(Fic) Drabble - Coddled Brats
Iruka’s stomach roiled, and had to swallow the sharp bitter bile in the back of his throat. Arath was terrified. She was approaching the age of first flight, she knew, he knew, everyone knew, because that’s what they SAID. And the queen of Arath’s clutch had flown just two months prior, or so they said in the next Weyr.
Arath had spoken to the other older dragons, and listened in on the briefings the weyr-lings had been given, and she did not want to be in that position, unable to control herself, subject to urges she didn’t understand or want or crave. And hunted down by so many males…
Stop, Iruka told himself. He was making it worse. He tried to shut off his own anxiety from Arath, try and spare her that, at least.
He had a choice, they said in the briefings. He could…
But when he walked the halls of the Weyr, listening and watching, every man wearing a Rider’s knot was a potential mate, and every look they gave him was speculative, and he woke up this morning sick with nerves. He had never felt so grateful for having a room to his own, so that no one could mock him for his childish weakness for having to throw up in a basin.
He sat with the other greenriders today. He couldn’t stand to try and fight for a seat with Kotetsu and Izumo - they were a popular duo, and while they never seemed to mind the bevy of friends surrounding them like a blockade, today Iruka couldn’t even stand the thought of listening to the constant chatter. Lately, since one of the older bronzeriders, Hyuuga Hiashi, had casually mentioned that Arath seemed to be past the size of a mature green, Iruka’d been getting looks from the boys in his year.
Looks and comments.
“How do you think he’ll take it? Fight like a cat in the sack?” That was greeted with raucous laughter from the table behind Iruka’s, and he tried not to cringe, even as he felt the heat of gazes from the sniggering boys behind him.
“Hey,” said the rider next to him, leaning over to clasp his shoulder tightly. “It’s okay. They’re young; they say crap like that all the time.”
Iruka glanced up to Yamato’s kind dark eyes and managed to smile tremulously. “T-thanks,” he started.
“Don’t fucking coddle him,” the man opposite Yamato snapped. “Brats have to learn one day. They’d already sent off the older blues and browns, and the bronzes are on ‘exchange’.” Ebisu snorted, shoving his shades up his nose. “Brats these days. We didn’t have separate rooms till AFTER the first mating flight.”
“’Bisu…” Yamato sighed.
“But they…” Iruka said tentatively.
“No fucking buts. They started the tradition of moving you little shits out two months after the Impression because the whole bang lot of you started whinging. And now,” Ebisu stabbed his knife into the meat, the clack of metal a vicious counter-point to his words, “they send the older riders away, out of deference for you poor children’s sensibilities.”
“Ebisu, stop it. You’re not helping,” said someone on Yamato’s other side, his voice soft enough that he didn’t catch who it was.
“Damn if he should!” another older greenrider, Aoba, growled from two seats down Ebisu’s left. “Older riders are more experienced! They cut the flights shorter, and there’re less injuries, of both kinds!” There were nods around the table, some emphatic and others reluctant.
“Still,” Yamato tried to say, “The young ones would be scared…”
“Injuries…?” Iruka squeaked.
Aoba snorted. “Fuck. Two youngsters, trying to scramble around, of course someone is going to get hurt.” He pursed his lips. “And I’m not just saying the dragons either.”
Even Yamato had to agree with that one. “None of the young kids’d think of pre-prep,” he said, “someone should think of telling…”
“Yeah right,” Ebisu snorted. “Like anyone’d listen to US greenriders? We lobbied for the older ones to stay. We’re not even asking for someone from Jiraiya’s generation. Rin’s group, say. Any of them. But fuck, they’re sending off Genma, Raidou, Kakashi…” Ebisu ticked the names off his hand, folding down his fingers sharply like they’d been sliced off.
“Us silly greenriders,” Aoba continued mockingly, “We just think with our gonads, is what. So of course the bronzeriders know better how to deal with the youngsters.”
