftily then, though he doesn't completely squelch his smirk. "And grunts, sometimes. Well, be that way--I'm certainly not going to hang about as interpreter for you two."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." Aivey confirms, moving to stand, "What do you have for chores before you're through for the day anyways?"
"Gathering more seaweed," notes E'sere with a grimaces as he idly rubs his legs when Aivey
stands. He doesn't move to get up himself. "Though I figure I can leave a little early, considering I was working harder than any of the rest of them this morning."
Amused still, Aivey smiles. "Alright. I'll be here, unless I get /really/ bored and decide to head away with Morelenth somewhere."
"Mmhmm," says E'sere, standing then and straightening his clothes. "Have fun with that," he tells her as he leans down to offer a brief kiss, then head out to the ledge and his waiting dragon.
Aivey, either one to have the last word or one up, pulls E'sere back in for a -second- kiss right after the first. It's not brief, either. Drawing away and sinking back to the chair, Aivey says, "Have fun with gathering seaweed."
"Oh, I will," offers E'sere smirkily in parting, before he steps up onto Morelenth and heads down with him to the beach.