“And they want the new bronzes to get as much practise in flying as possible,” Ebisu added grimly. “Coddling the brats, coddling them ALL.” The clay plate clunked as his knife stabbed down, and the sauce oozed out of the meat-steak like dark drying blood.
Iruka had to excuse himself.
* * *
“Arath?” Iruka called softly, sitting on the ledge. Arath’s large head lifted up, just below his feet, and he pushed off, landing gently and started climbing down her neck. “How’re you feeling?”
Terrified, she said honestly. I heard. Her eyes were green-orange with anxiety, with the slightest hint of red mixed in.
“It’ll be okay,” Iruka said, swallowing, patting her neck, settling against her shoulder. She could feel his lie, but didn’t try to contradict him.
Zeyth said it’d fine, she said, obviously trying to pretend, like Iruka was.
“He just left, didn’t he?” Iruka chewed on his lip. Genma was one of the few brownriders who hadn’t looked funny at Iruka after that rumour about Arath spread through the Weyr. Perhaps it was because he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to fly her, but to Iruka, he had not seemed resentful, but genuinely concerned for Iruka.
And Arath had once said that she might not have minded if Zeyth did fly her.
But Genma was gone; Iruka’d heard them - Genma’s whole wing - leave just an hour ago. They were the last wing to leave.
Now the only male dragons left were all from Arath’s clutch and the clutch before hers. There were even some of the older bronzes in from the neighbouring Weyrs, tall, tanned, reculsives, with strange red markings on their faces, and they were ALL here to try and fly the next few greens that rose.
I… Arath started, then went still.
“Arath?” Iruka asked, looking up at her in concern, then in alarm, as her eyes started to swirl red, slowly consuming the green. “Arath?”
Was it…?
Oh no, he wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t… he had to be back in his room before… but…
Iruka, I… She threw her head back, keening sharply and it was only because Iruka’d played with her so often that the he caught himself from rough tumble off her shoulder to the almost rocky ground.
“Arath!”
“Get in, idiot!” Aoba was there, suddenly, dragging him in by the shoulders, cursing as the draft from Arath’s wings buffeted them, and Iruka stumbled.
“But Arath…!”
Aoba growled and yanked Iruka up onto his shoulders, and started running towards the hewn steps.
“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Aoba snarled, “Weren’t you listening to the briefings at all? Don’t fucking leave the Weyr when she’s that close!”
“But Sarutobi said we’d have a week at least…!” Iruka started, then stiffened, keening.
And then he could feel Arath’s fear. All of it, a petrifying terror, dark swirling cold morass of gripping vacuum, tight and choking, and he was shaking in fright, all but clinging to anything that he could hold on to.
All around him/her were so many. So big. Blue, brown, bronze, blue, bronze, blue, brown, bluebrownbronze till the shapes ran together into a huge blur of wings and teeth and sharp cries, and Arath/Iruka had to run. Run. Leave, flap HARD and lift off and scream into the sky.
“Keep away!” Iruka thrashed, feeling hands/claws on his arms/tail and he shoved away, seeing without seeing, heart in his mouth and just get free.
Arath/Iruka’s wings slipped through the sky, almost easily, without friction, without purchase, and he/she wanted so badly to be running on rock, really, it was easier to gauge distance, and he/she’d never been that quick a flyer, too big for her colour, too clumsy and -
Claws! On his/her wing! Dragging her/him down and Iruka yelled, lashing out as Arath kicked back scratching something, and someone roared, in anger, in pain, and Iruka got shoved against hard rock, momentarily bringing him back to himself, and the terror was STILL there, still dark and suffocating.
“Fuck! Get them - shit, shit, YAMATO! Grab Iruka and take him to his room, fuck, we don’t want him BLUNDGEONED outside on damn ROCK!”
Words didn’t make anymore sense. There were teeth, claws, hands, tails, and too many shadows, and Arath/Iruka fought, screamed defiance and clawed to freedom, clear sky and breathing room and kept going.
“Damn brats!”
Arath/Iruka had managed to dodge, and were now streaking to clear safety, but even then, her/his heart was still in his/her throat, pumping raw adrenaline, enough that she/he could TASTE it and there! He/she wheeled out of the way, still heading up, spiralling up and further and crying out in shock as something grazed along his/her forearm.
“Prep him! For the love of - too close, too fucking close, is she going to get caught now?”
“He doesn’t have lube…!”
“Damn you, Yamato! Here, shit, shit, take THAT you little brat! Prep him right now, white-haired brat is getting too close!”
And then something sharp and wet was shoved in, into him/her, and he/she screamed, wingbeats stuttering a moment, and a blue shadow was upon her in that instant, tangling his tail with hers/his, and for one heart stopping moment she/he was falling.
“Wha - I haven’t finished, don’t let go of him ye-“
“SHIT.”
She/he screamed, clawing at the air, unable to move, paralysed with something that transcended pain.
There was no merciful darkness.
* * *
“You,” Ebisu said, not exactly icing Iruka’s swollen and bruised face with tenderness, “are the stupidest, feeblest, most idiotic greenchild I’ve ever, ever seen.”
Iruka whimpered, not daring to open his eyes.
“And Yamato’s got a broken nose,” Ebisu continued, voice ungentled with viciousness, “and Aoba’s got a black eye. Thanks to your stupidity, Penth nearly got an eye clawed out, and Hayate’s got a concussion.”
“’m sorry,” Iruka managed. His eyes stung with tears. Just breathing hurt his nose, his eyes, his mouth, not to speak of the sharp agony up his spine. At least they’d managed to get the bleeding to stop, and Ebisu’d actually sent someone to get numbweed.
“Coddling brats,” Aoba muttered from the doorway, holding out the jar of numbweed, himself holding a pad of ice to his eye to get the swelling down. “Mizuki’s perfectly fine, unsurprisingly. Worse damage’s to Iruka, really, since Hayate’s not got a concussion, he’s just banged up and bruised.”
“’m sorry,” Iruka tried again, and didn’t manage to bite back a cry at the cold salve on his face.
“Next time all greens are to be confined to their fucking room two weeks before flights,” Aoba said. “Great going kid.”
Iruka sniffled, and tried not to cry.
Imepic's First Flight
Arath had spoken to the other older dragons, and listened in on the briefings the weyr-lings had been given, and she did not want to be in that position, unable to control herself, subject to urges she didn’t understand or want or crave. And hunted down by so many males…
Stop, Iruka told himself. He was making it worse. He tried to shut off his own anxiety from Arath, try and spare her that, at least.
He had a choice, they said in the briefings. He could…
But when he walked the halls of the Weyr, listening and watching, every man wearing a Rider’s knot was a potential mate, and every look they gave him was speculative, and he woke up this morning sick with nerves. He had never felt so grateful for having a room to his own, so that no one could mock him for his childish weakness for having to throw up in a basin.
He sat with the other greenriders today. He couldn’t stand to try and fight for a seat with Kotetsu and Izumo - they were a popular duo, and while they never seemed to mind the bevy of friends surrounding them like a blockade, today Iruka couldn’t even stand the thought of listening to the constant chatter. Lately, since one of the older bronzeriders, Hyuuga Hiashi, had casually mentioned that Arath seemed to be past the size of a mature green, Iruka’d been getting looks from the boys in his year.
Looks and comments.
“How do you think he’ll take it? Fight like a cat in the sack?” That was greeted with raucous laughter from the table behind Iruka’s, and he tried not to cringe, even as he felt the heat of gazes from the sniggering boys behind him.
“Hey,” said the rider next to him, leaning over to clasp his shoulder tightly. “It’s okay. They’re young; they say crap like that all the time.”
Iruka glanced up to Yamato’s kind dark eyes and managed to smile tremulously. “T-thanks,” he started.
“Don’t fucking coddle him,” the man opposite Yamato snapped. “Brats have to learn one day. They’d already sent off the older blues and browns, and the bronzes are on ‘exchange’.” Ebisu snorted, shoving his shades up his nose. “Brats these days. We didn’t have separate rooms till AFTER the first mating flight.”
“’Bisu…” Yamato sighed.
“But they…” Iruka said tentatively.
“No fucking buts. They started the tradition of moving you little shits out two months after the Impression because the whole bang lot of you started whinging. And now,” Ebisu stabbed his knife into the meat, the clack of metal a vicious counter-point to his words, “they send the older riders away, out of deference for you poor children’s sensibilities.”
“Ebisu, stop it. You’re not helping,” said someone on Yamato’s other side, his voice soft enough that he didn’t catch who it was.
“Damn if he should!” another older greenrider, Aoba, growled from two seats down Ebisu’s left. “Older riders are more experienced! They cut the flights shorter, and there’re less injuries, of both kinds!” There were nods around the table, some emphatic and others reluctant.
“Still,” Yamato tried to say, “The young ones would be scared…”
“Injuries…?” Iruka squeaked.
Aoba snorted. “Fuck. Two youngsters, trying to scramble around, of course someone is going to get hurt.” He pursed his lips. “And I’m not just saying the dragons either.”
Even Yamato had to agree with that one. “None of the young kids’d think of pre-prep,” he said, “someone should think of telling…”
“Yeah right,” Ebisu snorted. “Like anyone’d listen to US greenriders? We lobbied for the older ones to stay. We’re not even asking for someone from Jiraiya’s generation. Rin’s group, say. Any of them. But fuck, they’re sending off Genma, Raidou, Kakashi…” Ebisu ticked the names off his hand, folding down his fingers sharply like they’d been sliced off.
“Us silly greenriders,” Aoba continued mockingly, “We just think with our gonads, is what. So of course the bronzeriders know better how to deal with the youngsters.”
“And they want the new bronzes to get as much practise in flying as possible,” Ebisu added grimly. “Coddling the brats, coddling them ALL.” The clay plate clunked as his knife stabbed down, and the sauce oozed out of the meat-steak like dark drying blood.
Iruka had to excuse himself.
* * *
“Arath?” Iruka called softly, sitting on the ledge. Arath’s large head lifted up, just below his feet, and he pushed off, landing gently and started climbing down her neck. “How’re you feeling?”
Terrified, she said honestly. I heard. Her eyes were green-orange with anxiety, with the slightest hint of red mixed in.
“It’ll be okay,” Iruka said, swallowing, patting her neck, settling against her shoulder. She could feel his lie, but didn’t try to contradict him.
Zeyth said it’d fine, she said, obviously trying to pretend, like Iruka was.
“He just left, didn’t he?” Iruka chewed on his lip. Genma was one of the few brownriders who hadn’t looked funny at Iruka after that rumour about Arath spread through the Weyr. Perhaps it was because he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to fly her, but to Iruka, he had not seemed resentful, but genuinely concerned for Iruka.
And Arath had once said that she might not have minded if Zeyth did fly her.
But Genma was gone; Iruka’d heard them - Genma’s whole wing - leave just an hour ago. They were the last wing to leave.
Now the only male dragons left were all from Arath’s clutch and the clutch before hers. There were even some of the older bronzes in from the neighbouring Weyrs, tall, tanned, reculsives, with strange red markings on their faces, and they were ALL here to try and fly the next few greens that rose.
I… Arath started, then went still.
“Arath?” Iruka asked, looking up at her in concern, then in alarm, as her eyes started to swirl red, slowly consuming the green. “Arath?”
Was it…?
Oh no, he wasn’t ready yet. He wasn’t… he had to be back in his room before… but…
Iruka, I… She threw her head back, keening sharply and it was only because Iruka’d played with her so often that the he caught himself from rough tumble off her shoulder to the almost rocky ground.
“Arath!”
“Get in, idiot!” Aoba was there, suddenly, dragging him in by the shoulders, cursing as the draft from Arath’s wings buffeted them, and Iruka stumbled.
“But Arath…!”
Aoba growled and yanked Iruka up onto his shoulders, and started running towards the hewn steps.
“Idiot, idiot, idiot,” Aoba snarled, “Weren’t you listening to the briefings at all? Don’t fucking leave the Weyr when she’s that close!”
“But Sarutobi said we’d have a week at least…!” Iruka started, then stiffened, keening.
And then he could feel Arath’s fear. All of it, a petrifying terror, dark swirling cold morass of gripping vacuum, tight and choking, and he was shaking in fright, all but clinging to anything that he could hold on to.
All around him/her were so many. So big. Blue, brown, bronze, blue, bronze, blue, brown, bluebrownbronze till the shapes ran together into a huge blur of wings and teeth and sharp cries, and Arath/Iruka had to run. Run. Leave, flap HARD and lift off and scream into the sky.
“Keep away!” Iruka thrashed, feeling hands/claws on his arms/tail and he shoved away, seeing without seeing, heart in his mouth and just get free.
Arath/Iruka’s wings slipped through the sky, almost easily, without friction, without purchase, and he/she wanted so badly to be running on rock, really, it was easier to gauge distance, and he/she’d never been that quick a flyer, too big for her colour, too clumsy and -
Claws! On his/her wing! Dragging her/him down and Iruka yelled, lashing out as Arath kicked back scratching something, and someone roared, in anger, in pain, and Iruka got shoved against hard rock, momentarily bringing him back to himself, and the terror was STILL there, still dark and suffocating.
“Fuck! Get them - shit, shit, YAMATO! Grab Iruka and take him to his room, fuck, we don’t want him BLUNDGEONED outside on damn ROCK!”
Words didn’t make anymore sense. There were teeth, claws, hands, tails, and too many shadows, and Arath/Iruka fought, screamed defiance and clawed to freedom, clear sky and breathing room and kept going.
“Damn brats!”
Arath/Iruka had managed to dodge, and were now streaking to clear safety, but even then, her/his heart was still in his/her throat, pumping raw adrenaline, enough that she/he could TASTE it and there! He/she wheeled out of the way, still heading up, spiralling up and further and crying out in shock as something grazed along his/her forearm.
“Prep him! For the love of - too close, too fucking close, is she going to get caught now?”
“He doesn’t have lube…!”
“Damn you, Yamato! Here, shit, shit, take THAT you little brat! Prep him right now, white-haired brat is getting too close!”
And then something sharp and wet was shoved in, into him/her, and he/she screamed, wingbeats stuttering a moment, and a blue shadow was upon her in that instant, tangling his tail with hers/his, and for one heart stopping moment she/he was falling.
“Wha - I haven’t finished, don’t let go of him ye-“
“SHIT.”
She/he screamed, clawing at the air, unable to move, paralysed with something that transcended pain.
There was no merciful darkness.
* * *
“You,” Ebisu said, not exactly icing Iruka’s swollen and bruised face with tenderness, “are the stupidest, feeblest, most idiotic greenchild I’ve ever, ever seen.”
Iruka whimpered, not daring to open his eyes.
“And Yamato’s got a broken nose,” Ebisu continued, voice ungentled with viciousness, “and Aoba’s got a black eye. Thanks to your stupidity, Penth nearly got an eye clawed out, and Hayate’s got a concussion.”
“’m sorry,” Iruka managed. His eyes stung with tears. Just breathing hurt his nose, his eyes, his mouth, not to speak of the sharp agony up his spine. At least they’d managed to get the bleeding to stop, and Ebisu’d actually sent someone to get numbweed.
“Coddling brats,” Aoba muttered from the doorway, holding out the jar of numbweed, himself holding a pad of ice to his eye to get the swelling down. “Mizuki’s perfectly fine, unsurprisingly. Worse damage’s to Iruka, really, since Hayate’s not got a concussion, he’s just banged up and bruised.”
“’m sorry,” Iruka tried again, and didn’t manage to bite back a cry at the cold salve on his face.
“Next time all greens are to be confined to their fucking room two weeks before flights,” Aoba said. “Great going kid.”
Iruka sniffled, and tried not to cry.
Imepic's First Flight